#but no i must jab sharp objects into my stomach first :(

[bluesidedown]

NOOOOOOOOOOO

#just remembered today is needle stabby med day :( #and im all fatiguey and gross and i just want to become one with my mattress :(( #but no i must jab sharp objects into my stomach first :( #(being a little overdramatic here to be clear. not actually particulalry distressed)

[pippytmi]

Roommates au, enemies to lovers, “you confuse me.” Supercorp obvs

“You’re a fucking liar.”

This is—objectively speaking—not the worst greeting Kara has ever received from her roommate, and so she takes it in stride. “Uh, hello to you…too,” Kara says slowly, silently running through a list of everything she could have done wrong to warrant such strong words.

But Lena does not offer any explanation; in fact, when she spots Kara in the doorway, she sends her a nasty glare as if Kara has said something wrong. “Don’t pretend you’re a saint in this matter, Lex,” Lena hisses, and only then does Kara notice the cell phone in Lena’s hands. “If I have to go and clean up your mess again…”

So it’s one of those days. Kara wisely shuts the door quietly behind her, and sneaks into the kitchen as Lena takes her argument into her room.

There is a list of chores pinned to the fridge—four black X’s cross out Lena’s, and Kara’s are underlined twice. They have a code, so as to avoid speaking to each other; X’s mean done, underlined means Kara you're a slob and a pain in the ass to live with. (All verbatim, by the way.)

The dishes, however, are not on Kara’s agenda at the moment. She instead takes the expensive whiskey hidden under the sink (that belongs to Alex, not that she has noticed it’s missing), and pours it into a glass with some ice. Then she whips out the ingredients for a stir fry, complete with every vegetable she had been saving for the potluck at work this weekend.

It is an unspoken rule that Lena will shut herself off into her room after this phone call is over. She does that every time her brother calls (and on occasion her mother), and Kara has picked up enough information about her roommate to know Lena will appreciate a hard drink and some food. She hasn’t said so or anything, but every time Kara knocks three times on the door and leaves a plate outside, it will re-emerge an hour later completely empty.

Lena’s voice grows louder despite the distance, and Kara turns on the stereo out of respect for her roommate's privacy. Lena hates the stereo and all it stands for; she argues it is outdated, and they have numerous pieces of technology that are less bulky and fully able to connect to radio stations. But Kara keeps it around anyway, because she still likes buying CD’s (and maybe to bother Lena, which is a bonus).

Blink-182 is playing on that alternative station Alex likes. Kara cranks it up as she cooks, singing under her breath as she sautes bell peppers and onions, ignoring the rumble of her stomach and the tight belt of her work pants still digging into her hips. “Say it ain’t so, I will not go,” she practically yells, poking her head into the fridge for the tofu that Lena always keeps. Kara personally won’t touch the stuff, but Lena is trying to eat less meat. It cuts up easily enough, even though Kara isn’t sure what the proper technique is.

She leaves the finished plate and drink outside after it’s done, rapping on Lena’s door in tune with The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army,” and then finally has some dinner herself. Since the tofu is unappetizing, Kara stores the rest of the stir fry in a container for Lena to take for lunch, and opts for a sandwich. She eats while scrolling through her notifications (she owes Nia twenty bucks, and so far Nia has been clogging up her phone with Venmo requests all well over $500), and keeps the radio on just for background noise.

That’s probably why she doesn’t even notice when Lena approaches; Kara has barely begun to type a text to Nia swearing to bring some cash next time she visits when a sharp voice declares,

“You confuse me.”

Which. Is not at all what Kara expected from her usually empty kitchen. And, caught exceptionally off guard, she nearly falls off her chair. “What the—Lena,” she sputters, righting herself. Unfortunately, the crust of her sandwich is a casualty of the surprise, and she watches as it crumples devastatingly on the floor.

Lena is not half as concerned about the fate of her dinner, and she stalks forward to jab a finger at Kara’s chest. “You confuse me,” she repeats.

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Um, okay,” she says. “…why?”

A strange, strangled noise rises from Lena’s mouth, and she appears angrier than Kara has ever seen. (Well, except for that one time that Kara did laundry and flooded the apartment laundromat, which had other pissed off tenants leaving mean messages for two weeks straight). “Because,” angrier-than-usual Lena says, “you do shit like cook food for me and don’t even say anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kara frowns, not sure where this conversation is going. “If you want I can start saying ‘Hey Lena, I made dinner’ every time.”

“You and I don’t do dinner,” Lena says, and it sounds like an accusation. “Every time I get off the phone, you decide to leave food outside my door. Why? What on Earth compels you to do that?”

“Because you’re always upset afterwards,” Kara says slowly. “And I thought you could use some cheering up, or at least a drink.”

“Whiskey,” Lena notes. “It’s always whiskey. And it’s never a cheap brand.”

“Well, yeah,” Kara says, gesturing pointedly to Lena’s designer work clothes (that she never seems to be without; Kara’s not sure Lena even owns pajamas). “You would probably accuse me of poisoning you if I gave you anything less.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “So whatever this is, you can stop it.”

“What do you mean, ‘whatever this is’?” Kara repeats incredulously. “I’m just being nice!”

“I never asked you to be ‘nice’!”

Kara exhales, and reminds herself that it is illegal to strangle people. Especially since she is Lena’s roommate, and will therefore be suspect #1. Kara has never been a violent person, but her roommate just manages to test her limits.

“Look,” Kara says patiently, “I give you my sister’s whiskey, and she doesn’t care because she is trying to give up drinking. And I’m not a frequent cook or anything, but I can still throw together a plate because I know you don’t cook at all. That’s it! I don’t have a hidden agenda, or some secret plot here. I’m just being friendly.”

“We are not friends, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. “And I know exactly what this is, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

God, what an insufferable—“Okay, know-it-all,” Kara says, instead of the ruder words echoing through her head. “What am I doing?”

Lena’s jaw clenches noticeably. “You pity me,” she accuses. “You look down at my relationship with my family, and—and I don’t want your sympathy, or your stupid food, anymore.”

“If you wanted me to back off, that’s fine,” Kara says, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “But I don’t pity you, or feel sorry for you. Heck, with your track record, I’d feel more sympathy for your family. They seem to be on the other end of some nasty phone calls.”

Lena’s expression darkens. “You don’t know my family.”

“I don’t know you very well, either,” Kara retorts, and she turns back to her phone where three new Venmo requests are waiting (two of them well in the thousands range; Nia must think she’s hilarious). “Message received, okay? I’ll leave you alone.”

At first, Kara assumes that's the end of it—assumes that Lena is going to stalk off, and leave a strongly worded post-it on the fridge later that night for Kara to wake up to. That has always been how their relationship works; they fight, reiterate how much they hate living together, and go right back to ignoring each other.

But Lena doesn't walk away. Instead she sighs, and at that unexpected sound Kara looks up just in time to catch Lena frowning. “I—” Lena begins, and then she pauses uncomfortably before getting the words out. “I'm...sorry. I have been having the worst day, and it’s—it’s rude of me to take it out on you.”

“Okay,” says Kara dumbly, because she’s not sure what to respond. Lena never apologizes. Ever. It’s about as rare as, well, Kara actually doing her chores on time. “Thanks?”

Lena bites her lip, glances away. “You’re welcome,” she says stiffly. And this time she leaves—leaves, and abandons the plate of food Kara left her on the edge of the table.

Kara looks down at her phone. There are ten texts waiting from Nia, and about double that of Venmo requests. But she can’t shake the feeling that she is forgetting something, and it’s more than a twenty dollar bill. “Wait,” she blurts out, “Lena. What—what does that mean? You were an asshole to me, and I was an asshole right back, so why are you apologizing?”

“Well, you are more than welcome to apologize too,” Lena says, pausing in the kitchen doorway. She has a quizzical expression on her face, a kind of raw confusion that Kara has never seen before. Without the sharp clenched jaw and the angry eyes, she’s…just a girl. A girl, with a nervous tic of wringing her fingers together. A girl, despite her guarded nature, who is gazing right back at Kara as if she has no right to.

“Do you want me to apologize to you?”

A beat. “Not really,” Lena says. “I don’t—want that. You’re right, you don’t know me. Or my family. We’re nothing to each other, and I can’t expect you to know how complicated my relationship with them is.”

“Still,” Kara says, and she scratches the back of her neck absentmindedly at the sudden flush of guilt that overtakes her. “I am sorry. It was rude of me to, um, say that. Like if your family is a bunch of serial killers, who am I to say you’re worse than that?”

Lena scrunches her nose in a manner that is sort of cute. “Serial killers? Really?”

Kara shrugs—aiming for casual—and really that just looks like attempting nonchalance when suddenly she’s consumed with thoughts about how pretty her roommate is. “Like you said,” she says, “I don’t know your family.”

And, surprisingly, all Lena does is smile. A real smile, the kind that Kara has never witnessed, barely soft and just kind enough. “They’re not,” she says, and unnecessarily clarifies, “serial killers.”

“That you know of,” Kara points out, and Lena’s cautious smile becomes something fuller. That is the only thing that gives Kara the courage to add, “So, now that we have covered the whole you’re not your family thing, are you really not going to have dinner? I cooked tofu for you and everything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Lena argues, because she is defensive to a fault. But she falters immediately after, and sighs again, albeit in a more mellowed tone. “What I meant to say is, I really don’t need you to keep cooking for me. I’m fine.”

“Well what if I want to cook for you?” Kara says, and that is her own fault: she is ready to argue to protect her (noble) intentions. “We don’t have to be friends, if it terrifies you that much—”

“It does not terrify me—”

“—but we can be friendly,” Kara offers, and it’s a testament to her newfound appreciation for her roommate that she manages to even make a sentence. “If you want.”

Lena tilts her head, considering, and this time when she smiles it is curious. “If you knew what I wanted, Kara Danvers,” she says, “your delicate sensibilities would blush to their roots.” And with that odd goodbye, she eventually takes her leave; however, she does take the plate of stir fry with her, so Kara guesses that means they’re on their way to being friendly, if anything.

#remember when quarantine started & i asked for prompts? #yeah u read that right a whole ass year ago? #well. uh. so this is embarrassing but- #supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #proudlyunicorn

[mooniefics]

— gaps of sunlight

pairing : armin arlert / reader

word count : 2.9k

tags : heavy angst, fluff (just for a moment lol), tragic romance, death, hurt / no comfort

warnings : detailed descriptions of injury to the reader

summary : every good thing must come to an end, you both knew that. but armin wished that it didn't have to happen like this every single time.

— originally posted 2 / 1 / 21 on ao3 —

armin had been absolutely glowing.

you couldn't get the image of his entranced expression when you saw the levi squad approaching from atop his horse, flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes framed by fair, blonde hair. he was shining in the light of the setting sun, barely pulling his steed to a stop before he was clambering off of it, dashing over to throw his arms around you. he was so warm, nearly squeezing all your breath out of you as he laughed, a sound full of wonder and delight, a cold, briny scent clinging to his skin and clothes.

"the ocean." he said breathlessly, burying his face into your shoulder, smiling into you, "we saw it. we saw the ocean."

but as the evening had wound down, your friend still seeming to be digesting such an experience as he stared off into nothing at the table during dinner, hands stuck in his pockets, fiddling with something for the entire meal. you'd saved your prying questions until you'd both showered and changed into your night clothes, now squeezed beside each other in the space of his bunk, narrow but just enough for the two of you to share.

"it was everything i always thought it would be!" he beamed, throwing his hands up towards the ceiling, turning his head in bed to look at you, "the water was actually salty, it stung my eyes and made my mouth so dry!!" even in the dim light, you could see the unrelenting gleam in his eyes. "it was so much colder and cleaner than the canal, blue and green as far as the eye could see—and it was frothy and white when it washed up on the shore, i wish i would've taken a bottle to bring some of it back!"

he was enchanting to gaze at, the luster of youth having finally returned after all this time it had eluded him. you'd remembered how he'd cried when he had lagged behind during cadet training, after his first few scouting missions, speaking about the untimely deaths of his family, the nights after he'd been chosen to receive the serum and acquire the power of the colossal. and every time you came to hold him, assure him that his pain was real and it was okay to cry, he would always try to tell you that he would be fine on his own, that everything would work itself out in the end without him having to bother anyone. but he never objected when you would gently hold him against you, whisper soft reassurances and let him silently sob, so young yet so full of such an endless turmoil. to see him wearing such an infectious look of glee was enough to make you smile back just as wide.

"i remember when you used to tell me about it when we were younger." you murmured, "all that feels like so long ago.. i'm glad that if any of us could make it to see the ocean, it was you."

you felt confused when you saw his face flush, smile faltering, looking almost sheepish, arms falling back to rest on his chest. "i'm sorry.. it feels unfair to gloat about it when you haven't even been able to see it for yourself."

there it was—the shy, selfless boy that was always there no matter how many battles or brushes with deaths you both saw. somehow, even after achieving his life-long dream, working so long and finally getting a taste of the joy that life should really bring, he was concerned about making you upset by expressing that happiness to you.

"armin, you're so silly." you giggled softly, reaching over to place your hand over his, "this is the one thing that you've always held onto, from the day that we first met in cadet training and all the way to now. seeing you happy could never make me upset. i'd listen to you talk about the ocean forever if it meant that you kept smiling."

his cheeks were a brilliant shade of red, heart beating fast in his chest, shining eyes large and full of gratitude. he reached into the pocket of his pajamas, leaving the hand under yours where it was, presenting you with a small leather pouch. "here, for you..!"

you took it, pulling the drawstring free, carefully tipping out its context into the palm of your hand. your eyes widened at the sight of something unfamiliar, a pale spiral dotted with rounded peaks, such a detailed creation of delicate beauty despite only being the length of your little finger, the hollow interior a smooth expanse of soft pink, light and fragile like glass.

"armin.. what is this..?"

"i don't know! they're all over the beach, hidden in the sand, but it's beautiful, isn't it??" that enthusiasm had returned, a familiar flutter dancing about in your chest, "i only took two, one for me and you, because i want there to be enough for everyone when we all go and see it together!"

you couldn't help your fascination, running your fingers over every ridge and twirl of the foreign token, cheeks nearly aching from the face-splitting beam that you had no way of containing. but you didn't know if it was this relic in your hand that was making you feel so happy, or the fact that he'd been thinking of you in his brightest moment, held you close enough to his heart that the sole memento he brought back from his trip was for you. you couldn't imagine feeling any other way, lying together, murmuring together, sharing such a rare moment of tranquility with the other now that there was a chance for your people to see past the walls that you had thought would confine you for the rest of your life.

"it's beautiful.." you carefully stowed it away into the small pouch, tucking it into your pocket until you thought of somewhere safe to keep it, turning back to face him, "thank you, armin. i love it."

i love you, you thought to yourself. and, staring into his eyes, returning your hand to clasp around his, you were sure that he was thinking it too.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

paradis' first victory had been secured late into the night.

you'd been welcomed in the airship by your fellow soldiers, tugged into hugs that were almost more unpleasant than comforting due to the clanks and jabs of your gear hitting theirs, shouts and cheers shared in the main cabin over the first step being taken to secure the future of eldia and the island, but all you could think of was armin. you had been shocked when he'd accepted the role of disabling the harbor, your head filled with the memories of his despondent expressions when he was pulled from the body of the colossal, face steaming and gaunt and so terribly miserable.

you remember how you'd felt your heart jerk into your throat at the blinding flash from across the crumbling city that your squad had turned into its battle ground, debris raining from the sky and a massive crater where the buildings that had previous stood were crushed under armin, the sole survivor of the explosion being the looming figure of sinew and flesh that towered over everything below it. it only took you seconds to realize that he was in the private room near the cockpit reserved for the superior officers and the orchestrators of the siege, resigning to impatiently waiting for the duration of the ride home to speak with him.

for the moment, you tried to join in on the celebrations for having survived the night, turning your attention at jean's demand for everyone to quiet down. but before you could respond with your question of why, there came the sound of something rolling across the wood floor, the deafening crack of a rifle being fired, then the heavy thud of something hitting the ground.

"sasha!" connie screamed, a barrage of bullets coming from beside you, and the sharp ping of metal ricocheting on metal.

there were footsteps around you as you fell back, a sudden, searing heat burning across your stomach, through your entire body, knees giving out and sending you tumbling onto your back. though the ceiling was just above you, it was almost an incomprehensible image, the sound of voices shouting your name distant and murky, like your head had been dunked underwater. you barely caught jean's face, twisted with agony, his hands jostling you as he pressed hard into your abdomen, pain flaring dully up your spine.

"that hurts, jean.." you coughed, something warm and metallic coating your tongue, speech slurring, "why are you screaming..? what was.. that sound..?"

you didn't understand the sudden wave of exhaustion that was suddenly blanketing you, heavy lids falling shut, only to feel yourself being shaken awake. "open your eyes, don't close your eyes!" jean shouted, voice ringing about in your head, far too close to be speaking to you so loudly.

"tired.. just let me rest... just for a minute.."

you tried to remember where you were, why you were so fatigued, why jean was apologizing so frantically and pushing so firmly down on your stomach. you tried to swallow down the liquid gathering in your throat, sputtering and coughing, watching droplets of red spatter across jean's pale, tear-stained complexion, arm unable to lift and wipe them away like you wanted to. you forced your gaze to steady, squinting up at the lantern above your head, trying to pick out a coherent sound between the shouting voices and pounding footsteps.

the sight of another person falling into view left you blinking, struggling to focus on their face with the halo of light that had been cast around their figure, the spotty darkness clouding the edges of your vision making it almost look like the rays of sun that would stream through the canopy of the forest where you trained with your gear in your cadet days.

"armin.." you whispered, smiling when you realized that he was there, not minding the full-body ache that you felt when he pulled you into his arms, "are you okay? why.. why are you crying? we—you know we won..? we did it..."

you wanted to take his face in your hands like you had so many times, wipe away the tears dripping down his cheeks and hold him against you, but every limb felt like it was weighted to the floor, the thought of even lifting a finger feeling like a monumental effort. but he didn't speak like he usually did, didn't tell you what was troubling him so you could choose the right words to make him feel better, just stared down at you with wide, terrified eyes, obscured by his bangs.

"your hair.. getting too long.."

it was hard to breathe now, the blood pooling thick in the back of your mouth, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head with every slow blink. you remember when his hair had gotten long enough to fall at his collarbones, how he'd come to you with scissors and a sheepish smile on one of your free days, asking if you'd help him cut his hair.

you'd always helped him cut his hair after that, even if he didn't ask, just sat him down whenever you saw that it'd grown long enough that you had to start brushing his bangs from his eyes or away from his forehead to press a soft kiss there. you wanted to be there—not here, staring up at him crying with nothing to do, but in the comfort of his tidy room, in his warm bed, talking back and forth into the early hours of the morning until you reluctantly left so you could get enough sleep in your own bed. why did you always leave? why didn't you ever allow yourself to stay?

you let your eyes fall shut, concentrating on that memory of home, the sound of his voice calling your name becoming more and more distant despite how his warmth felt so vivid, the fresh linen scent of his sheets and clothes, the sound of snipping scissors and the soft locks of his hair threading between your fingers, falling away from his shoulders and fluttering down at your feet.

when you crawled into his bed this time, you threw your arms around him, the covers settling around you, protecting you from the world just outside of his door. you were so tired tonight, but you didn't have to worry about keeping yourself awake to make it back to your room—you could just stay here, sleep peacefully and wake up with him to go to breakfast in the morning.

you really did love being close to him like this.

you really did love armin.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

armin didn't go to your funeral—he couldn't.

he'd gotten dressed that morning, showered despite how he'd never felt entirely clean after having your blood soak into his uniform and stain his skin, put on his nicest clothes, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave his room—not when he knew the service would be starting soon, not when someone came knocking at his door to let him know that everyone was leaving then, not even as he watched his friends begin the walk away from the scout dormitories from his window.

every time he closed his eyes he saw your face, low-lidded eyes, lips and teeth stained red, dying yet only concerned with asking about him. he couldn't sleep without reliving that night, or dreaming of all the moments you'd shared together. he was so angry, so upset that he hadn't been able to manage even a single word to you before you were gone forever, didn't beg for you to hold out until you got home and you could get proper care on a medical tent on the ground, couldn't have even told you he loved you one last time. it was unfair, that you had always been there to comfort him for years and yet he couldn't offer anything in return for all that time you'd wasted on him. he couldn't understand why he hadn't been able to speak, why he still hadn't let you go after you became limp and heavy in his arms and stopped wheezing in weak, strained breaths, why he couldn't even honor you by commemorating your memory at your funeral. he had never changed, he had always been a coward. maybe that was just who he was meant to be.

and despite such a deep, ceaseless shame that weighed like lead deep in the pit of his stomach, that murmuring voice in his head that told him over and over that it should've been him instead of all his fallen comrades, instead of erwin, instead of you, he still numbly trudged away from the window and out of his room. he didn't know where exactly his feet were taking him until he was turning open the knob on a door, taking in the sight of your quarters.

he felt his eyes sting, warm tears spilling down his face as he stepped out of his shoes, letting out a small sob as he crawled into your unmade bed, still waiting just as you left it for your return home. he buried his face into your pillows, wrapped himself in your blankets and shuddered despite the warmth enveloping him. he could still smell you on the fabric, forcing his eyes shut and trying to remember what it was like to feel your weight on the mattress beside him, hands reaching out even though he knew there was no one beside him to pull close.

he couldn't believe it had only been a few days without you, it had felt like almost like an eternity. he didn't realize just how much he looked forward to your presence during the day, waited for your soft knocks at his door to let him know that you were ready for breakfast, or how your laughter and words filled the air at mealtimes and kept him company in the night when you would whisper together in his bed. though the curtains had been drawn shut, there were still small gaps of sunlight streaming through the sliver between the drapes, illuminating your bedside table, letting him see the gift that he'd gotten you all those years ago, unaffected by time despite its fragility.

and he could only cry harder as he took the small thing into his hands, carefully clutching it to his chest, remembering how delighted you'd looked when he gave it to you, gazing at him with such gratitude and wonder. he would've given anything to go back to that time, where the most pertinent matter on his mind was whether they'd one day be able to make it across the sea and not mourning the deaths of two of the few friends he had left after all this senseless violence.

he wept until he had no more tears left to cry, shivering and pathetic as he laid there, whispering apologies that you'd never hear, trying to memorize the lingering scent that always comforted him when you held him close, letting himself fall asleep in your bed in the hopes that he could find a shred of deliverance in a dream where you were alive and smiling, even if only for that moment in his mind.

#armin arlert #armin x you #armin arlet x reader #armin arlert x you #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert angst #snk x reader #snk x you #aot x reader #aot x you #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction

[teshamerkel]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 12 (17 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Tension grows between Tobias and Nia as they try to rescue a lost tropius calf from a mystery dungeon.

 -

“H-How about this one?”

Tobias looks over to where Nia is pointing at one of the notes on the mission board. He skims over the mission’s details, snorting. “No way.”

“But it’s close to Afon’s Cap, right?”

“Yeah, but there’s only one mission and it’s not even worth that many points. The rewards suck.”

Nia’s ears pin back, but she only keeps her disappointed expression for a heartbeat. Then her brow furrows and her lip twitches, as if she’s itching to snarl at him. “Fine, you pick then,” she mumbles, stalking a few feet away to rummage through the supplies bag slung over her shoulder. 

Really? She's pouting just because he doesn't want to waste their time going all the way to Afon's Cap?

Tobias huffs, snatching a low-level mystery dungeon mission off the board and marching right past the riolu, not bothering to say what he’d chosen. It’s a fairly close location, with a few floors of dungeon-crawling necessary. Tobias needs to beat up some ferals to vent. Nia’s been acting weird for days now, and it’s really starting to tick him off.

Once he reaches the quieter seclusion of the tunnels, Tobias can hear Nia’s soft footsteps following him from a few lengths back. They silently make the journey through the underground and up into the forest itself, trekking through the foliage and deeper into the forest. At one point Nia stops to grab a fallen branch, as she usually does for missions that require combat. He doesn’t know why she insists on fighting with it—she’d be stronger if she just used her moves—but he’s going to bring it up eventually if she doesn’t fix the habit herself. They continue until they reach a wide, open field of tall, yellowed grass. The whole walk takes maybe a half hour or so, really not that far, but Tobias finds that without Nia’s questions and frequent comments it’s weirdly uncomfortable.

He glances back at her. Nia’s looking around, clearly enjoying the sunshine on her fur, holding the branch like a walking staff. However, whenever she notices him watching her, she quickly averts her eyes with an uneasy expression. Tobias feels a jab of anger and curls his hands into fists. Fine. She doesn’t want to talk? That’s just fine by him.

Tobias freezes, anger forgotten, as an increasingly familiar sensation suddenly weighs down on him, tingly and dangerous. This is a dungeon zone. He carefully scans the grass ahead, frowning when he just barely manages to spot an inconspicuous hole in the ground, around his size. An…underground dungeon? Great. That probably means ground types.

