#she needs some refining but lets see if she manages to survive to begin with

[pocket-gems]

How do you think a skinny ruby would look like

"Oh, I can't wait to make my Diamond proud! ...right?"

#ask #anon #she needs some refining but lets see if she manages to survive to begin with

[aquitainequeen]

All Is Bliss (Until Someone Loses An Eye): Chapter One: This Is A Glorious Day/Nightmare; Strike Out As Appropriate

Special thanks to @fairy-anon-godmother and @yototothelalafell for being rubber ducks to my rant about this chapter, and to @ellynneversweet for so kindly reading it through several times as it hinged on completion!

(Previous Chapter)

When Vlad closes the doors behind Marial, that’s when Catharine asks her, ‘The Sun Summoner. Is she the real thing, or a fake?’

Marial halts so quickly that the items on the breakfast tray rattle. ‘Really? You’re asking me this?’

‘’Well, yes. Of course.’

Marial sets down the tray and promptly starts raiding it. ‘Real. Kirigan wouldn’t have any part of this if she were a fraud, and he would’ve tested her the moment she was brought before him. She’s real.’

So: Yes, yes, yes! Catherine finally releases all the bubbling joy and it’s flowing everywhere like sparkling wine foaming out of her glass . It’s like the time when she was lording it over Angelique about going to the East to be Empress; it’s the moment she went to her knees and first kissed the ground of East Ravka, greeting it, marrying it. Saints, saints, thanks to you all, how you love me!

What to say, how to say it? Upon this cornerstone she’ll build her claim. ‘The Sun Summoner. Ravka’s shining blazing hope, rising to banish the darkness and the divide in our beautiful land.’ Catherine thumps her clenched first against her breast, that will be most affecting. ‘So soon after I crossed the Fold from West to East, the Sun Summoner rose up to help me light the path ahead, for Ravka and my people —’

‘Who are you talking to?’ Marial says through a mouth full of soft cheese, lounging against the settee. It does not bode well for future speeches.

Nonetheless, Catherine persists: ‘Practising. For when the time is ripe. This is an auspicious beginning for my journey to true power. Ravka’s saviours have emerged together to free our land and our people from tyranny and shadow.’

‘Maybe get some food in you, before you go any further with the speechmaking and the grand plans?’

Impudent; but, Marial is right. This is going to need a full belly and some careful thought. She will have so many blinis with sweetened soured clotted cream and jam, oh, and some tea filled with more jam, sweetness galore!

Marial sticks with the cheese and a plain cup of tea. ‘What did Kirigan say about her? In his letter?’

‘Apparently not much; Orlo says he likely dashed it off before starting back to Os Alta from the Fold. He’s sent the Sun Summoner ahead of him, heavily guarded. Her name’s Alina Starkova, isn’t that just so perfect? She’s young, she’s a cartographer in the First Army. Or,’ Catherine’s throat twitches, a gulp of tea to moisten it up, ‘she was a cartographer. She’ll never have to sketch a map again.’

‘So…’ Marial makes Catherine wait while she takes her own sip of tea. ‘The Sun Summoner just happens to emerge, right at this point, after escaping notice in the First Army for years?’

‘Evidently. What about it?’

Marial fusses with her cup. ‘Seems a bit convenient. How was she able to go without being discovered for so long?’

‘By the Grisha testers?’

‘They test every child in Ravka. Every child. How did they miss her? How did she hide her powers for so long?’

Catherine swallows more of her tea and her why does it matter? because clearly Marial thinks it does and if she’s going to be Empress in her own right, she needs to start thinking beyond the first flush of joy, the fantasy of a storybook romance and a cute pet bear. ‘Maybe she wasn’t tested. There are so many people in East Ravka and the records are shoddy, some people are bound to slip through the cracks.’ Not that this will happen in the future. When she is in power there will be bread, freedom and security for all, never mind what Marial and Orlo say, and all voices will be heard.

Marial sits on the chaise’s arm. ‘And she’s never shown her powers before now? The baby Grisha in the Little Palace are always losing their tempers and causing uproar. One of them killed a man by accident, once, right in front of me.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘I’m absolutely serious. Though admittedly Count Kireyev was an absolute cunt, and the Emperor thought it was hilarious, so all was forgiven.’

Catherine is not going to ask what exactly happened to the cuntish Count Kireyev , if Peter of all people found it amusing. ‘Well. If she couldn’t control her powers, then she would have been found before now.’ She twists about in her seat and manages to catch and hold Marial’s eye. ‘And if you’re suggesting she’s a spy, then she wouldn’t have survived in Fjerda and in Kerch they’d have enslaved her.’

‘Granted. What do you think she’s like?’ The last question is a little less sour and more intrigued, so it deserves some consideration.

Cuddling into cushions, Catherine licks up jam and thinks. All those old performances of Sun Summoner plays from her girlhood, before the independence movement began stirring and they fell out of fashion. A girl in yellow, fighting and bashing other dancers in black, and now the story those girls performed has stepped out of myths and legends! It’s all too much! What’s most important now?

‘She will be… tall. Golden haired,’ as she tucks her hair strand back in place and takes up her cup again. ‘Graceful...polite, delicate, refined, poised, punctual.’

‘Did you get that from another one of your books? What was it on, deportment?’

‘From my mother. She gave me a grand speech about how I should make myself pleasing to my husband. She said they were the ideal qualities of a perfect wife.’

Catherine could picture her mother’s face. She could imagine her standing tall, golden and graceful, refined and poised, splendid and outshining her scant finery. She’d rather fantasize about grabbing her mother, shaking her, knocking her to the ground, getting in her face and screaming what were you thinking to send me here, to him, so unprepared; did you know, did you know what he was?

Best just to focus on the bright sunshine coming through the window, and to sip her tea.

They both chew and swallow several times before Marial speaks again: ‘If the Sun Summoner’s from the First Army, she’ll likely be none of what you just mentioned. Chances are she’s a foul mouthed, filthy peasant, with mud coloured hair underneath all the dirt. You really want to ally yourself with something like that?’

Marial’s only being her usual sour and snarkish self, true, but Catherine bites down hard on I’m allied with you right now, aren’t I? Marial might technically be all of those things at this very point in time (save the filthiness) but Catherine herself is not one of the bitchy court ladies. Though, need Marial be so sour and snarkish about everything again?

‘Of course I do. And why are you so determined to be gloomy, when a new hope has dawned over Ravka?’

‘Gloom is my refuge, Empress. A servant has no right to react, even to the country’s salvation.’

Catherine’s fingers are sticky from the jam, but Marial needs a hand on her wrist to shake her out of staring at nothing and her desolation, right now. ‘You’re not going to be a servant for much longer, Marial. Don’t let it grind you down.’

Marial smiles all sharp. ‘I’m already placing my hope in you, Empress. Placing it in the Sun Summoner as well is deadly. Hope’s such a dangerous thing.’ And she’s keeping her hand limp in Catherine’s, like a loose glove filled with long stones, too wary to grasp.

‘I will kill Peter. And you will be free.’ Catherine tears off a bit of blini with her teeth, just to prove her point, and it does get Marial smiling a little softer!

That’s enough touching, now; time to let Marial go, time to be Empress again. ‘And if Alina Starkova has served in the First Army, she’s no doubt brave, noble, bold, courteous and devoted to her mother country.’

‘No doubt. Have you ever spoken to one of the First Army’s soldiers, Empress?’

‘No?’

‘Then you’re in for a treat.’

Catherine sniffs and looks back to the window, the sunshine quite lovely on her cheeks. ‘Alina Starkova will also naturally be tender, compassionate and joyous.’

‘That I do doubt. It’s been a long war, Empress, and no one has gotten much joy from it, save the Emperor.’

‘Then that is one more thing I will have to remedy, when I take the throne. I should make some notes. Where’s the paper? This is a glorious day.’

***

‘This is a fucking nightmare.’ Thus, Orlo opens their latest council of war. It is not glorious.

‘Orlo, not you too! She’ll banish the Fold, she’ll help me reunite Ravka.’ And when Orlo raises a finger to try and cut in or tell her to just wait a moment while he waffles on, Catherine only says louder, ‘In what way, pray tell, is this a nightmare?’

‘It’s!’ Orlo actually seems close to panicking; listen, listen. It must be important. ‘It’s not the Sun Summoner, that’s actually very good. But I hoped we’d have months. I thought you would be far more established at court by the time Kirigan got back, you would have been able to meet him fully secured in your role. Right now Peter’s only barely been persuaded out of killing you, the Apparat’s support is fleeting, all the court ladies are wary of you, and the Little Palace thinks you’re an utter joke.’

Well. Hardly a pleasant thing to hear, but regrettably true for his first three points. Marial gets there before Catherine when it comes to the fourth: ‘How the fuck do you know what they’re saying about her in the Little Palace?’

Orlo clearly already regrets everything. ‘I. Well. I have a few acquaintances there.’

‘What kind of acquaintances? Is it a Heartrender? Big, beefy Heartrender? I can see the appeal; the best ones can make you come without even touching you.’ Marial tries her best to bring her lips to Orlo’s ear as he tries his best to get away. ‘Multiple. Times.’

‘Fuck’s sake!’ Orlo decamps to a place of greater safety, so Marial gets the whole of the settee to lounge upon. ‘I have to discuss aspects of Peter’s policy with Kirigan’s delegates on occasion. You know, my job.’

‘Oh, disappointing. Once again I’m reminded just how boring a life you lead.’

Once Marial shuts up, Catherine can finally get her word in. ‘So, wait, you actually talk to the Grisha, Orlo?

They stare at her like she’s a pet bear.

‘Well, yes. Of course. If we wish.’

‘They can even talk back, if they wish. They’re not servants.'  Marial stands up all of a sudden at that, just in case someone bursts in and catches her lounging.

‘Do you not talk to them? Empress?’ This from Orlo, beginning to look most worried. Is Catherine the cause of that? She can’t lose him now! What does he want her to say?

‘Our estate wasn’t near enough to the border, or wealthy enough, to merit one being in residence. And any children on our land who were discovered were sent to the Little Palace right away. The first time I ever saw a Grisha up close was during the journey through the Fold, and then I wasn’t allowed to talk to them for fear they’d get distracted and we’d all die with the Volcra chewing our guts.’

They all nod. Indeed, something to be avoided at all costs.

‘And then I saw some of them were at the wedding banquet, but none of them got near enough.’

‘Empress, may I just ask –’ No, no! Orlo is worried by her now. By what she’ll say. What did she do wrong? ‘What are your attitudes towards the Grisha?’

Careful, careful. ‘How do you mean?’

Marial, casting her eyes up in thought: ‘Well, let’s see; do you think they’re demons walking around in human skins and devoid of souls?’

‘What? No!’

‘There, you see?’ Marial ignores Catherine to look at Orlo. ‘Already she’s doing better than the Church.’

‘Oh saints, do people here actually still believe that?’

‘A few.’ Marial considers. ‘Mmm, more than a few. Most of the peasants. Some of the more devout and stupid nobles. The Apparat, on his bad days.’ She spots Catherine’s face and grimaces. ‘Yeah, he and Kirigan don’t really get along.’’

This from Orlo, clasping his hands like he’s ready to rub them in glee — not worried now, is he?! ‘What is your position on the rise of indentured servitude inflicted upon the Grisha in Kerch, and particularly Ketterdam?’

‘Abominable, of course!’

Orlo hisses Yes! and pumps his fist. ‘And if Kirigan should ask what you think of the fact that General Zlatan’s likely turning a blind eye to Fjerda raiding West Ravkan ports, and abducting Grisha?’

Catherine bites down hard on He’s fucking doing what? because she isn’t talking to Orlo now, this is merely a prompt for when she will be speaking to Kirigan, who will be judging her and cannot find her wanting when it comes to the Second Army, his army, her army. ‘I would say that — that Zlatan is a fool and a traitor towards Ravka, to not only let her subjects be captured and slaughtered by her enemies, but to actually permit it.’

‘All right. That’s wonderful! Oh saints, that’s such a relief.’ Orlo almost falls into a chair, takes off his glasses and rubs away the sweat.

While he recovers, Catherine turns to Marial. ‘I just thought, because Peter was the only one to speak to them at the banquet, no one else was of high enough rank? Or we both are, as Emperor and Empress. But the nobility can talk to them as well?’

Marial shrugs. ‘Even we servants can; but, that’s the thing. You can, but why would you want to?’

Catherine meets Orlo’s eye. Once more she feels his kindred spirit, how he pleads with all his soul for her to deliver him from this uneducated hellhole, he hates it here too.

‘Aside from the fact that I need to get the Second Army on my side, why would you not want to? When they practise the Small Science? When their existence so thoroughly shapes and affects the universe, and they have fought so hard to protect Ravka against her enemies?!’

Marial, she who has no romance in her soul, snorts. ‘Again, watched a baby Grisha kill a man before my very eyes. And they’re all arrogant pricks.’

‘Which you clearly have plenty of experience with.’ Orlo stands and twists out of reach of Marial, snarling and trying to land a blow on his arm. ‘The Grisha rarely come to the Grand Palace save on official business, and non-Grisha are only welcome in the Little Palace by special invitation. I was hoping we’d have a chance to improve your reputation with the Grisha, before Kirigan returned; I know certain of them will have written to him about your — ’

He gestures helplessly at the entirety of Catherine. ‘Your everything.’

‘But now he’ll return to find me with a husband who barely tolerates me. A court that hates me.’ Strange, that Catherine only really starts thinking of the Black General himself when he’s opposed to her, rather than serving her. She should be terrified. Should she be terrified?

‘He’ll judge you, and – forgive me, Empress, but he’ll find you wanting. And you’ll be a weakling in his eyes forever. He might not be able to fob off Peter, but he’ll never allow you to touch the Sun Summoner’s train if he deems you worthless.’

Think of being the object of disdain, for a man like that! Enough to make one shrivel and die. But if she’s going to be Empress she cannot be afraid of anything. She especially can’t be jumping at, hah, at shadows. Not when the sunlight is so warm on her hair and skin, even through a window and her gown.

Marial breaks the silence in her own special way. ‘Besides which, he’ll be inclined to fuck you over regardless, since he can’t get at General Zlatan.’

Ah. Zlatan. Of course he would still be cocking things up for her, even on this side of the Fold. ‘Zlatan protested my betrothal at every turn, and I shall see him dealt with. But why would Kirigan hate me, if my marriage unifies Ravka?’

‘Therein lies the problem-’ This from Orlo, palms facing upwards and empty- ‘-he dearly wants West Ravka brought back into the Emperor’s bosom-'

‘Brought to heel, ‘ Marial mutters.

‘-but not at the expense of the East. Peter’s already far too obsessed with the West and western thinking for Kirigan’s liking as it is. He’ll worry that you’ve brought dangerous ideas to court that could threaten his position.’

‘Plus his Little Palace and his army.’

Orlo nods agreement with Marial. ‘The General is a most fervent protector of the Second Army and the Grisha. When the search for Peter’s bride moved to West Ravka, Kirigan did voice his concerns about an Empress with western attitudes towards Grisha.’

Frankly, Catherine’s flattered that Kirigan might think her attitude has any weight whatsoever right now; and more flattered Orlo believes that Kirigan would think it. ‘His concern is misplaced. All people of Ravka are my children, West and East, Grisha and non-Grisha alike. Every Ravkan child has the right to live without fear, in the knowledge that Mother Ravka is their staunchest defender.’

Marial groans — she actually rolls her eyes, the cow. ‘Pretty words, but he’s heard such things a thousand times before, signifying nothing. You’ll need to back up all your grand speeches.’

Catherine marches over to the table so that she can at least finish her bloody breakfast. ‘Fine. Then how am I to do that, if he’s apt to “fuck me over ” rather than listen to me?’

‘Marial’s being ridiculous; there would be no fucking.’ Orlo pauses, distracted, and shudders like a startled horse. ‘And you do have some advantages — the chief being that you aren’t Peter.’

‘That is not the least bit encouraging, Orlo.’ Catherine bites into the last blini, looking him dead in the eye and chewing hard.

‘I meant that Kirigan’s known Peter for nearly all of his life, and any hopes he had for him are thoroughly burned. You, now, are an entirely new and unknown factor. You can woo him with your ideas and plans. You need to show him that when you take the throne, you have the drive and capacity to bring about the change he desires.’

‘Right.’ Catherine nods, swallows, sets her best foot forward in her mind. ‘So. What exactly does he want?’

‘Basically, just promise him whatever he asks for when it comes to the Grisha, and you’ll have him eating out of your hand.’ Marial’s voice gets lighter as she stares off into the distance: ‘Maybe even eating from further down.’

What?

Orlo chimes in thank the saints. ‘Whatever he asks, within reason. Remember, it has to be believable. And you do not want Kirigan angry at you, if you fail to keep your promises right away when you come to power.’

Catherine waits for the terror to finally arrive. Think of one of the most dangerous men in Ravka, in the world, furious with her! And yet think, too, of making deals with the Black General, of being able to lure and hook and reel him in, of having the ability to grant his desires! ‘He’s the leader of the entire Second Army, he won’t be satisfied with small promises.’

‘All right then. Forget wooing him, try seducing him.’

Catherine glares at bloody Marial. ‘Two minutes ago, you were saying he’d gladly fuck me out of spite because he can’t get at Zlatan. Now you’re saying I should spread my legs for him? How is this in any way an improvement?’

‘This is quite different . Make him want to fuck you out of raw desire, as opposed to revenge by proxy.’

‘Yes, because that worked so well last time.’ And they both look at Orlo. Who looks at his shoes and also looks like he wishes to shrivel up and disappear, but he manages to squeak, ‘He’ll never go for it.’

‘Unlike some people around here, Kirigan actually knows what to do with a woman. And he has a definite taste for royalty.’

Not Peter. Don’t let it be Peter. Please, Sankt Valentin, don’t let her have to compete with her husband over another one of his bed mates.

‘Supposedly he was one of Elizabeth’s lovers for a time, back in the day.’

That…is marginally better. ‘Really?’ Somewhere behind Catherine, Orlo’s saying ‘oh saints’.

‘Oh, yeah. Sometimes when she’s more off her tits than usual, she says he ruined her for anyone else, no matter how she searches, and I do believe she’s serious. So, he must have left quite the impression.’

Which means Catherine might have to try and seduce the deadliest man in Ravka, who is also old enough to have swived her aunt-by-marriage in her girlhood…so, old enough to be her own father, at least. Saints. At least Peter’s young and easy on the eye, and he smells like something living. Plus Kirigan was able to satisfy Aunt Elizabeth; who knows what kind of bizarre tricks he’ll expect in bed, or against a wall? And she fucked it all up with just virgin Orlo, fuck.

Orlo breaks out of whatever had him so horrified and enthralled (likely also the act of satisfying Aunt Elizabeth) to say in desperation, ‘Why does she have to seduce anyone?’

Catherine suddenly might just love Orlo, though not enough to kiss him.

Marial hmms and nods. ‘That’s true. If you threw yourself at Kirigan right now, with how little you still know of sex, you’d just look utterly desperate.’

‘…as opposed to when I threw myself at Orlo?’

‘Orlo knows nothing of sex and was far more frightened of you than you were of him. The General, now, would either be amused or despise you, and we’d go right back to “being weak in his eyes for eternity”.’

‘Well.’ Her voice cracks, shit. Catherine swallows and tries again. ‘Well, first I must meet with him, and then I can decide if it is a route I will take. In due course.’

‘No, first you must decide on how to win back the approval of the ladies. Get your court in order before you start courting the armies!’

‘Fine; but, Orlo, I cannot lose sight of the Sun Summoner. I will not let Peter take the credit for her!’

‘I know, I know. We can plan for that, we’ll start right now, she’s not going to arrive for at least a few days yet. Where’s the paper?’

‘And there is this.’ Marial goes to tidy up the breakfast tray and clear the table for plotting purposes. ‘Kirigan’s going to hate sharing his big find with Peter and the Apparat. You’ll look like a saint incarnate when the Emperor starts screaming and throwing a tantrum.’

‘Indeed. Praise saints for once that I’m married to a fucking moron.’

(Next Chapter)

#shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #the great #the great fic #catherine the great #count orlo #marial #the great hulu #hulu the great #cw language #fic: all is bliss #alina and Kirigan will be in the next one

[wevegottogetaway]

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

                                                        ***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them,  he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

                                                        ***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.  

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #best friends to lovers #reader insert #creative writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

[minaslittleone]

Fission & Fusion (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story "And I failed to climb the mountain".

Word count: ~2700

The hours after that were fuzzy. After storming out of her parents house with little more than the bare essentials and no intention of returning Wilhemina didn't really have much of a plan. She had never fantasized about running away as a child, she hadn't even been brave enough to rebel vicariously and yet here she was, with no plan and no where to go. And terrified.

But Wilhemina was nothing if not practical so she sequestered all of those doubts and anxieties down into the deepest corners of her brain to be dealt with later, she told herself. Really to be dealt with never.

Practically speaking, money was her first concern. She knew that her mother's threat to cut her off had not been idle, but she also hoped that her mother would continue to underestimate her long enough that she would be able to clear the remaining funds out of her account before her mother froze it. Her pride raged against the idea of taking the idea of taking the money religiously placed into her "allowance" once a month by her father, hating how spoiled that made her sound and wanting to be free of any lingering ties to her parents. She would have gladly traded every last dime for any other monthly ritual with her father, for anything with him really. But she was a casualty of her parents' failing marriage, the only thing that they hated more than each other was the idea of acknowledging that their marriage had long since fallen apart. Her father avoided the house like the plague, and her by extension, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his professional life to mask the failure of his personal one. And so their relationship had become almost completely transactional, her father attempting to atone for his absence by providing her with everything she could ever dream of, save for the one thing she truly wanted - his affection. But as much as she hated the money and everything it represented, she really wasn't left with much of a choice.

That was how she found herself standing in front of a bank teller at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon, lying through her teeth and praying that her voice wasn't shaking as much as her hands. Exactly how she had got there she wasn't sure - a bus? Surely she hadn't walked this far - she was completely focused on getting what money she could and getting out.

The process was certainly made easier by the fact that she had been coming to this branch since her father had opened the account on her sixteenth birthday. And maybe for once in her life her twisted frame would be an asset - it was difficult to forget a girl her age with flaming red hair and a cane.

So she lied. She told the teller that she was using the money to put towards a car but that her parents were unfortunately too busy to accompany her. That part wasn't even really a lie, her parents were always too busy. Either way the teller didn't seem to see anything unusual about depositing the entire $5000 balance into Wilhemina's hand, before politely wishing her a pleasant day.

She had thought she would feel safer with the money in hand, feel like she had more control over the situation. In fact all it did was make her realise how vulnerable she was. How she would never be able to defend herself if someone decided they wanted to take it from her. Maybe her mother had been right, maybe she really was too broken and useless to survive on her own.

She could feel her heart racing. She had to find somewhere to stay. Find somewhere that she could get off the street. Maybe then she would feel safer. Maybe.

Except she didn't know how long she would need to make that $5000 last. She had no job and had effectively forfeited her degree the minute she walked out her parents' front door. Any future prospects she had were tied to their connections anyway. Oh god, what was she going to do? She had no experience and no qualifications, and any jobs that would have been open to her without those were made impossible by her twisted spine. She wouldn't have been able to stand for long enough to finish a shift as a waitress, let alone carry much whilst also maneuvering her cane.

So she would have to make the money last. At least until she managed to come up with a better plan. Which is how she found herself unpacking her meagre possessions into a battered shell of a room in a run down hotel that offered rooms by the hour. As she eased herself down onto the bed, finally allowing her back some respite after hours on her feet, she reasoned that this was the best choice for now. And she would think of something, this was only temporary.

But it hurt. The adrenaline from her triumphant exit earlier that morning was long gone and now she was left with the painful reality of what life on her own would look like. At the moment it consisted of a sea of mismatched floral patterned fabrics, a green melamine kitchenette and far too many questionable stains.

She felt like she was suffocating, that the battered walls with their pealing wallpaper were steadily encroaching on her, squeezing the last ounces of calm and confidence out of her by force. She had to get out, had to keep moving, had to keep busy lest the reality of her situation catch up to her and drown her in its melancholy.

She burst from the room, shaking fingers struggling clumsily against the lock. She had to get away, to be anywhere but here. Away from the stale smelling room with the pealing wallpaper. Away from the lumpy bed swathed in garish floral covers of questionable cleanliness. Away from the suffocating reminder of how alone she was.

It shouldn't have surprised her that she would end up back in the college library, it's where she spent most of her time any way, finding any excuse she could not to go home. It was quiet and it was safe. Between the warm, dim lighting and the earthy smell of the old wooden shelves and the books themselves Wilhemina finally began to calm. She could feel the tension to funnel out of her trembling fingers, feel heart finally stop racing and draw her first real breath in hours.

She didn't know how long she sat there, not really seeing or hearing the world around her, just being, adjusting. Letting her body and mind begin to come to terms with her situation. Start to reset her parameters and realise that she wasn't going home tonight, that there wasn't a home to go anymore. Perhaps there never had been, not in the ways that mattered.

She was drawn from her haze by the gentle but insistent whispering of her name that indicated that this wasn't the first time the owner had tried to rouse her. As her vision cleared she was met with the kind, if not slightly concerned countenance of her adviser, Professor Thompson.

"Is everything alright, Wilhemina?" She could only nod dumbly in response. "I missed you in class this morning" the older woman added. "I know you said had a specialist appointment and might be late, but I got worried when you never showed up. Did everything go ok?" Wilhemina couldn't find the words to answer, couldn't find a way to explain how her life had been pulled out from under her in the preceding few hours. Her mouth guppied in response, producing several sounds that could have been the start of ideas but nothing intelligible.

Professor Thompson's brow furrowed. Over the years that she had known Wilhemina Venable she had always been impressed by her tenacity. For all this young woman had endured, she had refused to let it define her. She was always the first present in class, sitting front and centre, attention never wavering, even on the days Professor Thompson could see the tell tale signs of pain breaking through her indifferent facade. The tension in her brow and jaw, the twitch of her lips and narrowing of her eyes at each spasm, the shifting in her seat in a desperate effort to find some level of comfort. There was a hardness, a determination in the eyes of that girl which said she refused to give up which was notably absent now, replaced by a glazed, foggy expression that made Professor Thompson's heart hurt.

"Wilhemina," she tried again, "would it be easier if we discussed this in my office?" The redhead's eyes rolled up to meet hers almost drunkenly, obviously still not entirely processing the world around her. She managed a small nod, vacant eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance. "Here, let me take your bag" she offered, hands floating just beyond Wilhemina's shoulders as the redhead hoisted herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she found some semblance of equilibrium.

Professor Thompson couldn't help but bring a hand to gently cup Wilhemina's upper arm, causing the younger woman to finally meet her gaze. Oh and didn't it just break her heart, the pleading terrified desperation she found in those deep brown eyes. "Come on, dear" she coaxed, "this way."

Wilhemina felt herself start to come back into her own body as she sat in Professor Thompson's office, old worn leather chair beneath her and warm cup of sweetened tea pressed into her trembling hands.

Professor Thompson noticed the change as well. "Easy, dear" she cautioned, as Wilhemina's shaking hands tried to raise the warm mug to her lips. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes" Wilhemina managed to rasp.

Professor Thompson reached out her hand to rest on Wilhemina's knee, rubbing slow comforting circles. "Do you think you can me what happened? Was it something at your appointment? Do you need another surgery?"

"No" Wilhemina whispered, teeth worrying her bottom lip before lifting her eyes to the older woman, who's warm gaze encouraged her to continue. "The surgeon doesn't want to do anything, doesn't think it's necessary to do anything. My mother on the other hand is not satisfied and won't be until I look *normal*"

"I'm sure she just wants the best for you" the older woman tried.

"She wants me to stop being an embarrassment. She flat out told the surgeon she doesn't care about my pain, she only wants him to fix how hideous I look." It was happening again, Wilhemina realised, the years of repressed pain and frustration spewing out of her unbidden. "The surgeon stopped recommending procedures when I was eighteen because they weren't likely to help but my mother kept insisting because I looked so hideous she couldn't stand it. She put me through years of pain because I was so ugly and she was so ashamed of me." Her voiced cracked as the tears she had tried so hard contain broke free down her cheeks.

"She was trying to do it again" Wilhemina choked. "She was trying to convince him to operate again and I finally told her no."

"And how did she take that?" Professor Thompson asked, almost fearing the answer. Wilhemina let out a self-depricating laugh through her tears, rolling her eyes. "Wilhemina," she added urgently, gently squeezing her knee to get her attention, "she didn't hurt you, did she?"

Wilhemina stopped at that. "Not physically, no." A beat of understanding passed between the two women before Wilhemina continued. "She threw me out, cut me off, told me I was completely on my own unless I agree to have the surgery. Told me I can kiss my degree goodbye." The older woman gasped. "I told her she could have it, I was done with her controlling my life."

Professor Thompson reached out to take Wilhemina's hands, squeezing them in her own. "That was so incredibly brave." Wilhemina let out a wry chuckle "You don't think I'm completely mad?" Another warm squeeze of her hands. "Absolutely not. I think you are so strong."

Wilhemina raised her eyes again to meet those of her professor, searching them for the signs of a lie. Finding none she felt her chin begin to tremble as she fought against the tears.

She lost. The tears came bubbling out of her against her will. Tears for the years of pain she had endured, both physical and emotional, at her mother's hands. Tears for the little girl who spent years in pain trying to convince her parents that it wasn't all in her head. For her childhood that had been stolen from her. For the little girl alone in a hospital, who's parents were far too busy to visit, who was left to rely on nurses for comfort and support. For the twenty four year old woman who had just lost everything.

She curled in on herself as much as her twisted spine would allow, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, trying in vain to offer herself some comfort. She felt the chair next to her dip and then she was being cradled in her advisors arms - how embarassing. But try as she might she couldn't quiet the hysterical sobs.

Eventually pulled herself out of the older womans arms, trying to regain some level of dignity. Professor Thompson gave her hands one last squeeze as she let her go.

"We will find a solution to all of this" she assured "but for now all of that can wait. You need to eat and you need to sleep. You must be exhausted" Wilhemina nodded, still frantically pawing at her tear-stained cheeks. There was no point hiding anymore, not after her earlier display.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Professor Thompson asked. "You're welcome to my spare room if not"

"No it's fine" Wilhemina replied, glad to avoid imposing on her professor further. "I have a hotel room."

"Ok I'll drive you" Wilhemina tried valiantly to rebuff Professor Thompson's kindness, but the older woman would not be dissuaded. And once Wilhemina realised how dark it had gotten she was secretly grateful.

As the car came to a stop in front what currently passed for Wilhemina's lodgings, Professor Thompson took her hand once more. "After work tomorrow" she pressed "I am picking you up and you are having dinner with me. It will give us a chance to come up with a plan for what happens next. I refuse to see someone as smart and driven as you are, Wilhemina, be sabotaged by negligent parenting. We will figure this out."

Wilhemina couldn't even bring herself to try and rebuff such kindness, for how her heart ached for it. Instead all she could manage was a watery "okay" and tremulous smile. As she walked back to her room she felt lighter than she had all day, tension finally beginning to drain from her body like water trickling down her arms and plummeting from her fingertips.

Exhaustion quickly rose to fill vacancy making her limbs heavy and fingers clumsy. Almost there, she told herself as she struggled with foreign keychain, not much longer. Just inside the door and then you can rest. But try as she might her exhausted mind could not make sense of the lock nor could it co-ordinate her trembling fingers well enough to keep hold of the keys which fell limply to the concrete just beyond her door.

It was as if the universe was laughing at her, she thought, as she gingerly squatted down, bending her legs to compensate for her immobilised spine. After all the humiliation she had endured today she could not be allowed to rest without at least one more reminder of her inadequacy. So fucking useless, the voice in ear chided, so fucking stupid. Hurry up and pick up the god damn keys and open the door like a normal, functional human being. Can you manage that much at least?

And maybe she could have managed it had the hand she extended to reach for her keys not been firmly crushed into the concrete and pulled away from her by a steal-capped boot, upsetting her precarious equilibrium and sending her sprawling face first into the concrete.

"Now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

A/N: Ok, so number one - I'm sorry (ducks). I promise I won't hurt her too much. This part wasn't even in my original plan but then the angsty little plot demons took over and here we are. Number two - for those of you who are interested I wrote Professor Thompson with Prof. Stromwell (Holland's character from legally blonde) in mind because I think she is exactly the type of tough but caring person that baby Mina would be drawn to. But also because I'm dying to see Sarah and Holland work on a project together, so this was my own vicarious little head cannon.

#sarah paulson #wilhemina venable #lucyintheskywithxanax #mina #baby mina

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow (con’t)

Frelia's pegasus knight unit was continuing to desperately defend against an overwhelmingly large enemy army.

Their entire unit had already been nearly wiped out, and the remaining soldiers were putting all of their strength into defending the bridges. If they fell here, then the enemy could invade in one fell swoop, and the people of Narube would likely be massacred without resistance.

"Those who can move, take the citizens south!" Syrene, the leader of the pegasus knight unit, shouted as loudly as she could while swinging around her lance and fending off the enemy's onslaughts.

However, she hardly had any knights left that could follow that order. Even if the knights managed to get the children atop the pegasi, their wings were damaged, and they couldn’t fly. Even the citizens who had panicked and cried at first had already lost the energy to do that any longer, and exhaustedly slipped into utter silence.

They’d made a major miscalculation. The Grado Army had lost the capital, yet still had a large number of soldiers left.

If the knights thought only about themselves, then they had the possibility to take advantage of their pegasi’s mobility and retreat, but they couldn’t abandon the people of Narube just to escape.

“We’re at our limit, Lady Syrene! We’ll buy you some time! Please do whatever it takes to get out of here!” A knight wearing armor covered in blood yelled at her.

But Syrene shook her head.

She had no intention of running away until the very end. The bodies of the Frelian soldiers who’d exhausted all of their strength lay around her. She was ready to die here in battle herself as well.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t live up to Prince Innes’ hopes for her. She remembered the day that she’d officially become the leader of the pegasus knights as if it was yesterday. The prince had personally given her a beautiful whip and said that the pegasus knight unit was the pride and joy of Frelia, and he wanted them to fight for their homeland so long as they drew breath.

His words filled her chest with deep emotions. She swore to herself that she would devote herself to Frelia… and Prince Innes and Princess Tana.

The plan was to unite her forces with the prince’s at Narube River and fight together at full strength under his orders. However, before that could happen, she would probably see her end. Regret burned in her heart.

Her younger sister was together with the prince. That was her only consolation. If her sister could protect the prince when she couldn’t… then that was all she could ask for.

“Lady Syrene, that’s…!” One of the knights shouted.

Was it more enemy reinforcements? Just how much leftover strength could the Grado Army have at this point? 

The moment Syrene was about to succumb to her despair, she looked at where her soldier was pointing, and instinctively breathed a sigh of belief.

A large army was nearing from the south. They were still a considerable distance away, so she couldn't clearly make out who they were, but the color of their armor was different from that of the Grado Army.

"Is that… the Renais Army…?" The moment Syrene whispered, a single pegasus knight appeared from the oncoming crowd, and flew straight in her direction. 

Syrene knew who it was before her eyes could even confirm the rider’s face, as she could distinguish the slight but distinct strong wing movements and neck shaking of individual pegasi.

She smiled without even thinking about it, and felt a weight be lifted off her shoulders that had been with her since the beginning of the war.

“Commander Syrene, are you alright?!” The knight riding the pegasus shouted, and swiftly threw a javelin at a Grado soldier coming at her while avoiding his own attack.

She effortlessly hit her target, showing her strength. ‘She’s gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time.’ Syrene thought.

“Vanessa, you’re here! Meaning…”

“Yes, Prince Innes and Princess Tana are with me! They are safe as well!”

“Thank goodness…” Relief warmed her heart. 

Vanessa continued in a commanding tone, “Please stand down, Commander! We’ll take it from here.”

“No, I...”

‘...am not severely injured,’ she started to say, but thought twice about it.

Both her and her unit were already at the limits of their stamina. Even if she continued to be stubborn and fight on the front line, she would do the exact opposite of help, and get in her allies’ way. It was wiser for her to retreat for the moment, recuperate, and then pick up her weapon again.

“Understood! I will stand down for now, and let your commander take over from here. Please tell them I said so.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“And Vanessa.”

Vanessa tried to guide her pegasus higher into the sky, but Syrene called out to her again.

Vanessa turned back around and no longer had her previous tense expression on her face, perhaps because she had finally relaxed. 

Syrene responded in a casual tone, “It looks like you’ve been playing a very big role as a soldier of Princess Eirika’s guard. I was really worried when I heard that you’d been betrayed in Carcino, but… I finally feel at ease.”

“Thank you Ma’am…!”

"Your spearmanship has improved greatly since we parted as well. And you've become a bit more beautiful too."

Vanessa’s eyes widened at suddenly being teased, and her cheeks turned red. ���S-Sister…!”

No matter how good their relationship was as sisters, on the battlefield, they were commander and subordinate. To Vanessa, who was so serious it made her formal and strict, keeping that distinction was of vital importance. But right now, even she had forgotten herself.

Syrene laughed out loud and guided her pegasus to softly spread her wings.

Her pegasus had taken an enemy attack, which seriously injured her wing. She wanted her beloved pegasus to be healed as quickly as possible. To a pegasus knight, her pegasus was more than just a simple mount. They were invaluable partners whose fates were linked to each other.

“I’ll see you again later, Vanessa.” Syrene parted ways with her sister for the time being, and her pegasus flew off, leading her exhausted unit.

The Renais Army had crossed the bridge and was coming closer. Syrene stopped her pegasus and landed on the ground.

Everyone was injured and bleeding. Their uniforms had been beautiful and stunning when they left home, but now, they looked like they never could have been such dazzling garments. However, each and every one of their faces were lit up like the sun.

Syrene knelt down on one knee before Eirika and bowed her head. “Reporting, Princess Eirika of Renais! The Frelian Army was surprise attacked by the Grado Army, and we regrettably lost most of our soldiers. But only a few of the people of Narube have been killed since the beginning of the attack, and the rest are safe.”

“Good work. All of you please take whatever time you need to recuperate.” 

Eirika’s voice was soft and kind. Just her words alone healed Syrene of her exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Syrene?”

She recognized Prince Innes’ voice, and looked up.

He was standing next to Eirika. Among his dirt-covered army, he stood out as the one refined person. He of course should be tired since he had traveled on a long journey together with the soldiers, but he didn’t show it in the slightest. His clothing looked as if a tailor had just dressed him.

“Lord Innes… I am sorry. The Frelian Army is unable to merge with Renais’ Army. We’ve suffered too much damage, and…”

"Never mind that. None of you have anything you need to worry about. We’ll take it from here.”

His words were reassuring. ‘It appears that Vanessa is not the only one who’s grown up while we were apart.’ She felt that Prince Innes had also become even stronger since the last time they’d seen each other.

‘Perhaps…’ Syrene thought. ‘Vanessa has become more beautiful because of Prince Innes?’ It was difficult for her to imagine Vanessa falling in love with any ordinary man. If he wasn’t a partner that she could respect with all of her heart, then he likely wouldn’t be able to steal it. And If there was any man that Vanessa could respect, it was of course...

“Syrene, do you know any information about the enemy commander?”

Innes asked her in a harsh tone.

Syrene shook her head. “There is a fort on the other side of the river. The enemy commander is using it as a base. I heard that it appears to be Prince Lyon leading the army. I have not been able to confirm that myself, but that is what my subordinates reported.”

“Hmm… Do you know anything about Prince Lyon? ...No wait, nevermind.” In a move that was entirely unlike him, Innes hesitated and changed his words. “Asking won’t change anything. For now, Syrene, please get healed, and return quickly to the battlefront. We still need your power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

He seemed worried about Prince Lyon for some reason, but knowing that she and her soldiers were living up to the prince’s expectations made Syrene happy. The pegasus knights had survived their long, grueling fight, retreated for the time being, and were healed by Natasha and the other healers.

“Leave the front line to us. We’ll defend the northern bridge.” Ephraim said and charged his horse straight north. 

His loyal knights Forde and Kyle led his other soldiers and followed after him.

Eirika went with Seth and the others to save the citizens. The group totaled a few dozen men and women huddling together and shaking. Eirika talked to each of them individually to encourage them, helped the injured atop her horse, and led them to a safe place.

Eirika worked as hard as she could, trying not to think about anything she did not need to. But every so often, she would remember that wicked voice. Whenever she thought about Lyon and the pain the Demon King had caused him, she couldn’t stand the feeling she felt. 

‘I ate his heart.’ Or so the Demon King said. If she accepted his words literally, then Lyon’s heart was already gone, and his body entirely controlled by the Demon King. She did not want to believe that such a terrifying thing could be reality.

It had been for only just a moment, but she'd heard Lyon scream. “Run away…” He’d pleaded with all his might. “I’ll destroy you…” There was no way that could have been the Demon King’s voice.

Lyon’s heart had yet to be completely consumed. He'd nearly suppressed the Demon King’s consciousness, and was continuing to just barely manage to fight. He was struggling as hard as he could to remain in control. And that was why they had to press forward. They had to defeat the Demon King and restore his heart.

But on the other hand of that thought, the Demon King's last words weighed heavily on her heart. Ephraim told her not to worry about them, yet she couldn't help but think about them.

Kill Prince Ephraim, and claim Princess Eirika. The Demon King said that was Lyon's desire. A kind man like Lyon shouldn't have such a twisted and ambitious desire… or so she wanted to think, but her heart was no longer sure.

As Lyon was a sickly person, Ephraim had always been the object of his admiration. In situations like when Ephraim was praised by Duessel, or he won a match against a senior knight, Lyon would cheerfully say "You really are amazing, Ephraim!" Those were words of wonder and amazement.

At the time, Eirika didn't think much of it, and just took his words at face value. ...There hadn’t been any warped feelings hiding underneath that adoration, right? He thought Ephraim was amazing… and wanted to be Ephraim… but he couldn’t. Those feelings of inferiority hadn’t turned into jealousy, had they?

“Lady Eirika, we have finished leading the people to safety.” Seth reported.

The pegasus knights had also finished receiving their treatment, and were awaiting Eirika’s orders. Now was not the time to be guessing what was within Lyon’s heart. She had orders to give as her army’s commander.

“Let’s go! We will take the fort across the river and capture Prince Lyon!” Eirika hesitated for a moment, then added, “You must not kill him! We still have a lot of questions for him.”

Syrene and her pegasus knights immediately accepted the order and all flew up into the sky at once. The pegasi had all been healed alongside their riders, and their energy was restored. They flapped their white wings at full strength.

Seth looked up at the pegasus knights and said, “Lady Eirika, I understand how you feel, but Prince Lyon is already…”

“...I know.” She cut off the rest of his sentence, not wanting to hear it.

He looked straight at her. "Our enemy introduced himself as the Demon King. We still do not know whether he truly is or not, but if he is, then this is very serious. Even if we fight him at full strength, we still might not win.”

“...You're right.”

“It’s a shame that his heart is in chaos on the outside, but…”

“I know. I’ll be fine, Seth. I’m prepared to fight him.” Eirika nodded with conviction.

She couldn’t make Seth worry, and so she spoke those words to him immediately. In truth, she still didn’t know. Would she be able to turn her sword against him?

Eirika maneuvered her horse to the front line, where Ephraim's group was fighting. She shook off her hesitation and gradually picked up speed.

A harsh battle was unfolding on the northern bridge. Grado dragon knights attacked from the sky, making the fight difficult for Ephraim and his soldiers, but the pegasus knight unit rushed to their side, and started to change their situation bit by bit.

Pegasi were of a smaller build than dragons, but were utterly fearless. They flew bravely at the enemies' chests, and threw them into confusion. Once the dragon unit's movements had broken out into a panic, Innes and Neimi shot arrows straight at them. The arrows flew through the dragon's wings. Their cries pierced the sky, and their riders lost their balance and fell into the river.

Once Eirika's army finally captured the bridge, they used that momentum to continue moving east. They could now see the fort the enemy was using as their base.

"He's in there, right?!" Ephraim asked when Eirika rode up next to him.

Eirika noticed that her brother refused to refer to Lyon by name.

Perhaps Ephraim felt just as lost as Eirika, and that was why he was purposely avoiding referring to Lyon by name. If he said it aloud, it might dull his resolve to fight, no matter what else he did.

The enemy was waiting for them outside of the fort. Eirika's army shifted into a fan formation and surrounded the Demon King.

He had a cruel smile on his face, and waited calmly for them. He no longer seemed to have any interest in pretending to be human. His facial features were clearly Lyon's, but his expressions did not feel human at all.

'That's not Lyon… such a wicked, cold stare could never be Lyon's.' Eirika told herself. But she still could not rid herself of her hesitation, rather, she tried to find if Lyon was left anywhere in his face.

"...So you intend to challenge me?" The Demon King asked. 

The chilling sound of his voice made Eirika's horse tremble so hard she could not calm her.

"You are all so lucky to not yet know my true terror…”

"Get out of Lyon's body!!" Ephraim roared.

Eirika jumped. His voice was filled with an intense anger that she had never once heard come from him in her entire life.

Ephraim did not fear the Demon King, although perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was so infuriated by someone hurting Lyon that he forgot how afraid he was. 

Ephraim's powerful voice boosted the morale of Eirika's army, but the Demon King met Ephraim's anger by laughing at him.

"It's not healthy to make your blood boil, prince of Renais. Don't you get it? Prince Lyon and everything about him is no more. I ate him. This body is no longer his.”

"Damn you…!" Ephraim raised his lance, and his soldiers each readied their own weapons. The archers and mages behind them also prepared themselves to support them.

But the Demon King’s spell was faster. Its waves rippled through the air, and a split second after, a horse collapsed.

Eirika looked over at them and felt fear send a chill down her spine. The neck of the fallen horse was turning in unnatural directions as if a huge, invisible hand was twisting it.

“Nosferatu…?!” Lute gasped. As someone so confident, it was entirely unlike her, but even she was panicking. “Please be careful! That is an extremely powerful dark magic. If you take a direct hit, then…!”

The army’s movements fell into chaos. The terrified horses burst out into a full gallop and tried to shake off their riders. Only Seth, Forde, and a few others managed to keep control of their horses, while the other knights all clung desperately to their horses’ necks.

The Demon King cast another spell. Another horse fell down. 

The army was in a panic trying to rush outside of the spell’s range, but among them, Eirika was doing the opposite, and pushing ahead. 

Seth and Ephraim noticed her and rushed over to her, flustered. They stood behind her, ready to protect her, as she faced the Demon King.

His expression changed, sharp eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Eirika tightened her grip around her horse's reins. Her horse stopped shaking, the strength of her resolve seeming to communicate with her mount.

"Can you hear me, Lyon?" Eirika said and stared straight into the Demon King's eyes. 

"It's useless!!" Ephraim shouted and tried to stop her, but she paid him no mind and continued.

"You're in there, aren't you, Lyon? Please do not abandon hope. We will defeat the Demon King and save you… so please, don't give in…"

The Demon King's expression shook ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and glared at Eirika. "Pitiful girl… You still believe that there is any of Lyon's heart within this body? How fascinating. Then come here. I will tear you apart limb from limb with these very hands…"

"Get away from him, Eirika!" Ephraim shouted and kicked his horse's side. Seth followed after him a second later.