Tobias cautiously approaches the pit, pausing at the lip of the tunnel and feeling himself tense when he sees the stone stairs leading down into darkness. It looks pitch black down there. At least he has his tail to light the way, but...

Nia doesn’t comment on the dungeon’s appearance, so Tobias puts on a brave face and ducks into the entrance. Immediately, the terrain changes and flips, Tobias’ stomach along with it. When the ground finally settles, the charmander looks around, wary. Even with his sharp eyes it’s impossible to see their surroundings, save for the halo of light from his tail flame. Thank Entei for that. The walls seem to be solid and rocky, the air cool and damp.

“I-Is it normal for a dungeon to be this dark?” Nia whispers.

Tobias considers not answering, just to be petty, but then sighs and shakes his head. They have a mission to do. “Not usually, but it’s not unheard of for underground dungeons. We should be fine with my flame.”

Nia nods, clearly waiting for him to take the lead, and he does, swinging his tail around and holding it near the tip to light the way like a torch.

“W-What floor is our objective?” Nia whispers.

“Fifth. We have to rescue a lost tropius calf.” Before Nia can ask, he drawls, “Grass and flying type, brown and green. Kind of shaped like Maggie—long neck, four legs.”

There’s a moment of quiet save for their steps and a few distant sounds among the caves, echoes of growls and the clatter of pebbles. Then Nia murmurs, “It must be so scared, especially as a flying type. They hate being underground, right?”

Tobias doesn’t like to think about it, honestly. The Pokémon is just a kid, after all. “Yeah. The quicker we find the calf, the better.”

From there they return to silence as they search for the stairs. Aside from the frequent tripping they do over larger rocks or holes, the dungeon proves to be especially annoying because it’s hard to see the entirety of some of the bigger rooms with their one small light, so they end up having to walk more to be sure they don’t miss a staircase.

Plus there’s the unnerving echoes of the ferals around them, hiding just out of sight in the shadows. Right on cue, something screeches in the darkness, a leathery fluttering following, and the Pokemon swoops at Tobias’ face from the darkness of the ceiling. He dodges, seeing Nia duck under the Pokémon with a yelp. More flapping, and then it dives again. Tobias growls and shoots a cloud of embers at it, rolling away when the thing doesn’t go down even after a nasty burn. A zubat, maybe?

It swoops in again, and Tobias times his leap perfectly, swiping the Pokémon out of the air with a metal claw and flinging it to the ground. Nia hesitates before jumping in, knocking it out with an overhead swing of her branch. Even with the makeshift weapon she looks incredibly uncomfortable with combat, but the hit does its job.

Now that it’s still, Tobias can see that their attacker is actually a swoobat. Psychic type. Great. Nia better not get cornered by one of these things. He should probably warn her, but when he looks up at her she stares back at him without a word, ears flicking nervously and not even asking him what kind of Pokemon it is. He frowns and turns to continue their exploration.

They stumble across an apple and a pecha berry that they gratefully pocket before finally finding the staircase leading deeper underground. The two of them take it, and Tobias can’t help feeling irritated that the lower floors are equally as dark.

A yip and a snarl is their only warning before a fluffy four-legged Pokémon, low to the ground, charges at them. Tobias jumps over it, shooting an ember attack the direction it went and growling when it hits nothing. Even worse, his fire seems weaker than usual. Is it because it’s so damp? Or is it an effect of being underground?

Before he can get an answer, the Pokémon charges them again, managing to slam into Tobias’ side before Nia catches it with a powerful swing of her branch. The Pokémon yelps and rolls into the dirt. Tobias takes his chance and leaps on it, giving it an ember attack to finish it off.

When it’s unconscious, Tobias swings his tail around to get a better look. Furry tan body and floppy ears, and a collar of stones around its neck. A rockruff. Tobias takes a moment to make sure it’s out cold before they move on.

The next two floors are relatively uneventful. More darkness, more annoyingly wet cave air, more attacks from ferals who thankfully aren’t that difficult to defeat. And more frigid silence between the two of them.

Seriously, what is with Nia lately? Tobias almost prefers the previous week’s annoying chatter to this stony silence. She’s clearly upset with him today for rejecting her Afon’s Cap mission (There’s no point! The mission rewards are awful!), but there’s no way he’s apologizing to her for it. At least they’re on the fourth floor and should be out of here soon. Hopefully she’ll be over her mood by tomorrow.

Tobias is broken out of his mulling by a quiet noise ahead of him, and he tenses up, falling into a battle stance.

Silence.

The sound stopped. So what—

The ground under Tobias’ feet bulges and cracks. He throws himself forward to dodge, rolling around in time to see a sandshrew burst out of the ground, claws bared. Nia stumbles back and out of the halo of light with a surprised yelp.

The sandshrew whips around to look at Tobias, eyes narrowing to pained slits. His tail flame must hurt its sensitive vision. Good.

Tobias springs to his feet and sucks in a breath, spewing out an extra hot cloud of embers at the ground type. The sandshrew squeals and immediately digs into the earth, away from the light. For a moment it’s quiet, and Tobias thinks that it’s ran off.

But then the earth once again explodes from underneath his feet, and the sandshrew manages to score its claws up his leg. He sucks in another breath to spit out embers, only for the sandshrew to immediately dive back into the ground, away from the light.

Ambush attacks? That’s unusually clever for a feral. And annoying. A moment later, the sandshrew leaps out at him from the left in a shower of rubble, and Tobias spins to meet it, just a tad too slow. His metal claw deflects most of its slash attack, but it gets in a scratch on his side. Tobias snarls, feeling his anger start to rise as he spins, looking around for the sandshrew. It must’ve vanished into the ground again.

“Come out and fight me!” He yells.

The sandshrew erupts from the dirt behind him, tackling him down to the ground. Before it can do any real damage, Tobias hears the patter of footsteps. The sandshrew squeals as Nia slams into it with a full-body tackle, and the weight leaves his back as the two go rolling. Tobias staggers to his feet and tries to jump in, but as soon as he gets close the sandshrew burrows out of sight again.

“For Moltres’ sake!” He growls, frustrated, wiping away the blood dripping from his nose. Darn thing slammed his face into the ground when it tackled him.

“It seems to be going after you,” Nia says, stepping close to him so they stand almost back to back. “I think the light hurts its eyes.”

“Then it should just leave us alone!” Tobias snarls, loudly, hoping the sandshrew will hear him and understand somehow. They both wait, panting. Just as Tobias thinks that it’s gone, the familiar sound of digging reaches his ears.

Nia swallows, loud in the cavernous space. “M-Maybe we should just run?”

“And risk running into more ferals to deal with alongside this guy? No way.”

“B-But if we can’t see it then how can we—oh!“ Nia cuts herself off, eyes going wide. Before Tobias can question her, she closes her eyes and crouches to press her palms to the dirt, frowning in concentration.

“What’re you—“

“Shh!” Nia waves him off, frowning harder. A second later, she begins to glow blue, ever-so-slightly. The teardrops on her head lift and quiver as she concentrates. The riolu’s ears prick, and she turns her head to the right, and then to the left, eyes closed but clearly searching.

“Oh come on! You’ve had two days of aura training and you need contact for it to work! You aren’t gonna be able to track it like that!”

Nia pauses, distracted from her task, but then goes back to frantically “looking” around with closed eyes. There’s anger in her tone when she snaps, “Would you just let me try? Maybe I can at least get a sense of where it is—“

“You didn’t even know how to access your aura powers! Why should I trust you know how to use them all of a sudden?!”

Nia’s eyes snap open, and she turns on him, throwing her arms out. “Because I’m your partner! At least let me try!”

Before Tobias can reply, the ground between them bulges and crumbles. Tobias stumbles back on instinct, and a heartbeat later the sandshrew erupts from the ground. Tobias trips and falls, almost missing Nia’s pained yelp with how loudly the blood is roaring in his ears.

When he shakes his head and blinks his eyes open, he sees the sandshrew burrowing away again. Nia’s on the ground, curled around herself with her paws pressed against her side--

Oh.

Despite their argument, something in his gut flips as he reads her body language and realizes she must be hurt. Tobias is up and running to her side before he can think about it, skidding to his knees and coercing her to uncurl and lay on her back. He winces at the slick shine of blood on the black of her belly fur. Hopefully it’s not deep, but he’s sure the gash hurts. Nia whimpers between clenched teeth.

Now what? Nia’s down and the sandshrew won’t leave them alone. He can’t risk staying here to fight the sandshrew and Nia passing out completely, but he refuses to use the rescue badges unless things really start looking dire. Can he manage to carry her to the stairs for them to recuperate on the next floor?

Before he can fully decide, he hears the sandshrew digging again. Tobias snarls, stumbling to his feet and moving away from Nia. The last thing he needs right now is her getting attacked again. Sure enough, the sandshrew comes busting out the ground, aiming for Tobias. The charmander ducks under it, barely avoiding its claws.

Then in one quick movement he darts over to Nia, yanks her up to lean heavily on his side, and pulls her along with staggering steps as he takes off in a random direction. Why does she have to be the same size as him? If he could just carry her this would be a lot easier. Nia trips, and Tobias grunts, just barely managing to pull her back to her feet and continue on, praying for a staircase. In the next room a zubat dives at them, and he stumbles around the Pokémon to continue, breathing hard and desperately searching for the—

Stairs! Tobias would shout with joy if he didn’t feel like his lungs were about to explode. Tightening his hold on Nia’s arm, he sprints to the stairs, the two of them nearly diving into the hole and onto the next floor.

When they tumble out onto solid, rocky ground, Tobias takes a moment to catch his breath, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above. Nia whimpers quietly somewhere off to his side. He struggles to his feet and goes to Nia, rolling her onto her back before digging into the supplies pouch still strapped around her torso. C’mon, c’mon, he knows they packed some...

There! He grabs an Oran berry and lifts it to Nia’s mouth, patting her cheek to get her to open her eyes. “Hey, c’mon. Wake up.”

The riolu’s eyes crack open, glassy with tears.

“Eat this. It’ll help,” he says, tapping into his medical training to try and sound calm and reassuring.

Nia whines again, but then opens her mouth and accepts the berry, slowly chewing it up and swallowing. Her head flops back onto the dirt, but she makes a grateful sound.

Tobias pulls his tail around to peer at the gash on the riolu’s torso. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, just looked worse than it was, but he still combs aside bloody, sticky fur to see the skin beginning to stitch back together all the same. Good, it’s working.

Tobias heaves a relieved sigh. Just because he doesn’t like Nia doesn’t mean he wants her to get seriously hurt or anything. The charmander plops down beside the riolu, trying to stay vigilant as her body heals itself.

Within a few minutes, Nia lifts her head, mumbling, “Ugh...That was fun.” She moves to get up, but winces.

“Take it slow. You lost some blood.”

Nia nods, carefully sitting up. Tobias hands her the second oran berry. At her questioning look, he rolls his eyes. “You need it a lot more than me right now. Just eat it.”

The riolu frowns, but does as told. Almost immediately, some of the tension in her body visibly melts away. As she comes back to herself, she blinks, then looks at him with something like surprise.

“What?” He growls.

“You…You didn’t leave me.”

Tobias bristles, baring his teeth. He’s a jerk, not evil. “What, you wanted me to let you bleed out?”

Nia shakes her head, but doesn’t look properly intimidated by his tone. If anything, she just looks…thoughtful. Ugh. That look means talking.

“Can you walk on your own?” He asks, hoping to deter her. “We’re on the fifth floor, so we should be close to the tropius.”

Nia opens her mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a distant sound, loud enough to echo throughout the tunnels. It sounds like a roar, or...a wail? Regardless, it sends chills up Tobias’ spine. He exchanges a nervous glance with Nia.

“W-What was that?” She whispers.

“After that sandshrew, I say we avoid it. Hopefully the tropius does too.”

Nia nods, and the two rise to their feet. Nia sways on her paws, holding out her arms to balance herself. She’s probably unsteady from using her aura powers and going through that rapid healing. When she’s steady, the two quietly creep away in the opposite direction of the roaring sound.

They take their search of the fifth floor slowly, more wary of dangerous Pokemon now that they’ve used up their oran berry stock. The ferals are oddly silent, hiding away in cracks in the cave walls, so while they don’t have to worry about as many fights, that’s only more reason to stay far away from whatever giant creature is making that horrible noise.

Tobias can tell the distant wails are putting Nia on edge too, and they give each room a quick, cursory sweep before moving on. Soon enough, they’ve been through every hall and every cavern they can find, aside from the tunnel leading to the loud howls that they’re avoiding. And yet, no tropius.

“C-Could the calf have moved on? Found the staircase and gone down a floor?” Nia asks. “Surely we didn’t miss it, right?”

“No, it should be a pretty big Pokémon, even as a kid,” Tobias mumbles. He takes a moment to dig through their bag and find one of their badges, clicking it on and checking their current assignment. Nope, still says floor five. “This should be the right place.”

“Oh no,” Nia suddenly says, looking stricken. “W-What if the baby is in that room? With whatever is making that sound?”

“That would be just our luck,” Tobias grumbles, replacing the badge. He glances in the direction of the wailing, shifting uncomfortably. He would really rather not go that way after they used up all their healing items, but...

“If the calf’s in there, th-then we have to help it,” Nia whispers, resolute. Still, when Tobias looks at her, he sees that her paws are shaking.

“Yeah, I know.” He cracks his knuckles and marches ahead. “C’mon, then. Duty calls.”

Nia follows him, and the pair carefully make their way closer and closer to the loud wailing. By time they reach the cavern it’s coming from, ducking just around the corner, it’s almost loud enough to hurt. Judging by Nia’s expression and pinned-back ears, it’s already painful for her sensitive hearing. 

“How should we do this?” Nia asks, almost talking at normal volume to be heard. “It’ll see you right away with your tail flame, but...”

“At least we’ll get to see what it is too, and if the tropius is in there with it.”

Nia thinks that information over, then reluctantly nods. “A-Are we just going for it, then?”

“Sounds like it.”

The two of them creep closer, and when Tobias darts into the room, flaring his tail flame to give them more light, he and Nia slide to a stop. Half-hidden in the shadowy light and rearing up in fear at their sudden appearance is the tropius calf. It’s huge, at least five or six times Tobias and Nia’s size, and it releases another panicked wail, scrambling back from the light.

Nia falls into a battle stance, and Tobias says, “Whoa, whoa, wait! That’s the tropius!”

Nia blinks at him, disbelief on her face. “That’s the baby?!”

Before he can answer the tropius cries out again, its roars pitching high and scared. The sound of something slicing through air is their only warning before razor sharp leaves fly by, nicking their skin. Nia yelps and hides behind a rock, and Tobias does the same. The tropius backs itself into a corner and starts frantically flapping its leafy wings. Huge gusts of wind blast by and down the tunnels.

“What do we do now?!” Nia shouts over the noise.

Tobias frowns. They have to get to the tropius somehow, but with it attacking like this... “Knocking it out would be the easiest option, but—"

“What?!” Nia’s voice is shrill. “No! You said it’s a baby! No way am I hurting that poor thing!”

“I said it’s the easiest option, not what we should do! Even I don’t go around smacking babies! Arceus.”

“What are you suggesting, then?”

Tobias stops to think. Even if they can’t hurt it, they still need to get the tropius under control before they can do anything. “We need to pin its wings so we can get close enough to warp it back to the guild.”

Nia shoots him a pained look. “That’ll scare it. Can’t we do something else? Calm it down or something?”

The tropius wails again, and Tobias winces, the terrified noise grating on him, making him itch to act. “You figure out the magic solution, then. I’m gonna get closer.”

“Wait, Tobias—!“

But he’s already gone, darting from rock to rock to avoid the tropius’ gusts of wind. It’s too bad it can easily track him by his tail flame in the darkness; it would be so much easier to sneak closer otherwise.

Tobias dodges another razor leaf attack by throwing himself onto his belly, and then ducks behind a cleft in the wall to avoid a flurry of wind. He waits a few moments, thinking. He doesn’t want to attack the calf, but he’s not sure how he’s going to restrain its powerful neck and wings otherwise. Maybe he could jump on its back, then warp them out right away before it has a chance to get its bearings?

Well. He’ll figure it out at he goes. Tobias sprints out and along the cave wall, lessening the wind resistance. The tropius sees him coming and cries out, blasting a powerful razor leaf at him that he just barely rolls under. He’s so close, just a bit more—

The tropius spins, clumsy in its youth but still incredibly powerful. Its tail swings around, scooping Tobias up and flinging him halfway across the cavern. He hits the ground with a pained, “Oof!” and stays there, trying to catch his breath. This is a disaster.

Just as Tobias lifts his head, looking back to the tropius, Nia’s voice rings out in the cavern. “H-Hey!”

Tobias stares as the riolu steps out from behind the rocks, body glowing ever-so-faintly with aura so the tropius‘ attention is immediately drawn to her. Before it has a chance to blast her with wind, eyes wild in the low light, Nia makes a sound like a sob.

…What?

The riolu starts crying—well, pretending to cry—with all the theatrical subtlety of a boulder to the head. She wails a pitiful sound, curling into a ball on the ground and hiding her face in her knees. She throws in a few pathetic sniffles, too, definitely too overdone to be real. It takes a moment, but Tobias realizes what she’s doing. Nothing throws a kid off more than their tantrum being countered by someone else’s. But no, there’s no way something so dumb and so simple will work, right? This is a mission, not babysitting duty in the nursery!

Yet, despite it all, the tropius has yet to blast the riolu into a wall. Instead, it’s watching Nia with wide, teary eyes, wings still and the raging wind died down into an oppressive silence. The tropius keens, sad and confused, and hesitantly steps forward from its spot in the corner of the room.

Nia continues to cry, throwing in a few literal “boo-hoos” while she’s at it. It’s overdramatic and ridiculous, and the tropius eats it right up, walking closer to Nia. It hesitates a few steps away from her, gaze flicking over to where Tobias is still lying on the ground across the room, before finally reaching Nia’s side. The baby tropius whines, nudging gently at the riolu with its snout.

Nia peeks up at the tropius, a giggle escaping her throat. The tropius coos, suddenly playful, in return. Nia sits up and reaches out a hand to pet feather-light at the tropius’ nose. The grass type rumbles a happy noise, stepping closer before sinking to the ground. Nia continues to stroke soothingly at the calf’s cheeks, murmuring words in a calming, almost motherly tone.

Tobias doesn’t dare get up and freak out the tropius all over again. Instead, he lies on the ground and watches in disbelief as Nia calms the giant Pokémon down from a monstrous frenzy to a rumbling, contented puddle of leaves and brown scales. He can’t believe that worked. He’d be furious that it worked if he wasn’t so shocked.

Another few moments to catch his breath, and then Tobias rises to his feet and carefully steps closer. The tropius slits open an eye at the approaching light, but then decides to ignore him, giving all its attention to Nia’s touch.

“I cannot believe that worked,” He says flatly.

Nia looks at him, quirking a smug smile. “I can have good ideas too, y’know.”

Tobias bristles at the condescending tone. He could’ve just as easily come up with that strategy! She doesn’t have to sound so superior about it. He growls and jams his hand into their bag to pull out their rescue badges. He nearly throws Nia’s when handing it over, and together the two of them call for a pick-up, waiting only a few moments before being teleported away, tropius in tow.

After the millisecond of nausea, Tobias finds himself, Nia, and the baby tropius in one of the psychic assistance offices. The tropius lets out a distressed noise at the sudden change of location, but before Nia can soothe it a voice thick with tears sobs, “Mirri!”

Tobias and Nia jump and step out of the way just in time for a fully-grown tropius, staggeringly huge and shaking the ground with its steps, to barrel towards the baby. The calf cries out in clear delight, and the two tropius reunite, nuzzling against one another.

Something about the loving gesture between what Tobias can only assume is the calf and their parent makes something in his chest clench and his eyes sting. He remembers being nuzzled like that, warm wings surrounding him, the scent of sunbaked stone and a comforting voice—

Tobias draws in a shuddering breath and tears his eyes away, stuffing the memories down. Nia looks like she might cry herself.

After a few more moments, the elder tropius turns to the two of them, tears still in her eyes. “Thank you so so much for finding my baby,” she says, bowing her long, graceful neck. “I’ve given the abra your rewards. May I know your names, before we leave?”

“O-Oh! I’m Nia.”

“Tobias. We’re Team Scarlet.”

The tropius smiles, still overwhelmed with emotion. “Thank you, you two. This is my son Mirri, and my name is Aari. If you ever need anything, please do let us know.”

Tobias and Nia nod and wave their goodbyes to the pair as they turn to leave, the older tropius barely squeezing her wide, leafy wings into the hall.

“They’re really beautiful, when they’re not trying to kill us,” Nia says, gaze lingering on the doorway.

Tobias snorts a quiet laugh. “Most things look better when they’re not trying to kill you.”

The charmander steps up to the desk of the abra in charge of their case, and she in turn hands him a small parcel, nodding her thanks. Nia and Tobias move into the hall, Nia already busy updating their Seeker badges and showing the screen to him when their points rise. Tobias nods, satisfied, and undoes the knot of their parcel. Inside, there’s a couple hundred poke that they’ll have to split with the guild, along with a few sleep seeds, and a medley of five or six berries. Nice haul. Tobias wraps the parcel up again and moves to head to the cafeteria for supper. Nia grabs his arm, stopping him.

“What?” He asks, a little sharply. He just wants some food and a nap, and he’s still tingling with leftover embarrassment for not coming up with Nia’s strategy himself. He wouldn’t have hurt the tropius calf, but the riolu’s plan clearly worked better than whatever he was trying to do. He should’ve thought of it first.

Nia meets his eyes, taking a deep breath and looking unusually determined. “I‘m going to Afon’s Cap tomorrow.”

Tobias blinks at her, surprised, then growls. “What? No you’re not, tomorrow’s not even our day off!”

Nia’s ears flick back, but her expression hardens. “I-I’m going, whether you come with me or not. If you come along we can get supplies or something, but I’m going either way.”

Tobias narrows his eyes, not liking the authoritative tone in her voice. Especially since things have been so tense between them lately. One good plan that wasn’t even really a plan, and she thinks she can boss him around? The only positive of going would be that Nia would finally stop badgering him about it.

…Huh.

This could get her off his back, at least. He would stay behind and let her go on her own, but he knows the sort of scolding he’d get from Maggie for that. It would not be a fun day at the guild. Maybe he just needs to grit his teeth and get it over with so they can move on with their lives.

“Why do you get to make that decision?” He finally asks, still hoping she’ll back down.

There’s a quick flash of anger in her eyes. “I’m part of this team too, a-and I figured out how to complete our mission today. Why shouldn’t I get to make a decision every once in a while?”

Tobias isn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed at the riolu’s sudden show of spine. All he knows is that he’s tired of hearing her whine about Afon’s Cap and stupid Hazel.

“Fine,” he says, still reluctant. “But I get to decide where we eat.”

Nia immediately perks up, beaming at him and clasping her paws together in a complete 180 of emotion. “Really?!”

“Yeah, whatever. Now c’mon, let’s get some food before I change my mind.”

Nia makes an excited little whoop, skipping ahead as they start their walk down the hall. Tobias groans and tells her to slow down, tucking the parcel under his arm and resigning himself to his fate.

At least he’ll get a good meal out of the trip.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #tropius #charmander #riolu #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

[nillabeam]

FLUFFVEMBER TWO: fake dating  

synopsis: tsukki agrees to be your fake boyfriend, how he ends up your actual boyfriend still baffles him 

warnings: fluff!! a little bit of language, some mild spiciness at the end, it gets a bit suggestive but nothing too crazy!! tsukki being a brat but also not a brat, probably bad grammar! forgive me! third year tsukki and reader! 

characters: tsukishima kei 

a/n: hi this little silly idea that nobody asked for has been in my head for a while now, i just can’t help how much i like this big dumb jerk!! >:( anyway hope you enjoy it!! <33 thanks for reading!! <33

“stop looking at me like that—just answer the question,” you mumble, your gaze settling on the floor, focused on a small scuff on the front of your right shoe.

“let me see if i heard you correctly: you want me to be your fake boyfriend for a week?” he asks, a smirk painted devilishly on his features.

you kick your foot into the ground, a nervous tick really, you shove your hands deep into your coat pockets. “not the whole week, just the weekend,” you correct him, cheeks still tinted pink, lips still pouting.

“i know it’s a weird thing to ask, you don’t have to say yes, i can ask kageyama-“ you start to add but he is quick to interupt, the mere mention of the setters name igniting his unrelenting will to beat him at everything and anything, including this.

“alright, if you’re this desperate, i’ll do it.”

you look at him, eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing in irritation, he was half right but he didn’t have to rub it in.

“thank you,” you grumble through gritted teeth.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t quite catch that, one more time,” he mocks, leaning down slightly, his hand cupping his ear.

“thank you!” you yell, he doesn’t even flinch, instead he chuckles.

he ruffles your hair a bit too aggressively to be sweet, “see you this weekend,” he says with a curt wave, you try to straighten out your hair, scowling at him until he’s out of sight.

the weekend arrives much too quickly for your liking. the train ride to your dad’s house in the city is long but thankfully tsukki was there to keep you absolutely no company at all, instead opting to wear his headphones the whole entire time. only taking them off when you’re tugging on his coat sleeve, mouthing something, trying to get his attention.

“did you say something?” he asks, and you stare at him, an irritated smile graces your lips.

“this is our stop,” you repeat, a little too loudly, he stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, shooting you a disapproving glance. “no need you yell, i’m standing right next to you.”

you follow him off the train and the first part of the walk is silent. which doesn’t help your nerves. your gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles are white, brows knitting together tightly, lips pressed into a hard line. tsukki does his best to ignore it but your anxious energy was starting to annoy him.

“so do you want to tell me why we’re doing this?” he says, you whip your head up to look at him and he meets your gaze with an easy glance. your features have softened, mouth falling open in surprise, he feels his chest tighten, his stomach flutters and he hates how easily you effect him. even if he’s an absolute professional when it comes to hiding it.

you take a moment to mull over his question, worry claiming your pretty features once again. “i may have told my dad i had a boyfriend and he may have invited you, my fake boyfriend, over for the weekend to get to know you better or whatever,” you explain quickly, shrugging hard at the end, “i think he suspected i was lying to him, and i am, but that’s why it’s up to us to convince him,” you finish puncuating the explanation with a defeated laugh.

“sounds perfectly reasonable,” tsukki replies easily, a familiar sarcastic edge to his tone, he almost smiles at you, but he doesn’t have to you can tell he’s trying his best to help you. the thought alone is enough to make you smile.

“it’s just around the corner,” you say walking ahead. after a few more minutes and the two of you arrive at the apartment complex, it’s bigger than tsukki expected and you have to take an elevator just to get there. eventually you reach the apartment, you take a sharp breath, trying to steel your nerves before knocking on the door.

a woman opens it, tsukki notes her age, she’s younger than he thought your mother would be, she seems excited enough to see you. the woman lunges forward and latches onto you, hugging you tightly.

“y/n!” you don’t really have the chance to hug back before she’s pulling away, a smile plastered on her features. her gaze shifts to tsukki, he notes the way she seems shocked by his height. “you must be the boyfriend y/n has told us so much about!”

he can’t help the smug smirk that finds his lips, he bows politely, “tsukishima kei,” he introduces himself and you almost laugh at how well he’s behaving. “it’s a pleasure to meet you i’m l/n emiko! but call me emi!” she takes a step back to wave you both inside. “please come in, come in!”

you step in first, tsukki right behind you, emi shuts the door behind all of you and ushers you both to follow her, “let me show you where you can put your things,” you and tsukki share a confused glance, but you follow her down the hall, “tsukki you can keep your things in our guest room but i hope you don’t mind sleeping in the living room, since y/n will be sleeping here,” emi explains.

“he can sleep here!” you interject, “i can sleep on the couch,” he looks down at you clicking his tongue, “how sweet! always thinking of me,” he muses, pretending to be touched, “but as your boyfriend i insist you take the guest bedroom,” he guides you into the room by the small of your back, and you do your best not to make a face.

“what a gentleman!” emi remarks, clasping her hand to her chest. a ding from the kitchen catches her attention, “oh! i have dinner going so i’ll let you two get settled in,” and with that she hurries out to the kitchen.

“you’re overselling it already,” you comment, setting your bag onto the floor and tossing yourself onto the mattress rubbing your face into the comforter. tsukki forces out a laugh, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sets his own bag down next to yours before sitting on the foot of the bed.

you roll over onto your back, a heavy sigh falls from your lips, “i don’t know if this is going to work, what if we can’t convince them?” you mumble, tsukki straightens his glasses. 

“convincing them won’t be an issue,” he replies cooly, standing up.

you let out a huff of a laugh, “you sound so sure,” you reply absently, you close your eyes, wondering why in the hell you every thought you could pull this off. the sudden shift of weight forces you to open your eyes. tsukishima is crawling on top of you, he presses his knee between your legs, your first reaction is to sit up but he pins your down by your wrists without much effort. 

“w-w-what are you doing?” you stammer out.

“convincing them,” he says quietly, but his tone is matter-of-fact. he leans down, his lips graze the soft skin on your neck, you turn your head away in embarrassment. you open your mouth to object but a shocked squeek alerts you to emi’s presence in the doorway. you both turn to look at her, tsukishima moves away from you, and you sit up immediately.

emi looks almosts as embarrassed as you do, “p-please try and be respectful in your father’s home,” she says, you can tell she’s trying to be stern but she just looks flustered. tsukki offers another polite bow, “my apologies ma’am, it won’t happen again,” he sounds sincere enough, and emi seems satisfied with it.

“a-alright, good, thank you, i know what it’s like to be young and in love so i won’t tell your father about this but p-promise you’ll be more responsible in the future!” she says with a small huff, “we promise don’t we, y/n?” he says looking down at you. you spring up from the bed, bowing in shame, “we promise! sorry! thank you for understanding!”

she nods, satisfied, “your father will be home soon and dinner is almost ready!” she adds before heading back to the kitchen.

you land a stiff jab to tsukishima’s arm, he flinches, moving to get away from another angry jab. “you bastard, what was that??” you yell, in the quietest way possible. “i told you what i was doing,” he replies, smirk already present on his face. “she seemed pretty convinced,” he adds and you bury your face in your hands, groaning.

you both make your way to the kitchen, and tsukki keeps emi entertained until your father finally walks through the door. emi is quick to greet him, tsukki notices the way your lips perse ever so slightly when she kisses your father. “you must be tsukishima,” he father greets, tsukki manages his most polite greeting yet, “pleasure to finally meet you, sir,”

“isn’t he tall?” emi muses, squeezing her husbands arm eagerly. “he really is, y/n told us you were but she wasn’t specific,” he agrees and emi chimes back in, “how tall are you tsukishima?”

tsukki glances over at you, you look mortified and he thinks it’s absolutely adorable how embarrassed you are. “193cm, the last time i measured,” he says cooly and emi gasps.

the next few hours is spent eatting dinner with your parents, somehow convincing them that you two are a legitimate couple and trying your best to answer all their questions. when did you meet? how long have you been seeing each other? not to mention the way your dad was prying into tsukki’s personal life, asking his long term plans, what university he was planning on attending, what he was going to school for.

to your surprise tsukki handled every question with a grace you didn’t know he possessed, he seemed so unbothered, it looked easy, honestly you were having a harder time keeping up the act than he was.

eventually your dad noticed the time, “it’s quite late, we should get to bed now, honey,” he said with a yawn, “it was nice to have dinner like this,” emi says dreamily, “a real treat,” she sighs happily. tsukki notices the way your gaze falls to the floor.

“well we better get this old man to bed,” emi teases, and you and your dad both make the same face, lips persed, brows furrowed, tsukki covers his mouth with the back of his hand, he manages to keep himself from laughing.

you wish them a goodnight and there’s a thick silence between you and tsukki. “time for bed?” he offers and you shake your head, “i’m not tired,” you take a second to pause, “d-do you want to watch a movie or something?” you finally suggest. tsukki takes his glasses off to clean them on his shirt, “fine but i get to decide what we watch.”

by the time you’re done changing into your pj’s, an oversized hoodie and some sleep shorts, and make your way back to the living room, tsukki is already on the couch, dressed in his own sleep clothes, a white t-shirt, grey sweatpants. you fumble with the hem of your hoodie, he looks up from the tv screen to watch you fidget.

“stop doing that, you’re making me anxious,” he pats the seat beside him. you let out a sharp huff before marching over to the couch, you sink into the seat beside him. he spends a few minutes deciding what to watch, with you sulking beside him. he finally decides on a horror film, nothing too crazy, something cheezy enough for you both to make fun of. something to make you sleepy.

“is emi your step-mom?” tsukishima’s voice snaps you out of your daze, and you stiffen at the sudden question. “yeah, my dad married her a few years ago,” your answer is flat.

“you don’t like her?” he presses and you sit up a little, leaning into the arm rest, “it’s fine, she’s fine, she’s just-” you trail off, eyes glazing over, he can tell you’re overthinking, maybe a little overwhelmed.

the flick of the lightswitch and the sudden brightness has you both squinting in the direction of the light source. “sorry! just grabbing a glass of water!” emi apologies moving to fill an empty glass. “what are you watchin’?” her gaze shifts to the tv, “something scary?”

“yeah, but it’s not really that scary though,” you reply absently and tsukki scoops you up into his arms, “how cute you are trying to act tough,” you tense up and emi giggles, “it’s okay i’ll keep you safe,” he teases and emi giggles even more, “don’t stay up too late!” she adds before turning off the light and heading back to her bedroom.

you try and break free from tsukki’s vice grip, “stop teasing me,” you complain, and his grip loosens a bit. “you were the one so worried about convincing them,” he reminds you. you feel the blood rush to your face, painting your cheeks red. 

“you’re confusing me,” you whisper, he barely hears it.

he stiffens a little and you look up at him, “what did you say?” he questions, his gaze is intense, and it makes you nervous. “nothing, i didn’t say anything,” you lie, his grip loosens even more, but he doesn’t stop staring. “you said something, don’t act cute just say it,” he insists, there’s a familiar irritated edge to his tone.

“i said..” you trail off, distracted by the soft glow of the tv on his face, which was so very close to your own, you bite your lip, your gaze flickering between his lips and his intense amber eyes. “i said—stop teasing me,” you mumble, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss against his lips.

he looks genuinely stunned for a second, you furrow your brows, worried that you made a mistake, “you’re confusi—mfph—!” you can’t finish your explanation, his lips are on yours, a few short seconds later he’s pulling away. you both share a look, the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife. he leans in again, hesitating briefly before his lips capture yours in a surprisingly desperate kiss.

his hands are just as eager as they move to pull you closer, your hands find either side of his face, deepening the kiss.

he’s big. you already knew that, but the way he’s kissing you, his body pressed against yours makes it impossible to stay upright. it only takes a few seconds before your back is pressed against the couch his slender fingers ghosting under the hem of your hoodie, his lips moving to your jaw, peppering kisses down the length of your neck. he pulls away for a moment, he takes off his glasses, setting them on the coffee table beside the couch.

his hands slide over your thighs, squeezing when he reaches the hem of your shorts, he slides them apart, settling into the space between them. you wrap your legs around his waist, his lips meet yours, it’s greedy the way he kisses you, possessive even, the way his large hand is firm on your jaw, keeping you right where he wants you. “tsukki—“ you groan into his mouth, he rocks his hips against you, the stiffness in his sweats suddenly very apparent.

“w-wait!” you stammer out and he pulls away quickly, 

“what?” he questions, a little out of breath. you cover your mouth to keep from laughing, “what?” he repeats, his tone stiffening.

“you’re so hard,” you manage between stifled laughter. he freezes, you can see him blush even in the dark room, “of course i’m hard you idiot,” he says covering his eyes with one hand.

“wait—are we actually dating now?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your tone. he eyes you suspiciously, “what happens if i say yes?”

you bite your lip, a smirk finds your features, “well, i guess you’ll just have to find out.” 

#haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fluffvember #haikyu!! imagine #haikyu!! fluff #tsukki imagines #tsukki fluff #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima imagine #hq fluff #hq fluffvember #nillabeamwrites

[secretshinigami]

making the most of it

Author: @realtruesuccessor For: @yagami-raito-kun Pairings/Characters: Near | Nate River/Yagami Light, background Linda/Matsuda, Near | Nate River, Yagami Light, Linda (Death Note), Matsuda Touta, Watari Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, just typical superhero/action movie stuff Prompt: Near is a superhero, Light is a supervillain, they get set up on a blind double date and have to roll with it to protect their secret identities Author’s notes: This was super fun to write! Thank you for the amazing prompt! I hope this is what you were looking for, and that you enjoy it!

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Nate River had never given much thought to the idea of romance. He had experienced fleeting crushes in the past, but never any serious feelings, and he had never even been kissed at the ripe old age of eighteen. There were much more pressing issues in his life besides the lack of social milestones, so Nate wasn’t too concerned about his deficits in romantic experience. 

  Unfortunately, his roommate Linda did not have the same opinion. 

  “You’re going to die alone if you keep this up.”

  Nate looked up from the small toy robot that had been occupying his attention before Linda opened her mouth. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Linda sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve never seen you go on a date,” she said, as if that clarified anything. 

  “So?”

  “So, you’ll end up alone and unhappy unless you find yourself a nice man.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, and he lifted his hand to curl a finger around a strand of wavy white hair. “You’re making an awful lot of bold assumptions.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Nate paused, took a moment to consider the brief crushes he had in the past, and then admitted a small concession. “Not about my preference for men, but about my impending lonely fate? That remains to be seen.”

  Linda approached Nate’s spot on the floor, where he was surrounded by tiny action figures. She sat down next to him, and picked up a small gray object from the circle of toys around him. “I’m worried about you, Nate,” she explained. “You’re always holed up in your room, messing around with these toys, but I think you should get out more and I have the perfect idea to help with that.”

  Eyeing the object in her hand, Nate uncurled his finger from his hair. He reached over and plucked the tiny gray circle from her grasp, then stuffed the item into his pocket. “Your concern is noted,” he said, perhaps a bit too sharp. “Unfortunately for you, I disagree.”

  “Can you hear me out, at least?” 

  “You’ve given me no compelling reason to do that, so the answer is no. Please leave me alone.”

  Silence rang throughout the apartment, echoing with the sting of Linda’s hurt feelings. Nate didn’t feel sorry in the least; in fact, he felt entirely justified. After all, Linda had barged into his room and insulted his lifestyle. He was in the right to be short and snappy with her.

Nate watched impassively as Linda’s face fell. His roommate’s usually bright smile turned into a sullen frown, and her blue eyes became downcast. If Nate had been a different sort of person, he might have been moved by this display, but as it was, Linda’s wounded emotions did nothing to stir his heart or change his mind. 

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Linda muttered, her voice small and hurt.

  “I have no idea why you’re suddenly so invested in my romantic life, but whatever your reasons, you brought this on yourself by disparaging my hobbies.”

  “Okay, okay, I guess you’re right. I should have gone about this in a different way.”

  “Yes, you should have, but there’s no changing the past and no use lingering on this topic anymore. Weren’t you leaving?”

  With a heavy sigh, Linda got up and left Nate to his own devices.

  ~

  The city was dark at night, lit only by the occasional street lamp.

  “Where is the tracker now, Watari?”

  Near made his way through the gloomy city streets, dodging the warm circles of light cast by the lampposts. He stuck to dark, shadowy corners like glue, crouching behind parked cars and navigating narrow alleyways. 

  A voice crackled over the communication device in Near’s ear. “One block away, Near,” Watari said. “The location is pinging from that abandoned grocery store on the corner.”

  As Near approached the store, he tugged his dark cowl down over his hair and eyes, shielding them from view. The streets were mostly empty, but he didn’t want to risk being identified, even by the vagrants who frequented this part of the city in the dead of night. After all, his white hair and gray eyes were rather distinctive. If Near ever let his guard down, it wouldn’t take a genius to eventually trace the actions of the vigilante Near back to the identity of one Nate River.

  “Alright, I’m standing in front of the store now.”

  “Yes, thank you. The tracker you placed on that nasty fellow is still pinging from inside that building.”

  “Hmm, I really do hope this doesn’t end in physical violence. You know how much I hate fighting.”

  “I’m aware of that, and I also know that you’ve had a very long night already, but at least Lidner will be pleased to hear that you were finally able to put some of her training to good use.”

  Near made a face. His mouth twisted into a displeased frown. “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, I’m being completely serious. She’ll love to hear that you fought off a villain with a stick.”

  “First of all, this isn’t exactly a stick. It’s a bō,” Near corrected. “Second of all, perhaps you’re correct. She seems to puff up with pride whenever I acknowledge her skills.”

  “Yes, people tend to do that when you pay them a compliment.”

  Ignoring Watari’s snark, Near began the task of sneaking into the dark building. He crept forward, towards the front of the store, keeping low to the ground. There wasn’t any light coming from the windows or the door, but Near had learned from experience that one could never be too careful when dealing with villains. The building seemed lifeless and empty from the outside, but there could be traps set inside - or even the villain himself, tracker and all. So, Near was sure to be stealthy as he peeked into the store from a low, dirty window.

  The interior of the old shop seemed to be exactly what Near had expected. Mostly empty, save for a few shelves, and thick layers of dust covering every visible surface. Clearly, the store hadn’t been active in many years. It was the perfect place for squatters to take refuge - or for mysterious villains to set up a hideout. 

  “Best entrance route?” Near asked, eyeing the door in the corner of the shop, which appeared to lead somewhere deeper into the building. If Near had to guess, he would say that the door probably led to some sort of old office or employee break room. The door was dark and heavy-looking, with a shiny silver knob that could have easily been rigged with a villainous trap. 

  “You mean, besides walking right through the front door?” Watari teased.

  “Watari, please, this is serious.”

  “Alright, alright, I understand, I’m searching for an aerial view now.”

  As Near waited for Watari’s next message, he took another look around the interior of the store. None of the dust seemed to be disturbed; the floor and the shelves all appeared to be completely untouched by human feet or hands, at least for the past few months. 

  Still, Near considered, the room could be monitored with hidden cameras and microphones. Best that I don’t use the main entrance unless there’s no other option.

  “According to the aerial view, there’s a skylight towards the back of the building,” Watari announced. 

  Near frowned, and reached up to rub a strand of his own white hair between two fingers. “I don’t see a skylight from my current location, so the skylight must lead into the back room of the store. I can skip the main shop area entirely.”

  “Well, that works out nicely.”

  About fifteen minutes later, Near found himself on top of the roof, breathing heavily from exertion. “I’m never doing that again,” he managed in between gulps of air. 

  “Never say never, Near.”

  After catching his breath, Near approached the skylight and peered through it. The bright moon illuminated the room beneath the glass, casting everything in a soft white glow. Through the skylight, Near could see the back room of the shop, which appeared mostly empty, save for a wooden desk. 

  “I’m entering the building now,” Near said, reaching to unlatch the skylight.

  “Wait, Near!” Watari cried out, at the exact same time an unfamiliar voice whispered: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Near whipped around, bringing up his bō staff in a fluid motion.

  A masked man stood before Near, with his gloved hands raised in mock surrender. 

  “Who are you?” Near asked, his tone dark and serious. 

  The man smirked, then nodded to one of his hands. A familiar, small gray object rested between the fingers of his red leather-covered hand. 

  The tracker.

  “Shit,” Near muttered under his breath.

  “Looking for this?” The man asked, sounding carefree and quite pleased with himself. His voice was slightly deeper than Near had imagined, but it suited him just the same.

  On impulse, Near jabbed at the mysterious villain with his staff.

  As though he moved through the shadows, the man expertly evaded Near’s attack. He dodged, twisted, and kicked out. His dark boot landed in the center of Near’s chest, pushing the hero back. 

  Near stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. His ankle hit something behind him, probably a ledge of some kind, and suddenly, he was falling. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as the world warped around him. 

  Like something out of a movie, Near found himself falling in slow motion - legs bending, glass cracking from somewhere behind him, his body descending further and further into darkness. 

  Before Near could even process what was happening, the villain turned away. His silhouette was illuminated by the bright backdrop of the moon. He glanced over his shoulder as Near fell through the skylight. His brown eyes sparkled with the dual flickers of triumph and pride.

  The villain’s smug grin was the last thing Near saw before darkness enveloped him completely. 

  ~

  “I can’t believe you finally roped me into this nonsense,” Nate River said. 

  Linda and Nate sat on a bench together, as the sky darkened and the air became thin and cold. She wore a coat and a light scarf over her dress, while he was dressed in only a collared button-up shirt and comfortable pants. The bright yellow bulbs from the nearby carnival casted the two roommates in a soft glow. Despite the warm light, Nate shivered, and Linda looked around frantically; her foot was tapping incessantly against the hard concrete of the sidewalk. 

  “Yes, well, this nonsense is going to do wonders for your social life, if those silly boys ever show up,” Linda said, glancing down at her phone with a frown. 

  Nate rolled his eyes. “First of all, my social life is perfectly satisfying as it is, thank you very much. Second of all, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now.”

  “I guess you’re right about that second thing,” Linda conceded, pointing towards a pair of young Japanese men who were quickly approaching their bench. “And we’ve already been over the first thing.”

  The two men arrived at their bench, and Nate got a good look at both of them for the first time. One of the men, whom Linda greeted as ‘Matsuda’, had dark hair and big brown eyes that suited his handsome face and gentle expression. The other man was introduced as Light Yagami, a close friend of Matsuda’s and a fellow Japanese exchange student. Light’s hair was significantly lighter than Matsuda’s, and although his eyes were a similar shade of brown, his gaze spoke of a sharp intelligence that far exceeded his bumbling friend.

  Nate knew those eyes.

  That attractive pair of brown eyes had smirked at him, only a few nights ago, on a moon-drenched rooftop.

  “Light Yagami, was it?” Nate clarified, his eyes traveling over every inch of Light’s pretty face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  After a beat, Light smiled at Nate. His smile was polite, but had an air of deceptive falseness about it. There was something lurking underneath the surface of that mask - some dark and dangerous secret that only Nate could truly see. 

  “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Nate,” Light said. His voice was familiar to Nate, just as deep and attractive as Nate remembered.

  Unlike Matsuda, Light spoke English with a near-perfect American accent. 

  As Linda pulled Matsuda towards the carnival, Nate fell into step beside Light. The pair of them walked in silence for a bit, each of them calmly observing their surroundings. Nate noticed that the lights from the carnival complimented Light’s warm brown hair very well; his pretty locks seemed almost golden under the electric buzz of the soft outdoor string lights. Not even Linda’s incessant babbling could distract Nate from his careful observation of Light Yagami’s lustrous hair.

  Suddenly, Light tore his gaze away from a crowd of people near the food vendors. As the group he had been watching moved on, Light turned his head to face Nate and looked at him - truly looked at him - for the first time. 

  “Are you cold, Nate?” Light asked, glancing down at Nate’s chest. 

  Nate could see that Light’s preppy jacket protected him from the slight chill of the night air. After all, Light wasn’t shivering at all, whereas Nate couldn’t help but tremble at the brush of a breeze against his pale skin. He really, really couldn’t help it - he had always been sensitive to temperature changes, ever since he was a young child. It wasn’t a particularly debilitating condition, but it could sometimes be annoying. 

  Such as, right now.

  Nate’s brain was suddenly filled with images of Light offering him his jacket, like a scene straight out of a cheesy romance movie from the 1980s. 

  “No,” Nate said, like a liar. “I’m not cold.”

  “If you insist. In that case, perhaps you’re simply eager for this double date to be over with, so you can go home?”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, suddenly very thankful that Linda and Matsuda had moved out of earshot. “That’s awfully observant of you.”

  Light shook his head, and a small smile crept onto his face. “No, I’m just projecting a bit, I think.”

  “Ah, I see. So, you don’t want to be here either.”

  “That’s correct. Matsuda wanted me to come along though, and I had no good reason to say no. If I had alternate plans, trust me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

  “You couldn’t have said that you were studying, or something like that?”

  Once again, Light shook his head. He glared at a flimsy-looking carnival ride. “Matsuda is my roommate, and one of my oldest friends from back home in Japan. We also share many classes together, and he knows my schedule almost as well as he knows his own. He knows I don’t have any exams or major assignments coming up anytime soon.”

  “Hmm, I see, that must be difficult.”

  Light nodded. 

  A moment of awkward silence stretched between them, before Light broke the silence with a question.

  “And what about you, Nate? Why are you really here, if you’re not actually interested in dating?”

  “Similarly to yourself, I was compelled by my roommate to attend this little meeting. She made it clear that Mr. Matsuda wanted to go on a date with her, but he insisted on a double date, and so she needed me to step in and serve that role.”

  “That makes sense,” Light said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Matsuda has always been anxious about romance and relationships with women, so he thought more company might take the edge off of his nervousness.”

  Nate glanced over at Linda and Matsuda, who were standing a few booths away, at one of the carnival games. Through the crowd of happy fairgoers, Nate could clearly see the wide smile on Linda’s face. Matsuda said something to her, and she threw her head back and laughed with abandon. Nate recalled Linda’s pleading face from earlier, when she had practically begged Nate to go on the date with her, and her appearance now was certainly a stark contrast to that face.

  Unable to stop the small smile from creeping onto his face, Nate turned away from Light. “Well, they seem to be having fun, so I suppose this night isn’t a complete waste of time.”

  Light nodded, eyeing one of the nearby game booths. “Perhaps we can have some fun as well?” He asked, gesturing to the booth.

  “You can’t be serious. I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

  “True, I’d love to just go home right now, but I can’t without letting my roommate down, so I might as well make the most of this night, right?”

  “I suppose you have a point.”

  With that, Nate and Light approached the game booth.