Ephraim thrust his lance with a sharp battle cry. The Demon King narrowly dodged a fatal blow, but blood sprayed out from his shoulder. Seth followed up without a moment's delay, thrusting his own lance. 

The Demon King flailed his arm around wildly, but there was no power in his movements.

"Support Ephraim! Archers, step forward!" Innes ordered, and swiftly shot an arrow of his own. 

His silver arrow pierced deep into the Demon King's chest.

'Stop!' Eirika tried to scream. 'If you kill him, then Lyon's heart will die, too!!'

The Demon King staggered, but his eyes did not lose the intensity within them. "This little is too much…? The human body is so frail." He muttered in annoyance and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Blood flowed from the wound. 

He glared at Eirika with eyes burning like a blazing fire. "I have learned the extent of your power. In this case… I will hasten my resurrection. I will abandon this frail body and return to my true flesh. That is the day when this continent will once again be shrouded in darkness. There is no longer a single place any of you can run to!” He said in a tone not unlike that of one giving a curse, and disappeared.

Ephraim yelled at him, “You’re running away?! Do you really think I’ll let you desecrate Lyon’s body ever again…?!”

Ephraim ordered the soldiers to search the area and turned back towards Eirika. “Are you alright, Eirika?”

“Yes…”

"Don't do anything reckless. You know he's not Lyon. The Lyon we were friends with is already…"

"Brother, I want to believe him. The Demon King says what he does, but Lyon's heart is still alive… he's suffering and waiting for us to save him. I can feel it." Ephraim furrowed his brow. His blue eyes clouded over with hesitation.

He was still suffering, too. Just like she was.

He sighed deeply. "...I understand. Right now, finding him comes first. Eirika, you rest for a bit."

"No, I'm going to search too…"

"Your face is terribly pale. You've pushed yourself past your limit. L'Arachel, could you please take care of her?"

L'Arachel was standing near him, so he called her over. 

Eirika went into a tent with L'Arachel, deciding that she would take a short rest.

ー

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

[lokicat5]

Adventures in Jedi-Sitting

Okay guys, look, I’m sorry about this.

This is my first original post, so I hope you like it! This was supposed to be a response to a star wars post about a slice-of-life show (that I know I’ve reblogged before), but Tumblr just wouldn’t reblog it. And besides, it was long enough anyway, so, I made it into my own post! This is like the first thing I’ve properly, actually, physically written, so I’m sorry (and I’d really appreciate some feedback on it)! I just got into a flow, and I really think an “Adventures in Babysitting” episode would be awesome, because, who doesn’t need to see Cody and Rex dying inside over watching a bunch of little Jedi kids? It’s not very refined, and I haven’t worked out EVERY detail yet, so if you have any ideas for one of the things I’ve left vague or not really explained, feel free to comment or reblog (or message me, I don’t know how Tumblr works lol). Anyway, I hope you like it, this took me like 3-4 hours to write :) 

 Warning: It’s kinda long-ish. That’s it. Enjoy! :D

Okay, so it starts like this...

Anakin or Obi-wan have been assigned to look after younglings for a day, and are taking them on a “field trip” of some kind, possibly an educational one. I’m kinda thinking they’ll stay near/on Coruscant maybe? Idk. And like for some reason they bring Cody and Rex, maybe just as a safeguard or something, or as an extra pair of adults so that the two MatureTM Jedi aren’t outnumbered vastly by smol Jedi.

But then something comes up, and Anakin and Obi-wan are needed somewhere because of an emergency. They don’t want to leave the kids, but they don’t have enough time to bring the kids back to the temple. Then Cody proposes, “We could watch them, sirs.” and Obi-wan looks skeptical, as does Anakin, but Rex agrees with Cody and says, “oh go on sirs, we’ll be fine, they’re just a bunch of kids.” And Obi-wan and Anakin share a dubious look because “just a bunch of kids” with Force powers could be more of an issue than even the two most capable clones people they know can handle. And these kids are pretty young, too, but still really powerful, and there’s no back up, just the two of them. But they reassure the Jedi that they’ll be fine and it’ll be a good experience. At one point Rex is like, “Really, we’ve got this. I mean, we’ve had enough experience looking after the two of you,” and they finally get the two to give in (it was an emergency after all, so time is of the essence).

And once the Jedi are gone, the chaos fun begins.

It starts of smoothly enough, but then they can’t find one of the kids when they go to give them healthy snacks (provided by the Temple), and it all goes downhill from there. Chaos ensues, and one of the kids lifts Rex and Cody into the air, who watch helplessly as the kids start grabbing all the sugary snacks they can find and escape. Cody’s like “We... should probably call the Generals” but Rex is like “No! We can do this, besides, they’re busy.” They eventually get dropped once the kids are far enough away, and now they’re frantically looking for a little group of extremely small, Force-sensitive children, and Cody’s just like “can we call them NOW!?” and Rex is like “No! And see, there they are!” and they have to get the kids out of some tight spot, but while defending the kids they run off again and steal a speeder, and they’re all working together to drive it. They nearly get away, but Rex and Cody realize they’re gone - “Hey, where’d they go NOW?” - and manage to catch them, almost getting run over then dropped off the speeder in the process.

*cut to a battle scene with Obi-wan and Anakin fighting some droids side by side* 

O: Do you think Rex and Cody are doing all right with the kids?

A: I’m sure they’re fine.

*cut back to Rex and Cody, screaming and holding onto the back of the speeder for dear life, trying not to fall off, while the kids are driving too fast the wrong way, head on into rush-hour traffic*

Cody’s like “WE SHOULD HAVE CALLED THE GENERALS!!!” and Rex is like “THIS WAS YOUR IDEA CODY! AND BESIDES, WE’RE FINE! THE GENERALS TRUSTED US SO WE HAVE TO DO THIS OURSELVES!” and Cody’s all like “THIS IS SOOO NOT FINE” but they manage to get back into the speeder. Unfortunately, Anakin picks this perfect moment to check in on Rex to see how they’re doing. Rex and Cody are panicking because “We can’t answer that NOW!” but they also can’t not answer it either, so Rex just kinda motions for Cody to take the steering away from the kids and he answers the comm.

And Anakin’s like “Hey Rex, how’s it going with the kids?” And Rex is watching Cody trying to wrestle with the steering as one of the more stubborn kids uses the Force to keep driving, and he’s like “Everything’s going great, sir.” Anakin’s like “They aren’t giving you too much trouble are they? Those ones were supposed to be a particularly rowdy bunch.” Rex nearly drops the comm while lunging to grab a kid who, now bored, is trying to climb out the sides of the speeder, and he’s like “No sir, no trouble. They’re practically perfect little angels.” Personally, Rex decides this is more stressful than some battles he’s been in, though Cody swerving the vehicle while trying to get back to the right side of traffic feels familiar enough. Anakin’s voice comes back over the comm. “Well, Obi-wan and I are just about finished here, so we’ll be on our way back as soon as we notify the locals that their Separatist problem has been dealt with.” Rex has a fresh wave of panic wash over him, but he manages a “Very good sir, can’t wait to see you.” That’s partly true, as he’s very ready to return custody of the kids to Anakin. But just as he’s responding, Cody swerves to avoid another vehicle, which honks loudly, and the kids all laugh and cheer. Anakin sounds suspicious when he asks “Rex... what was that?” And Rex just dies. “U-uh, nothing sir. Just playing a game with them sir. Uh, got another call coming in sir, sorry sir, glad the mission went, well, can’t wait to see you!” Anakin’s like “Rex-” but Rex keys off the comm and turns to Cody, who’s gotten them back in the right lane at last. “Cody, the Generals are coming back and we have NO IDEA WHAT WE”RE DOING!” Cody’s like “I TOLD you we should’ve called someone!” And Rex gets an idea. He swoops to grab another kid, then keys back on the comm and makes the call.

When they get the speeder back to wherever their starting place had been, Ahsoka’s already there, waiting by her speeder-bike. She may not be part of the Order anymore, but Rex still calls her for advice every once in a while, and even just to say hi. They park the speeder and she walks over, shaking her head. Cody’s like, “Thank you for coming to help, General,” and she can see he really means it. The kids are still in the speeder, mostly piled on Rex, who looks at her and mouths “HELP”. She grins and says, “Rex sounded desperate, and by the looks of it, you definitely needed some help. How did you two even get in this mess?” She picks up two of the kids, and Cody picks up two more, unburying Rex enough to get out to help the last three. Rex sighs and says “It’s a long story...”

So they explain to Ahsoka what they did while she shakes her head at some parts, and she helps them set the kids back in the main area of the compound where they started. “You really let them eat (insert alternative to candy here)? That’s your first mistake.” and Rex (indignantly) says “We didn’t LET them do anything! They picked us up and floated us to the ceiling and then took the stuff themselves!” and Ahsoka’s laughing, but so are Rex and Cody and they’re watching the kids playing together and they realize they seriously like these kids.

By the time they’ve finished their tale (”...then we were back here, and, well, you know the rest.”), the kids are all tired out, and Ahsoka helps tuck them into their little rest nooks in the compound’s wall. Rex is just like, “how do you do this?” and she’s like “First: I’ve dealt with younglings before, and second: they’re just kids. There IS more to life than the war. When it’s over, life’ll go back to normal.” She grins at him, and says “It’ll be fine Rex. Besides, it’ll get easier as they get older. They lose most of this chaotic energy eventually.” Rex grins back and says, “What, like you?” and they’re laughing again, but quietly because the kids are still sleeping. Rex thinks of Cut’s family, and finds himself wondering about after the war, and if he could babysit Cut’s kids... Ahsoka walks to the door and stops, looking back as Cody and Rex follow her. “I should probably get out of here before Anakin and Obi-wan get back, and besides, the owner of this speeder will probably be wanting it back. We don’t want you two getting arrested, after all.” They both thank her as she takes the speeder back to its owner, her bike attached to the side, and they both wave as she disappears from sight.

About a minute later, they hear the sounds of a small ship landing outside, and are greeted momentarily by Obi-wan and Anakin. Obi-wan looks skeptical as he enters, glancing around the main room suspiciously. “The two of you survived!” Anakin says, grinning. “We did sir,” Rex says tiredly. It’s been a very long day. “The children weren’t too much trouble, I hope?” Obi-wan asks. “Oh no sir, they were fine,” Cody replies. “They were downright peaceful, for kids. Or Jedi for that matter. Easier than taking out a row of clankers.” Obi-wan and Anakin trade a dubious look, but they thankfully don’t mention the sounds they heard over Rex’s comm. “Well, I’m glad to hear that Cody. But, um...” he trails off, and the two clones feel their hopes sinking. Here it comes, they both think. “It’s very quiet in here, and I daresay a little too quiet. Where are the children?” Obi-wan asks. He sounds a little worried, and Anakin’s grin slips a little as he realizes the same thing. Rex and Cody both relax though. Relieved, Cody replies .“They’re sleeping sir.” Obi-wan’s eyebrows go up. “Sleeping?” Cody points down the hall behind them to the room with the sleeping nooks, and the two Jedi go and poke their heads in to find 7 little Jedi, tucked in and fast asleep. Obi-wan’s smiling as he walks back to them, and he says “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m very impressed, you two.” Both Rex and Cody practically glow with that, and they both say “Thank you sir” in unison, then smile at each other. “Wow,” Anakin remarks, “you both look really worn out though.” Cody can only nod, while Rex manages a “Yes sir.” Obi-wan and Anakin look at each other, then come to a silent agreement. “Sleepover!” Anakin yells, pumping his fist. They all shush him, and he looks apologetic as he whisper-shouts “Sleepover!” Both clones fall asleep where they’re sitting within two minutes, a small “Thank you sirs” coming from both of them. They look like they’re guarding the children, and Obi-wan and Anakin think it’s a very heartwarming sight. The two Jedi bring in extra blankets and pillows from the ship, and they make their friends comfortable before falling asleep themselves, the kids still snoring in the other room.

As they disembark from the ship the next morning, tiny Jedi troublemakers swarming around their legs, Cody and Rex feel a mix of relief and regret. Relief, because they won’t have to chase them all over Coruscant anymore, having panic attacks of every kind while trying to cause as little damage as possible and protect their tiny fragile lives. Regret, because they’ll miss the little troublemakers (no matter how hard they try to convince themselves they won’t). While their Generals are speaking to the Jedi usually in charge of the children, Rex thinks about how the last 24 hours compares to following Anakin with the rest of the 501st. He was struck by how similar their adventure was to an average day with the older Jedi, following them into dangerous situations, protecting them and doing as little damage as possible, as well as cleaning up the mess afterwards. Even calling in reinforcements was a familiar move, and he found himself smiling at the thought of these tiny Jedi leading a group of clones into battle. He also found himself fervently hoping that the war was over before they had to face that, but he swore that he’d follow them into battle himself if it meant he could protect them. They all swarmed him and Cody for hugs, and they once again found themselves buried in a pile of kids, before they ran off back to the adults, calling out “Bye! Bye!” as they ran. Obi-wan and Anakin walked back towards them and boarded the ship, having finished their conversation, and Rex and Cody followed them. Rex paused at the top of the ramp though, and turned to look back. The kids were still calling out their goodbyes as they disappeared into the temple, and they waved to him. He waved back to them, and heard Anakin call “Rex!” 

And as the ramp closed behind him, he knew that they would turn out to be amazing Jedi indeed.

#my ramblings #rex and cody #my ficlet #jedi

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

[purplerose244]

I don’t care

Hi!! This is my fic for the @ninjago-valentine-exchange!! Thank you so much for organizing this, I really had fun writing this! 🥰

Special thank also to @nightlybirdie for the lovely fanart I got to respond to! It’s such an adorable little comic! 😍  I thought making a songfic about the same song you choose would have been fitting, since it really is very Lava like ❤🖤❤🖤

Here we go! Enjoy!! 😊

Summary: It's just another celebration party after all, Cole should be used to feeling left out.

Turns out, someone is very not okay with that.

Also on the AO3

We’re at a party we don’t wanna be at

Trying to talk but we can’t hear ourselves

Red your lips I’d rather kiss ‘em right back

With all these people all around I’m crippled with anxiety

 It wasn’t that Cole hated parties.

Although it wasn’t that he loved them either.

“… so thank you again, ninja!” Tipping his hat, the police commissioner finally finished his speech, one that after such a long time spent with them fighting crime and evil beings – like ten years or something? – was starting to sound vaguely repetitive. “Now, without further ado, let us begin this celebration party! To honor our saviors!” The crowd cheered, all the police members bowed at them, and it was finally time to forget about the danger and relax.

… right.

Alright, the black ninja wasn’t a party-pooper – he wasn’t never going to give Jay that satisfaction. There were of course great pros about being here after all, starting from the fact that the very reason there was such a big event in the first place was because they had saved the city once again – he needed to remind Lloyd to bring the sign ‘days Ninjago City wasn’t attacked’ back to zero. This was a celebration in their honor, a thank you for their determination and commitment and for keeping their world safe every time. He could see familiar faces into the crowd, having fun, enjoying the peace that once again so difficulty they had managed to regain.

The music was nice. Nowhere near his usual choice, and he knew he was going to grab his headphones and blast soft rock at full volume as soon as they were back at the monastery, but nice nonetheless – relaxing too… oh… oh, no, no dozing off. His friends were all there, dancing, talking, perfectly in tune with the festive atmosphere.

Oh, there was also a buffet, that was nice. It was also an extremely generous one, with tarts, sandwiches, shrimps and so on, one that could make even Zane’s nindroid mouth water. The black ninja himself had finished his recognition at the table, even though he had ended up with a glass of whatever while standing on the side of the ballroom. All he knew was that it was sparkling and slightly bitter. Not really his taste.

Nothing felt like his taste right now… but that went beyond his beverage choice.

He tried to widen his collar, for the fifth time in the last hour. He should’ve known better than borrowing a suit from his father, besides their obvious different sizes. Even beyond the blatant reality that being the master of earth pulled out muscles that a dancer just didn’t have, it was the most irritating reminder of the time he had spent trying to meet his pa’s expectations by joining a quartet. It had been a while since that matter had been solved, there was no point into sulking over it. There were more important matters ahead.

His finger went to his collar. Sixth time. Great.

Was he the only one holding on instead of having fun? Again?

One impressively loud laugh shook his from his thoughts, and he didn’t have to look to recognize Jay, near their latest used-to-be-enemy-but-now-they’re-our-pal. Great, someone must have asked what happened during their adventure, there was no way Motor Mouth would have missed the opportunity to vent – as long as his obnoxiously talkative nature didn’t bring their new friend back to the evil path. Right next Zane was showing off his dancing skills, that familiar endearing view that probably involved his famous funny switch. Or not, that nindroid was lovable no matter what after all. From the resigned but fond smirk of Pixal, leaning against the wall not far while watching the robot making a spectacle of himself, he wasn’t the only one thinking that.

Lloyd had been kidnapped by a few reporters of the NGTV, although despite the awkward atmosphere he looked like he could handle himself – which wasn’t new, man that kid was indestructible. And even though he was confident that Nya was not the biggest fan of formal clothes just like himself, like the pro she was she knew exactly how to deal both with her dress and the people crowding around her. Besides, she deserved a bit of spotlight.

His friends were having fun, that made the master of earth happy unconditionally. Although he would have liked to share that light-heartedness, or simply being willing to let himself go for once. Well, they were doing fine, he could end this and finally go home by himse-

Wait. No. Something wasn’t right.

Where was that? Where was the crowd of people getting consistently louder and more insistent the closest they got to their red hero? Where was the never-ending flirty attitude that was almost a main characteristic of the master of fire? Where was the improvised meeting of the Kai fan club happening every single time they ended an adventure, like these screaming admirers had been silently waiting for the end to end just to see their diva?

A shiver caught him. Surprise? Confusion? Relief? Cole wasn’t quite sure, he just knew that there was no massive amount of chocolate hair nowhere in the ballroom. A pinch in his chest made his back straighten up. He took the slightest sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste.

Then, someone shouldered him. Wow, silent as a ninja. Then again, it wasn’t hard at this point recognizing his teammates without looking.

Especially someone as warm as him.

“Apologies my good sir, but it looks like we’re in quite the predicament over here.” Yep, he could see Kai’s smirk in the corner of his vision, moving up his mouth with that little dimple on the corner. “This is very clearly a party-fever, non-sulking area. You better correct your behavior, or I will be forced to take drastic measures.” Kai stuck out his tongue as he cracked his knuckles, despite himself Cole couldn’t help half a laugh.

Only half, because this guy could be very irritating when trying to push his reasons on others – the cow yak predicament between him and Jay was never going to be forgotten and was actually brought up again every once in a while. Only half… because there was something mesmerizing at seeing the reckless master of fire getting cleaned up in a classy and refined suit. White immaculate shirt. Perfectly stirred jacket. That little red bow over his neck, because if this guy didn’t like to show off that red was his color on every occasion then the Overlord was a good guy.

You could say a lot about the red ninja, really a lot.

Not having style? Not between that – of course his ego didn’t need to know this.

The black ninja huffed, catching himself before he let his eyes lingering on him for too long – thank you master Wu, poor unaware sensei probably didn’t know his meditation lesson were being used to hide a crush.

“Drastic measures as kick me out? Because first, I would like to see you try.” Kai was strong, but not earth strong, thank you very much. “And second, I can leave on my own, thank you.”

Another shoulder. Much quicker than the other.

“Nah huh, this is also a very restricted non-ditching area.” Now he was cornered. Which wasn’t much because it was only Kai and his mischievous look. Also it was Kai and his mischievous look. “You either have fun and enjoy yourself, or security will escort you to prison in a conga line.”

“Really?” The hothead dared to shrug, like this made-up nonsense was a fact and these ‘laws’ were beyond him. “You don’t have to be a bringer of justice here too, just leave me be a solitary public figure for five more minutes before leaving.” A little frown moved his scarred eyebrows, which looked a little too knowing for some reason. “Besides, don’t you have a fan club to return to? I’m not seeing brown wigs twice your head moving around, that’s worrying.” A third shove, this time the black ninja let out a proper laugh. The red ninja’s hair only got crazier and crazier since they met, and it was always funny.

Endearing, too… dang it feelings!

The master of fire crossed his arms over his chest, pouting yet smiling.

“I can have a party without getting assaulted by my fans, you know? Besides, it’s been a while since we had a proper celebration, I wanna be with my team for once.” It was surprising and also very not. Kai was that much of an egomaniac, he loved the attention; but he loved his family even more, and it was true that they didn’t get much time to enjoy simply be united – trying to survive a villain while experiencing discoveries and development didn’t count as a relaxing bonding experience.

Cole gave a look at the crowd. The others were all still there.

“I’ll give you that, should we call up the others then?”

“No no no, you don’t get out of the radar that easily!” Again with the grin, what was that dangerously pretty head of his plotting? He looked focused too, it was scary. “Cut loose, will ya? You always end up in the corner at these things, you could at least pretend like you wanna be here.”

The black ninja winced.

“Gosh, you sound like my dad.” He definitely didn’t want to think about his dad in front of his crush. “We’re not all social butterflies, okay? I’m fine being myself.”

“Oh that’s not it, you’re okay. You being you is amazing.” Was that flirtatious? Was that a random compliment? Dang it, Cole had known him for too long, he couldn’t tell the difference anymore! “But whenever we get to an event like this one you always look like you would rather go back fighting and it sucks. Not being much of a party person is fine, I just want you to have some fun that’s all.” Ah. There it was. Underneath the mocking, the arrogance and the flirts, was a guy that could fire up a group of ninja with the power alone of his blatantly sincere words. Being against the next reason Ninjago City needed to be rebuilt, or while trying to give a random party some meaning. “Besides, speaking of fans, I know you have some. You could improvise a convention too.” He gestured towards him with both hands, like he was presenting him for a talk show.

The master of earth grinned. His chest felt warm, as always. Curse this guy for being cute. Curse him for being here instead of somewhere else wowing some random guest, blessing him with his company. He was right about not being together enough. Cole did miss having peaceful times with his teammate… he had missed spending time with Kai.

 But I’m told it’s where I’m supposed to be

You know what?

It’s kinda crazy coz I really don’t mind

When you make it better like that

 He took another sip. Grimacing. He shook his head.

“My fan club is nowhere near as wide as yours.”

“It’s not a challenge you know… although if it was, we all know who would win…” The red ninja flexed his arm. The jacket moved accordingly, showing off results of a training that even without involving massive rocks looked still impressive.

Cole swallowed over a sudden dry throat, only to frown.

“Huh… Lloyd?”

Kai blinked and sulked down altogether.

“Lloyd indeed.” They looked at each other and laughed.

The previous song slowly faded, a new rhythm took over. To Cole’s relief, it was something less ballet-like and more vivacious, capturing a few couple and individuals into the ballroom to enjoy the music. Jay was showing off impressive dancing skills, although him coming out of nowhere with a new ability wasn’t unheard of – roller skating, skiing, how did he even have free time to learn where he would always invent and eat junk food? Nya wasn’t too far behind, crossing path with Zane and improvising something together, laughing all the way. Lloyd was about to shake his head with a snicker and step away, only to have Pixal push him in with a little grin.

It was so peaceful. Them having fun, enjoying themselves, doing something other than risking their own lives and protect the land. They were the moments the black ninja loved the most.

Kai was humming himself, smiling just as widely. Cole chuckled warmly.

“You look like a very proud father.”

The red ninja arched an eyebrow and smirked.

“Wouldn’t you like that, honey.” Oh dang it, was he for real?! Was that a flirt?! Was that a little blush or for the master of fire having red over him was as natural as igniting flames?? Was he going somewhere with this, help, abort, something, anything! “We should chime in and join Zane and Jay, make a reprise of the Blade Cup Tournament! I remember the choreography still, bet we could show it to Nya, Lloyd and Pixal too.” Alright, never mind, false alarm… possibly, again, it was confusing.