  Ten minutes later, Nate was holding a giant fluffy white bunny - a stuffed animal that Light had won at the silly dart game. 

  Nate frowned, staring down at the offending rabbit. “You’re better than me at darts,” he grumbled.

  Light chuckled. “No, I think I just got lucky,” he said, looking at Nate with a curious expression on his face. “Regardless, I hope you like it. Are you going to give it a name?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Nate said. He stared at Light’s face, observing the other man with a careful attention to detail. “His name is Kira.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Oh? You figured that out rather quickly, didn’t you?” 

  Nate nodded, then glanced away. Light’s expression and words told him everything that he needed to know.

  “And? What are you going to do with Kira, now that you have him?” Light asked, his voice laced with double meaning.

  Scoffing, Nate hugged the bunny closer to his chest, and continued to avoid Light’s gaze. “I’ll turn him over to the proper authorities, of course.”

  It was Light’s turn to scoff. “You won’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Kira is helping society, and also, you’re wildly attracted to me.”

  Nate almost dropped the stuffed rabbit. He turned towards Light, and a soft pink blush spread across his cheeks. His eyes went wide.

  “Kira kills people,” Nate managed, cursing himself.

  “Only rotten people,” Light corrected. “This world is rotten, but Kira is making it better, so good people can live happy and peaceful lives.”

  Nate shook his head. “Murdering a few corrupt politicians and businessmen isn’t going to magically make the system just or right. All it does is make Kira a murderer.”

  “Hmm, well, if Kira is simply a murderer and a villain in your eyes, what about that vigilante? Near, wasn’t it?”

  “Near doesn’t kill people.”

  “Yet, the police are still hunting him with the same energy that they use to hunt Kira. Isn’t that interesting? I imagine they’d be grateful to receive any hint of Near’s true identity, no matter the source of the information.”

  Well, that was a threat.

  At that exact moment, Linda rushed up to them, holding a plate full of funnel cake. “Come on, guys, Matsu bought me this cake and I can’t eat it all on my own! Share it with me!” 

  Nate looked from the cake, to Light, and then back to the cake. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and grabbed a small piece of fried dough from the plate. He held the piece up towards Light’s lips. 

  “Here,” Nate prompted. “Have you ever tried funnel cake before?”

  Light’s eyes widened, and he stared at Nate in disbelief. “No, I haven’t,” he admitted, shocked and quiet. 

  Nate held the cake up a little closer to Light’s face, and Light leaned forward slightly, meeting him halfway. When Light took the cake into his mouth, his lips brushed lightly over Nate’s fingers. The lips were warm, and felt almost electric against Nate’s skin. Nate resisted the urge to shiver. Something deep and primal was stirring inside of him, something that he couldn’t really place, but certainly didn’t feel familiar. 

  Something that made him want to be closer to Light Yagami, despite the knowledge of his date’s true identity. 

  From that point onwards, the date proceeded normally for the most part. Nate and Light attempted to act naturally around Linda and Matsuda, saving all double-life talk for later. After all, neither of them wanted to duke it out in front of their roommates, or the dozens of other citizens strolling around nearby. So, they made more polite conversation as Linda and Matsuda dragged them around to different booths and rides.

  Finally, the night seemed to be reaching an end. Linda and Matsuda had snuck off somewhere, presumably to say goodbye to each other properly before parting ways. Nate and Light were left alone, near an empty patch of grass. 

  An awkward silence hung between them, not for the first time that night. Nate wasn’t exactly sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. He couldn’t exactly leave the carnival and go turn Light over to the police - for one, he didn’t have any physical or concrete evidence that Light was the villain known as Kira, and perhaps even more concerning, Light had vaguely threatened to out him to the cops if he was ever caught. All of which put Nate in a very uncertain position: he knew the identity of the villain Kira, but wasn’t in any position to do anything about it.

  Light cleared his throat, which drew Nate’s attention. When Nate glanced over, he saw that Light was staring at him with another odd expression on his face, a look that Nate couldn’t really identify. 

  “What?” Nate asked, shifting uncomfortably, and clutching the stuffed bunny tighter against his chest.

  “I--”

  Whatever Light had begun to say was cut off with a sharp BANG! 

  Nate nearly jumped out of his own skin. His upper body grew very tense, very quickly, and he shuffled closer to Light. 

  On what must have been some kind of protective instinct, Light reached out and put his arm around Nate’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” Light said, suddenly calm and soothing. “It’s just the fireworks.”

  “Fireworks? Linda didn’t say there would be fireworks.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know? I take it you’re not a fan of loud, sudden noises, huh?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’m not a fan of them in the best of times, and these happen to be the worst of times, so you can only imagine how I feel in this moment.”

  Light winced, and pulled his arm away. Nate found, quite strangely, that he missed the subtle warmth and pressure of Light’s hand on his body, even though it had only been there for a short while.

  “I want to apologize,” Light said softly, barely audible over the continued explosions from the fireworks. 

  “For what?” Nate asked, genuinely confused.

  “For your tumble through the skylight. I know you seem to be fine now, but I’m sure falling through a window and landing on a hard floor hurts like hell at first.”

  Nate blinked. “Yes, it does. And no, I don’t accept your apology, because I don’t believe you’re actually sorry for what you’ve done, or for what you continue to do.”

  Light didn’t respond to that, only gazing at Nate in an impressed silence.

  Suddenly, Linda and Matsuda reappeared, both of them pink-cheeked and out of breath. Before Nate and Light could say much more to each other, they’re both pulled away by their respective roommates, pulled apart, and brought home.

  ~

  At home, in the quiet and darkness of his room, Nate felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. 

  A sudden buzz lit up his phone, and he glanced down without thinking - only to see a text from an unknown number splashed across his screen. He read the message silently, and then smiled softly to himself. 

  Nate knew that he would eventually be the one to bring Light Yagami to justice, regardless of the cost to himself. But he still had to gather evidence to prove his case, and in the meantime, well...why not have some fun and make the most of it?

#fanfiction #death note #submission #moonriver #near #light yagami #linda #matsuda #watari #lindaxmatsuda #ratings: teen #realtruesuccessor #yagami-raito-kun #Near's Bday Finale 2k21

[thewritewolf]

After the End Chapter 13: Flower Shop

Marinette and Chat Noir talk about the future

First | Previous | Next | Last

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It was too chilly to be standing out on the balcony alone at this time of year, and especially with how late it was. The nearly-winter air only grew more biting when the sun sank below the horizon and if you closed your eyes you could almost smell the frost on the wind.

Thankfully, Marinette was not alone.

Between her jacket, sewn by her own hand to be as warm as it was fashionable, and being tucked snuggly against Chat Noir, the cold barely even crossed her mind. It was much closer than either of them would have been comfortable with just a couple months ago, but the nights they’d spent in each other’s company had slowly but surely shifted things between them. For now, neither of them wanted to examine those changed feelings too closely.

Instead, Marinette wanted answers to a different set of questions entirely.

“What are your plans for the future?”

---------------------------

The yellow tape with the words in all capital letters ‘CONDEMNED’ disintegrated into black ash along with the rest of the door. Chat Noir pulled back his hand, glanced around at the empty side street, and drifted inside noiselessly.

Finding this place had taken some ingenuity on his part - Marinette may have gotten his brain jogging, but there were a lot of options in the city. In the end, though, all he needed to do was find the ones that had been abandoned since at least the fall of Hawkmoth.

Taking a deep breath of the dusty, stale air that carried a hint of rot to it, Chat Noir knew that this place fit that description to a t.

Chat Noir blended into the shadows and began to search through the wreckage.

--------------------------

“I don’t know,” Chat said with a shrug. “Right now, I’m just focusing on my hero duties. There’s still a mystery that needs solving.”

“I mean, yeah, but don’t you have a life outside of this?” She ran a finger along the edge of his mask for a moment. “You’ve got to have a plan once everything on that side of it is resolved, right?”

“What’s your plan then?” He leaned on the balcony rail and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Simple - I’m going to build a new fashion empire. After the Agreste brand imploded, there is space for something new to flourish.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Chat shook his head, staring off into the distance. “With everything that came to light after Hawkmoth got unmasked, it looks like they had it coming.”

A wave of anger washed over Marinette. She put a hand on her hip and jabbed a finger at Chat. “Listen. There was only one bad Agreste and I’m grateful for how you and Ladybug took him down, but the rest…”

She let go of Chat’s chin as the anger abated. All she was left with was a cold pit in her stomach, old doubts resurfacing as the memories of the days and weeks following the unmasking replayed in her mind. Was there anything else she could have done? Would Adrien still be in Paris, safe and happy with them, if she had done better?

“They were victims like everyone else.”

-------------------------

Even with his gentle footfalls, debris still crunched under his feet. Something about it tickled at the back of his mind. The devastation around him seemed almost… familiar.

Destruction was something of a specialty of his, after all. He’d seen cataclysm get used on countless objects and substances over the course of his years being Chat Noir. But it didn’t look like anything that the miraculous had done - there wasn’t enough ash and black decay for that. Then it suddenly hit him as he lifted a piece of wood that looked like it had vibrated apart.

His miraculous hadn’t inflicted this damage - this was the doing of the butterfly. Specifically, a sonic-based akuma back in January. That one was rough, with large swaths of the city getting screamed apart. But the miraculous cure had put everything back to normal, same as it always did.

So why hadn’t this place?

------------------------

“There’s plenty of options for you!”

“You don’t know that much about me, Marinette,” Chat replied with a sad smile. “How can you possibly know what would make a good fit for me?”

“I don’t need to know what your face looks like to know something that fits your personality.” She snorted. “Well, except for modeling, but what would you model? Leather? Cat ears?”

“Yeah. Me, a model? Ridiculous.”

“Don’t worry, there’s lots of other stuff for you.” She took a theatrical few steps back, made a square with her fingers that she surrounded him with, and closed one eye. “How about… Chat Noir the circus clown!”

Chat laughed. “Oh, so you’re saying you always secretly liked my pun, huh? Then I’ve got a few more for you…”

“Oh right, you’ve got to actually be funny to be a clown.” She stuck her tongue out playfully to take the bite out of her words. “My bad.”

“Clown’s out then - what else you got?”

“Teacher? You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

“Eh, maybe. I like kids but I’ve never been much of an authority figure.” He whispered to her conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Ladybug, but I’m actually a big rebel. Sometimes I stay up a whole hour past my bed time.”

“Wow, next you’ll tell me you don’t even look both ways before crossing the street.”

“Of course I do, I’m an anarchist, not stupid.”

“Which brings me to my next Chat career - counsellor. Like helping people work through their problems?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah…” she tapped his nose, making him blink. “I can tell those eyes have seen a lot. And yet, you’ve come through it. Maybe you can use what you’ve learned to help people?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”

“Well… and this one is a bit out there, but… How about opening a flower shop? You’ve always been such a romantic and- Chat? Are you okay?”

He had suddenly gone very stiff, his eyes widening as he took in a sharp breath. It seemed to pass quickly, suddenly replaced with a manic energy as his hand darted for his baton.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go! I just had an idea!”

“Wait, Chat-!”

But it was too late. He’d leapt off the balcony and gone running off into the night.

Marinette was left to wonder - did he really have an idea, or had she made him uncomfortable? Did thinking of the future really upset him so much?

-----------------------

Whoever had been here before must have left in a hurry and never come back, Chat Noir thought as he passed rows of decayed flower beds. Little was left of the beautiful plants except for gnarled twigs and rotten petals. It wasn’t what he was here for, but it did give him some hope that maybe, just maybe, the Gentlemen had forgotten something here.

If they had ever been here in the first place, that is.

Chat Noir stepped into the backroom of the former flowershop. The rubble that might have given a civilian difficulties yielded to super human strength and the slightest touch of Cataclysm. There, he found a small filing cabinet marked with the store’s name - Boutonnière Noir.

While he was grabbing what few files remained, intending to pour over them back at the mansion, the gleam of something metallic caught his eye at the bottom of the cabinet. Reaching in, he pulled out a badge that just barely fit in the palm of his hand. It had no words, but he knew in his heart that it was the symbol of the Gentlemen - a man with a top hat, a fanged smile, and a finger held up like a hush.

After one last look over the husk of the Boutonnière Noir, Chat Noir left with his spoils.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Chat Noir #Marichat #MarichatMay2021 #ml fanfiction #my writing #After the End

[brutal-nemesis]

Ice Day 2021: Cool-stys

Hoo boy my fingers are cold. Happy Ice Day! I hope y’all are staying chilly, and here’s to more pain! And as for this one...it’s a lot of pain (⊙ˍ⊙)

Oh also because I don’t have a place for this information but I feel like you should know before you read so when it comes up you get what I mean: I imagine a Quibhassian accent sounds quite similar to an Icelandic one.

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: self-amputation, suicide for convenience (immortal), self-harm to escape danger, stabbing, body horror, implied suffocation

Why was Castys somehow always in the wrong place at the wrong time? Seriously, he had the worst luck. Unless you counted accidentally witnessing a murder as lucky. Well, maybe it was lucky for the person getting murdered because then they could get justice or whatever. Except Castys didn’t really care about justice and never reported that sort of thing to the authorities. So, in conclusion, Castys witnessing your murder was unlucky for you and for him. Unlucky for you because he wasn’t going to tattle on the murderer, and unlucky for him because he was currently being chased through a forest by some murderer lady.

He was never a fan of running, and certainly not running through the snow while all bundled up because it was cold but running makes you hot so there’s no temperature happiness there. He was debating just giving up and trying to reason with the lady when he tripped over some hidden mystery object and landed face first in the snow, making that decision for him. A boot kicked his shoulder and turned him over before planting itself firmly on his chest. The woman attached to it was glaring down at him, holding a large icy spear-type-thing to his neck, which would be threatening if he could actually die. Well, maybe he could talk his way out before she decided to hurt him. Because he’d rather she didn’t.

“I would just like to inform you: I really don’t care about what I saw back there. I kill people all the time; it happens. So, if you’ll just let me go on my merry way, I promise not to tell anyone about the whole, uh, murder thing. We good?” He flashed her his most convincing smile, but all she did was narrow her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can trust the word of a man like you.” She had a strong Quibhassian accent, which wasn’t surprising as they were in fact in the frozen wastes of Quibhass. 

“A man like-wha-we just met?! You don’t even know me! You’d be totally justified in your whatever criticisms after, like, talking to me for more than five minutes, but it hasn’t been that long.”

“You give the impression of a wiry little mustela, saying anything to save your own skin.” She jabbed the sharp end of her giant icicle into his neck. Well, into his scarf. Still threat-y, though.

“I-I don’t even know what that is. Look,” he finally held up his hands, which he probably should have done initially, but he found it incredibly hard not to wave them around when he talked, “is there any way I can convince you not to stab me in the throat? Because if so I’d love to hear it.” Not that he was afraid she’d kill him, being that he couldn’t die, but if she did that, she’d find out that he was immortal, which...well, people didn’t typically react well to that information. Something about him being immortal made people really want to tie him up and hurt him, which was not a pastime he enjoyed. The woman seemed to think for a moment before setting her jaw and raising her spear. 

“No. Goodbye, little mustela.” Castys opened his mouth to protest, he didn’t want to get blood all over his clothes, but the sudden agony and the usual blackness told him it was too late.

When he came back to life, he was displeased to find that she had not just left his corpse lying in the snow. No, she had to be dragging him to wherever by the ankle. Great, he’d have to play dead and pray she didn’t notice that he was very much not dead. He supposed he could just wiggle free and rely on the element of surprise to give him a head start, but it hadn’t exactly gone well the last time she chased him. Better to just wait and hope that she didn’t set him on fire. No, she wouldn’t, because ice wizards don’t set people on fire. They set them on...cold. Holy shit where was she dragging him this was taking forever and he was starting to have incredibly stupid thoughts.

By the time she’d stopped dragging him, Castys’s thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory. Not in a “thinking about Bad things” way, but in a “thinking about funny things” way. Specifically that one time Eris got so excited about fried bread that she hit her head on the ceiling. He tried to keep quiet, he really tried. But before he knew it he was laughing uncontrollably, betrayed by the ridiculously low ceilings at that one tavern all those years ago. Why the hell did that have to be so funny? Hopefully she couldn’t hear him, didn’t see his allegedly dead body shaking with restrained chuckles. 

The very cold spear now stabbed into his stomach told him otherwise. 

His eyes snapped open, and once again, she was standing over him. She ripped the bloodied scarf from his neck and examined his neck that now had no hole in it. “Killing me again will accomplish nothing,” Castys said tiredly. “So if you would please-” he had to pause to cough up blood, “accept the fact that I cannot in fact be silenced and permit to run off into the woods, I would appreciate it.” The woman responded by shoving his scarf into his mouth.

“It seems you can be silenced, tricky little mustela.” Castys reached up to pull the bloodied scarf out of his mouth, but a muttered spell from the woman caused shackles of ice to appear on his wrists. She grabbed the chain now connecting his wrists and pulled it up, preventing him from removing the gag. “Any vermin that cannot be killed must be kept. It is the only way.” She snapped the shaft of the spear, leaving the frozen head embedded in his stomach, and began to drag him by the chain between his wrists into the nearby cabin. Castys was marginally grateful that he was at least being brought inside, but that gratefulness disappeared when she flung him down a flight of stairs. 

He was too dazed to resist as the woman started slicing through his coat, reducing almost all of his layers to shreds, which was incredibly rude of her. He’d really liked that coat, and now he had nothing to protect him from her frigid basement. “The cold will keep you trapped in here. Do some of my work for me,” the woman muttered, but Castys hardly heard her over the pounding in his head. And by the time said pounding went away, all he could hear was the door slamming shut and the click of a lock.

Laying on the cold stone floor, Castys yanked his scarf out his mouth and sighed. This was, without a doubt, the worst case scenario. Well, at least his mouth being stuffed full of bloody wool had prevented him from biting his tongue on the way down the stairs, so there was that. Worst case scenario minus tongue pain, but plus everything else pain. But hey, what are magic death rocks for? With frozen fingers, he pulled the pouch around his neck out from under his shirt. He wormed a finger into the pouch, sinking into the sweet release of death at the rock’s touch.

Sadly, dying couldn’t fix all of his problems. He was incredibly cold, for one, and healing himself wasn’t going to fix his coat or get those shackles of his wrists. And he was so, so cold, almost like it was coming from inside him...oh god he was a complete idiot. One of his injuries had been from that icy spear. The broken off point had still been lodged in his abdomen when he died.

And now it was stuck inside him. Fan. Tas. Tic.

Well, unless he was willing to slice himself open and dig it out, which he really wasn’t, that was going to be there for a while. Hopefully it would melt. Stowing away that problem for Later Castys, he sat up and looked around the room, eyes straining to see in the dark. There were shelves along two of the walls, lined with jars containing liquid full of...things. He hoped it was preserved food and not, like, human fingers or something, but it was too dark to tell. Of course, he’d had a lightstone in his pocket before all this happened, but his captor had taken his things while he was dead. Which was honestly fair, he would have done the same. But since he hadn’t actually died, it was rather inconvenient. 

Against the back wall, he found what felt like a table, littered with various tools and-holy shit was that an axe? Further examination proved that yes, that lady had been stupid enough to lock him down here with an axe. He considered breaking down the door right away, but if there was going to be a fight up there, he’d prefer not to have his hands chained together. Trying to break a chain with an axe in the dark wasn’t exactly the safest thing he’d ever done, but it’s not like he could cause any damage to himself that dying wouldn’t fix. He pulled the pouch off of his neck and shook the stone out onto the table, ready for if things went south.

He put the chain of ice against the axe blade and twisted, pulling it taut. Faint crackling noises told him it was working and after a few more moments, the chain snapped under the pressure. He stretched, glad to have his arms free again. Well, they weren’t completely free as those stupid ice shackles were still encircling his wrists. Honestly, he would have preferred metal ones, even if that meant he wouldn’t have been able to break the chain, because, shockingly, these ice ones were incredibly cold. They’d pressed themselves into his bare skin after he’d been relieved of his coat, and their chill felt like it was encasing his arms in ice. He rubbed his hands on his arms, trying to warm them, but the shackles seemed to cover more of his arms than he remembered, almost as if-

The shackles were growing. A layer of ice was creeping out over his skin from where the edges of the shackles used to be. He watched, transfixed in horror for a moment. 

And then panic set in.

He frantically scratched at it to no avail, the ice was starting to cover his hands, he didn’t have any time, and when he remembered the axe, he knew what he had to do. Do I really have to? Trembling fingers wrapped around the axe’s handle as he laid his right arm on the table. I’ve felt this pain before but I’ve never had to do it to myself and I’m not sure if I can- He raised the axe, feeling the ice spread around his fingers, locking them in place. Okay okay I can do this I don’t have time to hesitate I need to stop the ice before it’s too late just do it come on do it do it DO IT-

He did it. The axe buried itself in his arm, right above the elbow. No, no it didn’t go all the way through, he’d need to do it again. Fighting to keep his screams locked behind his teeth, he wrenched the axe out from the notch it had made in his bone and swung it again. This time, it chopped most of the way through with a sickening crack. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he had to get through that last bit of flesh, had to make sure it was completely severed, and then he could die. The axe sliced through the bits of muscle and skin still attaching his arm, and he dove for his rock, pressing what was left of his arm into it.

There was no time to rest after he woke up, because holy balls he was going to have to do that again. Looking at his left arm, he was going to have to cut it off closer to the shoulder at the rate the ice was going. He tried to open his left hand to let go of the axe, but it had completely frozen over, his fingers stuck gripping the handle. Fuck, he didn’t have time for this, the ice was almost to his shoulder and then it would be too late, too late. He wedged the end of the handle under the edge of the table and pulled down with his right hand, hoping he could pry his left hand open. He felt a bolt of elation as he heard the ice start to crack, and pushed down even harder.

The ice, and the fingers within it, cracked and shattered. Castys stilled, his gaze fixed in horror at the jagged stumps where his fingers had been just moments ago. His mind was screaming at him to move, to amputate his other arm before the ice encased it completely, but the fact that his fucking fingers had just snapped off was still setting in. It was only a moment of stillness, a moment of disbelief, but it was a moment too long. 

The axe clattered to the floor. Fingers scratched desperately at the ice now encasing his shoulder, spreading across his chest, creeping up his neck. But it was useless, useless, the ice wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t go away, it was so cold, part of him just wanted to lie down and sleep, succumb to the inevitable frozen cocoon, but part of him was too terrified of the ice growing over his skin, sucking all the heat from his body it was up to his face now was he even going to be able to breathe it’s so cold GET OFF MY EYE GET OUT OF MY MOUTH STOP IT STOP IT PLEASE PLEA-

And then there was silence. There was stillness. And there was cold.

Castys Cult:  @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @poppys-whumping​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch

#i wrote something #ice day #ice day 2021 #castys #amputation #suicide for convenience #self amputation #implied suffocation #body horror #immortal whump #immortal whumpee #sorry to anyone who thought this was going to end happily in any way. but like have you met me #alright so now for the tags where i bare my soul #and tell you that i got the ice shackle that eventually incases you in ice from the pokemon adventures manga #*encases 🙃 #there was no actual armputation in the mango tho lol #(MANGO are you kidding me) #people either got encased in the ice or had a ditto disguised as their arm for some reason #blue is my queen and galaxy brain as fuck #oh once again i will expose where i thefted names from #because i dont think anyone else has has experience with ancient egyptian #and ''quibhass'' is a smashed warped version of ancient egyptian words for ''cold'' and ''to be cold'' #with added vowels because they have like no fuckin vowels #we deadass dont know how they pronounced the majority of their words #cuz they're like ''dpt'' like how do you say that??? #dpt means boat btw it's the first word that came to my head lol #if you were like ''wow castys really just made himself laugh like that is that even A Thing'' #yes its a thing its a me thing i struggle with it daily #deadass if you leave me in a room by myself i will eventually just start cracking myself up #if it's gonna be my fatal fucking flaw then it's his too

[philosophicalparadox]

I couldn't choose one ^_^; but for mephirin how about one of these?

3. “Am I dead?”

18. “Would you quit moving around?” “It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!”

57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?”

86. “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.”

111. “Is that a challenge?”

151. “Times up!”

191. “Don’t give me that look! You started it!”

204. “It’s midnight, what do you want?”

(I promise I used one of these, it's just at the end!) TW for talk of suicide, death, self harm(minor) and angst (with a little fluff at the end. But first you must suffer the cringe that is Mephisto + feelings)

....................

Rin sat down in front of Mephisto's mansion, letting the weight in his stomach anchor him to the concrete, even though his mind felt a million miles away.

"You do realize it's the middle of the night." A smooth voice chimed behind him. Rin had expected his company - in fact that was the very reason he was there, or so he thought.

Getting no reply to his passive statement, Mephisto came up on his flank, dressed in a dark purple velvet robe that was left largely open at the top, exposing his pale chest to the humid night air, his bare, clawed feet making not a single sound. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't cool either, not that Rin would have noticed anyway.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask why I'm here." Rin said softly after a long, wet pause.

"Did you want me to?" Rin felt his teeth clench. He didnt have the energy to play stupid games. But he also knew Mephisto was right. He really needed to stop expecting human responses from a cosmic demon entity. It wasn't good for his sanity.

"I want you to sit by me." He stated. If Mephisto wanted him to be forthcoming with his desires, so be it. Rin half expected a retort, but couldn't say he was all that disappointed when the older man obliged. He sat at arms length, predictably uncomfortable with intimacy in these situations. And Rin knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew why he was here anyhow.

"Nothing can live forever, Rin. I know that better than anyone."

"Except for you, maybe." Rin replied sarcastically. "And only because you choose to live through it all." Rin responded bitterly. His grimace turned to a body-wide tremble. "How? How do you watch people die again and again and just keep doing it?"

"Doing what, precisely?"

"Living."

"Hmm." Mephisto hummed as he thought, bringing a thin, sharp clawed finger to his jawline. "That is actually not a bad question." Rin turned a curious gaze to his elder, surprised how compliant he was being tonight. Usually the man was as rigid as iron and as slippery as smoke whenever it came to feely-stuff like this, not that such a vague statement was out of the ordinary for him.

"And why isn't it a bad question?" Rin parroted his typical sing songy voice at him as a jab, but they both knew there was no heart in it.

"That is a good question." Mephisto smiled leerily at Rin, who was so used to these kinds of interactions by now he was hardly fazed. "And is it one worth answering? Or are you too intimidated by me? By this?" The look that morphed onto Mephisto's face like a sculptor playing with clay was priceless.

"Excuse me?" He said incredulously.

"You're intimidated by touchy feely stuff, though I don't know why. Me being all fucked up and hurt right now creeps you out, I know it does." Mephisto pursed his lips into a hard line, and Rin knew he was spot on. He decided it felt good to torment the man a little and dug in deeper. "So if you're going to sit there and mock me because you're a coward who is allergic to feelings, then you can fuck right off."

"Coward?" Rin felt a tiny ripple of panic tear through his already heightened body, the tone Mephisto used indicating that that might not have been the best word to use. But it was too late to back out now.

"Yes, a coward." Rin swallowed, refusing to be fazed. "And if you want to prove me wrong you'll answer the damn question instead of beating around the bush. But you're too scared of feelings to do that," Rin sighed, suddenly overtaken with a sense of fatigue. "So I don't know why I try. Or what I came here for, anyway. Company? Comfort? Hah. Don't know where I got that idea from."

A long, pregnant pause ensued. Rin glanced up at Mephisto once or twice, expecting a sharp retort, and seen him ruminating on an apt reply. What he said next was not what Rin was expecting though.

"Is that a challenge?"

Rin met cautiously determined eyes and was a bit unsure of what to say. "Only if you plan on taking it, Mr. Tough Guy." Rin tried, and failed, to stop the little smile that graced his lips. "Or do you think you cant be that open with me?" Rin could tell from the apprehension that drifted across Mephisto's glowy irises like a tiny cloud dims the moon that he was right. This man was in the business of trusting no one with his secrets. Not even his best piece. Especially not his best piece.

"I'm not going to think less of you for feeling things. Quite the opposite if anything. Besides..." Rin cringed when the thought of his brother's freshly dug grave. "I could use the distraction from my own thoughts."

"So you've elected to pick through mine. How charming of you." Mephisto pinned his ears with a sarcastic grimace before returning to his thoughts, though his expresion was a touch softer.

"I am not unfamiliar with death, of that you can be sure - and I don't mean the entity either." Mephisto began. "I have died before. But as you know by now, death for demons is not quite the same. Indeed, neither is the death of Nephilim." Rin felt his heart throb achingly in his chest and fought the sudden, unbidden urge to cry. He was the last one left. All he had was Mephisto now.

"And suicide?" Rin asked boldly, unsure of where, even, the question rose from. "Are you familiar with that?"

"Yes, actually, I am. In a way." Mephisto's voice took on a somber tone (for him) and Rin had to resist the urge to ask if he was being serious or not. Mephisto looked to Rin's face and could read everything. "I am not immune to my own mind, unfortunately. Boredom, depression - these things are not beyond me. I have experienced them, in my own way. I admit I have trouble understanding why some humans end their lives, but not all of them."

"So..." Rin's mind was reeling trying to catch up. He wasn't precisely surprised, exactly - Mephisto could be very macabre when the situation allowed, but Rin didn't trust the integrity of his words just yet. "Have you ever tried to kill yourself?"

"Not intentionally, no. By which I mean that I have most certainly damaged myself and my body needlessly, but it was never with the exact intention of dying."

"So you've hurt yourself? On purpose?"

"Yes. Sometimes out of boredom. Sometimes for other reasons." The sudden, though subtle tension in Mephisto's voice told Rin that was as close to disclosing those reasons as he was going to get.

"I can understand that, I guess." Rin thought about it. He'd injured himself on purpose before, although it was out of curiosity more than self loathing. He couldn't say he hadn't considered it before while he felt really low, though.

"What happened to Yukio was not your fault."

The statement came out of left field and hit Rin like a train. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. "He did what he felt he had to do." Rin justified weakly. "He was getting old. His body was eating itself. I don't blame him or me for not letting him suffer." Rin's voice cracked. "I just wish I could have been there. Said goodbye. I know it didn't hurt, but..." Rin couldn't keep his composure. "There were better ways to do it. No one would have told him no. No one." Rin garbled through sobs.

"I tried to talk to him about that actually. He didn't want anyone else doing it for him. He wanted to be in control of his life to the very last second."

"I know. I know." Rin heaved a heavy sigh to try and calm down, but everything, every part of him was shaking and he just wanted to run away from the pain. To curl up and die because the last part of his world had gone to a better place and he desperately wanted to follow. He didn't want to be alone. Anything but alone.

A cold, spindly hand on the small of his back shocked him back into reality, and he realised he was clenching his jaw so hard it hurt.

"Don't drift away. It wont take you anywhere you want to go." Mephisto advised wisely. The, Rin wanted to call it sovereign, look in his eyes proved what he knew from experience. Don't drift away. Rin focused his mind on the surprisingly cold hand, not because of it's temperature but because of how lightly it touched him. Gentle might have been a part of gentleman, but he had never really known Samael to be either the former or the latter with any amount of honesty.

Rin got an idea then, and pounced on Mephisto before he was able to object, bowling him over lightly and straddling his chest. Confused and slightly concerned eyes met his own stern and jaded ones. He wasn't going to feel any better by sitting here feeling the hard concrete dig into his ass, that much was true.

"Then help me stay right here." Rin offered, his tail wiggling somewhat enticingly, Mephisto's face lighting up in realization.

"Is that a challenge?"

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #mephisto pheles #ask response #this was fun #tw suicide #tw sh

[psalloacappella]

scherzo

Day 2 Prompt:  Cooking // “I didn’t know you had that habit.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

The first time she does it, Sasuke is quite sure he’s succumbing to blindness, or at least some degradation of sight. Must have been a trick of the light.

The second time she does it prompts a double-take.

On the third time he looms up behind her as she crouches near the fruit basket, and can’t help the incredulous sigh that escapes him, which startles her; in hindsight, his approach was a poor choice of abrupt entrance into her space, considering she’s been putting a sharp object so close to her lips.

Discarded rinds flutter to the forest floor as well — as butterflies, as kaleidoscopic confetti littering the ground beneath them from her produce peeling.

“Sasuke-kun!” The knife falls to the dirt with a keen metal pitch. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing, Sakura?”

“You said your vision was fine,” she says with a pout. “Making dinner, obviously.”

“And . . . have you always done that?”

“Done what?”

A rustle and sigh, not wanting to give form and shape to the action. Plucking up the knife now spattered with dry soil, she gently cleans it against the material of her thigh and settles into her haunches properly, seeming puzzled. Flame of the small makeshift pit of fire popping merrily, a boiling stone pot waiting to be fed previously-peeled vegetables. Between her thumb and forefinger she dangles the knife absentmindedly.

Maybe it’s a silly worry — maybe he’s just hungry. Brow furrowing, he decides to tell the truth in his sometimes brusque way.

“Just be careful with that. And anyway, where’d you pick that up? Seems like something our teammate might do.”

When her eyes flash for a moment, bright in the fading daylight, he considers that so far out from the main road, no one could hear him scream. Ah, stupid response.

She rolls those elegant green eyes in a long, mocking arc, and blows a strand of long pink hair out of her face. Both of them are a bit scruffy, a long way from an inn or even a village, off the grid for a while after encounters with persistent bandits. Possessing renowned abilities and not exactly strangers to the world after being honored post-war, they concluded they may have overdone it in their retaliation.

And, propping up the bodies afterward near a visible post near the road (gently, of course, and with all limbs intact!), they decided to travel light and low the following weeks.

They’ve watched each other transform into slightly more feral versions of one another. It’s not unwelcome, the smudges on her face and the ragged edges of her hair beginning to reach her waist. He wonders what he must look like to her; brutish, perhaps, although by the way they’re so close at night, perhaps not.

She’s not exactly the same girl he left behind.

“Is poisoning the way you wanted to go, darling?”

Sasuke blanches. “Sakura?”

Flipping the knife and catching it again, she aims the point at him. “Do not compare me to Naruto, or there will be a tragic accident here indeed.”

He’s done this before, stumbled into a flippant comment that he doesn’t expect to get her going. Well, he’s learning.

“In fact, don’t compare any woman to Naruto,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Not if you prefer living.”

Sasuke tamps down a snort that could be laughter. He doesn’t usually stop her rants — they’re sort of endearing.

“Listen, I know you were wandering around the world with your own . . . aims,” she says, waving the knife around again, “but I did an absurd lineup of missions while you were gone:  reconnaissance, medical dispatch, undercover — yes, I did, I see that smirk of yours, and don’t you know women tend to have much, much higher completion rates than the men on those?”

Yes, Sasuke knows all these things, but getting her heated, sometimes, is a joy and entertainment in itself that he’s at least been smart enough not to admit. Assumes she’ll discover it eventually, the way he quiets down in the face of her temper, the shameless way he’s realized he watches her eyes and lips and an angry rouge simmer up through the skin of cheeks and chest.

“Not to mention I’m usually the only kunoichi on those missions, or at the very least outnumbered; do you know what it’s like to bunk with a whole damn bunch of you? Gods!”

Jabbing the knifepoint in the basket next to her laden with a colorful bouquet of chopped produce, it comes up with a piece of apple, which she points at him in a vaguely threatening manner.

The sight of this particular fruit sends a strange pang throughout, plucking at a string in his heart in the vein of a vibrating and resonating harp.

“And if you’re worried about me hurting myself,” she says with a sharp tongue cluck, “I’ll have you know — but you should already know! — that I’ve performed countless surgeries, sewed up hundreds of bodies, been horribly poisoned, pinned like a cushion, and sure maybe I have picked up a gross habit or two from Naruto, but you know what being around him is like, he rubs off on everyone, and the point is,” and now she takes an angry bite of the apple chunk that’s still speared through with the knife, chewing angrily, and waves the uneaten half at him some more, “I am perfectly capable of using knives, and at total and complete liberty to lick the knife when I’m done! It isn’t the worst thing you can put in your mouth anyway. You’re one to talk:  You put all sorts of inanimate things in your mouth, even when I offer to help you, you were bandaging wounds with your teeth for gods’ sake!”

Just about spent, she seems to burn even brighter in the dusk. Sasuke thinks of fruit on hospital floors, the earth splitting beneath his feet:  She is at once something gentle, something fierce.

When she tosses the knife back into the fruit basket and the spearing of a cleaved, unlucky fruit chunk sounds between them, Sasuke’s too slow to hide his smirk and knows he’s been found out.

“You think this is funny! Oh-ho, you think it’s hilarious when I’m mad, don’t you? When I defend myself?”

Sasuke shakes his head, lackadaisical. Settled in and sated like a large jungle cat. “I didn’t want you cutting yourself. That’s all.”

“Could’ve saved me the rant, then,” she mutters. Her stomach growls louder than she anticipates, and she presses her hands to her face and groans. “So embarrassing! I’m hungry, dirty, fucking vagabond vogue and you just sit there and you look so, ugh, self-satisfied.”

Sighing, she tumbles back into a sitting position and cards a hand through her long hair.

“I shouldn’t have compared you to Naruto,” he offers, still fighting a smirk. “It wasn’t what I meant in the slightest.” He pauses. “I . .  like you this way.”

“Oh, what way?”

“ . . . scrappy?”

“You mean filthy?”

“Strong?”

“Should’ve known that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Bandits? A lil’ thing called the Fourth Shinobi War? Naruto’s ribs?”

“Ah, now who’s bringing up the idiot?”

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

“Perhaps . . . I did speak out of turn.”

Sakura leans back on hands, tosses her head to the sky to beam at the budding evening stars.

“I do appreciate it, though. You caring, I mean,” she adds. “But I promise I know my way around sharp objects.”

Something slips from his lips in undertone, a quiet remark that draws her mischievous green gaze.

“That too,” she says. She tosses her long, wild hair over her shoulder and meets his eyes head-on.

Staring back and channeling the same crackling heat as the fire a few feet away.

“So,” she says triumphantly, eyes aglitter, “shall we discuss, over dinner, the bad habits involving your mouth, Sasuke-kun?”

#SSBlankPeriod2021 #SSBPDay2 #sasusaku #psalloacappella:SSBP

[prettyinpymtech]

Did I Mention

Part 6

Series Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Princess!Reader

Summary: Poe refuses to agree with General Organa’s decision when she invites royalty to advise the Resistance. Despite his protests, Leia trusts him with her safety during an undercover mission. Maybe there’s a chance to change his misgivings of their new guest. 

A/N: I’m so sorry about the wait! This chapter proved to be quite tricky and I wanted to make sure I got it right. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

Stories of handsome pirates and their adventures had been somewhat of a guilty pleasure during your teenage years. You had spent countless hours at the local spaceport, much to your parents’ dismay, and listened intently as strangers recounted their many escapades.

The royal guards would then have to accommodate your pleas to teach you the same combat techniques the pirates often demonstrated, though you were careful not to do so in your parents’ presence. All of their teachings, unfortunately, had hardly been necessary to exercise. The forthcoming days as princess, and later as an advisor to General Organa, did not require you to engage in such combat.

You had been careful to avoid any such struggles, but this particular mission had disrupted your intents. Your eyes had closed when the sound of blaster fire echoed in the dining room, and the loud screams that followed only intensified your fear.

It was only when you heard the clatter of metal falling to the floor that you opened your eyes. Turning around, you found the body of the waiter on the ground with his blaster now out of his reach and a fatal wound between his shoulders.

Behind his still form stood Poe, his own blaster no longer concealed. His cold stare disappeared when he met your gaze and a comforting smile appeared on his lips. He rushed to your side, searching your face for any signs of harm.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded, unable to find your voice through the sheer panic that plagued the dining room. It would have been much more sensible to walk away and leave before Leif seized his chance to blame your fiancé for the waiter’s death, but Poe refused to renounce the senator without punishment.

He immediately pointed his blaster in Leif’s direction, eager to pull the trigger in response to his murderous attempt, but stopped when he met the senator’s gaze. A faint smirk haunted Leif’s features, leaving Poe completely dumbfounded.

It was your gentle voice calling his name that suddenly compelled him to consider the senator’s complacency.

Looking around, he found an entire crowd staring back at him. Many patrons remained in their seats with a similar look of disgust while others crouched behind any cover they could find, terrified by the very notion that they would soon meet the same fate as their waiter. It was only then that Poe realized he had unwillingly produced a criminal standing for the Resistance, providing Leif with the pretense he had sought to create.  

The senator regarded the guests of the Golden Crescent, his elegant persona now emphasized by the chaos around him. “My friends, please do not be alarmed by their presence. I will not allow these traitors to carry out the violence that is celebrated by the Resistance.”

“No, please!” You cried, already aware that your protests would fall on deaf ears. “You don’t understand! The Resistance-”

“The Resistance is nothing more than a collection of cruel individuals, intent on destroying the very calm and order we stand for.”  

It was his remarks that encouraged even more disorder. Many men stood up, no doubt hoping to impress their dates, and moved forward to restrain Poe. You watched in horror as his objections were met with a cruel beating.

“Enough!”

Your protest managed to subdue some of the commotion, though Poe was still detained with a powerful grasp. Men and women proceeded to share whispers, undeniably recognizing your face from the various stories so many holojournalists had fashioned. You had read a few of their rumors, discouraged by the accounts of a princess who had abandoned her people to pursue some outrageous fantasy.  It must have been quite a scene, and you would not let their attention be overlooked.

“The Resistance does not engage in violence,” you said, “nor does it condone such atrocities. General Organa has seen the First Order’s destruction, the ruin of our home planets and the devastation they have brought to our villages. You’ve seen it too. This fight has plagued every planet in the galaxy and it will not end until we stand up to them.”

Silence resonated throughout the dining room and with it came a moment of sympathy. No one dared to move, but their faces revealed memories of the families they had lost to the evil of the First Order. You took their stillness as an opportunity to look at Poe. He met your gaze with a rather gentle softness, almost the same one he had shared in the elevator.

With your stare focused on Poe, however, you had failed to notice Leif come up behind you. The senator immediately seized your arms and held you tightly against his chest, ignoring your struggle.

“Don’t listen to her!” He shouted. “She spreads nothing but lies! The New Republic will not stand for this!”

As the dining room returned to its former state of disarray, Leif leaned in with a harsh whisper. “I must say, your speech was quite inspiring. But it’s a shame you allowed your fiancé to seduce you to such a pathetic cause.”

His comment was met with a sharp jab to his stomach and he constricted his grasp.

“The Resistance will win this fight,” you whispered. “And this entire lie you created will be exposed. You will have nothing.”

Your struggle allowed a momentary glance at the absolute fear in Leif’s eyes. It was certainly odd to witness the senator’s terror up close, but you were satisfied to disclose the truth he wished to ignore.

In spite of your certainty, Leif forced himself to regain his composure. Your discomfort was intensified when his hold returned to its unforgiving condition.

“This little rebellion of yours will disappear and it will be your doing. You should have let me proceed with my previous strategy. It would have been much more simpler to frame the waiter for your murder and brand him an extremist of the Resistance, but this,” he added with a cruel chuckle, “This is far more convenient.”

He pressed you to focus your attention outside. You were suddenly met with a number of camera droids, all lined up outside the windows. Their photoreceptors were directly focused on Leif and his so-called heroic attempts to protect the patrons of the Golden Crescent. It would only be a matter of time before the most recognizable newsnets took advantage of such a scene to establish the Resistance as mere aggressors.

Their presence compelled you to recall Leif’s countless attempts to discourage your generosity. He had constantly sabotaged any of your efforts and forced you to abandon your ideas. It wasn’t until you met Leia that you realized how wrong he was. She showed you an entire alliance that was determined to rid the galaxy of evil.

The Resistance was compromised of brave individuals, including Poe, though you would never admit it out loud. Their endeavors would not be disrupted by Leif’s self-regard and, while you recognized this mission was far from victorious, you knew you had to at least try. For Leia’s sake.

 Fueled by your commitment, you immediately stepped on Leif’s foot and the senator cursed under his breath as he released his hold. You grabbed the waiter’s blaster from the floor, firing at Leif’s shoulder. He collapsed with a scream of agony, clutching his wound.

Ignoring his profanities, you pointed the blaster at the group of men restraining Poe and they released him without a fight. Poe watched in awe as you hurried away from the scene, allowing you to grab his hand.

Your departure was monitored by additional camera droids and, despite Poe’s reassurance that you would be safe, you forced yourself to acknowledge the reality of what had transpired.

You had failed General Organa.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #star wars imagine

[antiracistkaren]

For Me, Christmas is Trauma

TW/CW: Death, overdose

I really didn’t want it to be that way, but it wasn’t up to me. Since I was born on Christmas, it’s really all I hear about. From birth, people wanted to really highlight the fact that I was born on Christmas Day. The nurses encouraged my mom to name me “Holly” or “Noel” but she went with something different (thank goodness). I have been asked “Do you get double Presents?” over 1 million times, and counting. I have been asked, “Oh... does it suck?” about 500,000 times.

And I heave a big sigh, every time it is brought up, and say:

If you want to know the truth, it’s complicated. I was born at 8:22 PM, and for some reason, my mom made a big deal out of the fact that it was not my birthday until 8:22 PM, and it was Christmas every minute up to that. As I got older, I really resented this, as even when family members outside of my house hold would wish me happy birthday, my mother could be heard screaming from the hills “....NOT UNTIL 8:22!”

In my teenage years, this began to truly grate on my nerves, since I had a niece and nephew who took center stage on Christmas. I loved being with them on Christmas Day, and I loved wrapping their toys, but what I didn’t love was that I couldn’t mix my birthday in and celebrate alongside them.

I asked my mom a few times about moving my birthday to my half-birthday (this is the solution that someone usually arrives at when I explain the above situation), June 25th. Mom would say, “But Dawn’s birthday is June 26th.”

Dawn. My sister was 14 years older than me. She was the mother of my niece and nephew. We had a tumultuous relationship, to say the least: when I was a kid she was fond of pinching me until I was screaming, or tickling me until I couldn’t breathe, or body slamming me on the couch, or trying to make me say something ugly to my mother (”tell mom she’s stupid!” she would whisper, and I would yell, “MOM! Dawn wants me to tell you you’re stupid.”)

To me, she was always pretty cool, although she would blow my spot up and tattle to my mother about anything. She would encourage me to drink at her house (in 6th grade), and then tell on me for it. She would allow a boy to come over and then would go out on dates, and then lied to my mother about it. That lie in particular broke our relationship: my mother hit me mercilessly and called me a liar over and over when the truth contradicted my older sister’s lie. But I can’t lie, really, especially not in emotional distress, because I am autistic. So no matter how hard I was hit, I wouldn’t change my story, which enraged my mother beyond rational capacity.

When she started doing drugs, though, she was not at all cool anymore. She had confessed to me trying oxy and saying they “felt really good,” but not liking pot because “it makes me paranoid.” She overdosed on December 26th, 2005, five years into an addiction that started with that first moment in 2000. For me, it was a moment where I kept a secret that I should have told, and for me it is a long line between this statement and the one where I was screaming “NO!” into the telephone to my mother choking out the words “Dawn’s dead.” 

You can see the issue here. My sister, who was in so much pain as a single mother she turned to drugs, died a horrific and sudden death on the day after my birthday.

And now, should I try to have a half-birthday, I am haunted on both ends. My birthday and her death juxtaposed, and a half-birthday and her birth, juxtaposed. She will forever be 36, and I will forever look back over my shoulder at her, instead of ahead of me where she should be.

Holidays during college, during the worst of her drug use, were full-on masking charades to me. I would have knots in my stomach, driving home, often having to pull over and breathe, or find a bathroom, I felt so sick. Dawn would be there, often high, with her kids looking hollow and wide-eyed. I would play with them and take them upstairs, or outside. We would make walks around the neighborhood together, and play Wii. Dawn would sometimes say something excoriating and then proceed to pass out on the couch. She would wake up and remember nothing she had said and done, cheerful and rested, a completely different than the sharp-tongued woman who had hurt me.

The Christmas Day before she died, I was so angry with her for living with another addict, for getting married again, and skipping visitation, that I refused to speak with her. I crossed my arms, shook my head no, and would not take the phone from my mother when it was my turn. Unfortunately, it was my last opportunity to say anything to her good or bad. Unfortunately, I cannot remember when I saw her before that... was it the spring before? I don’t know. It was inconsequential at that point, overshadowed by the guilt of what could have been done on Christmas Day, what I could have said to keep her alive.

So every year I mark time on a day that has never ever been about me. Another year older. Another year closer to the age when she died. And now, I move past her life. I go on without her, but I am so broken and hurt from this last year. I understand how much pain she was in, and how she died trying to numb herself from it. I understand that my passing the phone might have been the last jab she could take. I understand that it is not solely on me.

But I think about it.

So I am not really a big fan of Christmas. Having to put up decorations to the day that your sister overdosed feels fake. Celebrating and decorating are complete masks for me. If I had my way, I would take a week off from the world to think and ponder over the past year, to love on my sister’s memory in some way, and to honor the fact that I am still going. I am still fighting. And I know with confidence that I will Keep Going. Much like, even under pain, I could not lie. Even under extreme emotional distress, I cannot stop moving forward. I must move through this trauma every single year and try so hard to find the joy in it.

I know that I’m not alone in this. Trauma doesn’t care what time of year it is. The over-excited, everything-must-be-perfect, and isn’t-this-time-of-year-wonderful types of sentiments aren’t working for me. My Christmases past are morbid, tense affairs, and are mostly solemn to me. I put up the tree because custom demands that I do so for my children. 

To me, every year, it feels like I am putting sharp objects all around my house, poking at me with their bright lights and tinny sounds. Christmas is living breathing trauma for me, and I survive every year... but it feels like trauma the whole time.