Cole took another sip. It possibly tasted worse at every try, he didn’t even know why he was holding the glass still. At least he looked refined… or something.

“No way, I’m not going through that again.”

“Oh come on, I thought you got over your dancing complex with the Triple Tiger Sashay.” Kai shrugged, looking at him right into the eyes. “You dance good too, it’s a waste.” Was he in vain of compliments today or he was silently mocking him through an elaborated plan?

… nah, he wasn’t one to make complicated plans. He was a pretty face, and an airhead.

Cole shrugged.

“I don’t mind dancing, not as much as I used to at least. I even like it nowadays.” Having a hobby besides saving Ninjago was kind of important to not completely lose it – and playing videogames became a little too competitive once Jay or Lloyd got in the zone. “But it’s a little too connected to what my dad used to expect me to be and sometimes I don’t wanna even brush that thought.” They were good now, of course they were. But they spent time apart because of it. It was still hard to think about it. “… I don’t like to think that it would’ve been easier to just bear and go on. It makes me wonder what I would have become in that case, through tedious dancing lessons and failures.” Wow, his insecurities were put under a test, and there was no menace in sight for once.

Urgh, nope, not tonight, not after the mess they had been forced to fix for their city. Tonight it was about feeling light, thoughtless and happy. He needed a joke, a mockery, something, and while their official jokester wasn’t available Kai was the next best thing.

Any moment now… any moment now…

… okay now he was deliberately teasing him with those pretty eyes of his. He looked even sappy now, their shoulders were touching. He was so warm.

“It’s… kind of a scary thought, you know. Thinking of a you in a reality in which we haven’t met.” He smiled, one enigmatic, slightly worried smile that Cole couldn’t remember to have seen before. “But master Wu would’ve found you anyway, right? I don’t want to think of a world where we don’t know each other.” Because he was a precious teammate of his. “That’s not right in my head, I kinda hate it really.” Because they were too close as friends to even conceive it. “I’m just happy to have the strong, kind, incredible Cole by my side for this life.” Because he… cared. Because Kai cared about all the people in his life, all the precious members of his family.

That included him. As a… as…

The master of fire was staring at him, lips pressed tight together, burning cheeks and glimmering eyes. His face radiated heat, beyond the temperature itself; it was like an image so hot it got blurry, yet the beauty of it was nitid and flawless.

Cole was mesmerized. Then he slowly took a step back from his condition, finding the energic music fading away around them, and the red ninja still froze with his eyes on him.

It made him smile.

Having his attention always made him smile.

“Oh my gosh, it’s Kai!!” Because it wasn’t for granted and it wasn’t as easy as it was, back when they had started their legend as the ninja team. Now they were celebrities, and having a group of fans jumping excitedly in front of the brunette was ordinary administration. “Kai! You’re so cool, thank you for saving us again! You are our favorite ninja, can we get a picture? And a photo? Possibly both, if you can!” There were a couple of girls, one guy and a kid jumping from one foot to the other. All looking at ease and confident with their dresses and manners, addressing one of the heroes of this island.

Huh. The party had started to get nicer a few minutes ago, now it was back at being dull. Awkward. Uneasy. Solitary. Once again the too tight suit became very vivid, especially around his arms and chest. Once again the music, that had gone back at being slow and classic, got at his nerves. Once again he was being a spectator, looking at the scene like it was airing on television.

Kai was smiling naturally, he was more than used at that kind of attention. But his eyes were quick at focusing on him, and another little frown moved his forehead.

“Thanks for the support guys, but I’m a little busy right now…”

Cole rolled his eyes. He hated pity, so much. It felt like a slap right now.

“No you’re not idiot, come on, show your fans some respect. They get to see you without the city falling apart for a change!” The group nodded eagerly, eyes brightening the room. The red ninja wasn’t looking at them, his eyes were fixed on his teammate and it was even more irritating. “I’ll be at the buffet if you need me, have fun.” He looked hurt. What right did he have to get hurt? From what even? The master of earth was the one casted aside, for a change!

He walked away from the scene, losing Kai’s voice between excited shouts and squeaks from the group. Like that was new, it was always the serious, uncharismatic, downer of the team the one getting less recognition. He had known that when he had met this band of crazy people that he had started to call family. He had known that when Lloyd had taken charge and lead them towards one victory after the other. He had known that when Nya had been called into action, showing off once and for all that she was the real deal. There was always someone before him, brighter, to capture the attention. Being a robot, being an inventor, being the most handsome guy in existence…

… and it was fine.

Cole wasn’t stupid not unrealistic. He knew who he was, he knew his skills and his pros. He knew there were many people cheering for him too, he knew that Ninjago City loved him. Having less focus didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do his best to give back that support. But moments like these made him feel like it was unfairly easy to be pushed away in favor of something better. This really wasn’t what he was used to. The party, the attention… him.

It wasn’t about the attention after all. It was about feeling inadequate. Unlike others, he wasn’t born for the attention. Others were ready to burn to catch everyone’s eyes through their beauty. Cole only wished the difference wasn’t always this upsetting.

The guests were walking around him as he passed through. He didn’t actually want to go back to the table, he had simply said the first thing that had come to his mind – with that one girl so close to Kai thinking had been very difficult. Then the police commissioner had called the attention upon the impressive cake that was being brought in by a carrier. Shaped like the monastery, with their faces on the base. Wasn’t he the absolute dessert lover that he was, he might have found the cake too cute to even attempt a bite. Then again he really was, which was no secret at all. The chief of the police department was more than happy to give him the first slice.

White chocolate and blueberries. He hated himself for being so irritated, he would have wanted to enjoy his cake without bothering images into his head. He knew it wasn’t that big of a deal. Whenever there was a party, his mind just liked to remind him how uncomfortable he felt. It was only a matter of waiting for it to be over. Then he could share a bag of candies with Lloyd, or pull some weights with Nya, or meditate with Zane, or train with Pixal, or destroy Jay at videogame. Or do anything, absolutely everything, that involved spending time with Kai.

Just for the sake of having him near… ah, dang it, feelings again!

He swallowed a bit harshly, all of the sudden he couldn’t have more. The slice was half eaten – yeah he liked to have that big of a first bite –, and even after spending the night munching over those little snacks that couldn’t contain more than one or two calories each. He felt full. He couldn’t even enjoy his dessert now, might as well leave before anyone noticed him. He had planned on leaving much earlier so it wasn’t a problem.

Cole looked down at that forsaken drink, arching an eyebrow. Maybe it was good with sweets? Maybe that was what made it good? He drank, grimaced and grunted. He moved to put the drink on the table once and for all.

A quick ninja hand snatched the glass. A second later it was emptied.

“Finally, you were driving me crazy with this thing!” Kai, smiley and innocent, almost knocked down another glass as he let the empty one fall over the table. “All night sipping and hating!”

The black ninja’s mind was empty. From nothingness, only one doubt emerged.

“… you’ve been watching me?”

 Don’t think we fit in at this party

Everyone’s got so much to say

When we walked in I said “I’m sorry”

But now I think that we should stay

 That wasn’t probably the question to ask, no matter how much the master of earth was stubborn over the idea that nothing was a big deal at the moment. Something like ‘what are you doing here’ would have sounded out of place though, and teasing directly about what happened to his fan club didn’t sound better. Besides, the handsome master of fire finished his drink putting those perfect lips right where Cole’s had been just a second ago, and the black ninja’s strategic leader brain that had many times got him out of a bad situation wasn’t working.

Or maybe it was? There were very few things that could really, actively melt his heart like this. The red ninja’s blush was one of them. It had to have something to do with his element, the reddening was absolute and total. Like watching a thermometer reaching the maximum.

“J-Just a little! One or two times!” Liar, Cole had been doing this sip and regret thing all evening. The thought alone was an injection of giddiness. “Not up for cake? That’s new.”

Oh. He felt a little more in vain for cake. Two bites later it was done.

“I was taking a breath.” It was easier with him around. Did he know that? “You’re done with the fans? That was quick.” Kai huffed with superiority, but the black ninja was no fool: he could see the girl from before sighing a little, like she didn’t get nearly as much red ninja as she had been expecting. “You didn’t have to leave them behind for me.” That came out exactly as badly as he thought it. Why did he say it anyway? Why was the master of fire this shocked and fearful? “Kai I’m not some special case that you have to take care of, you know that. You don’t have to hang around me just because.” Huh. It came out like that.

Huh. Kai looked one with his element, burning from his forehead to his neck, looking almost sunburned. Adorable. So adorable, even while Cole was waiting for whatever was going to come from this situation. Which was, beyond his expectations, the red ninja’s rough and long hand slowly reaching for his, holding it tight.

Warm, so warm, so unfairly warm.

“I… I hang out with you because I want to. I want you to have fun because I…” He swallowed, hardly, and it felt like a light was switched on in the black ninja’s mind. “… I like when you have fun. When you s-smile, too.” It was so different from the usual flirty attitude that this guy used. It would have sounded like a mockery to any other. “I like being where you are too, that’s all I need… I-I mean it!” But Cole knew this guy, he knew him too well not to know that flirting was a show.

This awkward, embarrassed, red gorgeous person was the real deal. One that came out only when the time was right, and the person was right.

Cole was right. He was… right?

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He really didn’t and it was the worst possible answer. But it was true. What did you say to someone you harbored feelings for that showed interest back towards you? Thanks? Same here? I love you?? It was true but it was out and everything felt unnecessary and uneasy again.

The hold tightened. Kai was still blushing, but he was smiling with that special energy into his eyes. The one that usually meant a very bad plan coming, or one heck of an idea.

“No need. Just come with me.” Not like he could resist him right now.

Right on cue the music had changed, slowing down. The master of earth had a suspicion the one holding his hand was behind this – not like bribing Dareth currently at the console was particularly hard, especially with a couple of Puffy Potstickers in hand. Then again, the one holding his hand was this handsome fella that was leading him towards the center of the ballroom, between fanciful people and a couple of eyes in awe at seeing their heroes there. It was easier to ignore the comparison, the feeling of inferiority, while feeling Kai’s fingers clenching around his palm, shaking firmly. It was cute. So very cute. Cole could barely see in front of himself between all these people, yet it felt like nothing was really shouldering him as he passed through.

There were lights above them. Were they always there? Cole didn’t notice before, which was silly since it was all dark outside. His head was lighter, he didn’t have control over his strength even if he had wanted to break free from that hold. He didn’t. Not when the red ninja had that familiar determination making his entire body tense. Not while he turned around, smirking.

Still blushing. Still holding his hand. The master of earth looked down. Two pairs of feet staring at each other. Memories of the dance lessons came flooding back.

He looked up. Those glimmering embers made it much better.

“You brought me here to dance?”

“Impeccable deduction, Rocky.”

“Do you even know how? Dancing in couple is not the same as in a group, and we both know you have awful balance.” It was the only thing that made him regret throwing the battle against Jay back at the tournament of elements: losing the possibility of seeing this klutz making a fool of himself on roller skates. Confident Kai? Goofy and charming. Energic Kai? Attractive and brave. Angry Kai? Literally hot. But man, clumsy, adorably unsteady Kai? A wholesome force strong enough to break every single mountain he had ever climbed in his life.

The master of fire huffed with superiority, which was already promising. Around them a few couples were getting together, slowly moving with the rhythm.

“Please, I defeat evil lurking behind our backs on regular basis. I can handle a dance.” His eyes went down on his feet, while he unsurely grabbed his other hand. “You just gotta work with me, first you move the left… right… no left, left!” Left went right over his partner’s foot, and it was gone right away ironically almost as it got burned. “D-Don’t laugh, I got this!” Screw everything, the master of earth was very glad Ninjago had been in peril just to arrive at this specific moment.

Ah, but he was the responsible one, wasn’t he? Snickering right in front of the brunette’s face while he was doing his dang best at not stomping onto his feet would have not been very mature.

… continuously at least, he could take one giggle.

No one could call one giggle immature. Or two.

“I can hear my father’s pleas from here.”

“Shut up, I’m getting there! Right foot, sorry, then left…” Wow, it was almost impressive considering Cole had managed to see him before almost gracefully practicing spinjitzu with them. Then again, it was so like him it hurt. “There there’s the… huh… casket?” Oh dear, he meant the casque? Yep, definitely good pa wasn’t here. The black ninja almost blacked out he was laughing so much – pun not intended –, wiping away a single tear. Then he looked up, embers were staring. So focused and bright they were too much to look at. Kai grinned. “At least your smile is back.” The softest curve ever.

It was impossible not to look at it. It was baffling how many people were attracted to the master of fire solely for appearance and superficial charm. Yet this part, this tender side of him was the most lovely part. The most hidden too, reserved only to those who got close enough to the fire to get burned, without regretting a single moment.

Cole giggled again, stepping forward. Automatically he took charge, assuming the position that had been sculptured into his mind by years of dance lessons. Kai’s hand was still shaking as he took it, his eyes were trembling too. It made the black ninja smile more.

“It’s easy to smile when I’m with you.” Another incredible thing about this guy, it made all the people around him more confident. Stronger. Him included.

Kai gaped. He stuttered, looking down, up, at him and not.

Then he sighed, whining weakly.

“I was trying to properly confess, Boulder Brain.” It would have been such a shameless, anticlimactic moment for anyone. Gosh if it hadn’t dissolved all the anxious anticipation the black ninja had. “Why did you have to one up me right now?” Maybe it wasn’t only Kai that made him feel this at ease, maybe it wasn’t only them knowing each other so well. Maybe there really was one and only, for life, and the master of earth knew it by instinct.

A pretty good instinct too.

Cole grinned, stepping closer because dang if this didn’t feel immensely good.

“Force of habit, you’re just that slow.” Dang if this easiness between them wasn’t the most comfortable feeling he had ever felt. “You should really put your mind into training a little more, prove that you can keep up with me, Fireball.”

Music was changing, people were moving, the party was continuing and neither of them was looking anymore. Who cared anyway? What was important right now?

Warmth was.

Kai’s hand on his cheek was. Kai’s softened eyes on him were.

“I can do that. You know I never quit in front of a challenge.” One blink of an eye later, their noses were brushing. Another blink, their breaths were caressing each other’s lips. One last, the master of fire turned that kind of serious. The one that put everything on the table, because he considered a moment that important. “… I hate when you ditch a party.” Cole held together a little gulp. “And it’s not about you not being a party person, or wanting you to have fun, or even for you to get the credit you deserve. It is in part, but it’s not all.” He smiled, his thumb tracing gently his cheek, so very careful with him. Him, the lifter of their team. Him, the mighty master of earth. Him, the one that could manifest an earthquake with a punch. “It’s just that I miss you every time. You make everything better for me… I want to be with you as much as I can.”

It was never about that after all. It was never about who he was or what he represented, for either of them. It was just about two guys, two friends that had been lucky enough to get closer to each other reciprocally. In comparison to this, everything felt so meaningless.

The room was empty, the music was gone. It was just them.

Cole closed his eyes.

“You could convince me that parties are cool, you know. Then I won’t ditch anymore.” His closeness, his heat, his presence. The black ninja wanted to take in everything about this moment and never letting go. “I feel like I’m on the right path right now…” Wow, they weren’t even together yet and his flirty tendencies were already rubbing on him. Was he really that gone already for not minding it one bit?

Ah, who cared, Kai was so close he could hear him swallow. His thumb was still shivering, and it made his heart flutter. Then he laughed, low and sincere.

“Let’s see if I can be convincing.” He whispered.

Kissing the red ninja was exactly how he had imagined. It was warm, a little clumsy, so very sincere and vigorous. It reflected how he moved, how he acted, how he fought, how he protected. Yet it was nothing like he thought. It was so sweet it made his eyes pinch, it was delicate and even a little uncertain. It was him on the inside, the him that didn’t always want to make an impression, the him that had so much love to give to his most precious ones. It was him. In every possible way, it was him.

Cole smiled, kissing back, holding onto him as he was held back.

He liked parties. And he loved Kai.

 ‘Cause I don’t care when I’m with my baby, yeah

All the bad things disappear

And you’re making me feel like maybe I am somebody

I can deal with the bad nights

When I’m with my baby

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #kai smith #cole brookstone #cole bucket #lava #lavashipping #ninjago valentine exchange #nightlybirdie

[makutas-chronicle]

She-Ra Count of Monte Cristo AU

Inspired by the 2009 Count of Monte Cristo musical.

Adora is a quickly rising star among the Horde’s Force Captains, with her Lieutenant- soon to be Wife?- Catra by her side and her squad backing her up she seems unstoppable.  But, this is causing friction among the more established Force Captains, who- aided by Shadow Weaver who’s begun to realize she lost control of Adora the moment she hit the field- secretly imprison her on Beast Island.

Ten years later, Catra, who was never even able to find out where Adora went, has been forced to admit that she’s dead and has settled in to working under Captain Scorpia, tentatively, finally, letting herself begin to move on.

Meanwhile, a scarred, dead-eyed woman staggers out of the Whispering Woods, dragging King Micah to the steps of Bright Moon before leaving to return to the Horde.  Her name?  Despara.

Plot outline below, someone else please write this fully so I don’t have to.

Chapters named for their corresponding songs in the musical.

Prologue:  Glimmer POV.  It’s another day of infuriating stalemate when the woman arrives, carrying a miracle on her back, her father, terribly injured but alive after twenty-five years.  But there’s something off about this woman.  She won’t tell anyone her name, Micah won’t wake up, and whenever anyone meets her gaze there’s something awful in her one good eye.  It comes to a head when the woman breaks into her father’s sealed armoury, stealing powerful magical artifacts and escaping into the night, leaving Glimmer defeated in her wake with only a name, “Force Captain Despara.”

When Love Is True:  Adora POV.  Ten years prior, Catra and Adora are taking the Horde and the rest of the world by storm, practically celebrities in their own right.  Adora thinks she has a way to get Catra promoted to Force Captain as well; their accomplishments have actually managed to draw the attention of Lord Hordak himself and she thinks a couple more missions might be enough to get an audience with him.  The two of them talk about all the things they’ll finally be able to do unrestricted once it’s happened.  There are makeouts, it’s disgustingly fluffy, and Catra teases Adora for it the whole time.

Unbeknownst to Adora, the last thing Shadow Weaver wants is for the two of them to get any more power.  When they’re summoned to the Force Commander’s chamber she tries to re-establish her control over them, but Adora refuses to step aside.  So close to what she thinks of as the end of their time under the witch’s thumb she refuses to let Shadow Weaver use them against each other any more.  They are dismissed, unknowing that it was a final test, and Adora just failed it.

A Story Told:  Force Captain Octavia POV.  Three of the old-guard Force Captains, Octavia, Grizzlor, and a Lizardfolk(referred to hereon as Hyldren), have met in secret to discuss what should be done about Adora.  She’s gathered too much influence too fast, the only Force Captain the rank and file love more than her is Scorpia, and no one has a better operation record, but unlike Scorpia, Adora won’t bend the knee to anyone other than Shadow Weaver.  They need to figure out how to knock her down a peg.

The meeting is interrupted by Shadow Weaver, who prevents the others from trying to talk their way out of being discovered by revealing that Adora has outlived her usefulness, and she intends to do something that will either bring her to heel, or kill her.  Either way, the problem will be solved.

Weeks later, they trick Catra into going ahead and capture Adora during a base transfer, making it look to like she was attacked by marauders from the Crimson Wastes on the road while they bring her to Beast Island, leaving Adora with a single flare, enchanted by Shadow Weaver to only be usable once Adora is willing to be completely subservient to her.

I Will Be There:  Alternating Adora and Catra POV.  Adora struggles to survive alone on Beast Island, keeping herself motivated by thinking of Catra, who she’s certain will figure out what’s happened and rescue her soon.  Her first section ends with her meeting King Micah.

Cut to Catra, who is trying to find out what happened to Adora, refusing to believe that she’s gone even as she and the rest of their squad are reassigned to Scorpia.  Catra manages to convince Scorpia to help her investigate, wowing Scorpia with her confidence that they can get to the bottom of it and rescue Adora, even if they have to tear the entire Crimson Waste inside out to do it.

From there the POV alternates, going through moments from the next five years where the two of them keep themselves going with thoughts of the other.  Adora learning magic and how to survive on Beast Island from Micah, and Catra steadily leading Scorpia to conquer the Crimson Waste.

Every Day A Little Death:  Alternating Adora and Catra POV.  Adora collects injuries and scars from her struggle to survive, and every day it gets a little harder to believe anyone is coming for her.  A monster blinds her in one eye, leaving an enormous scar down the side of her face and across her throat.  She loses an arm in a freak accident and Micah fashions her a crude magic prosthetic that gets steadily more refined as three more years pass.

Catra’s frustration grows as they consolidate the Horde’s hold on the Crimson Waste and still no one can tell her what was done with Adora, they can’t even find anyone who remembers someone by her description.  And every day it gets a little harder to believe that there’s anyone left to save.

Adora breaks when something breaks her nose and it heals straighter than it was before, realizing that at this point almost no one would recognize her even if she ever got off the island.  During her breakdown she finally gets Micah to admit he’s been there for over twenty years.  It sinks in that no one is coming, and she hopes the reason is that no one knows where she is.  

Rage begins to take hold of her, because what reason did Shadow Weaver have to do this to her?  To take her entire life from her?  And she breaks Shadow Weaver’s flare in her prosthetic hand.

When The World Was Mine:  Catra POV.  Catra breaks when her squad, led by Scorpia, corner her after it’s become clear she’s not sleeping.  She’s been lashing out and then retreating to places where she thinks no one can hear her forcing herself to calm down, her sleep schedule is erratic at best, and worst of all, she only seems to be getting worse the more false leads they have to discount.  Scorpia tells her she knows what it’s like to grieve someone you aren’t ready to let go of, showing Catra the picture of her mothers.  But if someone’s gone, no amount of denying it is ever going to bring them back, and all she’s doing by refusing to let herself grieve is hurting herself more.  

Catra breaks down surrounded by people she has to begrudgingly admit are her friends.

The world loses some of its luster for her, it’s difficult for her to stay motivated once she’s admitted that Adora’s gone, but Scorpia helps her work through it, and by two more years later she’s back in peak form again.  Quieter, sadder, but sharper and more dangerous for how she understands heartbreak now, and how to use it.

When We Are Kings:  Micah POV.  It’s taken two years and a lot of close calls, but Adora and Micah have managed to map out the currents and guard rotations for the area around Beast Island, and they’re ready to make their escape attempt.

The rage Adora felt has crystallized into a cold hatred, she’d been planning her return to the Horde for a decade, but now her plans are much less about taking back her life and more about punishing everyone responsible for taking it from her.  And from the stories about Bright Moon and Mysticor Micah had tried to use to sway her, he’s given her everything she needs to make Shadow Weaver let her get close enough to enact her vengeance.

Micah is gravely injured in their escape attempt, and with his last words before he passes out he pleads with Adora to remember what she really wanted to get back to, to put that before her revenge.  Because he can see the rage growing in her won’t be satisfied with just revenge, if she stays on this path, she’ll destroy herself, and take everything else with her just to try and feel a moment’s peace that won’t come.

Hell To Your Doorstep:  Alternating Catra and Adora POV.  Six months later, Scorpia’s team is reassigned back to the Fright Zone to help train the next generation of cadets, something that irks Catra, but she finds she has more of a soft spot for the kids than she thought she would.

She begins hearing rumors, however, of a newcomer Force Captain, someone rarely seen in the Fright Zone, but apparently a terror on the battlefield, a woman named Despara.

She’s surprised when she’s summoned by the woman, but Catra hasn’t lived this long by ignoring people when she doesn’t know what they were capable of.