#actually autistic #christmas #trauma #birthday #feminist #nonbinary

[bcdrawsandwrites]

For Unity By @jaywings​ and me

Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Angst Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, urVa, urSu, urSol, urZah, possibly others… Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE. Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it. The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs. But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity.

—~~~—

Chapter 6: A Shaft of Air and Fire Summary: In which the Conqueror must choose both his words and whom he speaks them to wisely, and the Wanderer must look for direction.

---~~~---

Skeksis don't dream.

We do not have visions.

The words came to skekGra before he perceived anything else. A throbbing shoulder, stinging talons, the reek of blood, a pounding headache, and something sharp digging into his side—those all came quickly afterwards. He also noticed that he was moving jerkily.

Struggling back to consciousness, he forced open his eyes and found himself peering blearily at the too-bright floor of a Skeksis carriage, as well as someone's foot.

"Ech!" skekGra jerked away, jabbing himself on yet another sharp instrument. With a hiss he reached for the offending object and found that he'd backed into the end of one of two ceremonial staffs that were laying on top of him; he shoved them both away. Such quick movements sent the world spinning, his stomach roiling in conjunction with the sickening pain in his head. "Where am I?!"

"Where do you think?" someone—skekVar, he realized dimly—grunted. "You're lucky I bothered to drag you in here."

SkekGra squeezed his eyes closed again, pressing his hand to the bony ridge between his brows and letting out a breath through his teeth. The pain put him in mind of some of the worst hangovers he'd ever had. With an effort he pushed himself into more of a sitting position, favoring his injured shoulder, and groaned, "What happened?"

"That's what you're going to tell me." SkekVar suddenly leaned forward, grabbed the front of skekGra's robes in both hands, and heaved him into the unoccupied carriage seat. SkekGra braced himself against the wall of the carriage and sucked in a breath, trying not to retch. He raised his head slightly, his gaze searching for skekVar's face to lock onto.

When he found it, his entire body went numb.

The General didn't have a face.

It had caved inwards like broken pottery, crumbling into his lap; white smoke billowed from his ruined eye sockets and ear holes. As skekGra watched, skekVar's lower jaw snapped off and fell to the floor.

"What?" skekVar snapped.

SkekGra's eyes refocused to find that the General had returned to normal—or, rather, he had never changed. SkekGra wondered if he'd been gaping.

"...Nothing," he said uneasily. "Do you... have any water?"

Scowling, skekVar handed over a waterskin, which skekGra upended into his beak and slurped at greedily. He kept his eye on skekVar. The General did not shift in appearance again, but skekGra could still see it...

"I've sent a messenger ahead to the castle," skekVar said. "They'll be expecting us back before the first Sister rises. And I'm sure the Emperor will want a full report from you."

SkekGra pressed a little too hard on the skin, accidentally slopping water over his face. Blinking rapidly, he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "Oh. Yes, of course!" He coughed, then cleared his throat. "I... had been intending to head straight to the Emperor."

"Going to give him his own private puppet show?" skekVar grunted. Before skekGra could answer, he went on, "I had the Gelfling fetch some Arathim parts for you, so you don't have to whine about that."

"What? I wasn't going to!" SkekGra found himself strangely affronted. Who did he look like, the Ornamentalist?

"Yeah, sure."

A low growl rattled at the back of skekGra's throat. And who exactly was the one who had been whining about the weather since they had set out?

Shoving the thought away, he brushed aside the curtains on the carriage window and gazed out, watching the world rapidly pass by. For a moment he thought he saw the trees around them rotting, veined with bright purple, but he blinked and the vision was gone. What was wrong with him?

He reflected on skekVar's uncharacteristic offer. Normally, he would be thrilled at the prospect of making puppets and starting a new show, or perhaps even painting with the green Arathim blood. But when he looked down at his clothing, where he could still see the green stains, he felt ill. A side-effect from passing out and from this dreadful carriage ride, surely. And...

"So?" SkekVar's voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Forcing himself to look back at the General (and fervently hoping he wouldn't find another hellish sight in his place), he wondered for a moment what the other Skeksis was talking about before his mind sluggishly clicked into place. Oh. How was he supposed to explain that?

"It's... a long story."

SkekVar, disgruntled, leaned back. "What, can you not give a report without your blasted—"

"It's not about the puppets!" skekGra snapped, slapping his tail against the side of his seat. Some of the remaining armor on his tail caught on the leather; he turned, impatiently tugging it free and straightening his tail out again. He stared down at it for a long while, then shut and massaged his eyes, trying to will away his pounding headache. "My report," he began, "is for the Emperor's ears only."

"What?!" skekVar cried, throwing out his claws. "I haul your rotting tail out of the Caves of Grot and you won't even tell me what happened?!"

The word rotting brought back memories of his vision, which made his stomach churn. "For now," he said. "For now, I'll only be telling skekSo first. You'll hear of it later, I'm sure." After a pause, he added, "Anyway, if you got the report before the Chamberlain did, you know he'd never let either of us hear the end of it."

At that, skekVar grumbled in agreement, settling back into his seat.

Hopefully that would be the end of it, then. SkekGra shut his eyes and bowed his head, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, but the rough path through the forest made it a difficult task. It didn't help that his mind kept drifting to terrible, haunting images—ones that begged to be relived clearly, but the vaguest memory of them made his heart pound, his innards twist. Gritting his teeth, he tried to push them aside; he could dwell on them later, and he would think on them well enough when he talked to the Emperor.

"I had thought we'd got them all."

SkekGra lifted his head again, meeting skekVar's narrowed gaze, and wondered what he was on about now. But the words cycled through his head again, and his blood went cold.

They must have found him lying by the tree, where he'd passed out, and sprawled near him would have been the… dead...

"So did I," he lied quickly, straightening in his seat, and returning skekVar's hardened look with one of his own. "I thought we'd vanquished every last one of the Gruenaks, General."

SkekVar blinked, then his eyes widened. "Well… someone failed on that front."

"Hnh. So it would seem." SkekGra shifted slightly, keeping his face carefully composed. Inwardly, however, he cringed. Ugh, was he turning into skekSil? SkekGra hated the idea of playing mind games with the General. They were supposed to work together, not against each other. He considered the idea of placing the blame on skekUng, who wasn't here to defend himself, but that felt too slimy as well. "Regardless of whose fault it was," he said instead, "I was striving to fix it."

"Yet I found you collapsed in that chamber," skekVar retorted, "not fixing a blasted thing. How do you slay dozens of those creatures, only to fall to one?"

Now skekGra bit his tongue, trying to decide how best to approach the situation—but his skull was still under assault from this terrible ache, and he was getting tired again. "A lot happened," he said simply, "and skekSo will hear of it first."

Again skekVar eyed him before giving an ugly snort. "Fine," he barked, and jerked his head toward the window.

SkekGra turned his attention to the opposite window, swallowing hard. This was off to a bad start. He had not meant to make an enemy of skekVar, but how much more of a mess would he get himself into by describing his horrific visions to any other Skeksis before skekSo himself? SkekVar would never understand it, anyway. He was likely to come to entirely the wrong conclusion. SkekGra exhaled wearily. Perhaps he could find a way to make up for all this later.

In the meantime, the carriage rolled on in silence, bringing them ever closer to the Castle of the Crystal.

---~~~---

A terrible ringing noise filled urGoh's mind, cutting through the thick blackness of unconsciousness, growing louder and louder until it was nearly a shriek.

Finally he opened his eyes and the screech stopped, but even the dim light from above nearly blinded him, forcing him to blink painfully.

His eyes weren't the only things that hurt, he soon realized. His jaw, currently lying flat against the ground, was sore, and his head was pounding. His throat ached with every breath he took. Various other parts of him were also in pain—his shoulder and his hands—but those were older wounds, more familiar, and they did not hurt as badly as they once had.

In spite of the pain in his throat, he drew in a deep breath, and worked at pushing himself up off the floor.

"Ah! AH!" cried a nearby voice, and he lifted his head in time to see a Podling scurrying up to meet him. "Awake!"

He nodded slowly, gritting his teeth as he fought to lift his body. The Podling—Fedle, that was her name—was at his side, her hands beneath one of his elbows as she strained to lift him. It did nothing to help, of course, but he appreciated the gesture, and finally managed to sit back on his heels. "My... apologies," he said. "I must have... dozed off."

He was still in the Orrery. Judging by the scant light filtering through the fogged glass ceiling, it was reaching nightfall, though he could not see the sky. So why did he have images of stars and crystals in his head?

Fedle's face wrinkled in a frown, and she began speaking quickly, gesturing widely to Mother Aughra, and the Orrery, and urGoh himself, then to something on the floor. He only caught a handful of words—"worried," "passed out," "forever," and "strange," but he got the message as he followed her pointing to the different things in the room. Aughra was still asleep, the Orrery was still spinning, and... the crystal shard was trembling on the ground.

Stooping down, urGoh picked up the shard again, feeling the slight tremor of it between his fingers, as though it were full of energy. Could it be trying to tell him something? Had it been the shard that knocked him out? Did it have, perhaps, another vision for him sealed somewhere within its tiny facets?

Another vision...

The memories came back to him, bits and pieces of them like the gentle tide at the shoreline before the entirety of it crashed over him like a wave. The suns, the map, the Gelfling clans, the Crystal... It was so much to take in, but on top of that, there was... there was...

He suddenly realized Fedle had stopped talking, and he looked back down at her. She was frowning up at him, her eyes narrowed, unable to fully hide her concern. "I am... truly sorry," he said to her. "I did not... mean... to cause you... distress."

With a heavy sigh, Fedle looked down and mumbled something about worry coming with the job description. Her gaze turned back to Aughra, and urGoh followed it.

"She must be learning... a great many things," he said, and the Podling hummed in agreement. Exploring the vast universe... he wondered if he envied her. But she also knew a great deal about Thra, as well as about the Crystal of Truth itself. She was Thra. "I wonder... if I should ask..."

Fedle saw him taking a step closer toward where Aughra slept, and immediately ran in front of him. "Nuh-uh! No! Aughra no, uh... wake!"

No… of course she wouldn't wake, and it would not be right of him to try to rouse her. He would hate to be dragged away from his own wanderings, and he would not wish that upon Aughra. But he yearned to talk to someone about the strange visions he saw... and what he'd heard.

Some of it had been quite obvious—the Crystal was in pain, as it was not whole. But the rest...

When single shines the triple sun…

He recalled as if from a hazy dream a light, brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A light that carried him here, and would take him home, but had instead torn him in two...

UrGoh needed to talk to someone. He looked at Fedle, who had gone back to whatever task she'd been preoccupied with before he'd awoken. Which was... apparently trying to piece together the feather duster he'd accidentally destroyed. He watched as she grouped the feathers together, binding them with string and glue back to the handle they'd originally been attached to. She seemed pleased with her effort, and set the duster on a table to let the glue dry.

Hm. She meant well, but a simple Podling would not understand these things. He supposed he could head back to the Valley, but it was a great distance off, and he'd run to get here. He'd been in such a hurry, because...

Oh.

The blood.

He saw it clearly, now, as if he were immersed once more in the vision—dark, dark blood puddled around tree roots in the Grottan caves. That had not been in his own mind, like the rest. He had physically seen it. He had been looking through his dark half's eyes again.

And he had seen blood.

"I am… too late," he breathed. "Too late… to save them."

"UrGoh?" Fedle's small voice said.

UrGoh could barely summon the resolve to cast her an acknowledging glance. A numbness spread over his entire body, like he had been submerged in an icy river.

He had failed. All he had done to save them, help them, and in the end the three of them had still fallen like the rest of their kind, though so far from their home, so far from their own people…

The Conqueror had gotten his victory after all.

Abruptly he turned and shuffled back through the observatory doorway, passing blindly into the darkness beyond.

"UrGoh!" the little Podling cried behind him, her frame illuminated in the doorway.

"Goodbye… Caretaker Fedle," he said, sparing her one last glance. His eyes seemed to swim. "Thank you… for your help." He continued walking, and in moments both the light and the Podling vanished.

What now? he wondered, as he reached the end of the tunnel and saw, in the dim, cloud-choked light of the setting suns, vines dangling over the exit once again. With what felt like the last of his strength he hummed a deep note, and the vines lifted to let him pass.

He made his way onto the ledge outside the tunnel and stood, gazing off to the horizon in the direction of the hidden valley that most Mystics called home.

A strange hopelessness billowed in him, like a drop of ink in water, weighing down his limbs. He could feel the twitching movements of the shard still clenched in his palm. What now, indeed?

He had always been sure-footed in his wanderings, intent on only the journey and never the end. But now, with his destination ripped from his hands so fiercely, for the first time in his life he felt… lost.

---~~~---

The suns were setting, though their light was blocked by the dense, overcast sky. While they did not bathe Thra in red light, the darkness that came with their descent was no less foreboding.

SkekGra's thoughts raced as the carriage pulled up to the castle. Since his companion had gone quiet, he'd spent the rest of the journey picking apart the images in his head and mulling over what exactly he was going to tell skekSo. What he had learned in the vision, if it was to be trusted, was highly important, but how would he explain it to the Emperor without making it sound like he—and the Skeksis in general—were in the wrong? For surely they were not in the wrong. They just needed to... to change direction slightly, that was all. Be a bit more conservative in their rule.

As he stepped off the carriage, he had to grip the edge of it to avoid stumbling when the world spun threateningly about him. His headache had lessened slightly on the ride, but he felt no better. Perhaps some food would help... but first...

"Lord skekGra!" a Gelfling guard cried as he arrived, bowing before him. "Are you well, my lord? Some of your soldiers arrived before you did, and—"

"Fine, fine," skekGra said, waving a dismissive claw and stepping back so that skekVar could exit the carriage as well. "I am quite well."

The guard—a young Spriton—looked him up and down with no small amount of uncertainty in his expression, and skekGra remembered suddenly that he was still covered in Arathim and Gruenak blood, as well as bearing a few bandaged injuries of his own. An elder guard, a Stonewood woman, took notice of the youth's behavior and elbowed him sharply. "If Lord skekGra says he is well, then it is so," she said harshly.

"No need to berate him," skekGra mumbled, rubbing his head as skekVar stepped down. "He was merely showing how much he cares for his lords."

Whipping his head toward skekGra, skekVar snorted, but made no comment. Instead he jabbed a claw at the carriage and addressed the waiting guards. "The Arathim problem in Domrak has been dealt with. Now we've a number of weapons that will need cleaning and sharpening, and the armaligs need to be taken care of."

"Yes, my lord!" several Gelflings cried, and immediately stepped up to the carriage to take care of matters. SkekGra turned to watch them for a moment, and didn't miss the younger Gelfling taking another glance at him before attending to unloading the carriage.

As skekGra left the General and stepped into the castle, the comforting familiarity of its dark walls was soon drained out by the unnerving trickle of deja vu. This feeling only intensified as he passed by a window, and he swore he saw a barren landscape outside. Looking back, he found that the land, while dimmed and gray under the darkening sky, was as lush and green as ever.

With luck, it would stay that way.

Feeling all the more determined, he straightened himself as much as he was able, and strode confidently toward the throne room. He would tell skekSo what he saw, they would fix things, and that would be the end of it.

He stopped short as soon as he entered the throne room. He hadn't counted on skekSo not being alone.

The Emperor was seated on his throne, as expected, clutching his scepter and regarding skekGra through heavily-lidded eyes. By his shoulder hovered the Chamberlain, partially in shadow, tapping his fingertips together and giving skekGra a simpering smile.

SkekGra reflexively grit his teeth even as he faced skekSo and gave a stiff bow. Not you…

"Welcome back, skekGra," the Emperor said. "I trust that you achieved a swift victory."

"We did, Emperor," skekGra replied. "I have a report to give, though…" his eyes flicked to skekSil, who raised a brow, "...due to the nature of the report, I was hoping to give it in private."

SkekSo glanced at the Chamberlain as well, as though considering it. SkekSil, however, kept his gaze locked on skekGra and merely tilted his head, his eyes glinting. "Hmmm, this seems unwise. Out of all other Skeksis I am most familiar with Grottan Gelfling clan, which is surely the subject of new report, yes?" He turned to skekSo. "But if Chamberlain's insight is not wanted, I will do as Emperor commands."

"Hm." The Emperor clicked his tongue, and regarded skekGra again. "SkekSil is acting as my personal advisor. You may give your report to us both."

"This time, yes, hmmm?" the Chamberlain said, in a tone clearly meant to invoke the feeling of sticking skekGra with a dagger and twisting the handle. SkekGra ran his tongue over his teeth and attempted to shrug off the jibe.

"Of course, my Emperor," he said, making another quick bow. He took a step forward. "The fight went mostly as planned, and with skekVar acting as general we secured an easy victory and wiped out the Arathim invasion. But sire…" He paused, unwilling to continue on, but it was now or never. "I have seen something terrible! I saw—"

"Are the Grottans in yet more danger?" skekSo asked.

SkekGra blinked, slightly taken aback. "...Yes, my Emperor. All Gelfling clans are in danger. I have had a vision!" Out of habit, he flared his robes dramatically, though he felt their ragged and blood-spattered appearance lessened the effect somewhat. "I have had a vision of the fall of—"

"Visions?" skekSo interrupted sharply, leaning forward. Out of the corner of his eye, skekGra noticed skekSil lean toward him slightly as well. "Visions, skekGra? It sounds as though you have been consuming moonberries before bed. Is this what you have deemed so necessary to report?"

"This was not a hallucination, or a dream, Emperor—" SkekGra swallowed hard.

"Ah. An artistic vision, you mean, then?"

"No, that's not it either—"

The Emperor huffed out a breath through his nostrils and stood, pacing around skekGra before coming to a standstill in front of him. "You must know that skekVar sent a messenger ahead of you with an interesting report of his own."

SkekGra's heart sank.

"According to skekVar, you disappeared from the Arathim battle to chase down 'runaways,' only to show up unconscious with bloody wounds unfit for a Skeksis warrior, and a beheaded Gruenak by your side. A survivor of the previous battle, I assume?"

"...Yes…" SkekGra realized, belatedly, that he had been foolish to think this conversation could be avoided. "The Gruenak was from the tribe we thought we destroyed. I found the creature taking refuge in the Grottan tunnels, and I…" He stumbled over his words for a moment, as an unfamiliar pang pierced his heart. "...I made short work of it."

"And you have no idea how it survived the initial battle?" skekSo asked.

SkekGra sighed. "No, Emperor."

At this, skekSil seemed to perk up, as though he'd caught an enticing scent in the air. "Hmmmm…"

"I see," skekSo said. He looked down at the head of his scepter, casually stroking the curved tip with his finger. "And what of the others?"

Both skekGra and skekSil stared at the Emperor, neither apparently understanding his meaning.

"Others?" skekGra asked.

"Yes, skekGra." SkekSo nodded, facing him with a shrewd and piercing glare. "The messenger reported you were pursuing runaways, plural. Yet no other bodies were found near you, neither Gruenak nor Arathim nor any other enemy scum. And it is clear that something wounded your shoulder and rendered you unconscious. Something that you were chasing bested you in battle, and escaped."

SkekGra's mind raced; he could feel the beginnings of panic. What could he say? He could have slaughtered all three Gruenaks with one swipe, and yet he had not, either on the hill or deep in the Grottan caverns… He was going to be punished brutally for this slip-up… And the vision, the vision, it was crucial that he tell…

"The shoulder wound is only an Arathim bite, sire," he said quickly, trying to make up for his momentary lapse. "I received it in Domrak—any Gelfling who were with me can verify this. I wasn't watching closely enough, but I rent the crawler in half as soon as I felt its bite. The wound has been dressed and will heal seamlessly."

"And the unconsciousness?" skekSo demanded.

"Well, my Emperor, the vision—"

"Friend Conqueror!" skekSil said suddenly. "Why do you not mention most crucial detail? Surely you want Emperor to know?"

An icy claw of fear pricked at skekGra's heart.

"What do you mean?" he asked, a little more roughly than he had intended—his hand automatically reached for one of his swords, which was not there.

The Chamberlain smiled, the picture of innocence, and spread his talons.

"Why," he said, "Emperor should know that Conqueror was attacked by Great Tree. Entirely not your fault."

SkekGra gaped at him. "I… was attacked by tree. I mean, the tree. How did you know?"

The Emperor shook his head, looking from one to the other. "A tree? What?"

"Great Tree in Grottan lands, Emperor," skekSil explained. "Vliste-Staba, Sanctuary Tree, hmm?" Seeing no hint of recognition in either of their faces, he continued on. "Gelfling say such Staba trees move by selves, attack unwelcome visitors." He pointed to skekGra's robes. "See that Conqueror is covered not only in blood but also sap—smell it, yes? Bruises on neck, also, as if strangled. Arathim do not strangle. Even cornered Gruenak does not strangle. But… angry tree, perhaps, blind and unable to tell friend from foe? Yes, is possible. Even likely."

SkekSo whirled on skekGra. "Is this true, skekGra? You were attacked by a tree?"

"Such large trees they are, Emperor, capable of besting any Skeksis," the Chamberlain pointed out. "Must not underestimate them."

"It took me by surprise," skekGra said hesitantly, his gaze darting to skekSil and back to skekSo. The strange fact that the Chamberlain appeared to be covering for him… needled at him. "Of course I didn't expect a tree to move."

"Hm." SkekSo gripped his scepter in both hands and nodded slowly. "Then it must be destroyed at once."

"No!" skekSil cried, taking both skekGra and the Emperor by complete surprise. "No, Emperor, no, tree is sacred to Gelfling! Destroy it, yes, eventually, but not now, and not so easily traced to whim of Skeksis!"

"It is not a whim, if I command it," skekSo growled. The Chamberlain merely shook his head.

"Must wait, Emperor," he said. "First allow Grottans recover from Arathim attack. Maybe then we burn or poison tree, perhaps even place blame on other clan." He made a calm gesture at skekGra. "Is good, also, that Conqueror killed rogue Gruenak before could further influence Grottans, hmmm? Now Grottans know of Gruenak treachery, any other surviving metal-manglers can seek shelter with Gelfling no longer. Will soon perish in tunnels."

There was a long silence. SkekGra, tense, felt as though crawlies were running up and down his spine as he waited for the Emperor to come to a decision regarding the Grottan tree and… him.

Did he dare bring up the vision again? How could he not, when he had seen what was at stake?

"Emperor, my vision—" he began, but broke off in confusion when the Chamberlain made a sharp, hissing rasp in his throat.

"Enough," skekSo said. "I had been planning punishment, but due to apparent… extenuating circumstances…" the phrase sounded as though it tasted foul on his tongue, and he glared at the Chamberlain as he said it, "that can be waved aside." With a sigh, he dropped back onto his throne, knuckling his beak for a moment.

"I see the sense in your plan, skekSil," he said at last, looking back up at them. "We will wait to harm the tree. At first light tomorrow I will send a convoy of fresh soldiers to take care of the Gruenaks once and for all." He met skekGra's eyes, his own flashing. "And you will not be among them. You are both excused."

Some ugly emotion that seemed to be a mixture of shock, anger, and, bafflingly, relief (followed by outrage at the latter feeling), flared in skekGra's chest, rendering him unable to speak. But he wouldn't dare anyway—not right now, not after he'd so narrowly escaped punishment at the hands of the Emperor. He was no coward, but no Skeksis who valued himself did not fear skekSo's wrath.

A grating hmmmMMMMmm cut through his confusion, and he watched the Chamberlain stride easily past him. The other Skeksis turned to give him a slow nod—one that would appear to anyone else like acknowledgement, but skekGra could see the look in skekSil's eyes.

We will talk about this.

After turning to the Emperor to give him a final, quick bow, skekGra whirled back around with an irritated hiss and a stabbing pain in his head, stamping after skekSil. Whatever the Chamberlain wanted, he may as well get to it now, before skekSil decided to drop it on him at an even more inopportune time.

Truth be told, he was somewhat relieved that skekSil had come to his aid, but the relief only went so far. If there was one thing anyone knew about skekSil, it was that he never did something for anything other than his own benefit.

But what in Thra would the Chamberlain get out of helping him?

Once they were well out of the throne room, skekGra finally spoke up: "Chamberlain."

SkekSil slowly turned to him, a hint of fangs showing in his smile. "Is nice evening for walk, hmmmm?"

The night was damp and humid, the sky was still overcast and terribly dark, and skekGra was tired and hungry.

"Yes, fine," he said, and the Chamberlain turned away, striding comfortably down the winding hallways of the castle and up to one of its many balconies. The Gelfling guards posted there both gave short bows to the two as they stepped out.

"My lords," they said in unison.

"Guards are doing a fine job tonight, yes?" skekSil said, smiling at them. "Such fine job. Yes. Deserve early breaks, both of you."

The two Gelfling exchanged smiles and bowed again. "Thank you, Lord Chamberlain!" the first said. "But the next shift—"

"Will be taken care of. All taken care of, yes, fine, enjoy selves."

As the guards hurried away, skekSil finally turned to face skekGra. Even though the Sisters were hidden by cloud cover and no stars shone, skekGra thought he could see a glint in the other Skeksis' eyes. "Friend skekGra," the Chamberlain began, "how are feeling after battle? Sanctuary Tree was not kind to Conqueror."

"I'll be fine," skekGra said, swishing his tail. "Especially since it sounds like I won't be out in any battles for a while."

"Yes, hmmm, but time to rest is good. Skeksis are stronger than Gelfling, yes, immortal, of course—but even Skeksis, when not rested properly, do not do well. Start dozing off, or mind wandering, or... seeing things."

Ah. So that's what he was after. "I'd meant to talk to skekSo."

"Yes, and friend Chamberlain saw how Emperor brushed Conqueror off! SkekSo is very busy, yes, has many things on mind, did not understand Conqueror. Had no time to listen. But I will listen to skekGra." He dipped his head and tipped it to the side, his smile never wavering, and placed a talon to his chest. "Am friend."

While the Chamberlain surely meant to come off as friendly, skekGra couldn't help but repress a shudder. SkekSil had to be one of the hardest Skeksis to read. Even so... "I suppose so," skekGra relented partially. "Thank you for talking the Emperor out of that punishment, by the way."

It wasn't until skekSil stood up straight and blinked at him that he realized how absurd that sounded. Clearing his throat, skekGra started to speak again, but skekSil cut him off. "Ah, I thought friend skekGra seemed different, not self, as it were. Very strange."

"I am perfectly fine!" skekGra snapped, slapping his tail against the ground for emphasis. "I just need some rest, like you said."

"Hmmm, true. But something is bothering you, yes? Something you must talk to someone about? Something you saw?"

If confronting Emperor skekSo about the vision seemed a difficult ordeal, talking to the Chamberlain about it would be even more so, especially since he was sure skekSil would find a way to use it against him. Though... for what reason, he had no idea. What in Thra would skekSil have against him, anyway? Maybe it would be better to say something to him, or...

"Not to worry, friend Conqueror!" the Chamberlain went on, as though reading his thoughts. "Am friend. Will listen. Tell Chamberlain what is troubling you?"

"I..." SkekGra stared at his fellow Skeksis, and... skekSil truly did look sympathetic. He realized that he did not actually know the Chamberlain all that well. Hundreds of trine spent living in the same castle and they had rarely held a proper conversation, other than skekSil attempting to garner favors from him and skekGra trying to avoid him at every turn. Perhaps he did not have an accurate judgment of the other Skeksis after all. Still, could he really trust him with this information? He'd really rather talk to skekSo first.

"Chamberlain overheard how General was rough with you," skekSil said suddenly, frowning. "No sympathy for poor skekGra, attacked by giant tree! And other Skeksis at dinner, of no help when skekGra's precious puppets on fire! And Emperor, yes, too busy to listen to skekGra. But I will listen. I am friend. What is vision you spoke of? What really happened at Gruenak battle, Conqueror? Please, tell Chamberlain everything."

He was desperate for someone else to know—for someone else to hear about these terrible images that wouldn't leave his mind, to help him figure out if these visions he'd seen were truly to be believed...

SkekGra drew in a breath. "Well—"

A terrible clanking and clattering noise startled him, and he turned to see several exhausted-looking Gelfling soldiers arrive, dragging a large sack behind them. "Lord skekGra!" one of them said, bowing, while the other two panted at her side. "By order of Lord skekVar, we have brought you, um..." She faltered, looking back at the sack warily. It was dripping.

"Samples?" one of the other soldiers offered.

"Y... yes, important samples from the battle," the first soldier finished, nodding to skekGra.

SkekGra blinked. What samples were they...

In the lantern light of the castle hallways, he could see that the substance dripping from the sack was green. He very suddenly realized that his hands were still slimy. "Yes, thank you. Take it to my room, and uh... take the next few days off, or something."

As he watched the soldiers leave with the sack, an annoyed mmmmmm caught his ear, and he looked back to skekSil. Any trace of friendliness was gone from his expression, his lips pulled back into a slight snarl at the interruption. But a split second later the smile was back in place as he dipped his head to skekGra again. "Very generous of skekGra. Now, as was saying—"

"No, uh..." skekGra shook his head, blinking a few times to remind himself where he was, and to just whom he was speaking. "No, I think I'll wait for a more opportune time to speak with Emperor skekSo," he said.

The friendly smile on skekSil's face twitched. "Of course," he purred. "But remember, friend skekSil is always here if need someone to listen."

"I'll... keep that in mind." With that, skekGra whirled around, heading straight for the baths. He was going to get cleaned up, and then eat, and then sleep, and then... he was going to think.

And the Chamberlain was going to keep his pointy beak out of it.

---~~~---

The banquet that night was a different affair than skekGra was used to. It was an unusually late start to a feast, due to their late arrival, but the others had insisted, preparing a special celebration in honor of—and the Emperor had made this very clear in his brief speech at the start—skekVar's sweeping victory over the Arathim invasion of Grot. SkekSo's gaze drifted to skekGra as he spoke, eyes narrowed and beak tilted upward; then he broke away and everyone greedily dug into the food without comment, as though skekGra had never even been part of the Arathim skirmish.

Ordinarily, he would have been severely offended at such an outrageous slight, especially at the hands of the Emperor himself. Tonight he had too much on his mind to give the matter anything more than the barest acknowledgement. Ideally he wouldn't even be sitting here, but to miss this feast would seem suspicious, and besides… he was hungry. Days of eating very little were beginning to catch up to him, and he slurped down globs of spiced noodles and seaweed from the bowl in front of him in a spray of slime.

But no, he did not need to be celebrated for a victory that he had truthfully contributed very little to, and the lack of mention of his involvement meant a lack of probing questions from the other Skeksis. No one even brought up his apparent failure at the battlefield, which was a relief. At least most of his brethren could be counted on to be completely uninterested in things that did not concern themselves.

Though he was a little disappointed that no one seemed to be clamoring for a new puppet show.

He was nudged sharply from his right side and glanced up quickly to see the Gourmand, sitting next to him, grinning blearily.

"SkekGra! You haven't tried this stew!" skekAyuk rasped, and proceeded to dump a pile of some sort of meat and clammy tentacles into his bowl. "This will cure anything that ails you!"

He chortled, hiccuped, and tore into his own food again. SkekGra's stomach lurched as he looked down at his bowl. Unbidden, his eyes slid down the left side of the table to land on skekLach, whose beak was currently dripping into her own food. A shudder jolted through his whole body and he automatically shoved his food away.

"Mmm, not hungry?" the Chamberlain's voice simpered from his left side. SkekGra's fingers snagged one of the tablecloths and bunched the draping in his fist. He was going to need to have a few sharp words with whatever genius had decided these seating arrangements.

"I am fine," he grated.

"No you're not!" skekAyuk belted out from his other side. SkekGra wondered vaguely how much ale he might have consumed before the feast even started. "Have you had anything but noodles and greens all night? I've never seen anyone else at this table eat like a Gelfling!"

"Food is not to Conqueror's tastes tonight, hmm?" skekSil said, still looking at him. "Most unfortunate. This is your victory too, yes?"

"I am just not in the mood for meat!" skekGra said, and his gaze inadvertently fell on the Collector again. He dared not blink—the backs of his eyelids seemed to be burned with the image of skekLach's skin melting into her bowl.

He stood abruptly, causing a few along the table to glance up at him, and turned to skekSo. "Sire, forgive my hasty exit, but I must retire early."

"Go on, then," skekSo drawled.

SkekGra bent forward in a bow, and looked to skekVar. "And I offer congratulations on your victory, General. Your presence in the caves made all the difference."

With that, he swept from the room before anyone could call him back, forcing himself to ignore his queasy stomach.

SkekGra's mood did not improve by the time he reached his room, and worsened still when he walked in and immediately tripped over something to sprawl headlong on the floor and jar his injured shoulder.

With a dry hiss and a snap of his jaws he clambered back to his feet to examine the thing he had stumbled on—a sack stained with green was sitting just inside his doorway.

"Idiots," he growled. Those Gelfling could have at least taken this to his art room instead of his bedroom. Then he wouldn't have had to look at the thing right away. And it wouldn't bleed all over his floor. He picked up the end of the sack, heaving it a little and jostling the contents inside, and a wave of lightheadedness swept over him.

He dropped the sack immediately and pressed his hands to his eyes. It smelled so strongly of blood, but deeper than that—fear… death…

SkekGra peeled his hands away from his face and found himself gazing at his wall, adorned with scarlet-colored paintings; at the shelves, decorated with puppets carved from bone and tanned skin. Bile rose up in his throat.

Steeling himself, he took hold of the sack again and dragged it out of the room, leaving a thin trail of green on the floor. Fortunately he knew a quick way down into the depths of the castle that would not require him to go near the banquet hall again. Any Gelfling guards he passed along the way he simply nodded to—they bowed back, none questioning the bulky and bloody sack he carried with him. They probably didn't want to know what was in it.

He heard noises from the lab long before he reached it, stepping over the threshold amidst a chorus of animal screeches and rattling cages.

"Scientist?" he called above the noise.

"What?" skekTek, unseen, snapped from somewhere at the other end of the lab. "If you've come with another request, skekGra, take it to someone who will tolerate it! I don't have the time or patience to fabricate another inutile device for your frivolous performances!"

"But no one else is any good at building inutile devices!" skekGra replied, in an attempt at good humor, to which the only response from the other Skeksis was a bout of dark but incoherent muttering. "Anyway, anyway, I didn't come with a request this time. I have samples for you to study, if you want them."

There was a pause, and then the Scientist shuffled into view, looking at him suspiciously. "Samples, you say? What kind?"

SkekGra glanced down at the sack. He hadn't actually looked inside it. "Some of the Gelfling soldiers gathered Arathim parts. I don't want them."

"Hmph. And I presume you're expecting me to make you some sort of paint from this?'' skekTek sniffed, though he approached skekGra and rummaged in the sack for himself.

SkekGra frowned. "I've always made my own paints."

"Brushes, then? Knives? What do you want?" skekTek demanded. SkekGra clicked his beak in annoyance.

"All I want is to get that sack out of my sight!" he said. "Do what you want with it."

The Scientist peered at him skeptically for a moment longer, then withdrew from his search of the sack and dragged it further into the lab with a grunt. His hands were now stained green. "Nnngh, yes, these will be much more purposive for use in my studies than in your trifling arts and crafts." He turned his glare back to skekGra. "Though I would have preferred a live specimen, or at least an intact one. I assume you didn't bring one back with you."

SkekGra huffed in exasperation. "No, I'm afraid that slipped my mind."

"Well, if you have no further business here, then leave. You are agitating the animals."

The caged animals actually seemed to have calmed down significantly. SkekGra stayed where he was, watching the Scientist place the sack of Arathim parts by the wall and start to return to whatever he was doing before skekGra's interruption. Something nagged at him.

He took a deep breath. "You... put a lot of work into that machine prop for me, didn't you?" he said. "For my show?"

"The fact that you persist in talking implies you haven't left yet."

"I shouldn't have burned it," skekGra sighed, then thought back over that statement. "Or, I should have told you I was planning to burn it, because it was supposed to look spectacular."

The Scientist reappeared, staring at him with a perplexed expression. "Are you… attempting to apologize to me?"

"Agh, yes," skekGra said. "Wait, what do you mean, attempting? Do you need me to put it in writing?!"

SkekTek raised a brow. "I would say yes, if I thought you knew how." He considered skekGra for a long while, narrowed eyes raking him up and down, then he beckoned toward the area where he kept disappearing. "Come over here; I will show you what has been occupying my time."

SkekGra had been about to leave. However, his curiosity piqued, he obliged, following the Scientist back into another room where he was faced with a wide gap in the wall through which orange light poured. Near this window was some sort of apparatus consisting of gears, chains, and levers that he couldn't fathom the function of.

"This leads to the central shaft?" skekGra guessed. He had never bothered to explore this chamber before.

"Below sits the Lake of Fire," skekTek said, gesturing toward the window. "High above floats the Crystal. This shaft is propitious in allowing me to send up scientific equipment via a pulley system to study the Crystal, experiment with it, but it has always been lacking. Only recently have I found the solution!"

Gleefully he began pulling levers and turning cranks on the apparatus, causing a creaking, groaning noise that made skekGra's hackles rise and set his teeth on edge. He watched, astonished, as a pair of metallic arms descended into view in the gap, with the Crystal of Truth itself clasped between them. It jolted to a stop before the two of them.

Was it his imagination, or could he feel it shuddering?

"You see!" skekTek crowed. "Now it is within arm's reach! Of course it will require some modifications, as the arms are merely prototypes, and it needs some sort of steadying mechanism. Chains, perhaps! Do you see the brilliance of it?" He smiled widely at skekGra, his eyes shining. "Think of the applications!"

"How long have you been… experimenting with the Crystal?" skekGra asked uneasily. He was sure that he could feel a throbbing in his head, quite aside from the headache he had woken up with, and the only source for it that he could imagine was the Crystal held prisoner in front of his eyes. "We are meant to protect it!"

"Oh, trine upon countless trine I've been studying it," skekTek said carelessly. "I use the utmost caution. What do I look like, an unwieldy nebrie? I know exactly what I'm doing!"

With another quick sequence of lever pulls, he sent the Crystal back up the shaft and into its proper place.

"Now I will attend the feast," skekTek said. "Assuming the unconscionable rabble up there has left me more than a few tasteless crumbs." He jabbed a gloved talon at skekGra. "You leave, too. I don't abide anyone being here unaccompanied!"

"SkekTek, wait!" skekGra blurted, as the Scientist was already walking towards the doorway. The other Skeksis grunted and turned back toward him. "The Crystal… I don't think it's ours to toy with."

"What nonsense are you prattling?" skekTek snorted. "We rule the Crystal. We rule Thra!"

"Not for much longer, at this rate!" skekGra retorted before he could stop himself.

The Scientist's eyes widened and he crept back closer. "...What? Was that heresy you just spoke?"

Oh, no.

SkekGra had not meant to speak of this to anyone but skekSo. Certainly, skekTek was no skekSil, and the knowledge was probably safer with him, but he was going to land himself in serious trouble. But… he did need someone else to know… The images granted to him by the Grottan tree seared in him like unbearable fire, and he could not handle it alone…

"I've had a vision," he said at last.

SkekTek eyed him for an uncomfortably long time.

Though skekGra did not shrink away, he felt his heart gripped with anxiety as he wondered what skekTek would think of this. Surely the Scientist wouldn't pass it off as an artistic whim, as skekSo had, but—

"A vision... from the Crystal itself?"

Blinking, skekGra found the Scientist's head was cocked, his eyes narrowed, though not in anger. "Er... no," he answered, and the other Skeksis grunted, straightening his back again.

"Skeksis don't have visions—"

"From a tree!" skekGra cried. SkekTek was gazing at him incredulously, so he went on. "A Great Tree, in the Caves of Grot! It was, ah... list... uh... vil... um—I don't know, something-stab-you—"

"Staba, yes," skekTek hissed. "You speak of the Sanctuary Tree of Grot?"

Well, that made things slightly easier. "Yes," he said. "How did you—"

"I have experimented on much of the foliage of this wretched world on my own, you simpleton. I tried to obtain samples from the tree, but that meddling Chamberlain forbade it." He shuffled over to one of the shelves along the wall, where he pulled out a nebrie-leather-bound book and flipped through the pages. "The Great Trees are indeed sapient, though they are mute. But imparting visions onto other beings? Preposterous."

SkekGra grit his teeth. "It's what happened. The tree sprouted a flower and forced me to touch it. And then it showed me its vision."

"Incredible," skekTek said, his voice flat, his gaze still locked on the book in his hands. "And how exsanguinated were you before you saw this vision?"

While he wasn't entirely sure what the word meant, skekGra got the distinct feeling he'd been insulted.

"But out of curiosity, what did you see, anyway?"

SkekGra's heart leapt, only to sink again when he realized he would have to recount the horrors he'd seen. But... it was necessary, if he wanted someone else to know.

"I saw terrible things," he began, staring down at the floor, for he did not dare shut his eyes. "I saw every thinking race of Thra slaughtered, even the Gelfling. I saw Thra itself withering away before my eyes, every green plant gone, every living creature dead. And... I saw us—the Skeksis... eating and laughing and... rotting. Falling apart where we stood."

Finally he looked back up at skekTek, only to recoil with a choked yelp when he saw the Scientist staring at him. Blood was dripping from his empty right eye socket.

"What are you gawking at?" skekTek rasped.

SkekGra blinked—the Scientist's eye was perfectly fine. "Um... nothing. Nothing."

"Hm." Setting his book on a worktable, skekTek stared down at it for a long moment. "And what is your interpretation of this hallucination?"

Breathing out a sigh, skekGra gazed back toward the window leading to the central shaft. "I believe the tree—and Thra itself, perhaps—may be warning us... that... if we push things too far, we may destroy both this world, and ourselves." He thought of the sight the Scientist had been so proud of, the Crystal bound in claws and carried down the shaft, and shuddered. "We are Lords of the Crystal," he went on, finding strength in his own words. "The Twice-Nine. Rulers of all Thra. But if we are to do our jobs properly, we must tread carefully, or we won't have a Thra to rule."

"I see," skekTek said, tapping his talons against a page of the book. After a long pause, he nodded decisively. "Yes. I will ponder on this matter for some time."

SkekGra felt like a great weight had been lifted from his back. "Thank you, Scientist," he breathed, nodding. "If only I could get the Emperor to—"

"Do not go jabbering to the Emperor about this!" skekTek snarled, snapping his book closed. "Are you a wriggling Gelfling infant born the day before?! The Emperor has his own plans for this world, and you do not sit by his side. If you go to him telling him how to rule, that shoulder wound of yours will feel like a mere nick compared to the pain he will command to be inflicted upon you!"

SkekGra stood stock-still, flicking his tongue in dismay. He had not thought of that. Normally the only matters he brought to the Emperor were reports of his conquests, or news from lands not yet under Skeksis control, and the Emperor always reacted positively to those. The idea of skekSo's disapproval felt foreign to him.

"And certainly don't tell that conniving Chamberlain," skekTek growled. "Who knows what goes on in that festering, plotting brain of his."

"You don't have to tell me twice," skekGra muttered. When skekTek added nothing more, he made to leave, but paused when he heard a light cough.

"I will admit, skekGra," the Scientist said in a lower voice, rifling through his book again and refusing to look up, "I was mildly impressed by that ludicrous puppet performance of yours the other night. But don't expect me to make another device for you."

SkekGra stared, somewhat stunned. He couldn't remember the last time someone had genuinely complimented one of his shows. "Thank you," he said, hoping that skekTek would receive the gratitude better than skekSil had. "I'll... try to remember to bring you a better sample next time."

"That would be..." skekTek bit the end of a quill he'd picked up, "...appreciated."

Finding himself smiling for the first time in a while, skekGra nodded. "Goodnight, skekTek."

The other Skeksis made a noncommittal grunt in response, and finally skekGra turned to head back to his chamber. But as he walked, he repressed a shiver.

If skekTek thought this concern was foolish to bring to the Emperor... he hadn't even mentioned what the vision had said about the Mystics.

---~~~---

Usually, when he walked without purpose, he felt at peace.

Tonight, urGoh stared up at the overcast sky as he plodded down the narrow path, his own mind no clearer. Behind him was Aughra's High Hill, glowing softly against the dark clouds. Before him was nothing but uncertainty.

He could return to the Valley, where the other urRu wanted him, but that would mean facing Master urSu again... and admitting that he had failed. Another option was to resume his wandering, but the terrible feeling that burdened his heart seemed to weigh down his feet as well; the thought of wandering aimlessly, while once an act that brought him joy, now sounded empty and meaningless.

He must focus his mind elsewhere.

His vision had made it clear that the Crystal must be healed... but how? It seemed an impossible task. The shard he held did not belong to it—no shard in Aughra's observatory did. What good was the shard now? Besides, the Crystal was kept deep within the darkened castle, unseen by any beings but the Skeksis for five hundred trine.

"You must seek help from another source. ... It is there that you will find what you most desperately seek."

That was what urSol had told him. UrZah, too, had urged him to travel to the Orrery. Why had he even listened to their meaningless chanting? What good had this journey even done? He'd failed his original objective. The Gruenaks were dead.

Dead... because of...

The image of that dark creature rising over the hill, his blood-red robes stained yet darker, loomed in urGoh's mind, as did the image he'd seen in the vision... a cruel face reflected within a crimson pool.

His own blood boiled within him.

It was a feeling that had been foreign to him until recently, and it utterly filled him, causing his body to tremble, his teeth to grate. That wretched murderer—the one who also wandered this world, not for wanderlust, but bloodlust—was the cause of all of this. He was the one who had slaughtered the creatures... and he was the one who caused urGoh to be filled with these overwhelming emotions.

All four of urGoh's fists clenched.

The Conqueror would not see another victory, if he could help it. He would fix things before this happened again.

Before he could think on anything else, something jabbed into his hand, causing him to yelp in pain. It was the twitching crystal shard—it had suddenly turned in his closed palm. Opening his fingers, he found the shard was now pointing firmly in a specific direction.

It pointed out towards the Caves of Grot.

Did it know the desires of his heart? Or could it feel the anger burning within him? Or was it, perhaps, trying to communicate to him that not all hope was lost after all?

These questions urGoh did not know the answer to, but one thing was certain: he now had a direction, and he would follow it.

#skekgra #skektek #skeksil #the dark crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #urgoh #skekso #skekvar #my writing #fanfic #for unity #OKAY NOW WE'RE CAUGHT UP #also the previous chapter wasn't showing up in the tag for a while? so if you haven't read chapter 5 make sure you read that first

[3rdgymbros]

— pairing; kouchou kanae x shinazugawa sanemi

— word count; 1.4 k

— summary; “He won’t hurt me,” Still smiling, Kanae reassures them. Genya is staring at her raptly, as though the stars hang from her very eyes. His eyes are slowly clouding over with a bright, wet sheen, but before Kanae has time to puzzle over his reaction, she sees Sanemi’s face come into view. ( Or: A Retelling of Chapter 132, in which Kanae lives. )

— read chapter 2 on ao3

“Kanae-san? What are you doing here?”

Having finished with both dinner preparations and seeing to the almost never-ending stream of recruits in the infirmary, Kanae finds herself wandering the hallways in search of Tanjirou, and breaks into a smile when she sees him. Her eyes narrow when she sees how bruised he looks, with dark splotches mottling his face and chest – obviously Sanemi’s handiwork. She can’t help but wonder if he’s venting his spleen on Tanjirou – the memory of the younger boy head butting him must still be a fresh wound for Sanemi.

“I know what training with Sanemi is like,” She says on a laugh, ignoring how her wound throbs angrily. “I brought you something.” Warm tendrils rise from the wooden bowl cupped in her hands.

“What is it?” Tanjirou asks, accepting the bowl with gratitude.

“An elixir mixed with willow bark and honey,” Kanae replies. “It won’t take away all the pain, but it will make the evening more bearable.”

“Thank you!” Tanjirou takes a sip of her concoction. Kanae laughs again when she sees how his face scrunches up at the taste, but still, he obediently drinks more. He’s a much better patient than his friend, who’d screeched and moaned at the drink she’d forced him to ingest.

“It gets easier.” Kanae says, comforting. “Do you need to go to the infirmary? My medical supplies are there.”

“No, I’m alright!” Tanjirou says, but winces when the muscles of his chest and stomach object.

“He’s been too hard on you, hasn’t he?” Knowingly, Kanae asks. Her voice is laced with a tender kind of fondness for him, but she knows all too well how Sanemi can easily go overboard. “I’ll have to talk to him again.”

“It’s alright,” Tanjirou says, stretching out his sore muscles. “He’s a good teacher, and I have to get stronger!”

What a good-natured child. Kanae stretches up onto her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “I’ll be cheering for you, so please do your best!”

Tanjirou, she senses, is about to reply, but the sound of footsteps, very close, pulls him up short.

“Wait up, aniki!” Kanae cocks her head; the owner of the voice is unfamiliar to her. But awareness flickers in Tanjirou’s eyes; he motions for her to be quiet with a well-placed finger to his lips. Soundlessly, Kanae nods in acknowledgement, and together, the two of them creep closer to the source of the sound. “I wanna talk to you about something!”

“Wow, you’re annoying.” Sanemi’s voice rings out, close to a growl. “You know I have no brother. Now cut the crap, or I’ll shred you to pieces.”

Trading a puzzled glance with Tanjirou, Kanae raises a questioning eyebrow. Seeing the unasked question, Tanjirou mouths out Genya is Shinazugawa-san’s younger brother.

Surprise splashes across her face like the sunrise. Sanemi’s tight-lipped about his past, only telling her little snippets: how his father would beat his mother, how his mother had become a demon, and that he’d had to kill her. At the time, sympathy for him, for what he’d had to do, had welled up in Kanae’s chest. He hadn’t mentioned having any siblings, and she hadn’t pressed him for more details; she had just been grateful that he’d opened up to her at all.