When she first lays eyes on Despara there’s a moment where she’s familiar; it’s shorter, but her hair’s the same colour as Adora’s and she’s the same height.  But then Despara turns around, smiles, and the memory is gone.  Adora’s eyes were never so flat, her attention had never felt so cold, Despara’s posture is too aggressive, too predatory, and her nose is too straight.  The woman’s smiles don’t reach her furious eye the way Adora’s had, she doesn’t even smell right, and to Catra’s discomfort she comes close enough that anyone would be able to smell her as she seemingly tries to make nice even as she stalks around Catra, speaking in a ragged voice likely due to whatever caused the scar across her throat.

She asks strange questions, mostly about Scorpia, and every answer seems to frustrate the Force Captain more, like she’s expecting Catra to have some secret knowledge for her that she just doesn’t.  Catra leaves the meeting more confused than anything else.

Cut to Adora.  She’d been hoping, so much, that Catra would recognize her.  She feels stupid for thinking she would when Shadow Weaver hadn’t, when none of the people responsible for taking everything from her had, when Catra has Scorpia now.  Catra had been Adora’s lifeline, and she’d moved on.  She tears apart her office, the hate in her chest searing hot until she’s exhausted herself and it simmers back down into its usual cold burn.  She hadn’t expected to need to add Scorpia to the list of people she is going to crush.  It’s a shame, Adora had liked Scorpia, but now, all Despara can see is someone else who’s stolen from her.

She plans, and the hate in her heart digs deeper.

Ah, Women:  Despara(Adora) POV.  Despara bides her time, though she finds herself gravitating back to the Fright Zone more and more often to watch Catra with the cadets.  One catches her attention, a magicat child named Finn she sees trailing after another recruit with a familiar expression in their eyes.  The same she knows used to be in hers when she looked at Catra.

Something of Adora responds the sight, so she waits until training is over one day and takes them aside under the pretense of interviewing them for inclusion in her squad.  She asks them about their squad, who they’d need to come with them if they were to be assigned to a Force Captain, and lets herself be Adora- if only in her mind- for a bit while they gush about their friends.  Thinking about how best to help this child instead of her revenge for a moment is almost invigorating, but it’s over too soon.  When she brings Finn back to the Barracks she catches Catra watching her, eyes suspicious and accusing, protective of her cadet.  Despara’s walls come right back up; this isn’t for her anymore, Adora would have been able to help look after them, Despara has no use for them.

I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead:  Catra POV.  Despara has been hanging around the edges, haunting the barracks like a vengeful specter, it sets Catra’s teeth on edge.  She’s only seen Despara soften once, around Finn, but she remembers how the hard edges had come right back when she’d noticed Catra watching, remembers how Shadow Weaver used softness against Adora, so that only makes her warier, makes her ensure the woman doesn’t have the chance to get Finn alone again.

Her next full confrontation with Despara comes months later, during a sparring demonstration with Scorpia.  The woman barges in, the cold in her eye burning with rage, and demands to spar with the other Force Captain.

As the two spar, Catra starts noticing little things in the way Despara moves in a fight; her precision, the steps she takes before she makes a strike, the specific way she braces herself before a block.  Catra finds herself almost anticipating Despara’s moves before she makes them and a hope she’d buried deep starts to stir as Despara, for all her vicious determination, is slowly overwhelmed by Scorpia’s experience and size advantage.

She asks Scorpia to tag in, she needs to know.

Sparring against Despara is like slipping back into an old, favourite bed, like coming home; she can hardly believe it, and from the way Despara’s good eye softens, neither can she.  It’s not long before they’re dancing the same dance they used to, each so familiar with the other’s movements and tactics that they could spar uninterrupted for hours without a winner.  Catra looks at Adora, hard and angry but her Adora, back from the dead after ten years, and the cold in her good eye- what had happened to Her Adora’s eyes?  Where had the fire in them gone?  Why didn’t her smiles reach them anymore?  What made her move like she’d never been Catra’s?- melts.

Catra breathes her name and after a desperate, yearning moment where Adora leans in, Despara’s walls come back up in an instant, the cold fury breaking their stalemate as she pounces with surprising ferocity.  The battle becomes pitched, each of them trying to get back on the offensive, Catra refusing to let Adora retreat behind Despara again, and Despara refusing to let Catra back in.

Eventually, Despara lands a blow, winning the spar, and as they stand there, panting with exertion, the hate in Despara’s gaze solidifies again.  “You moved on,” she accuses Catra, turning on her heel before Catra can recover from the shock.

In many ways, Catra doesn’t recover, not until Scorpia manages to shoo the cadets away and find Catra somewhere safe to break down again.

Pretty lies:  Alternating Despara and Catra POV.   Despara goes back into the field for a time, carving her way across the front lines to try and bury the parts of Adora that dancing with Catra had stirred up from their places.  Meanwhile, Catra tries to settle back into her life before she realized that Adora was here, was hurting so badly all alone.

Eventually someone steps forward to challenge Despara directly during a raid, and as Despara steps forward, glad to have someone to direct the wildfire under her skin at, he reveals himself to be Micah.  Despara is shocked, she’d only brought him to Bright Moon out of courtesy for how he’d helped her, she never thought he’d actually survive his injuries.  Then he calls her Adora, and she resolves to do what Beast Island couldn’t.

Intersperse cutaways to Catra confiding in Scorpia, telling her about how Adora used to be, the light in her eyes, her determination, how kind and honorable she could be even when it was infuriating, their plans for the future, how Catra had wanted to wake up wrapped in Adora’s warmth every day for the rest of her life.  The gentle memories contrasting with cuts back to Despara attacking Micah like a woman possessed, like something feral and unstoppable as he tries fruitlessly to talk to her.

Micah and Despara’s fight ends in a draw, but Micah reveals that while he’d been hoping to get through to her he was also keeping her occupied while the Rebellion drove the rest of the Horde away and Despara is forced to retreat.

Meanwhile, Catra resolves to try and rescue Adora, one last time.

All This Time:  Catra POV.  Despara returns to the Fright Zone in a downright incandescent rage, and Catra finds herself horrified by how she seems somehow even less like Adora with that kind of fire in her eye.  But she still goes to her, she has to try, just once.

Despara almost seems frightened of her, the rage struggling to stay on the surface when Catra confronts her.  After a little pushing, Despara agrees to let Catra stay with her for the night, to hold each other close like they used to.  There’s something of Adora in the way Despara hesitates to touch her, though it’s different now, less like she’s waiting for permission and more like she’s worried Catra’s fur might burn her.

Despara doesn’t melt back into Adora in her arms like Catra had hoped, like she’d seen when they sparred, but it’s progress, and Despara sleeps better than she has in a decade.

The next morning Despara almost seems excited, she tells Catra that her plan is finally going to be ready, that she can finally take her revenge on Shadow Weaver, Octavia, Grizzlor, and Hyldren.  For the first time in six months all the Force Captains will be in the same place, now all she needs is to make her move on Shadow Weaver.

As Despara’s trap snaps shut around Shadow Weaver, turning her own magic back against her, Catra can only watch the sick glee on Despara’s face as Shadow Weaver’s screams echo through the chamber, her heart starting to break with how there isn’t even a trace of Adora in that expression.  Shadow Weaver subdued, Despara plucks the shard of the Black Garnet from her mask, leaving the Sorceress barely alive in her lair as she slots the gem into her prosthetic, red lightning flashing along it.

Despara doesn’t even seem to notice how Catra flinches at the sight of the magical electricity.

Next are the Force Captains, gathered up in a conference room, Despara enters and slams her prosthetic hand into one of the walls, igniting the spell circle covering the room and channeling the Black Garnet’s lightning through it.

Catra can’t let her do it, Despara was going to torture an entire room of people to death, was going to kill Scorpia, just to get at three of them.  Adora would never have done this, if there was ever a moment to try and save her it was now.  She pulls her away from the room, breaking her connection to the spell circle.

They fight, Despara utterly blinded by her rage at having been so close to finalizing her revenge and having it denied for even a moment.  It’s not the dance of their spar, it’s brutal and grinding, Despara throwing every spell and power she’s learned or stolen into taking Catra down, Catra barely able to keep ahead of it until finally Despara catches her around the throat, baring Shadow Weaver’s gem and preparing to pump every bit of lightning she can conjure into Catra.

Catra tells her to do it, that she’d rather die than have to keep watching Adora be this.  

Despara braces herself for the kill, to shed the last trace of her weakness, and Adora can’t do it.

The Man I Used To Be:  Adora POV.  She can’t do it.  Adora drops Catra, tears gathering in her eyes as she shoves Shadow Weaver’s gem out of her arm like it’s burning her.  She stumbles away to collapse against a wall, wide-eyed and panting.

She’d been about to kill her, she’d been about to kill Catra the same way she’d spent her whole life terrified Shadow Weaver would.  She’d been trying to kill Micah and Scorpia, who’d only ever been kind to her.  The cold hatred’s claws around her heart hurt, she’d used them to hold it together, keep it from breaking apart in her chest, but she could feel it, she’d been about to let them crush her.

Catra starts to get up and Adora shatters.

She runs, doesn’t want to see the way Catra had looked at her again.  She runs until she’s left the Fright Zone behind, until her legs won’t hold her anymore and then further, until she trips and falls, curling up as small as she can to try and hide.

Catra doesn’t let her, after making sure Scorpia and the others were going to be alright she’s tracked her down.  Catra gathers Adora up in her arms and Adora hesitates, but this time it’s right, this time it’s because she can’t believe Catra would let her touch, not because she’s afraid she won’t be able to hold onto the rage in Catra’s arms.  Then Catra tells her it’s alright and Adora stops trying to put herself back together, crying as she clings to Catra’s arms around her.

Not 100% on how it would wrap up after that, but I’ve got a vague idea of them going back to the Horde, rescuing the cadets and moving off to live in the Whispering Woods, trying to find these kids’ families to return them.  Maybe Micah shows up and is grateful to Catra for helping Adora pull herself back from the brink?  I dunno, this sprang fully formed from my brain six hours ago.

#spop #She-Ra #Adora #Catra #Catradora #Maybe a little Scortra? #Mostly I just see them as really good friends in this AU #And Adora jumps to conclusions because she's /absolutely livid/ #My work notes #Count of Monte Cristo AU #Prompt #Someone take this off of my hands please I BEG OF YOU #Let Adora be furious 2021

[efrmellifer]

Where The Road Led

Seven Days of Estinyan: Day One

When she felt his gaze on her, Etien looked up to meet Estinien’s eyes. “Yes?”

“You had an odd look on your face,” he replied. “Are the flowers too heavy?” He reached out to take them from her.

She shook her head. “The flowers are the lightest thing I’m carrying.”

Estinien stopped walking along the pathway that led down from Zenith. “What in the gods’ name are you talking about?”

“I came here by myself after the war had been brought to an end.”

He nodded, signaling that he followed her so far.

“And while I was wandering around, avoiding Hropkens and hoping the Moogles didn’t see me, I had been doing some thinking about how much had happened over the time I spent here.”

Estinien came to her side. “Here specifically, or in Ishgard and Coerthas?”

“Well, both. More here, Churning Mists here, while I was up here, though. But I had been thinking about how much longer and heavier my job description had gotten when I added the tentative title of Savior of Ishgard.”

“Did it?” he asked, stopping again.

Etien sighed. “When I first arrived in Gridania, my most pressing worries were accidentally catching the soft part of my arm in my bowstring and losing track of a specific animal I was supposed to hunt. Even defeating Primals was a little less pressure, at least compared to ‘help us end a war that has raged on for one thousand years, while trying to reassemble the group of people who have given you this life.’”

“I suppose we did do that,” Estinien mumbled, looking at his boots.

“It led to this, so I do feel bad for complaining, but it was a long year to live, and the years just keep getting longer,” she sighed.

“Led to what?” Estinien asked. “Rather… I’m sorry we worked you so hard for a homeland not your own. To save a people who were not your own.”

“Well, when Haurchefant had been so hospitable, and Lord Edmont adopted me…”

“Still,” he rebutted. “House Fortemps treated you like the heroes and gifts from Halone that you are, and the rest of us were backbiters, suspicious, and all too eager to put you into service to prove your good intent.”

Etien made a noise that wasn’t quite either a snort or a laugh. “Now you sound like Aymeric.”

“Because he was right. We need to deliver these flowers, do we not?” He pointed to the structure to the east, still whirling with wind-aspected aether, but less tumultuously.

It hadn’t been the gale force winds in a fair while, actually.

Nidhogg had softened his heart to a mortal who loved him, had fallen in love with her as well, and as a result the skies had become that much safer.

Etien and Estinien still boarded their manacutters to get there faster, though.

While they flew, Etien took stock of the flowers again. She’d been thinking over and over about their arrangement as she harvested what she could and bought the rest, wrapping them earlier in moist paper so they would survive the journey through the Mists.

Now, she looked them over one last time. Spearmint for warmth of sentiment. Ivy for friendship. Irises for trust and wisdom. Daffodils for regard. Hopefully, this bouquet of high esteem would touch the hearts of the great wyrm and his greatest love. But that remained to be seen.

They landed, and Etien tried to lead the way after Estinien helped her from the miniature ship, but she made a poor leader in this instance. She was walking too hesitantly, stumbling as she tried to tread silently, but didn’t feel confident in her steps, leaving her ankles rolling and her body pitching.

“Is aught the matter?” Estinien asked from behind her.

“I… I know Dae won’t let him hurt or kill me, but I’m scared.”

He laid a hand on her back, feeling how cool her skin was from the wind, hoping to warm her just a little. “Do not be afraid. I am here. And I will also not let him hurt you. I will protect you.”

She gave him a look, just slightly distressed.

“Not like that. I made a pact and promise just like everyone else did. Moreover, I’m retired from that life. I don’t even have a knife on me, let alone my lance.”

Etien relaxed, then nodded, her boots clicking on the stones into the Aery.

“It has been a long time, hmm?” Estinien murmured as they stepped inside.

“Nidhogg of the first brood, hear me! ...please.” She called, hands cupped around her mouth, flowers in the cook of her elbow. “’Tis I, Etien. I come with a guest, Estinien Wyrmblood. We come in peace and friendship.”

There was a roar, then a thundering as the wyrm approached.

“Thou bringest him unto me and my home, when he was of the order who slaughtered my kin?”

Dae stroked his snout, hushing him gently and succeeding in soothing him. “He comes to our home with friendly intent, in the wake of the pact for peace. If they keep their end of it, we should keep ours. See? They’re both unarmed. Etien brought flowers again!”

She took them from where they were still cradled in Etien’s arms, offering them to Nidhogg to sniff.

When he’d had his fill of the flowers’ fragrance, he turned back to Etien, who had called him from the inner chambers to begin with.

“As thou hast come bearing gifts rather than steel, I shall allow thy visit. Come thou along, Dae will attend to thy comforts, as I cannot.”

For a time, they sat, Etien trying to ingratiate herself with the wyrm who so loved her friend, while said friend sat happily nestled in Nidhogg’s horns, stroking is snout and kissing the side of his face to prove just how relaxed a gathering this was.

Estinien was on the best behavior he could manage, though that did include making faces at the broodlings. Some liked it, giving sparky little giggles, while others flew off and hid at his “fearsome expressions.”

By the time they left, boarding the manacutters again, Etien’s heart was lighter, with tensions of the past eased slightly and on the path to dissolving more fully.

It helped that Nidhogg had liked the flowers.

But Estinien had questions. Not about relations with the dragons, that was his realm only when it came to Orn Khai. No, he was still curious about what Etien had meant earlier

They disembarked from the manacutters, and he didn’t let her hand go after he’d helped her to standing on the ground. As he guided her to the edge of the rock, with a quiet “sit with me?” he watched her scoot as close to the edge as she was willing to go, then stop.

Ah, right. Her fear of heights. Or perhaps, based on his observations, it was more akin to the fear of being too close to the edge of a long drop? She had no problem with flying, and even admired the views from the Last Vigil. But when she got too close to the edges of the Aetheryte plaza, or places like this, she was tense.

He’d noticed it most acutely the time he’d laid a hand on her shoulder as they walked along the path over the Brume, and she’d jumped, hair on her tail standing up and ears flattening.

But he let his legs dangle off the edge, and so she scooted a little closer, still holding his hand.

“You won’t fall,” he promised. She unfolded her legs to rest so her calves were halfway stuck out into the air.

“All right,” she said finally.

“So… led to what?” Estinien asked after a moment.

Etien tipped head. “What?”

“You said the war ‘led to this.’ What’s this?”

She blinked. “Oh! Us.” She shook their hands where they were clasped. “This. Well it was you, me, and Aymeric, more exactly. But you know. The final year of the war, the one I was there for, was hard, but at the end of it, I was endeared to Ishgard. And I ended up married to Aymeric before I left for Rhalgr’s Reach. In secret, of course; it was only that we were worried about what would happen if I happened to die on my way east.”

Silently, Estinien looked at her. She was wearing all black, but the brass buttons were a perfect complement. They, like her hair, were bold. He was only thinking about the black because in the moment that was swimming to the front of his mind—a moment he had thought about a lot since it had happened—she had been wearing much more white.

“Do you know it was here in the Churning Mists that I first began to feel for you?”

“I did not,” she replied. “When, when we were here with Ysayle?”

He nodded. “You tend to go quiet when people are having a heated debate in front of you. I had noticed it when Alphinaud and Aymeric were having their little discussion, but I thought you were just quiet.”

She laughed lightly, just a single harder exhale.

“I know now that you aren’t,” he added. “But aye. That night, I watched you sitting silently, watching the fire when you didn’t want to look at us, and how your eyes looked like emeralds.”

Now she giggled behind her hand. “How poetic.”

“I’ve had time to refine the comparison.” He felt his cheeks warming, and he was fairly sure it wasn’t windburn. He sighed. “I didn’t fully know the dimensions of my feelings until later. I struggle to recall when now, but before you won the day for Ala Mhigo.”

“I’m glad you figured them out,” Etien murmured, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Because it led to this.”

#estinyan #fic #I say Seven Days because I'm just doing what I want re: prompts #mixing some skipping others #featuring Nidhogg and his lovely mate Dae #friend mention

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 3: Hope is up! Alucard is still sad, and Sypha and Trevor are Worried™. Also, some Sypha POV because I love her :’)

Read here or on AO3! Read from the beginning

Adrian watches as magic gathers around Sypha. It is a faint blue glow that makes her eyes spark, that builds and builds and pools at her fingertips. A subtle wave of warmth rushes towards him, touching him.

The scroll is before her, being held aloft by what seem to be invisible strings of air. Her voice is but a soft whisper as she speaks the chant under her breath. It is a fascinating thing, it always has been, to watch her cast, to witness the sheer amount of power that her slender frame is able to hold. Fountains of it. Rivers. Oceans, and it has only grown since the last time he's seen her.

It is more than a little unnerving.

Adrian’s own magic is entirely different to hers. He is familiar with the arcane in some ways; he has studied the philosophy and foundations, but most of the spells the Speaker magicians use are either foreign to him, or he has tried and failed entirely to grasp. It is an innate talent, his father told him once, entirely different to that of vampires. That makes the fact that Sypha now wields that power with ease no less transfixing.

Belmont is lying on the bed, unmoving and oblivious to their presence. Adrian’s mixture helped somewhat in keeping the infection at bay, but his fever has dropped only slightly. It tugs at Adrian, in a way he is entirely loath to admit, to see Belmont in that condition. Weak and frail, when he is usually boisterous and loud, obnoxiously so.

Perhaps, after all, I do still possess a heart, Adrian thinks. If barely.

The shimmering strands of magic that spring forth from Sypha’s fingers twist in the air above her, like silk threads moving through water, before settling over Belmont. The light engulfs him for a quick moment, seeps into every pore; he is radiant now, the bright light that suffuses him taking away some of the pallor of his skin. The spell is gone in an instant, dissolving into thin air and leaving no trace behind it.

The light around Sypha dims too, almost simultaneously, the warmth dissipating. As soon as it does, she closes her eyes, and brings her hand to her temples, swaying lightly. Before he can stop to think, Adrian leaps to her side, catching her by the elbows to steady her.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I… I’m fine,” she says, a touch hoarse. Her eyes are screwed shut, a pained grimace twisting her features. “It seems the spell took more out of me than I thought it would.”

She’s leaning into him now; the sweet, subtle warmth of her body seeping through his clothes. He stands motionless, frozen for a long moment, unsure what to do.

“Yes,” he manages finally. “You did say that healing is not your expertise.” He guides her to the edge of the bed, helps her sit, then takes a safe step away.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” She rubs her temples, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. Her eyes are clear and luminous, a trace of the spell still shining in their depths. Adrian swallows, looks away.

Belmont is still lying perfectly still on the bed. It could be Adrian’s imagination, but he thinks his colour is not quite as pale-grey as it was a few moments before.

Sypha reaches out to place the back of her hand on Belmont’s forehead. “He feels a little cooler now,” she says, and the relief in her voice is palpable. Her hand drifts lower almost immediately, drawing the blanket back, peeling away the fabric of Belmont’s shirt. The bandage that they had placed on the wound only a short while before is already drenched in blood, and Sypha instantly gets to work in removing it. She does so smoothly, carefully, as if she is handling precious glass. Adrian takes a step closer too, watching the gentle movement of her fingers as she undoes the wrappings with a mixture of dread, hope and anticipation. Neither of them knows what they’ll see once the bandage is removed.

Sypha hesitates only for a moment before peeling back the final layer and revealing the wound.

“The infection is gone.” Her fingers hover over the wound for a moment before she withdraws. She looks up at Adrian with a hopeful smile. “It worked.”

“To an extent,” Adrian replies, leaning closer. Most of the infection has disappeared, leaving behind healthy, if still damaged skin and flesh. “It will take a while to heal fully.”

“Yes. Of course. But it will heal like any normal wound would. Right?” She pauses, holding her breath, searching his eyes.

Adrian lets out a slow breath. At that moment, he wishes he could give her a hard and fast answer, and a positive one. He wishes he could reassure her with words, put her mind at ease. The truth of the matter is, though, that injuries like these are unpredictable. Belmont could seem perfectly fine now, then raise a fever high enough to kill him in a few days.

He decides not to tell her that.

“We shall see. You’ll need to keep an eye on him, day and night, at least for a short while.” It isn’t the answer she hoped to hear from him, surely. But it is all he can give, right then.

Sypha takes that with surprising stoicity. She nods, her lips tightening in a line, then turns to Belmont once more.

Adrian takes another, small step back.

“I… shall leave you to it, then,” he tells her. “I suppose you’ll both be needing rest. There is food in the kitchen, should you get hungry.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he is about to say. “You are welcome to stay until… until Belmont has fully recovered. I’ll stay out of your way until then.”

The look she turns to give him is a surprised one. She stands up slowly, blinking at him. “Where are you… will you be around?”

There is surprise in her gaze, and worry. It warms Adrian in a way he does not expect, but he decides not to let the feeling linger. He backs towards the door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. "I wish you luck," he says quietly, and walks out.

~

Sypha does not see Alucard again for three days.

Three days of tending to Trevor’s injury, pressing cool cloths to his fevered brow, changing him out of shirts damp with sweat, and milling endlessly about the castle when she isn’t doing any of the above. Three nights of light, restless sleep.

She can’t complain, not exactly. The bed is comfortable, the mattress soft and filled with rich down, and the blanket the warmest and least scratchy she’s had on for months —all her life, it seems— with only the faintest smell of must. The tall window of their room is overlooking the expansive forest below and the snowy mountain range beyond, and the large hearth that burns day and night keeps the space comfortably warm. Trevor’s fever drops more every day, and the wound is healing nicely.

She still sees evidence of Alucard’s presence, if not the man himself. There is freshly cooked food whenever she goes to the kitchen; she isn’t quite sure how Alucard manages to cook it without her ever walking in on him doing it, but every time she goes there the smell of baked bread and the welcoming scent of spices she has never smelt before linger in the air. There are trays of sweet or savoury pies, roast game or grilled fish, steamed and buttered vegetables. Had she known that Alucard had such refined tastes, she would never have offered him the over-salted dried jerky and suspiciously moldy cheese they used to find while on the road, and that was often the only food they had.

Along with the food, there is always a pot of thin broth —she assumes it is for Trevor—, as well as strips of crisp white linen to dress and clean his injury, accompanied by a pot of antiseptic ointment that she assumes he makes by himself. The tiny note left next to it with instructions for use is written in Alucard’s elegant, flowy handwriting.

Sypha is touched. The care and concern is evident in everything he does, and she is not the least surprised by the fondness that creeps in, along with her bafflement. The man is an enigma— the more she stays in that place, the more certain she becomes of it, but his thoughtful gestures do not change the fact that he’s stayed away for three days.

She has never felt more lonely.

Dracula’s castle, or rather, Alucard’s castle now, is a frigid, unliving thing. Just walking down its endless dark corridors is enough to make her hair stand on end, but she does it anyway. There are only so many hours she can spend locked up in the room; besides, she and Trevor have made exploring abandoned villages and old manors a bit of a habit while on the road. It has always been a bit of fun on the side, even when it was a necessity. Now, as she passes through room after empty room, the air thick with cobwebs and layers of dust, she has to admit that there are moments that she dreads what she will see if she turns around the wrong corner, if the staked corpses by the front door are anything to go by.

Alucard himself does not seem overly eager to take the bodies down, or even to give the slightest explanation. He doesn’t even seem to have any intention of fixing the damage that the castle sustained during the fight with Dracula and his vampires. The red carpet that lines the floor of the entrance hall is burned in places, completely in tatters in others and drenched in blood in more spots than she can count. One side of the staircase is falling apart, and more than half the stone columns are in not much better condition. The mountains of broken bottles she finds when a wrong left turn accidentally leads her to the wine cellar confirms her suspicion: Alucard isn’t in the least interested in making this place a home.

Haunted. The place feels haunted. Heavy and dark with secrets of ages past.

She can’t quite explain the sadness that wells up inside her to see the place that her friend, their friend, has been living in for the past few months. There’s a terrible coldness that’s hanging over the space like a blanket, muffling the sounds, draining any sort of life, of warmth. It’s as if Dracula never died after all— it’s as if his grief overflowed in the end, escaped the confines of his body and boiled over, seeping into every corner, every crevasse, every inch of the space. It is thick and sticky like tar, and Alucard is trapped in it. It almost feels like, the more she stays there, the more she gets trapped in it, too.

It is only the fourth day, when she discovers the baths on the second —or is it the third floor? She has lost count— that things start to look up a little. A room filled with large, copper tubs, and metal pipes with switches that release cold and hot water. Sypha melts in it and lets it take away the sore from her muscles, scrubs her skin with soap until it’s flushed and raw, stays there until she’s all pruned.

She leans back against the carved bronze headrest in the shape of an ivy vine, and looks out of the small window at the top of the wall that lets a circular sliver of grey-blue sky peek through, and she suddenly realises: she’s almost used to this place. Almost.

~

Sypha walks back into hers and Trevor’s room thoroughly clean for the first time in what feels like ages, with her damp hair slicked back and combed through, and with the clothes she washed in one of the tubs and then dried off with magic neatly folded under her arm. The fire in the hearth is reduced to embers now, and she kneels before it to feed some more wood in it, when a tired groan comes from the bed.

“Too bright.”

Sypha looks back over her shoulder and smiles at Trevor, who is blinking blearily, wincing at the light that’s streaming in through the window. “It’s bright because it’s morning, sleepyhead.” She gets up and walks up to him, sitting at the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shite.” He groans again as he sits up with some effort, pressing his palm to his forehead. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s still quite pale, but there’s a vitality to his complexion that wasn’t there a couple days ago. “I feel like shite.”

“Do you, now? What a surprise. It’s almost as if you didn’t almost die from a cursed night creature wound.” Sypha rolls her eyes, laughing. “I’ve brought some food. Are you hungry?”

“Bloody ravenous,” he says, eyeing the tray that she brought in that morning. He reaches over to it, when Sypha pushes him back.

“Take it easy. Your wound is still not fully healed.” She stands up to pick up the tray, then sets it carefully in his lap. She ignores his muffled protests that he isn’t an invalid as she props some pillows behind his back and eases him on them, then warms up his soup with a quick fire spell. “There. Now you can eat to your heart’s content.”

Trevor says nothing as he lifts the cover from the bowl of soup and starts gobbling it down, and if that isn’t proof as to how hungry he is, then she doesn’t know what is. “Did you make this? It’s very good. Haven’t had soup like this in…” He frowns in thought as he chews. “I’ve never had soup like this.”

“I didn’t. Alucard did.”

Trevor’s eyes widen in surprise. He glances down at the bowl, his lip curling ever so slightly in disgust, as if he’s just eaten a pile of wriggling worms.

“Relax, it’s not poison,” Sypha says with a laugh. “He’s the one that’s been making food for both of us actually, all this time, though you’ve been too dazed to notice. He’s actually a very good cook.”

“Has he?" He quirks a brow, "Then why was I always the one to cook when we were travelling?”

“Skinning rabbits and roasting them over the fire until they’re all charred on the outside and still a little raw on the inside is not cooking.”

“It’s more than you did,” Trevor mutters, bringing another mouthful of soup to his mouth, his expression of mild disgust disappearing straight away. “I should have known that it was Alucard who made this. If it were you, it would have just been overcooked and over-salted vegetables in tasteless broth.” He huffs a laugh when she smacks him playfully on the shoulder.

“Just finish your meal, Belmont,” she says with a chuckle, leaning back with her palms on the bed. She watches him gulp down the rest of the soup and then attack the bread and cheese on his tray. His recovery is going well, she thinks, with his appetite back in full force, and that is enough to send a wave of warmth coiling through her. She’s missed his bad jokes, his endless groaning and griping, the mess he makes when he eats, leaving crumbs everywhere. The fear of losing him is still not far from her mind.

“So how is our gallant host?” he asks, leaving the tray aside when he’s finished and wiping his lips with a napkin. “Have you two been making friends? Has he tried to woo you into leaving me yet?”

She snorts and shakes her head, but a certain bitterness slithers in. “No… not really. I haven’t exactly seen him since… well, since he helped me find the scroll to heal you.” She did catch a glimpse of him, she thinks, a couple days before. It was only a flash of golden hair, disappearing around the curve of the stairs that led to the upper floors. By the time she had climbed the stairs, he was already gone.

Trevor’s brows furrow in a curious frown. “So he’s left you on your own? All this time?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad. I’ve been… occupied.”

“Huh.” Trevor lets his gaze sweep around the room, taking in his surroundings. “That’s odd. Even for him.”

Sypha nods, though ‘odd’ is an understatement.

“Any news on the…” He looks past their door, where the front entrance lies half a castle away. She shakes her head, her stomach clenching.

“No. Hasn’t said a word about it.”

His frown deepens. “I don’t like this, Sypha. I don’t like it one bit.”

“I know.” She sighs, gathering her legs up and sitting cross legged beside him. She reaches out, her fingers threading through his as if on their own; his skin is warm and comforting against hers. “I know. I’m not sure what to think of it either. And this whole place is…”  She shivers despite herself. “It’s so cold. And empty. Just being here makes me feel... numb.”

She looks up at Trevor, who is looking at her like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He does have this way of understanding exactly what’s on her mind sometimes that she can’t quite explain. She takes heart from the warmth of his touch, the solidity of his presence. “Still,” she continues, “no matter what’s happened here, no matter what he's done, he helped us. He helped you. Your life would still be in danger if it weren’t for him. You should thank him next time you see him.” She twists her fingers more firmly through Trevor’s, squeezing his hand gently. Her voice trembles only slightly before she speaks. “You would probably have died if it hadn’t been for him. Do you know that?”

“Don’t say that,” Trevor says quietly. “I wouldn’t have died. Not while I still had you by my side.”

“No. No.” Sypha shakes her head stubbornly, her eyes burning. All the worry she has barely suppressed those past few days rises to the surface, choking her. “You didn’t see how you were, Trevor. You were at the brink of death, and Alucard helped me drag you back from it. I could not have done it on my own. I was…” She lets out a tremulous exhale as she looks away. “I was powerless. Before we came here, I was completely powerless. You were dying, and I was on my own, and I didn't know how to help you. I didn’t—”

“Sypha.” Trevor’s voice is soft, his palm, when it cups her cheek and brings her gaze back to him, is softer still. “You aren't powerless. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles, a hint of mischief in the curl of his lip. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, you know.”

He pulls her close, and Sypha lets herself be drawn to him. When he wraps his strong arms around her, a sigh of relief leaves her lips. Home. She is home.

She squeezes her eyes shut and hugs him back. The warmth of his chest, as it presses against hers, puts her heart back in its rightful place, his deep, earthy scent filling her lungs. He is there. He is there, and she will keep him close, for as long as she can. “You’d better not be,” she mutters wryly. "For your own good."

Trevor chuckles, lifting her chin with his thumb. “Duly noted, my lady,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

It is everything Sypha needs. Her arms link behind his neck, deepening their kiss. He pulls her closer, drawing her flush against him, his palms running up her back. She hums against his lips, threads her fingers through his hair as she holds him tightly. She wants him. Needs him. She-

She gasps when Trevor rolls them both to the side, flipping her on her back on the bed. “Wait— What are you doing? Your injury—”

“Fuck my injury,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss her once more.

She chuckles despite herself. This man. She's missed this man. She's missed him being strong and steady beside her, she's missed the grip of his hands and the softness of his lips. Before she knows it, his hand is slithering under the hem of her robes, and she's lifting the edges of his shirt, tugging, urging him. After so many days drifting through those halls cold and alone, she needs his warmth, she craves his touch.

“Oh, Trevor,” she sighs, leaning into him. “I missed you, I missed you—” His lips leave a trail of kisses down her neck, just as his palm smooths up her leg. Her eyes are half closed as she works the laces of his breeches open, then slips deft fingers past his waistband. A wicked smile widens her lips. “Someone’s missed me too, I think.”

Trevor lets out a sound that’s between a laugh and a moan. “Still worried about my wound?”

Sypha laughs, breathless, as she pushes him on his back and straddles him. “Stop talking, Belmont.”

~

Later, they both lie sated, wrapped in a tight embrace as they both catch their breaths and their hearts slowly find their natural rhythms. Sypha’s limbs are relaxed and deliciously heavy with sweet, warm weariness. She kisses the top of Trevor’s head before she peels herself from him, rolling on her back beside him. Her eyes are closed when Trevors sinks back into the pillows with a deep sigh. “Oh, that was nice.”

“Hopefully better than beer,” she teases.

“Only slightly.” He chuckles as she swats at his arm, then reaches out and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She presses her cheek to his chest and lets the warmth and calmness of the moment seep into her, listening to the quiet thrum of Trevor’s heartbeats. His breaths are easing now, and his fingers are soft and light when they brush down her arm. She cracks one eye open to glance at the wound at his sides. The bandage is still intact, crisp white, not a speck of blood.

Good. He is better. He will be fine. She lets out a deep sigh and snuggles closer against him.

“I missed this,” Trevor whispers, pressing his lips to the top of her head and taking in a deep breath. “See, if we had some ale just about now, I think it would be my personal heaven. Even with broody half-vampires roaming beyond the door.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sypha snorts. “You and your ale. How do you even enjoy drinking that thing.”

“You’ve taken a liking to it, and don’t you deny it.” She can hear the smirk in his voice without even having to look up.

“I only drink it because most inns don’t serve anything else,” she protests sleepily. “Besides, you drink enough for both of us.”

“Not now, I don’t.”

“Good! There’s one good thing this injury has done for you. Let’s hope it lasts, shall we?”

Trevor groans. Sypha grins.

They stay like this for a long while, in each other’s arms. The only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth and their soft, sleepy breaths. She can feel the tug of sleep just at the edges of her consciousness, and Trevor’s body fits so smoothly against her own. She closes her eyes, preparing to surrender to the pull, but it’s not long before the distinctly cold feeling of unease that has followed her since stepping foot in that place invades her thoughts. For some odd reason, she can’t get a moment’s rest here.

Sypha lets out a sigh and sits up, hugging her knees. Her gaze falls past the clear glass of the window, roams over the wide expanse of trees and snowy mountain peaks, the serpentine twist of the river. She suddenly longs to open the windows wide, to fly away like a bird. Buildings have always suffocated her. She feels more at home now in her and Trevor’s carriage, with its hard wooden floor and the cold wind drifting through every crevasse. Sleeping under the stars or with the canvas roof of a carriage fluttering in the night wind is what she’s used to. She’s only ever had a ceiling above her head when her clan stayed in old or abandoned buildings for short periods of time during their travels, or when she and Trevor stay at inns, occasionally. She doesn’t deny that it has its luxuries, but staying in any one place for long periods of time is foreign to her. Her people never spent too long anywhere, and she’s been accustomed to being lulled to sleep by the soft movement of the carriage, the sound of the horses’ hooves or the crackling of a campfire. People always say that staying in houses made of bricks and stones is safer than living on the road; for Sypha, the presence of her people has always been the only safety she’s needed.

Trevor has become that for her. He and Alucard are her people— or at least, that’s what she believed. She’s not entirely sure what to think, now.

Trevor’s hand caresses her bare back. “What’s wrong?”

She turns to glance at him over her shoulder. “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Alucard.”

Trevor stays silent for a moment, then lets out a soft sigh. His eyes drift towards the door again, towards where the front entrance and the staked bodies lie.

She worries her lip as she studies Trevor’s pensive profile. “It just doesn’t feel like something Alucard would do. He is not like that. Is he?”

“I didn’t think him capable of doing something like it either, no,” Trevor replied thoughtfully. “But a lot can happen in a few months. You and I both know that, better than anyone. Besides…” He pauses for a moment. “He is half a vampire, you know.”

“What of it?” she asks guardedly.

“Vampires are vicious. They’re violent, thirsty for blood. It’s in their nature. Perhaps… perhaps he suddenly decided to get more in touch with that part of him. Who knows?”

Sypha frowns. “I don’t think that’s likely. One does not simply stake people for the fun of it, or to ‘get in touch with their nature’.”

“Dracula did it,” Trevor shrugs. “Alucard is his son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Isn’t that what people say?”

“Yes, but Alucard killed his father,” Sypha retorts stubbornly. “If that doesn’t show a difference of opinion, I don’t know what does.”

“Even more reason to believe that he’s capable of terrible things.”

“That’s hardly fair, and you know it. He did it because he had to, and we helped him. If he’s capable of terrible things, then so are we, but that hardly justifies the bodies by the door.”

“Alright, fine. You have a point.” Trevor sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “What do you think happened, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what it could be that pushed him to do something like that. The very thought scares me.” She glances away and hugs her knees closer to her chest. The unease in her gut, that deep, invasive feeling, is stronger than ever. “I… I worry for him.”

Trevor says nothing for a long moment. His chest rises and falls with his even breaths, and his frown deepens, carving a line between his brows. “Yeah,” he admits quietly after a while. “So do I.”

“You haven’t even seen the state of this place. It’s worse than I thought. It’s… cold and dark like a tomb. And Alucard himself is so cold, so distant… More so than before, and God knows he was near impossible to get through to even then.”

“He’s grieving, Sypha. Grief changes people.”

Her heart clenches at the thought. Of course he’s grieving. To lose one parent to the Church, the other to his own madness, and then have to fight him himself, on top of everything else. She can’t help the shiver that runs through her.

“We shouldn't have left him.” It is a bitter admission, and one that drives that gut-twisting feeling ever deeper, but there is no denying it now. Both she and Trevor were so eager to leave after Dracula was dead, so determined not to linger in any one place for too long, that they did not even stop to think about what it would mean for Alucard to be left alone with that, to face this overwhelming emptiness on his own. It makes her wonder now, whether it is that same emptiness that they were both running away from.

“When I lived with my clan,” she says softly, “when one of us passed away, that was the time when we would stick closer together, more than ever. If a wife, or children, or parents were left behind, we would spend most of the day with them, looking after them, commemorating their loved one with them. They weren’t allowed to do chores or cook for a week. That is how my people deal with mourning.”

Trevor blinks at her. “One whole week of no chores, with people cooking for me and fawning over me? How can I join the Speakers? Do they accept applications?”

The laughter that tumbles from her lips startles her. “You don’t need to join the Speakers, you daft bear,” she chuckles despite herself, leaning against him. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, smirking at her as if he’s made the cleverest jest in the world. “You almost got killed by a night-creature, and you got pretty much the same treatment.”

Trevor’s arm comes around her shoulders, as if by rote, the vibration of his rich, throaty laugh running through her. He kisses the side of her head, and when he pulls back, his features have grown somber once more.

“Sometimes a man needs to be left alone when grieving,” he says thoughtfully. “You know, to lick his wounds and all that. There are moments when it all gets ugly, and I know for sure I wouldn’t want someone that I care about to see me when in a similar state. Perhaps… perhaps we just came here at a bad time.”

“‘A bad time’?” Sypha lifts a brow, nodding towards the main entrance. “Is that what you would call it?”

Trevor opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” His fingers drum a gentle beat against her shoulder, where he is holding her. “He was the one who wanted to stay behind. We asked him to come with us, and he didn’t want to.”

“Do you always know exactly what you want? Or what is good for you?”

“I should certainly hope so.”

“No,” Sypha smiles knowingly. “No, you don’t. And I think we both know that.”

“Hey, I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Perfectly good, perfectly wise decisions. Very, very wise and mature— why are you laughing? I’m serious.”

“You don't have a serious bone in your body, Belmont,” Sypha says, still trembling with laughter. She cackles in delight when he starts tickling her, trying to swat his fingers away.

“Are you quite sure about that? Hm? Absolutely sure?” He grins when the sound of her laughing protests fills the room. When she’s flushed and out of breath, he pulls her against him, his arms coming around her in a warm hug. “Alright,” he says. “You know best. What do you think we should do?”

Sypha takes a deep breath to calm her beating heart, and meets his gaze levelly. “I think we should stay.”

“What?” Trevor’s eyes widen. “Stay here? In Dracula’s castle?”

“Why not? It’s not like we have anyplace else to be right now.”

“Sure we do. We have night creatures to hunt, and gold to earn, and—”

“Don’t you think we’ve both had enough of killing night creatures for a while?” She reaches up, pushing a strand of dark brown hair away from his brow. “Alucard needs us,” she says softly.

Trevor blinks at her, evidently ready to protest, but lets out a deep sigh instead. He leans into her touch, gazing at her with warm, blue, trusting eyes. “How can I refuse when you look at me like this, hm?”  

She grins, shifting closer to kiss him. His lips part readily under hers, and for the first time since stepping foot in that castle, she feels hope.

If you enjoyed this chapter, I’d love to hear your thoughts! :)

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #alucard #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard x trevor x sypha #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #trephacard #alucard/trevor belmont/sypha belnades #castlevania fanfiction #where blood roses bloom #johaerys writes

[tarithenurse]

Nightingale - 24

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Bit of everything – fun, challenge, angst, feels, fluff, confusion, fear, violence. A/N: A long chapter for once o.O  As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 24

Kakashi's mind is pendulumming between serene quiet and something similar to a wasp nest. One that has been kicked. As someone who's used to logical thinking, he finds the status quo unsettling...but also strangely invigorating despite not carrying any direct risks as supposed to many of his past experiences. Perhaps, at least this once, something can dull the ache he has known for years? Looking at the monument with its sharp lines defining the stones – a design befitting the weight of loss and memories – guilt rears its ugly head.

"Surviving while others pass on can be a burden sometimes," the creaky voice of the Hokage interrupts, "but perhaps our very duty is to do more than just survive. It's to live...because they cannot."

"Hmm." I refuse to forget them even if I one day move on.

The silence between the two men is not enough to stop the rustle of the wind as it rushes between the leaves.

Four days have passed since Kakashi found out he was the warden of Uguisu and he has been doing his best to pay attention to both her and Team 7 and keep their focus on training – a task that's annoyingly easy with the former. Where the trio barely contain their curiosity, the woman has become withdrawn. A logical reaction, the jōnin reminds himself often, but one that leaves him awake most of the night with a head full of worries and nightmarish scenarios.

"She never got to mourn her loved ones, Kakashi. A lone survivor, stranded in the middle of a war-to-be. Our new comrade will need time before she can recognize friend from foe," the old man wisely ponders."

"Haï." I can't push her. Only wait and be ready.

...

Two out of three genin are paying attention to the exercises, refining their techniques to minimize waste of chakra. The last, however, is obviously ogling the fifth person in the clearing and as a result earning his sensei's disapproval.

It isn't the first time Uguisu joins when she's finished her lessons at the Academy. In the beginning, she would sneak closer in the cover of the forest and sit down in a partially obscured spot where she could observe from. To Kakashi, it had brought a sense of familiarity. From the kids, once they noticed her, the primary reaction would be insecurity and it had forced her out of hiding and eventually into training along side them even if her focus had been on other techniques.

The kunai zips past the fox boy’s face and slams into the trunk of the stump with a thud.

“Hey!”

But the boy’s complains fall on deaf ears. “Stay aware of your surroundings at all times...without losing focus of the task at hand, Naruto.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh slips from Sasuke, causing his team mate to cringe.

In a way, it feels like Kakashi has been in charge of the four “students” for years because he has already figured out their strengths and is trying to find ways to amend their shortcomings. And as the session comes to an end, bringing about sweet free time for the kids, the sensei has made a decision concerning Uguisu’s training.

“Iruka tells me you’re a diligent student,” the jōnin admits as they watch the trio leave, “not much for him to do but fill in some voids and have you polish off the theory. That’s good.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

It’s strange how a title he’s heard before without blinking can morph and affect him all of a sudden. The heart beats a little bit faster. The air is a slightly stuffier under the mask. And something in his pelvis tightens enough to tell him he’ll have a different task at hand later.

“Yeah...well...” He pulls out a little bell from a pocket and ties it to one of his belt loops. “I’m maybe more critical.” She arches an eyebrow as an unspoken demand for an explanation. “Genjutsu. Ninjutsu. They’re not the problem...taijutsu is. It made sense for Orochimaru to teach you according to your role off the battlefield and so close combat really isn’t your forte, is it?”

Uguisu scowls. “I can defend myself.”

“I’ve seen. But can you attack?” Gut tightened, Kakashi hates himself for what he’s asking of this woman who has been through hell and finally is beginning the long way back.

Maybe to the untrained eye, the change in her stance wouldn’t be noticeable – it is to any shinobi worth their salt. A slight inwards rotation of the right foot, knees bending a smidgen, hands flexing before summoning the hardness needed to land proper blows. Show me what you’ve got.

Planted solidly, he easily dodges the first blows by bending and twisting, but then Uguisu buckles down to the task. Step. Jump. Parry. They are reflexes rather than active decisions. All too obviously, she prepares for a roundhouse kick which Kakashi can avoid by back flipping away.

“You’re wasting energy with the big movements. Keep it tight and clean -” the jōnin instructs and exemplifies -“to minimize your opponent’s chance to read your actions beforehand.”

Returning to a defensive role, he observes as she tries to implement the pointer. Precise...yes. Pushing a flurry of jabs aside, Kakashi steps around her with ease. And at least she’s quick to orient herself, he admits while scrambling backwards because the student has followed him.

“The perfection of your defence -” he leaps over the woman before continuing -”is what you have to bring into an assault.”

The thin line of her mouth is probably the result of biting back some snarky comment, and Kakashi smiles behind the mask. Fear can lead to fight, flight or freeze...but anger and frustration, on the other hand. So to taunt her, frustrate her, he presents the body language of a bored person and offhandedly blocks and dodges anything Uguisu throws at him.

“Umph!”