Tanjirou continues their silent conversation with a, he didn’t tell you?

No, Kanae mouths in reply, grabbing hold of Tanjirou before he can peek around the corner for a quick look. She isn’t even sure that they should be intruding on such a private moment in the first place; she has half a mind to leave, Tanjirou in tow, but she isn’t sure that he would follow her.

“Don’t get friendly with me.” Sanemi’s voice travels as he moves. “From what I’ve seen, you have no talent whatsoever. Just leave the Demon Hunters. Those who can’t use breaths have no right to be called swordsmen.”

“Wait, aniki!” She hears Genya draw in a long, steadying breath. “I’ve always wanted to apologize to you –”

From their hiding spot behind the wall, Kanae watches in mild amusement as Tanjirou flashes a thumbs-up, a show of silent support for Genya, whose attempts at reconciliation are all being shot down, one after another.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care. Now, get lost.”

The dismissal is clear in Sanemi’s voice; this time, it’s Tanjirou who has to hold her back from stepping out and giving away their hiding place. The urge to lecture some sense into Sanemi bubbles on the tip of her tongue, but Kanae chokes it down, choosing instead to return her attention to the conversation before her.

Genya quails. His voice is soft, so soft, that Kanae has to strain her ears to hear it. “But I . . . I even ate demons so that I could fight . . .”

“You what?” Kanae tenses at Sanemi’s voice, at the abrupt shift into honey-laced poison. He’s calm. Too calm. She’s never heard him sound like this before, not even when he lectures her for being reckless and binds her wounds with calloused hands. A bad feeling hovers over her gut, icy fingers of dread tightening her bowels. “What did you say? You . . . Demons. You ate them?”

The wooden floor creaks angrily. She and Tanjirou both leap into motion at the same time; Kanae can make out Sanemi lunging for his brother, managing to graze his cheek, right before they both barrel into Genya, and gravity takes hold of them all. There’s an almighty crash as they crash through the screen door in a shower of splintered wood. With a pained gasp, Kanae lands awkwardly on her stomach; she feels the warmth of fresh blood flow. Someone’s elbow jabs painfully into the small of her back, but is hastily removed. A piercing scream drags her out of her haze of pain, but Kanae is fairly sure that the blood-curling sounds aren’t coming from her.

“Oh shit, he’s back he’s back –”

“Hide! Pretend to be dead!”

In a lighter moment, she might have laughed at how unpopular Sanemi is; but now, a long moan of pain comes when she rolls onto her side and onto her feet.

Tanjirou’s hands grab at her shoulders with childish, fumbling fingers, trying to support her. “Kanae-san, you’re –”

“It’s okay, please don’t worry about me. Believe me, I’ve had worse.” She edges her way in front of them, turning to smile at both Tanjirou and a red-faced Genya over her shoulder. Her posture is relaxed, a stark contrast to the frantic recruits scrambling over themselves to remove themselves from the area. “Tanjirou, Genya, stay behind me and be quiet, please. I’ll take care of this.”

“But –”

“He won’t hurt me,” Still smiling, Kanae reassures them. Genya is staring at her raptly, as though the stars hang from her very eyes. His eyes are slowly clouding over with a bright, wet sheen, but before Kanae has time to puzzle over his reaction, she sees Sanemi’s face come into view.

He sees her instantly, clad in her pink butterfly kimono, standing protectively in front of Tanjirou and Genya, with a soft smile on her face. Oddly, Sanemi freezes in place, his eyes misting over somewhere far away, until Kanae calls his name out softly, and that seems to snap him out of wherever the mists of time have claimed him. His rapidly darkening expression shifts into something infinitely gentler, softening the hard plains and edges of his scarred visage.

He approaches her slowly, as if trying not to scare off a wounded animal.

“You’re bleeding.” He says, breathing out the words softly. The tips of his fingers brush softly over her abdomen, over the bright red poppies blooming on the front of her favorite kimono.

Kanae leans into him on a sigh, wincing at the sharp pain that answers to her motion. “I’m okay. You know that I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t have interfered. What were you thinking?” He snaps, sounding more like his old self. She knows that his anger comes from a deep place of concern, that he isn’t truly angry with her. “I could have –”

Kanae reaches out, touches his forearm so that he’ll make eye contact with her. Physical abuse, she knows, is a part of his past, and now she feels the pressing need to make sure that he’s okay, to reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong. “But you didn’t. I was careless. This is my own fault, not yours.”

“You could never hurt me.” Kanae says firmly, placing her hands on the sides of Sanemi’s face, running her thumbs along his sharp cheekbones. Her smile, her eyes, every fiber of her being glows with love for him. “You could never hurt me.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fanfiction #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #shinaguzawa sanemi #kochou kanae #kouchou kanae x shinaguzawa sanemi #sanekanae #sanekana #kanae x sanemi #❋ M I N E ❋ #ＴＥＬＬ ＵＳ Ａ ＳＴＯＲＹ ＯＦ ＷＨＡＴ ＷＥ ＯＮＣＥ ＫＮＥＷ | my fanfiction

[inmusicalseveryoneisscreaming]

Heart of the Theatre- Chapter 4

@klaineharmony 

Also, don’t mind the insane spacing. I was having issues, so you’re gonna have to deal. 

TW: Homophobia, Transphobia, Misgendering, Attempt at forcefully taking off someone’s sweater, Implied rape, self-harm

Sarah bounced into her and Davey’s dorm, smiling all the while. Davey looked up from his book, arching an eyebrow. “What's got lil’ miss Sarah so happy?” A playful smirk played on his face as Sarah collapsed on his bed. Her face’s muscles were starting to hurt as the grin stays glued, but that didn’t stop her. Katherine had talked to her. She'd talked to Katherine. It was great. The situation wasn't ideal… She'd had to save her yesterday and still that boy came up to Kath, trying to get her sweater above her head.

------

Katherine walked into the room, looking as gorgeous as ever. Of course, that was Sarah thinking that. Katherine had wonderful features, she thought Katherine was cute. And though she’d never want to express this, she could keep it. And then… Oscar walked right up to Katherine.

 Tugging at her sleeve, he spun her into his arms with a smirk. The girl took heavy breaths; her auburn curls being twisted by the boy’s fingers. Sarah felt the urge to jump up, but she very stealthily started sneaking towards the two. Katherine felt tears burn at the corners of her eyes, not even noticing Sarah at the moment. Oscar felt a grin across his face, as he took Katherine’s chin between his fingers, tilting her head up. Kath’s mouth went dry, tears finally starting to fall. And just as Sarah was near… Oscar pulled Katherine sharply in, forcing her lips to join his own.

 Sarah felt anger burn within the depths of her heart, sinking down to her stomach. Katherine was visibly uncomfortable, her lips not moving in sync with his own, her arms shaking. Oscar pulled her away, slightly, and muttered in a voice Sarah could only just hear. “Kiss me back you pathetic little lesbian.” He growled, gripping Katherine’s arm tightly. “If you don't, this won't end well.” He added once Kath said nothing. He pulled her back in, and the moment Kath’s lips didn't move back…

 He pulled Katherine sharply back again, hand trailing up to grab the collar of her sweater. Katherine started mumbling ‘no’, tears falling to burn her face as they cursed her skin. Oscar pinned her quickly, seamlessly, to a wall’s corner. He continued his attempt of getting the orange sweater over her head. Sarah realized a white tank top start to show after a moment or two… She instantly ran forward, grabbing Oscar’s arm attached to the hand that was pulling at her sweater. Oscar turned, hand not letting go of the sweater halfway off of Katherine’s body.

 “Aw, look, Kitty! It's your little boyfriend back to save you again!”

 “I'm a girl.” Sarah replied coldly.

------

Sarah was half-way through telling the story, sobs already plagued her voice. But, now that she'd gotten to the part where she’d been misgendered… She shook her head, running from David, to her own privacy. Her room. Her world. She grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest securely. Tears now trailed down her own skin, clear against its paleness. She couldn't. Not knowing what happened last time. Not again, not again, not again…

------

It was ninth grade, high school! No one knew her there, no one had to know she was trans. Of course, people did know, but not everyone had to know! It seemed so wonderful to that young Sarah as she trusted people with this. And then, suddenly, a girl walked up to her. There was a long, blonde braid hanging down her back. There was a warm smile accented by rose red lips adorning her face. Love at first sight, Sarah thought, it must be.

 “I’m Daniella. People call me Storm, though. I'm interested in weather, so, yeah.” She snorted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The girl- Storm -was beautiful, and tall, and wonderful. Sarah would've just kissed her, if only… “And you are?”

 “Sarah! Sarah Jacobs! She/her pronouns. I used to be Samuel, he/him, but… I transitioned last year.” Sarah spat out, she'd trust this girl with any information. She looked away from Storm a moment, smiling to herself.

 She had her head turned just long enough to miss Storm’s expression.

 “Oh, nice,” commented Storm, “so you're trans?”

 “Yeah.” Sarah laughed slightly, smiling still. “You?”

 “Oh… Bi.” Storm smiled back.

 “Nice,” Sarah nodded, “real nice.”

 “Yeah, I have to get to class! But it was nice to meet you, Sarah.” Storm flashed her teeth, turning to go off.

 Sarah was melting, Sarah had already melted. Gosh! Being a lesbian was hard.

 But, this girl? Being with this girl she could do.

-------

“Sarah?” David creaked her bedroom’s door open, sighing once he saw his sister curled up. “Sarah…” He gently sat by her side hugging her tightly. Sarah sniffled, hugging her brother back intensely.

 “I’m sorry, I'm scared…”

 “I know, Saz, I know.”

------

Sarah and Storm became fast friends. The two were practically inseparable.

 That escalated after she and Storm started dating, after all.

 It started innocent enough, playful flirting and jabbing. That soon transformed into a beautiful relationship. Sarah loved the feeling of burrowing her head into Storm’s sharp shoulder, having her hair stroked by the gentlest fingers in the world. It was perfect.

 Until it wasn’t.

 Storm had dragged her into a coffee shop one early winter morning, giggling all the while. Sarah could’ve sworn she was falling in love again. Storm’s laugh was mesmerizing; the whole person of Storm was mesmerizing. Before Sarah knew it, they were at the counter. A young boy smiled at them, waving. His name tag referred to him as Jack, his smile was contagious it seemed, as it made Sarah’s apparent grin wider.

 “Hi! I'm Jack! What could I get you two lovely ladies today?” He asked, smiling still. Sarah smiled for different reasons then. She didn't look like a real girl, she really didn't, but he still got her gender correct. She was a girl.

 “I’ll have a caramel mocha! And my boyfriend-.” Storm started, pausing to look down at Sarah. She didn't know what her significant other wanted. Sarah took a moment too long to answer though. Her girlfriend said she was her “boyfriend”. Sarah took a deep breath. You're not a boy, Sarah, Sarah reminded herself. It could’ve been an honest mistake.

 “I'd like a black coffee.” Sarah gently spoke, before mouthing towards Storm, “I’m your girlfriend.”

 “Alright, and your names-?”

 “The caramel mocha is for a Storm. Also, the black coffee is for a Sam-.” Storm started, only to be cut off sharply by Sarah.

 “The black coffee is for a Sarah.” She filled in, casting her gaze to the ground. Jack nodded, his Sharpie squeaking across the surface. Storm dragged Sarah across the room, glaring at her.

 “What was that?!”

 “I simply told you I’m a girl. I’m not a boy, Storm, you know that. I’m Sarah, not Samuel. I’m Sarah Jacobs, I’m a girl.”

------

Sarah had her knees hugged to her chest now. Davey was still hugging her tightly, attempting to calm her. “Sarah…” He mumbled, rubbing her back.

 “I’m sorry.” Sarah muttered, pushing him away slightly. “I need to be alone right now, Davey.” Sarah told her brother gently, looking away quickly. David nodded to himself, standing up and making his way over to the door.

 “Holler if you need me.” He said quietly, walking out of the room gently before closing the door.

 Sarah just sat there, feeling useless and destroyed. She just couldn’t. Why did this memory have to come? Why did it have to come back now? That part of her knew that Katherine wouldn’t do that to her if they ever became anything.

------

“What was that?!” Storm growled once they’d gotten to her house. Storm’s parents were almost never home, so they’d usually stay over there. Sarah flinched, mouth opening slightly. Her eyes filled with confusion, dimness floating in the dark brown depths.

 Her only answer was being pinned against a door. Sarah felt her breath quicken as her hands started to shake. Storm quickly grabbed Sarah by her neck, lifting her up and crashing their lips together. Sarah kissed back, most likely from pure muscle memory. Anytime Storm’s coral lips met her own, she had to kiss back. It made her heart explode, sure, but this girl loved her.

 Right?

 Storm pulled away, glaring at her. “You think you’re a lesbian? You are a boy, Samuel.” Storm threw her onto her bed quickly, pinning her there too. Sarah shook. This situation made her feel uncomfortable and uneasy. Storm leaned down to whisper into Sarah’s ear. “You, Samuel, stay there and take what I’m doing. Tell anyone else and your social life is destroyed. Everyone will know that you’re just faking to be a girl.” Her hand traveled up to Sarah’s shirt collar.

 All she could do was lay down there, sobbing through it all. This wasn’t what she wanted… But, with the terror of being misgendered fresh, she couldn’t just get up.

 So she just stood there. And anytime she even tried to get up, she was forced down.

 She couldn’t move.

------

Sarah looked around the room, it had been years since she’d even touched those memories. She’d hidden them deep in her mind, keeping them away from her reach. But, they’d come back. She was feeling that same feeling she felt when she’d first met Storm all those years ago with Katherine. Kath’s smile made her heart soar. Katherine’s warm eyes made her smile brightly. Everything about Katherine made her feel fly and float at the same time. Everything about the girl was amazing.

 Not like what Storm made her feel after that forced situation. Nothing at all what she had made her feel. Kath’s behavior would never make her resort to what she’d done when with Storm.

------

Sarah looked down at her wrists. There were cuts there, deep and immortal. She couldn’t help feeling as though she had to resort to this.

 She’d harmed herself.

 Storm had made her feel like an object, a nothing, a useless speck of dust. Sarah went through so much in those moments. She had gone through transitioning into a girl. It made her feel more comfortable. And, of course, there was a lot of homophobia there. She despised what the implications there were. Bringing up the fact she ‘called herself a lesbian’ randomly. She was a lesbian, she really was, because she was a girl.

 But, Storm made her feel like the decision was the wrong one. Because she certainly looked like a boy. She didn’t look like a girl. She didn’t talk like a girl. She didn’t have a real girl body shape. She felt more like a stupid idiot ever in her life.

 Maybe Mama was right about her. Maybe, just maybe, her mother was right with telling her not to go into this.

 But, no. She was Sarah Jacobs. Proud lesbian transgender girl.

 But, right now, all she could feel was that she was Sarah Jacobs… Stupid, idiot, rash lesbian.

------

Sarah just stood there, gently unhugging her knees from her chest as she sat up on her bed. She was okay now. She had Kath as a friend, she had David, she had Les, she had everyone she needed. She could survive the first year of college, and all the rest of it, for that matter. And, with a wide smile, she pushed the memories of harm away.

 She was okay. She was in a better place. She didn’t need to remember Storm. She could ignore the person, Oscar, who reminded her of Storm. She only had to stay away and ignore them.

 That’s exactly what she planned to do.

#Sarah Jacobs #Katherine Plumber Pulitzer #Newsbians #Newsies #92sies #Newsies 1992

[prairiesongserial]

Windfield Pass 6

When Agnes awoke, the fire had died down to coals.  She lay on the stone floor, bundled up in a pile of thin blankets, Owl snuggled close to her chest.  Slowly, she extricated herself from Owl and made to stoke the fire.  There was a small pile of logs leaning against the cave wall.  Her joints ached terribly, sharp stabs of pain attacking her wrists and knees, and her back, too, from rough sleeping.

“Up we go,” she muttered to herself, groaning.  “Alright, Agnes.  Where’d you put your cane?”

Helpfully, her cane reached out to her.  Or, rather, Selkie did.  The Weeper had been sitting still as stone against the cave wall, but now she stood before Agnes, offering her the handle of her cane.

“That’s twice in two days, now,” Agnes said cheerfully.  “Thank you, Selkie.”

Selkie smiled brightly, showing off her teeth.

“I have a question for you,” Agnes said as she made her way to the log pile. “Twenty-odd years ago, it was you I met, wasn’t it?  We fought.  I shot you.  You must know I’m not...”

Selkie cocked her head.

“Well, not really a mutant.  I grew up in Harehaven, but that was just my lot in life.”

Her knees cracked as she lowered herself down in front of the fire.  She stoked the coals and pulled two small logs down from the pile, adding them where the embers were hottest.

Selkie came along to her side.  She gave an exaggerated nod.

“So you knew?  And you lied to Hearth about us?”

Again, Selkie nodded.

“Why?”

Selkie paused.  Agnes watched her body language: a twitch of her hand, a roll of her eyes.  Being asked such a complicated question when Agnes couldn’t possibly understand her reply must be frustrating.  Finally, Selkie pointed to Owl, still asleep.

“Because I had her with me?  An actual mutant?”

Selkie nodded.

Agnes smiled to herself, looking at the fire as the first flames began to lick the bottom of a log.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Agnes said.  She paused, and took Selkie’s attentive gaze as assent.  “Do you eat people?”

Selkie made a noncommittal gesture with her shoulders.

“And another question - your script, is there a spoken equivalent?  I’ve heard muties make noise. It’s never words, exactly, it’s all in tone, hums and trills - like birdsong.  Well, not that I’m any expert.”

Selkie sat still, thinking.

“It’s difficult to answer a question like that with a nod, I suppose,” Agnes said.

Selkie suddenly got to her feet and circled the fire, dipping to pick something up on the other side - the charcoal.  She came back around to Agnes and began to write on the near wall.

Selkie drew a pictogram that sort of resembled a fish, a large tear escaping its eye - then pointed to herself.

“That’s how you write your name, I see,” said Agnes.  She stood and joined Selkie at the wall.  “Or is that how you write Weeper?”

Selkie nodded enthusiastically at the second option.  Then, she drew another.  She kept pausing and looking at Agnes, but soon the symbol was finished.  It was a triangle, the bottom half shaded in.  And through the triangle passed a straight vertical line with a hook at the top.  Selkie now pointed at Agnes.

“That’s me?”

Selkie nodded and smiled.  Agnes squinted at the picture.

“The line - that’s my cane,” she said.  “The triangle?”

Selkie left the wall to dig through Agnes’s belongings, and soon returned with an object.  It was one of Agnes’s medical supplies, a little vial with a flared bottom, half full of a red syrup.  Clearly Selkie had taken a fancy to it.

“That’s an oral painkiller.”

Selkie did not seem to particularly care about what the concoction did, only its aesthetic appeal.  But after a moment of distraction, watching the viscous liquid climb the glass in whatever direction she tilted it, Selkie returned to the wall.

She pointed to “Weeper.”  Then, she scrunched up her face as if she were in pain, and a weak, almost imperceptible whistle escaped her.  Her chest rose and fell heavily once or twice before she tapped the “Weeper” symbol again and whistled in the same tone, this time a little louder.

Immediately, Selkie paid for it.  Her hand went to her throat, massaging the site of the scar.

“Don’t try again, I understand,” said Agnes.  She squatted by her bag and rummaged through, looking for a package of waxed cloth that might have survived the river - and soon enough, she found it.  She opened it and procured a small, round drop of menthol candy.  Good for an irritated throat.

She handed it to Selkie, who took it, but didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“You suck on it,” Agnes said. “You hold it in your mouth.  You might feel better.  Tastes terrible, though.”

Selkie looked at her suspiciously, but took the candy and put it in her mouth.  When the menthol took effect, she looked at Agnes with discomfort and bewilderment.

“I did try to warn you,” said Agnes.  She sat, no longer able to squat.  And she looked at Selkie as she considered what she had learned.  “So it’s not gibbering at all, that’s what you’re telling me.  You’re telling me that each combination of sounds, be they whistles or trills or, or barks - they mean they same thing every time.”

Selkie nodded.  She sat across from Agnes, the bag between them.  Now that the bag was open, the temptation to openly rifle through could not be resisted any longer.  Selkie pulled out a sachet of medicinal herbs and smelled them.

“Don’t eat those, they’re hard to find,” said Agnes.  She couldn’t wrap her mind around Selkie.  She was intelligent - she had language, even if she couldn’t use it without aggravating her injury.  Agnes realized, with a start, that Selkie was actually bilingual, having understood every word out of Agnes’s mouth.  And she had a way of moving through the world that showed she understood the machinations of three distinct societies - human, mutant, and mutie.

“So why do you eat people?” Agnes puzzled aloud.

Selkie bared her teeth by way of reply - the act was so aggressive to Agnes’s eyes that she startled, scrambling back several feet.  Frustrated, Selkie pointed, jabbing her finger at her teeth.

“Because...of your teeth?” Agnes asked breathlessly.  “Because you’re built to eat live prey.”

Selkie smiled toothily.  Agnes supposed she should take that for a yes.  But now the question was nagging at her.  How different could two people be and both still be human?  Having grown up with mutants, it was obvious to Agnes that the sort of mutants who lived in Harehaven were human beings.  Anyone who said otherwise was a bigot.  Mutants were born to non-mutated parents all the time, either from eating contaminated food or breathing contaminated air - who knew for sure?  But muties on the other hand...no one had ever heard of a mutie being born to human parents.  It would be like a wolf born to rabbits.

And yet.  Agnes stared at Selkie.  It might be possible.  There were physiological differences, like the teeth, the gills, the gastrointestinal system adapted for raw flesh - but Selkie was not an animal.  And Agnes wasn’t prepared to say she was less than human, whatever she was.

She had so many pressing questions.  Did Selkie feel compassion?  Love?  Did she have children somewhere?  Did muties keep family trees, or was such knowledge unimportant?  What about communication across different kinds of muties?  Were Weepers friendly with Sprinters?  Did they speak or write differently?

Before Agnes got the chance to continue her line of questioning, Owl woke up.  She whined as she stretched, then, realizing she was not at home on the grass floor of her family’s home, she bolted upright.

“Mama?” she said.  Then, very loudly, “Mama?”

Before Agnes could decide what to do, Selkie scrambled over to Owl and picked her up.  With Selkie’s height, it was quite a change in elevation.

Owl calmed down, though she still looked perturbed.

“Remember me?” Agnes said gently, from her spot on the floor.  “Dr. Agnes Hopper.  We’re going on a trip to the town, where you’ll live with another family for a little while.”

“Where’s Mama?” Owl asked, still airborne.  She squirmed, and Selkie slowly lowered her.

“She’s in Harehaven, waiting for you to send her a letter.”

Owl puzzled over this information, but seemed to accept that it was beyond her, at least until after she ate.  Agnes’s stomach was growling, too.  They had skipped the evening meal last night, and breakfast was overdue.

“Selkie,” Agnes said.  “Will Hearth be back?  We don’t have any food, and if there’s none to be had here, we need to move on.”

But as if on cue, Hearth returned.  A habitual squeak and the distant light of a torch moving through the caves heralded his return, pushing a small cart in front of him.  It was laden with a steaming stock pot and a short stack of tin bowls.

“Morning porridge for you folks, before you’re on your way through the caves,” he said gruffly.  He began to ladle out porridge in small portions, handing the bowls off to Selkie to distribute.  “One, two, three of you.  There we are.  See you on the other side, eh, Selkie?” he said with a grim chuckle.  As suddenly as he had arrived, he departed, squeaking back down the tunnels.  “Got to go to the east passage…” he muttered.

Selkie shoveled her porridge down, licking the bottom of the bowl when she was finished.  Agnes and Owl took a bit longer.

“That really warms old bones,” Agnes sighed.

“What is it?” Owl said.

“Porridge.”

“What’s porridge?”

Agnes took a big bite and pointed down at Owl’s bowl, her mouth too full to speak.  Finally, she swallowed, and said, “That is.  It’s all we’ve got for the day, so you had better eat it.”

Owl picked at it, eating perhaps three oats at a time.  Agnes was long finished by the time Owl was even halfway through her portion.

“From what Hearth said, are you to be our guide?” Agnes asked Selkie.

Selkie nodded.  She stood and stretched, her joints popping loudly.  She nudged Agnes’s pack toward her with her foot.  It was now quite wrinkled after its stint in the river, though the fire had dried it thoroughly.  Agnes checked it for her possessions - the spoiled food had been thrown away, but her medical supplies were all still there.

“Alright, let’s be moving on, then,” she said.  She looked to Owl, who had still left a little less than half of her breakfast, but who now spun the bowl on its base like a top.  “Come along, Owl.  Grab your hat, dear.”

Owl dawdled, but with much repetition, eventually placed her hat back on her head and followed Agnes and Selkie down deeper into the caves.

Windfield Pass 5 || Windfield Pass 7

#story