Although the strength behind is lacking, the kick still sends the man stumbling backwards, sucking in deep breaths of air to replace what was forced from his lungs. It carries the scent of damp earth, bark, and cotton.

“Ha!” Uguisu triumphs briefly.

“It’ll take more than that.”

A single sign is all it takes for a second Kakashi to appear next to the real one in a puff of white smoke.

“Cheater,” she smirks, seemingly unsurprised by the added figure.

You’re smiling now... Already, he hates himself for what he’ll be doing and the only comfort is the sparring that precedes. Throwing himself into the battle (and keeping the copy on the sidelines), the jōnin coaxes and coaches is student through the moves she has trained on the dummy targets day in and day out.

Slowly, her confidence grows. Not perfect, but better.

“Come at me like you mean it.”

She manages a wry smile. “Intent to kill?”

Yes. A glint of steel in the lowering sun is the only warning the warden has, but he doesn’t mind as long as they follow his plan (one of them without knowing). Kakashi chooses to cheer the woman on instead, finally having to defend himself in earnest although she isn’t on the top 20 of dangerous opponents.

As if in a dance, they circle and move with each other. Step, and leaps, and rolls create a pattern in the trampled grass while continuously bringing the sparring partners closer to the Shadow Clone. Now! The smoke bomb obscures the entire area and forces the combatants to separate until the cloud has blown away – somewhere, Uguisu is using the pause to regain her breath and calm the nerves while the jōnin applies the disguise he’s prepared.

The smoke slowly dissipates, revealing how Uguisu has backed off and prepared herself for anything – almost anything as it turns out when she lays eyes on the adversary and her face contorts in fear. Don't freeze. But how can she not when the mask and wig resembles Orochimaru?

"Take a moment to refocus. Calm down." At least the voice isn't that of her former tormentor. "Breathe."

A kunai shakingly reflects the low sun, knuckles are white from the tight grip on it even as the woman's immediate reaction morphs into bitter resolve.

Kakashi barely manages to dodge the trio of shuriken and is granted no respite as he finds himself under a powerful assault. Pent up hatred swirls and coalesces to drive the blue-haired fury forward – and he lets her for a while. Counting each unused opportunity, the jōnin keeps tracks of how many times he could have fatally wounded her for a while.

"Enough!" A kick to the midriff sends Uguisu tumbling backwards, landing on her butt. "If you want to beat him, you've got to keep your wits!"

She's panting and sweating from the fruitless efforts, but the pallor of fear still clings to her skin. "Haï."

Looks like she means it. Kakashi's own view is restricted more than normal, but he recognizes the way a fighter would evaluate their target: dark eyes are identifying the weak spots, the disadvantages of the opponent. He can see, she has formulated some sort of plan as she pushes to the feet.

"Cheap trick," the woman comments, "but I get your point, sensei."

This time, both of them give as good as they get and the disguised man tries to push every single button he can in an effort to test Uguisu's mind and skills. Hmm, he parries a kick, technique's lacking. Too often, the strikes aimed at him are deflected, resulting in a waste of energy and a gain in frustration. As he begins to outmatch her efforts, he can see the fear return along with the dangerous openings. Using one of those weaknesses, Kakashi strikes quick as a snake, his fingers brushing the delicate skin on her throat before she evades him.

Twice more, similar near-finishes happen.

Finally fed up and pushed to her limits, Uguisu charges. Ignoring any inkling of self-preservation, she attempts a feigned attack towards his right flank followed immediately by a punch which could have broken his nose if he hadn't moved in time. Guiding the woman's movement into a spin, the jōnin leans into her back, a hand on her shoulder to illustrate a potentially fatal situation.

"Never rush in mindlessly." His voice is muffled by the Orochimaru-mask.

Under his hand, Uguisu is tense and shivering, her breath superficial even if she tries to control it enough to say, "I might've left myself open, but at least it's a draw."

"Huh?"

A slight pressure to the inside of Kakashi's left thigh makes him look down between them to find a kunai resting against between the creases of his trousers at the groin. Femoral artery. A slight jangle catches his ear from their other side.

"You used your frustration to distract me and let you close enough," he comments with an unseen smile.

"Hm-m. Now let go and get rid of that hideous stuff!"

...

Uguisu is silent as they walk side by side back to Konoha. I might have gone too far. Still pale, lips reduced to a thin line, the woman appears to be swept away by thoughts, and her warden is loathe to leave her alone in her current state.

"How 'bout a bowl of victory ramen?" he offers quietly.

Nodding silently, a strand of blue hair disentangling itself so she has to push it behind the ear, the girl follows.

It's not until they're sitting with each their own bowl of steaming hot noodles that the usual healthy colour returns to her cheeks although she remains quiet.

...

Kakashi can't sleep.

Again and again, he replays the evening's test and categorizes everything he has learned throughout it. As suspected, close combat isn't the woman's forte although there's hope for further improvement. What worries him the most, however, is the emotional burden she carries. It'll become a lia-

A gentle tap on the windowpane disrupts his thoughts and he turns to see a familiar silhouette perched outside which he waves to welcome in. The jōnin wants to reach out to her when she has settled in the window sill, wants to take her hand and apologize for the hardships and the trauma lingering. Instead, he lies quietly with the hands behind the head and watches her squirm for a while.

"Can I sit on the bed?"

Even without the small, shaky voice, he would have agreed in an instant and scoots over. Uguisu waits until he's in place once more, then she comes to sit in silence.

One minute. I wouldn't have to stretch my arm to reach her hand.

Three minutes. When does her breathing calm?

Eight minutes. Is that...? A thin path down her cheek glitters in the moonlight breaking through the clouds randomly. Shit. This is my fault. A logic thought protests against the claim to blame but is immediately drowned.

"Ugui-"

"Please, don't talk," she interrupts.

He shuts up not just because she asks him but because she reaches out and grabs his hand, sending a bucketful of nerves into overloading as they race to relay the input. Warm. Soft, despite the expected patches of callouses that match his own. A slight tremor runs from her to Kakashi and only diminishes as he caresses her knuckles with a thumb.

"Is't..? Would..?" Her blush is unreasonable adorable when combined with the meek stammer.

Pushing the pillow sideways, Kakashi tries to contain a giddiness. "You don't have to ask, just make yourself comfortable."

"Carte blanche to do anything I want?"

"Well..." He contemplates the possible risks. "Yeah."

Uguisu insists that he keeps the pillow as she lies down on the side with an arm under her head instead. Knees tucked towards the chest and a hand still clasping his, she finally seems to find a sort of peace. I should apologize. But as he formulates and discards a variety of sentences, the woman's eyelids grow heavy and soon, she's sleeping. It's a light sleep, disturbed by dreams that furrow her brows and the slightest movement by Kakashi – when he tries to reach over and pull the covers around her, she's startled awake.

Through the night, the jōnin doses on and off, comfortable with the sound of the second heartbeat travelling through the mattress and into his ear. Finally calm.

...

Maybe it's the cold, emptiness of his hand that wakes Kakashi...at least it's the first thing he registers, quickly followed by the awareness that the mattress is only giving in to the pressure of his own weight. When he opens the eye, the weak dawn is battling against clouds and the mind of the jōnin takes time to theorize that they grey layer won't recede during the day. Something else adds to the shadows still filling the room: Uguisu is standing by the window.

"Mrug'shu?" At least the curses are clearly articulated in Kakashi's mind.

A sad smile tugs at the woman's cheek, softened by the light. "Go back to sleep, 'Kashi...and...thank you."

"Always."

The window swooshes as it slides back and forth in the rail, cutting off the connection between the two of them. Whyyyyy? Rubbing his face hard and scratching the white hair until his scalp tingles, he's left with no answers and only the scent of cotton that lingers in the sheets next to him. That's it...the unbeatable Copy-Ninja has been defeated. I'm done for! If anyone was watching him, though, they'd see the mask pulled askew by a goofy smile.

#Hatake Kakashi #Kakashi #Kakashi x ofc #Kakashi fanfic #Nightingale 24 #Kakashi Hatake #Kakashi x oc reader #Kakashi slow burn ish #Kakashi forbidden love #Kakashi sensei #Kakashi team 7 #Naruto fandom #Naruto #Kakashi angst #Kakashi fluff #Kakashi jonin #Kakashi x OC #x oc reader #Fanfiction #fanfic #writing #wip #Kakashi fanfic series #Kakashi fanfiction #Hatake Kakashi x ofc

[scribbling-stiks]

Puppets - XXX - Bloody Kidnapping

The night is quiet, but Russia feels something pulling him toward the mine. It feels irresistible, but the others keep him in place, namely Texas. He can't leave the state alone in such a vulnerable state. Currently, Texas is sleeping, curled up on the ground in front of the fire like a cat, having moved when the sun began to set.

But what concerns Russia the most is that he also catches Canada shooting longing glances into the mine.

"We should not want to go in there," Russia comments, looking at the cave.

"It's affecting y'all too?" Louisiana asks, cautious.

Russia nods, and Massachusetts lets out a low sigh.

"It's persuasion magic," Massachusetts explains, "we're definitely in the right place if it's here."

"Oh, it's definitely here, Sett. Can't you feel it?" Louisiana asks.

Massachusetts nods, "We're best off ignoring it for now," he suggests.

Russia nods in agreement but feels the need to sink into the gaping abyss of the opening, growing stronger as a result. He tries to ignore it, but his thoughts become muddled. He slowly stands, feeling as though he's half-asleep. His legs move him toward the opening.

He can hear someone speaking, but he doesn't understand the words. All he knows is that he needs to be...over there...now. Someone grabs him, his mind fills with intense anxiety, and he jerks away.

Soon, he is standing at the base of the opening, and the urge to go inside is unbearable. Logically, he knows he should be running back to the fire, but logic is drowned out by static. Then, he hears a familiar hissing sound from the shadows. His gaze slowly moves to look around, and he sees his own face staring back at him.

Suddenly, the world snaps back into place. Russia panics and stumbles back. His mind is racing. 'What was that?!' he thinks while he watches the thing slink out of the darkness. It had friends that follow it out.

Their faces swap between mimicking the flags of Russia and Canada, mimicking America, or just going blank. Russia races back to the fire, where the others stand with weapons drawn. Even Texas is up with a gun in hand. His face is still a little pale, but his stance is steady.

"There's three of 'em?!" Louisiana asks incredulously.

"Look's like. There may be even more. Stay close," Texas replies, his eyes narrow and trained on the monsters stalking toward them.

Massachusetts summons bullets, more refined than they had been, and Russia arms himself with his hatchet. Texas shoots, but cries out in pain immediately after. The monsters are left unharmed.

"Texas!" Louisiana shouts.

"D*** thing is bulletproof!" Texas yells, holding his right shoulder in pain

"Godd*** motherf*****s must have some kind of f***ing magic shield," Massachusetts remarks.

"I don't recognize it. Do you?" Louisiana asks, backing up.

"No," Massachusetts bites back, readying himself to shoot off some of the bullets.

"Projectiles aren't a good idea, eh?" Canada says, laughing nervously.

Texas stands back up, his club in his left hand, and his shirt sleeve is soaked with bright red blood. One of the monsters rushes up and grabs Texas. Another does the same to Russia; its dead hands grab his arms. Russia wriggles around, trying to strike it, but he only has enough mobility to hit it at its legs. The hatchet comes flying back, almost striking Russia in the leg.

Then Russia hears a shriek, and his head swivels around to see a monster, its flag an amalgamation of Massachusetts and Canada, sticking one of its fingers into Texas' wound. Texas writhes in agony as it digs around in his shoulder.

Feeling terrified for Texas, Russia struggles even harder, but to avail. Even with the strength that comes with being a personification, its hands don't loosen. Canada shouts from behind him, and Russia can only assume it's because the third of the monsters had grabbed him.

Russia sees green glowing as Massachusetts frantically tries casting magic, only for it to fizzle at his feet. The teen tries throwing the bullets that fizzle out as soon as they are launched. Louisiana is trying to use her phone, but she doesn't seem successful. Then, giving up on summoning weapons, he begins trying to form a flat, misty circle.

What it's for, Russia isn't sure, and he doesn't have enough time to watch and find out. He kicks violently at the creature's legs. The monster doesn't appreciate this and tightens its grip on his arms. Russia shouts in pain. Any tighter and his arms are as good as broken.

The monster that's holding Texas digs around in Texas' shoulder, and Texas lets out a deafening scream. Louisiana jumps and throws her phone into the dirt. She pulls out her knife and rushes at the creature torturing her brother. She strikes at it, but her knife bounces off of its arm. The attack did, however, get its attention.

It pulls its bloody fingers out of Texas' arm and snatches Louisiana's arm. Louisiana shrieks in anger and squirms away from it, twisting her arm out of its grip. It begins to chase her, grasping for her arm.

Massachusetts continues trying to shoot the creatures with magic, but the monsters don't even stumble when hit. Magic bullets that survive being summoned and shot light up the sky in bright green, resembling a light show more than a garage of attacks. Massachusetts backs up further and shouts profanity. One hand is summoning more bullets in a faint hope that they would work and the other trying desperately to summon the circle.

Finally, one of these disks stays corporal. It's shaky and unstable, but it lasts after Massachusetts finishes the hand motion. The second Massachusetts realizes that it survived; he begins shouting into it.

"Dixie! Someone! Please, I hope this is going through. There is so much magic interference. We found an entrance, but we're being forced inside. Phones aren't working. HELP!" Massachusetts screams into a green magic haze before it dissolves completely.

Texas hangs limp in the monster's arm, and his hat hits the ground with a soft thump. The demon holding Texas stops chasing Louisiana and shrieks to the mine. Two other creatures emerge soon after and grab Louisiana and Massachusetts. Massachusetts thrashes around, trying in vain to escape. Russia tries again to swipe at the creature with his limited mobility and only manages to knick himself in the leg.

Russia yelps in pain, and his pant leg begins feeling wet and very warm. The creature stops and begins to smell his leg. Terrified, Russia doesn't give it the chance to touch the wound, kicking wildly.

The thing throws Russia to the ground and places a hand on his chest. It's flag swirls and changes to resemble America's. It leans over and sticks its tongue out to lick the blood. Russia kicks it. It uses its other arm to steady him. Its breath smells of death, and Russia tries to kick it away.

Just before it makes contact, its head shoots up, and it freezes. The other monsters do the same. They stay frozen for a few moments before they rise together and walk toward the mineshaft. The monster picks Russia up and dragged him into the unknown. Russia writhes and squirms, but the creature doesn't give in, eventually deciding to slam Russia into the ground by his feet.

Then, the world goes dark.

~

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Table of Contents

#rusame #countryhumans #statehumans #ch russia #ch america

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Could you do a little fic where the reader super nervously asks Yennefer to help her look beautiful to impress Jaskier? Like maybe they're going to a fancy ball or something and she knows she needs to stand out among all the gorgeous women, and shes super intimidated by Yen but loves her dresses and makeup and wants some help?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Platonic!Yennefer x Reader, Jaskier x Reader, Geralt x ExasperationWord Count: 1,822Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak a/n: Genuinely, truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Love me some Yennefer x Reader bonding.

You’d been standing outside of Yennefer’s door for about 10 minutes trying to summon the courage to knock. You knew, logically, that the worst thing she’d likely do is say no. Even if she laughed at you that would be survivable. But she also might say yes, a thought that equally frightened you but also gave you a glimmer of hope. You were out of your depth in preparing for the ball tonight and while Jaskier had offered his services you wanted to make sure he didn’t see you until you were ready. You just needed to get past this damn door first and then, if she said no, you’d throw yourself on the mercy of the shopkeepers and maybe that was the better plan anyway because Yennefer was likely quite busy and-

“Are you going to come in or not?”

The door had swung open mid-thought and Yennefer stood before you. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup was already applied, a jewel-toned emerald shade gracing her lids and her lips a deep berry red. She wore a robe, not yet dressed, and she gave you an amused expression as you stood there gaping.

“Oh! Yennefer! Hello! Fancy meeting you in your room! I had a question,” you began. Yennefer patiently waited for you to continue speaking and when you felt certain she wasn’t going to close the door in your face, you continued.

“I’m going to that ball tonight and I don’t now much about… any of it,” you said.

“Any of it,” she echoed.

“Yes well I mean I know how to dance, sort of, and I’ve read about them but getting ready for one is totally foreign to me. Literally. They don’t really have balls where I’m from. Small village and all,” you were babbling but Yennefer considered your dilemma thoughtfully before standing to the side, leaving room for you to enter.

Though you all had similar rooms in the manor you were staying at, courtesy of the host of tonight’s ball, Yennefer’s struck you as much more refined. There were a couple of dress options, it seemed she was leaning towards either a black or gold gown, and you saw the vanity where the makeup she’d used was still sitting.

“Do you have a dress?” she asked, circling you.

“Um yes and no?” you said and when she gave you an inquisitive look you gestured to the simple grey frock you were wearing.

“Alright let’s start there,” she said, pulling open the wardrobe where you saw flashes of colors, dresses of varying hues and fabrics.

“Yennefer, that’s very generous and kind but what are the chances of a dress you own fitting me exactly the same I mean you’re much taller for one thing and-”

“Magic,” she said offhandedly as though it were obvious.

“Wait really?”

“Yes, did you choose grey or was that just what was available?” she asked, quickly moving past the many questions you had about the kind of magic that could make any article of clothing fit anyone.

“It was available,” you replied.

“What is your favorite color?” she asked, hands skimming through the dresses as you thought.

“I love purple but it doesn’t look good on m-”

“Try this on,” Yennefer says before you can finish speaking, tossing a dress into your arms. The silky fabric is cool to the touch and you have to grip it so it doesn’t slide right through your arms. You hold it up in front of you and then turn it around a couple of times. When you start to turn it upside down Yennefer stops you.

“I’ll help you put it on,” she suggests and you give her a grateful smile. Once you’re down to your shift Yennefer waits, still holding the dress.

“I’m ready,” you say.

“No, that has to go too,” she says, “There’s a slit.”

You didn’t know three words could inspire that much panic in a person but you were learning a lot of things today. You dutifully took off the slip, down to a simple corset and small clothes, and Yennefer unlaced the side of the dress and had you step into it. She murmured a few words you couldn’t understand and then slid the dress up your frame, the fabric contouring onto your body as though it had been tailored to you specifically. Once she finished lacing up the sides she turned you towards the full length mirror and you gasped.

“Oh no,” you say, “Oh no this is… Oh.”

The dress is held onto your body through the amethyst toned strap on the right arm which winds down, tucking into the bodice of the dress which is made up of mesh and detailed flowers in complementary violet hues. The skirt is long and loosely flowing with a little train and a slit that runs from halfway up your left thigh to the ground. Your leg peeks out boldly and you don’t quite know what to do.

“Do you like it?” Yennefer asks.

“It’s gorgeous but… it’s maybe too gorgeous?”

“Let me ask you a question. Why did you ask for my help tonight?” she asks.

“As I said I wanted help,” you repeat.

“Yes but why?”

“Because it’s my first ball and I want to look put together.”

“That’s not the real reason, is it, Y/N?” Yennefer asks, violet eyes peering into your face as though they already knew the truth but needed you to say it. You take a deep breath.

“I want Jaskier to notice me,” you say, “Really notice me. There are going to be many beautiful women there, women that look more like you than me, and I just don’t want to get lost in the crowd.”

“Alright,” Yennefer says, still eyeing you appraisingly, “Now tell me, how do you feel when you look at yourself in this dress?”

She redirects your eyes back to the mirror, hands on your shoulders and you aren’t sure if it’s to keep you pointed at it or just for moral support.

“I feel… powerful,” you answer. Yennefer smiles and meets your eyes in the mirror.

“This is the one,” she says with certainty and you can feel it too, nodding and nervously biting your lip. “Ok, there’s much more to be done.”

She pulls you over to the vanity and begins to brush through your hair with surprising tenderness. She doesn’t ask you what you want done with it, both of you trusting that she knows what to do from this point on. Instead you talk about the balls she’s been to in the past and she answers the questions you’d felt too stupid to ask like which fork to use and if there was an order to who was able to dance first and how often she’d have to curtsey. She braids your hair into a loose French braid, tucking it together with little ornaments that complement the dress you wear. She threatens to spell your face frozen while she puts on your makeup but you manage to get your twitching under control long enough for her to brush your lids with a soft purple shade and identical wings of black eyeliner. She chooses a subtle shade not much different from your skin tone for your lips but even the subtle change helps emphasize their fullness.

“Thank you for not laughing when I told you about Jaskier,” you said as she held up two pairs of earrings, trying to choose which goes best with your ensemble. “I know I must sound like any number of his adoring fans.”

“You sound like a woman in love. I don’t judge. For all of our blustering I’m not unaware of the bard’s charms,” you look at her in surprise and with a tiny bit of possessive suspicion.

“Luckily my taste in partners is much less refined these days,” she adds with a little smile and you smile in return. Once you’re done she quickly slips into her own dress, choosing the gold one which you help lace her into though you know she could do it on her own. You look each other over appraisingly and while you can’t help feel a bit overshadowed with Yennefer standing beside you, you feel much more prepared for what’s to come than you did before.

“Is Jaskier going to walk you down?” Yennefer asks as you leave the room.

“No I wanted to surprise him,” you answer. Your heart is skipping a few beats as you stand out in the hall where people are starting to enter, on their way to the ball as well. You see a few admiring eyes looking you over and it simultaneously makes you feel bolder and scares you. As though she can sense your distress Yennefer links an arm through yours and stands up a bit straighter causing you to unconsciously mimic the movement.

“Shall we?” she asks. You nod and the two of you join the growing throng walking to the ballroom.

“Have you seen her yet?” Jaskier asks Geralt, the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Still no Jaskier,” he replies.

“I knew I should have gone to walk her down myself. What if she gets lost? What if someone is trying to make advances on her? What if she changed her mind and doesn’t come down at all?”

“What if she’s standing right over there,” Geralt says, pointing towards the entrance of the ballroom where Jaskier sees Yennefer and a woman walk in together.

“I was talking about… Y/N?” Jaskier turns back, eyes still catching up with what he’s seen. He isn’t sure at first if it’s you but then you catch his eye and smile and he’d know that smile anywhere. Then his eyes travel further down and he sees parts he is nowhere near as familiar with. Yet.

“Geralt, Jaskier,” you say when you finally reach them, fighting the urge to curtsey at Yennefer’s suggestion to avoid making any such gestures unless those around you do the same.

“Y/N,” Jaskier breathes but says nothing more, mind fruitlessly searching for the right words. Geralt gives you the briefest of nods and then his eyes are back on Yennefer’s.

“You look wonderful,” you say as the silence grows awkward, Jaskier’s big blue eyes still as wide as they can get.

“You… I… Y/N… There are no….”

You see Yennefer look between Jaskier and Geralt and she gives him a meaningful look.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance, Jaskier?” Geralt asks with a heavy sigh. Yennefer smiles approvingly and gives you a supportive wink.

“Y/N, would you do me the great honor of having this dance with me?” Jaskier asks. You giggle.

“Gods, Jaskier, it’s still just me,” you say, taking his hand and letting him lead you away, past a crowd of nobles, past the Countess de Stael whose presence he neither notices nor cares about in the slightest.

#Anonymous #platonic!yennefer x reader #jaskier x reader #geralt x exasperation #reader request

[writerbyaccident]

An Enchanted Cage: Part Two (Yandere Draco MalfoyxReader)

Request: Oh my God please continue the yandere draco fic

Part One Part Three

           Standing beside the creek, you chewed your bottom lip anxiously. Regardless of the days that had passed since the beginning of the summer, you still worried that Draco wouldn’t show. Despite his promise to meet you there that afternoon, you couldn’t help but remember how he once promised much the same thing, only to leave you waiting for four years. And as glad as you were to have your old friend back in your life, there was still a part of you—the hyper-alert, defensive part—that was afraid of it happening again.

           In all honesty though, that wasn’t the only reason for the slightly uneasy pit your stomach. You were hardly a fool, after all, it was fairly obvious that there was something that Draco wasn’t telling you. Some reason why you hadn’t seen him in four years, that he always spoke so vaguely about his school, that he rarely ever mentioned his family. Looking back, you recalled him being somewhat odd when he was younger too, off-handedly mentioning things that you either knew were impossible or didn’t recognize at all. You had always figured that he was just playing make-believe back then, and perhaps he had been, seeing how he never brought up those things nowadays. But he still wore those—really, you didn’t know what else to call them—those robes. That, plus Draco’s vagueness these days, made you wonder at times if he might be a part of a cult. As much as you wondered though, you didn’t pry, knowing that if Draco wanted to tell you, he would. But when you finally spotted him walking towards the creek, you still had to wonder.

           Picking up his pace, Draco grinned once he saw you. Seeing you, being with you, never failed to lift his spirits, a fact that he taken deliberate care to explain to both if his parents. Truly, talking to them about you had scared Draco like almost nothing else, but it was more than worth it if it meant he would no longer have to keep his distance from you. Besides, he reminded himself, you were surely terrified nearly all of the time, constantly surrounded by feral, vicious Muggles without an ounce of magic to defend yourself with. It truly boggled Draco’s mind, how you managed to survive all those years without a wizard like him to protect you, almost as much as it amazed him that Muggles could ever produce a creature as exquisite and miraculous as you. That was why it had been necessary to tell his family about you, Draco simply refused to let you be hurt and tainted by the lower rungs of your kind.

           “Hello,” Draco greeted you when he finally reached the creek. “I was wondering if you might be up for a change in scenery today.” Curious, you furrowed your brow and smiled slightly.

           “Depends on what the new scenery will be, I suppose.”

           “My mother would like you to join us for tea is all.” Shocked by this sudden development, you scrutinized your friend’s face for any sign of a joke. But as carefully as you looked, you saw nothing but honest eagerness in Draco’s eyes.

           “You mean, right now?” you asked anxiously.

           “Yes,” Draco snickered, “right now.” Glancing back in the direction of your grandparents’ house, you considered his offer. You knew very little about Draco’s family, neither of your grandparents having ever seen their mysterious neighbors. This invitation was rather sudden, and if you went, your grandparents might worry. On the other hand though, you had told them that you would be visiting with your friend Draco this afternoon, and nothing said you would have to stay long if things went poorly. But what truly settled the matter for you was the clear excitement in Draco’s eyes. After so long of wondering about his family and his life, he was finally opening up to you. If you rejected his offer, he might not do so again.

           “Alright, then,” you told him. “Lead the way.” Reaching across the creek, Draco took your hand in his to help you cross it without slipping. When the two of you started walking though, he refused to let go of it, his grip firm but gentle. Technically, Draco did this for practical reasons, seeing as you needed to be touching him to get through the wards. But truthfully, he would have taken the opportunity even if that hadn’t been the case. Even after passing through the wards, squeezing your hand softly when you subconsciously shivered at the sensation, Draco continued holding it. He couldn’t remember precisely, but he knew that the last time he must have touched you was when you two were children. Since reuniting with you, he hadn’t found the proper opportunity. So now that he had, Draco was determined to prolong it as much as he could. He couldn’t help it, your skin was just so warm, so soft. And now that you were with him, he could ensure that they stayed that way.

           Leading you into the lavish manor, Draco looked back to find you staring at his home in awe. It was rather intimidating, to be sure, what with its sheer size and clear opulence, but he knew that you would grow used to it soon enough. As you passed through the hallways, you took in the dark tapestries and intricate paintings, shaking your head when you thought you saw one of them move. Your shoes clacked on the gray marble floor, the sound echoing around you. Finally, after walking through countless corridors and walking by countless doors, the two of you reached the parlor. Turning towards you, Draco looked you over hurriedly, wanting you to make the best first impression possible. Without hesitating, he neatened your hair and adjusted your dress, only taking a brief moment to relish the feeling of his hands running over your body.

           “Um—” you began to say, unsure of why exactly Draco had felt comfortable touching you like that, as if you were a doll he was prettying up. Draco simply held up a hand to cut you off though, not in the right mood to make an excuse. Anyway, he really didn’t need to make any excuses to you, especially not anymore. You may not have been aware of it yet, but you belonged to him, and that meant he could as he pleased with you. And so, eager for this next step to begin, Draco opened the door.

           Venturing into the parlor behind Draco, your eyes went to his parents immediately. They were both blonde like their son, with the same refined and slightly bored air that came from growing up with immeasurable privilege. They also, you noted with interest, wore the same type of black robes over their clothes. Both of them were sipping their tea quietly as they looked you over.

           “Well,” his mother began, “I can see that you were being truthful, Draco, she is a pretty little thing.” Relieved by his mother’s assessment, Draco smiled and gave a small nod, then looking to his father for his verdict.

           “I suppose,” his father drawled,  “that your purebred analogy was rather apt. She almost looks civilized.” Eyes widening in offense, you opened your mouth to speak before being cut off by Draco’s mother.

           “And once you bathe her and dress her in some proper clothes, I imagine the result will be even better.”

           “Excuse me,” you sputtered, half hoping this was some poorly thought out joke. “What the hell are you people talking about?” Lucius’s eyes slid over to you at that comment, his eyebrows lifting and his lip curling.

           “It seems as though she was not entirely able to escape the barbaric nature of her kind though,” Lucius said haughtily.

           “She’s merely confused, Father, she still doesn’t know what’s going on,” Draco explained patiently. “She’s grown up her whole life surrounded by Muggles, she simply doesn’t know any better.”

           “What are—”

           “Even so, Draco, you will have to instruct her well then. I will not have our fellows thinking us too weak to even train our pets.”

           “Yes, Father.”

           “Pet?! Would someone,” you seethed, “care to explain what is going on?” Frowning at your question, Draco wondered how best to explain things to you. What he was about to tell you would end up changing everything you had thought you’d known about the world, after all. It needed to be done delicately. But before he had the chance to begin, Narcissa interrupted, perhaps hoping to spare her son the discomfort.

           “You are to be Draco’s pet,” she told you matter-of-factly, with the tone of someone explaining something simple to a child.

           “No, I’m not,” you scoffed in reply, wondering just who these people thought they were. “I’m a person.”

           “No,” Lucius responded coldly, “you are a Muggle.”

           “And that is?” Sighing quietly at the way things were going, Draco turned to you.

           “A Muggle is someone without magic, someone who isn’t a witch or a wizard.”

           “So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you and your family…”

           “Are magic, yes.” A small laugh escaping your lips, you waited for a moment for Draco to crack a grin and tell you how ridiculous your face looked. But when he continued staring at you with that serious look in his eyes, you started to edge your way towards the door. Well, you thought to yourself with distant hysteria, it seemed that your worries of Draco belonging to a cult weren’t unfounded. However, once you had your back to the door and twisted the handle with all of your strength, you found it locked. Looking back at the Malfoys, you saw none of them had moved from their positions. Draco was still standing in the same spot, gazing at you with slight disappointment, while his parents were still seated in their armchairs. The only significant change you could spot, was the intricately carved stick now in Lucius’s hand, pointed right at the doorknob.            “You people are crazy,” you shrieked.

           “I know that this is a lot for you to understand,” Draco said gently, approaching you slowly, “but you don’t have anything to be worried about anymore. I will be taking care of you from now on, and I can take far better care of you than any Muggle can.”

           “Are you kidding me? I’m not staying here with you! I’m not your fucking pet!” As Draco continued to walk towards you, your heart thundering in your chest, you raised a hand to strike him.

           “Incarcerous!”

           Suddenly, thick ropes and cords appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around you tightly. Falling to the ground, you saw Draco’s mother had stood from her chair, pointing her own wand at you.

           “I think you ought to take her to her room,” Narcissa said stiffly. Nodding, Draco gathered you into his arms. He left the room with you secure in his grip, taking you through the corridors again.

           “Well,” he murmured into your ear. “That could have gone much better. I meant what I said back there. I’m going to take care of you, far better than any Muggle ever could. You aren’t like the rest of them—you’re not. I had to get you away from them before they tried to ruin you. And now that you’re finally here where you’re meant to be—with me—you will be my perfect little pet.”

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[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 3  (Calum Hood AU)

BY THE TIME we got back to the house it was far past midnight, and none of us could walk straight, except maybe Calum.  He never seemed to show just how much he drank, as his movements weren’t as clumsy and uncontrolled as the rest of ours.

I had spent the night dancing and drinking overly sweet fruity concoctions.  Calum had disappeared from the bar, which was a welcome discovery as I hated the way he always looked at me those burning eyes.  I didn’t like how self conscious and nervous I was around him, so when he was nowhere to be seen I confidently ordered my fruity drinks and actually let loose for once.

He went right up to his room once we got home, but I went into the bathroom with Hannah to change and take all of our makeup off.  Peering into the mirror, I saw my eyeliner had smudged slightly and my lip gloss was practically gone.  My cheeks were flushed from alcohol and the heat of the club, my hair tousled and not as refined as it had been when we left.  In a way, I thought I looked hot, and even cracked a smile at my reflection.

Hannah caught this in the mirror and laughed, hooking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into a hug.

“We got this Scar, you and me.  This can be fun, I promise.”  She sounded so sincere, and I hoped some of her optimism spread to me.  I could use every bit I could get. 

I couldn’t believe just a month ago the two of us had been at school, our biggest worry being the next exam or which jock was going to hit on us in the dining hall.  My heart yearned for those times, when my future was set in stone and I knew what to expect.  I had dreams back then, dreams to help people with my career and make a positive change in someone’s life.  Studying psychology to become a social worker had been my goal for as long as I knew, and I was good at it.  My professors all told me I’d make a great counselor, and my grades reflected this.

And then, one by one, the pieces in my life began to fall apart.  My family never had much money to begin with, but my parents managed to send me to a decent college, with lots of loans of course.  I knew I’d need a job as soon as I graduated, but that over time the debt could be managed.  All of this changed when I got the phone call.  It was late at night, but I was up studying.  I had just spoken to my parents the night before for our weekly chat, and everything was fine.

How quickly those things can change.

The doctor was vague on the phone, or maybe I just couldn’t comprehend what he was telling me.  Didn’t want to comprehend it.  His words were simple, but strung together they made no sense.

What did he mean car accident?  Where were my parents even going?  How come the 18-wheeler that slammed into them didn’t stop?  Why were they the ones that got hurt, when the other driver walked away scratch free?

I knew the word coma, but I didn’t foresee all of its implications.  Brain bleed was mentioned too, as well as circling the drain.  All of these words and phrases jumbled up in my mind, until I snapped and asked what the hell he was talking about.

Needless to say, what little money we did have went towards the medical bills.  My dad died two days after the crash, the impact of the accident turning out to be too much stress on his body.  Before I’d even accepted he was gone my mom took a turn for the worse.  She hadn’t woken up after surgery, and would crash every other day.  I stopped counting the amount of times the doctors revived her, and even slept through a few of them.  

They asked what I wanted to do when she was finally pronounced brain dead.  What was I supposed to do?  A twenty-one year old college student, overwhelmed with work and the fresh death of my father, and I was asked to just unplug my mother?  Stupidly, but caught up in the petrifying stress of it all, I insisted they keep her alive.  This intensive care was expensive, and hemorrhaged every last dollar we had until I had bankers and lawyers knocking down my door.  The day I finally did say goodbye to my mother was the day my university told me I wouldn’t be able to stay if I didn’t pay the monthly fee.

Blinking rapidly, I was brought out of my nightmarish memories and back to the present.  Basically kicked out of college, with barely a cent to my name, Hannah was my lifeline.  We were quite the pair of misfits, as she had essentially flunked out of her classes and been dismissed by the principle.  The two of us made a pact to tell no one the truth, and come home like nothing happened.  I’d work to get my degree some other way, and she would try to figure out a different path.  Without her, I don’t think I would’ve survived.

“I’m gonna take a shower, unless you want to go first?” Hannah asked me, rubbing her alcohol-reddened eyes.  I shook my head, suppressing a yawn.

“I’m too exhausted, I think I’d fall asleep under the water.  I’ll take one in the morning.”

She gave me one last tight hug before I left the bathroom, holding my crumpled outfit in my hands as I crossed the hallway to my room.  The sleep shorts and oversized tee shirt I wore were a welcome change from the tight clothes, and I dumped them in the hamper before collapsing onto Michael’s bed and falling asleep within minutes.

- - - - -

I woke up to my head hammering.  This hangover was one of the worst I’d had in a while, I suppose because I hadn’t drank like that in a while.  It took all the effort I had to get out of bed and head to the shower.

Holding my bathrobe and shower supplies, I noticed the door was closed but the light wasn’t coming through the bottom, so I gave a quick knock.

As my fist collided with the wood, it suddenly swung open to reveal an angry looking Calum.  Everything in my hands fell to the floor with a clatter.  I bent down to pick them up hastily, glancing up at Calum with a frown.  His hair was wet and curly, sticking up at all angles.  A towel hung loosely from his waist, and in my half-conscious state my dreary eyes dragged down his glistening wet skin.  My stare was obvious, and it made a cruel smirk curl onto his lips.

“Morning.  You look great.”  

His comment stung, as I was sure I looked awful.  My hair was a mess, my eyes surely dark with circles and fatigue.  I sighed, and said in a tired voice, “Sorry, I was just going to take a shower.”  When I finally had all my things I stood straight up, still overwhelmed by Calum’s towering frame.

He snorted, and without another word pushed past me towards his room.  I was too jostled to react, instead just closing the door behind me and leaning back against it in defeat.  Would Calum and I ever find a common ground?

I pushed the dark-haired boy out of my mind as I turned on the water, twisting the nozzle to almost as hot as it went.  The droplets scorched my skin as I stood under the rain, washing my limp hair and exhaling in relief.  Hot showers reawakened my senses, and today I needed a boost.  Today I planned on finding a job, and I couldn’t be sleepy and hungover when meeting prospective bosses.

Climbing out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, I toweled off my damp hair and swiped a hand across the foggy mirror.  In the small strip I’d wiped away, I saw the slight bags under my eyes and a dull look in the green orbs.  I was almost glad I couldn’t see the rest of myself.

Tying off my robe, I exited the bathroom and went downstairs to get some breakfast.  Hannah was at the table reading a magazine, and Luke had his head in the fridge searching for something to eat.  Michael and Ashton had already left, and once again Calum was nowhere to be seen.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke greeted her with a grin, leaning on the top of the fridge door with his forearm.  “You feeling the effects of your wild night out?”  Somehow when Luke teased me, it made me smile; the complete opposite reaction I had when Calum mocked me.

“Oh yeah, this headache is really fun.”  I instantly headed for the coffee, knowing some strong caffeine was just what I needed.

Hannah waved her magazine at Luke.  “If you think last night was wild for the two of us, think again.  We got into some crazy shit at school that you haven’t even seen yet.”  Luke put his hands up in defeat, and I shook my head and chuckled as I joined Hannah at the table.

“Oh yeah, because jello shots are really out of the box.”  I took a sip of the steaming coffee, not even caring that it burnt the tip of my tongue.

Hannah’s eyes tracked Luke behind us until he disappeared into the other room, upon which she pressed her palms to the table and sighed.

“Ashton must have asked me a million questions last night,” she hissed under her breath, and I set my mug down worriedly.

“About what?”  Even my whispered words wavered slightly.

“What do you think?  You, me, why we’re not at school right now when everybody else is.  And I know Ashton wouldn’t just ask me if the other guys hadn’t told him to, which means they’re dying to know too.”

I bit my lip, a thousand thoughts running through my head.  “What do they want to know?  I mean, we just met, I’m not gonna tell them my whole life story.”

Hannah nodded.  “I know, and I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of telling Ashton I flunked out.”  Her voice was thick with disappointment, and I reached across the table to give her hand a sympathetic pat.  I knew Hannah was secretly really embarrassed and ashamed of her grades.  Even though Ashton never went to college himself, Hannah wanted to prove she wasn’t an idiot, since he was always considered the smart one of the pair.  She also couldn’t face her parents, as they would surely throttle her if they found out she left school.

I sighed, and ran a nervous hand through my damp hair.  “Look, I have every intention of going back once I sort things out, and I’m sure if you can figure out a different school and just lie and say you transferred.”

She laughed darkly.  “Transferred to a community college?  Oh yeah, I’ll be a laughing stock to my family.”  Hannah shook her head, as if to clear these negative thoughts.  “Whatever, that’s not important right now.  But you’re sure you want to keep the stuff about your parents quiet?  No one would judge you, Scar, if anything they’d--”

“Pity me,” I interjected.  “They would pity me, and that is the last thing I want from the guys.  I want their respect first, and then maybe I’ll tell them.”

Hannah shrugged.  “Whatever you say, but it can’t be healthy to bottle it all up inside--”

“Bottle what up inside?”

Of course Calum strode in at this very moment.  He had changed into joggers and a black muscle tee with holes around the collar.  His hair had dried and was thick around his forehead.  He reached for the coffee and as he poured himself a cup, his mocking brown eyes watched us at the table.

“We’re talking about emotions and feelings, Calum, something you would never be able to understand,” Hannah fired back, causing him to scowl.

“Damn, ouch,” Luke laughed as he reentered.  “What a lovely morning this is shaping up to be.

The four of us ate in relative silence.  I was glad when Luke sat next to me so that Calum couldn’t.  He sat diagonal to me, eating the same frosted cereal as yesterday.  I was sick of the quiet in the room, and decided to speak up.

“I’m gonna go see about that job at the cafe,” I informed them.  “Never too soon to start earning money.”

Luke set his orange juice on the table.  “I would offer you a ride, but Mike and I share the station wagon and he’s already gone.  Same with Ashton.”

Hannah’s piercing blue eyes slid to Calum next to her, who hadn’t looked up.  When he realized we were waiting for him, he glared across the table.

“What, I’m supposed to jump at volunteering?”

I repressed a sigh.  I didn’t exactly want Calum to drive me, but clearly that was the simplest answer.  However, I wasn’t about to show him I relied on him and let him toy with this like he always did.  Instead, I shook my head.

“No, I don’t want a ride.  I think it’ll do me good to figure out the bus system.  I don’t ever wanna rely on any of you for a ride, you already do too much.”

Hannah and Luke nodded while Calum rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his cereal.  Straightening my posture, I refused to let his rudeness affect me.  I needed to be confident today, and someone like Calum knew just how to strip this away.

I left breakfast to get ready, opting for a nice pair of jeans and simple sweater with a jacket.  I liked looking put together and composed; it helped me feel that way on the inside.  

“Wish me luck,” I called at the front door, and I saw Luke give me a thumbs up from the kitchen.

“Go get ‘em, girl!” Hannah yelled.  Calum remained stoically silent.

There was a bus stop at the corner of the street, and I pulled up the schedule on my phone.  Hannah had given me the address, and I was pleased to see it wasn’t far at all.  God, I hope I get the job, I thought, chewing my lip.  It would make this stressful time that much easier.

The bus came and I took a seat close to the back, peering out the window and familiarizing myself with the area.  It was a great city, and a part of me could see settling down here.

No, the goal is college, I reminded myself.  This is meant to be extremely temporary.  And besides, no matter how much I liked the city it would always feel like I was borrowing it.  It belonged to Hannah and the guys, the same way the house did.  I would always be a guest here, would never feel like I was really meant to stay.

The cafe was earthy and quaint, and upon stepping through the door I was hit by a waft of roasted coffee.  There was in fact a hiring sign outside, with quite a few exclamation marks, which would hopefully work in my favor.

I approached the counter confidently.  “Hi, I heard you guys were hiring and was wondering if I could fill out an application?”

The worker looked relieved once I asked.  He was around my age, with black earrings and a nose ring.  His name tag read Roger.  “Thank god.  Mack was convinced we’d never find an applicant.  Hold on, I’ll get him for you now.”

I smiled, pleasantly surprised at his enthusiastic answer.  A minute passed, and Roger returned with an older man, who thankfully didn’t look too intimidating.  He had graying hair and a bushy mustache, and smelled strongly off baking scones.

“You’re here about the job?”  He got straight to the point, and I smiled as I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yes, absolutely.  I have my resume right here, and was just hoping to get an interview today, whatever you wanted.”

Mack waved his hand dismissively.  “Lemme see the resume.”  I reached into my bag and pulled it out, handing it over with a breathless grin.

“I’m still enrolled in college,” I said quickly, embellishing my story slightly.  “I’m earning credits for my degree from home right now.”  I hoped the explanation sounded mature and not like an excuse I was desperately trying to push.

Mack studied the paper in a matter of seconds, and slapped it on the counter.  Roger was grinning behind him, arms folded.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Mack started, and I nodded.  “I really need the help right now.  Normally, I’d screen a few applicants and worry about experience and whatnot, but I just don’t have the time.  So how about I give you a two week test run, and if I think you’re a good fit I’ll hire you officially?”

I had to stop my jaw from dropping to the floor.  How is it this easy? I thought, thinking surely there must be a catch.  Glancing around, I saw that the cafe was well attended and pretty nice overall, which was encouraging.  The only downside to Mack’s offer was the lack of pay for two weeks, but that was honestly fair with such an easy application process.

“Deal,” I said, extending my hand for a shake.  Mack smiles hugely and shook my hand, eyes twinkling.

“You just saved me an awful lotta stress, Scarlett,” he said.  “I really hope you’re the one for the job.”

I left after thanking him again profusely, and had to hold in a squeal.  I called Hannah immediately to gush about my success, and she said we had to celebrate.  We spent the day window shopping and trying on expensive clothes we’d never buy, but she made me swear I’d buy a tight cream colored dress once I got my first paycheck.  Hannah insisted it made me look like a million bucks, and I had to admit I liked that idea.

By the time we got home it was well after dinner and the guys had disbanded.  Michael and Luke texted saying they were with some friends getting a drink, and with Calum’s missing mustang I assumed he was with them.  Hannah got a surprise call from her parents once we walked through the door and hastily ran downstairs to take it.  A few times I heard her raise her voice to a yell, and I knew they must have found out about her leaving school.

Poor Hannah, I thought as I brushed my teeth, staring into the mirror.  I looked radically different from this morning; though I still had on an oversized tee shirt and shorts, my eyes were sparking with confidence and exuberance at getting a job, and the hangover had finally cleared along with the dark circles.  My cheery mood continued as I strolled downstairs, starving as I decided to make a simple sandwich and catch up on some reading.

The yelling stopped and I assumed Hannah had gone to bed, so I was peacefully alone in the kitchen with my book.  I was so engrossed in it I barely heard the front door open.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t ignore Calum swaggering into the kitchen to grab a beer, and I swallowed a bite of my sandwich nervously.

“Hey,” I said tentatively, praying he wouldn’t be mean for once.  Something was off about his appearance; his tee shirt was wrinkled and his belt wasn’t fully done on his jeans.  His hair was super messy and his eyes were glazed, and I spotted a dark mark on his neck.

Oh.

“Why are you still awake?  It’s like 3am.”  He flipped open his beer and took a swig, taking in my appearance at the table.

I hugged my knee closer to my chest and shrugged, a few pieces of hair escaping my bun to block my eyes.  “Not really tired.”

He met my eyes, and I tried to hide the fact that I knew what he’d just come home from.  He didn’t seem as cocky as normal, his hook-up actually subduing his sharp attitude.  I still felt wildly uncomfortable under his close brown gaze though, and it took everything in me not to shy away.

Finally, he broke the stare to take another sip of beer.  “Goodnight, Scarlett,” he said before disappearing upstairs, and I stayed rooted to the spot in shock for a few moments more.

I don’t know what shocked me more; his lack of cruel comments or the fact that he’d actually used my name for the first time.

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