#Every time I opened procreate over the past year I worked on this

[tinyq]

An evening out.

[littleeyesofpallas]

I've been asked before what my favorite entity in the Mangus universe is, and I frequently reinterpret this question as which entity would I be an avatar, or at least a follower of. And that requires a stipulation, that to have an affinity for an entity is not to think it's cool, and it's not for it to be your greatest fear, it's for it to be the fear you're most drawn to or otherwise occupied by. And in this capacity my answer has been, The Corruption. Because while I'm not generally scared of bugs, I do have a long standing series of hyper specific situational fears that all include bugs.

As a kid I went to a farm with my school and some tour guide commented on something about barbed wire leaving cuts on the cows and flies laying their eggs in the open wounds. And that shit stuck with me.

Back when the internet was a dark lawless place and shit like CP and snuff films were just floating around out there where anyone could drop you a link to them, I saw a video of a little kid with a horrifying large hole in his head where dozens of maggots were eating away as his flesh and clearly had been for some time.

I knew a kid in middle school wrestling who had to have his head surgically opened because somehow he'd gotten a beetle larva in his ear and it had matured into a beetle and was stuck in there causing him pain.

I have recurring nightmares of bugs flying into my ear, not because I'm afraid of the bugs themselves, but because every time I have the dream I specifically get stuck in the process of trying to swat the bug away and the active attempt to get at it causing it to retreat deeper into my ear and me being unable to get it back out.

Remember that scene in The Mummy with the flesh burrowing scarabs? I had a nightmare(?) Once where I caught a ladybug burrowing into my skin, and as I failed to squeeze it back out I realized I had dozens of little bumps all over my arm all moving around. So I took a long nail --no idea why that was the tool of choice-- and cut a ring around my forearm and peeled my skin off like a glove to reveal all the ladybugs crawling around in there.

(All that not even touching on my general anxieties about illness and disease and my constant paranoid certainty that my bones are just withering away and riddles with holes, my irrational fear of contracting tetanus regardless of whether or not I've been in contact with any rust, and the nagging thought that my skin is necrotizing and just full of inexplicably unprompted rot... But this is about the bugs.)

And now there is this stupid issue my apartment building is having where our land lord never schedules the damn exterminator on a day when I'm actually home to let them in so we've gone I don't know howany rounds without the unit being properly treated. And while there wasn't actually much of an issue for the better part of the past 3 years, now we've got a roach problem. And I spend every fucking night, starting from the moment I wake up, and the moment I walk in from work combing over our kitchen counters and the corners of the room expecting to find at least one scuttling about. It details any/every other thought process I'm having as I put my whole fucking life on hold in order to start this like 12 step scan and spray and chase and squish process. It's becoming frustratingly routine yet at the same time engaging.

And worst of all is that again I'm not fundamentally afraid or grossed out by bugs, I think bugs are cool, I generally avoid killing them if I can, I even used to take care of the bugs in the pet store I used to work at because no one else would. But mother fuckers cannot be allowed to nest and procreate in my goddamn walls. So for practical purposes they just gotta go, which means I have to be hyper aware of their presence, which has turned into anticipation, paranoia, and anxiety.

Jane Prentiss, just take me now

[livewireprojects]

Rambling about old art program

I'm mostly doing this cause I want to ramble & I don't want it being most of the text on an old image I'm posting.(Cause lots of rambling)

When I was younger I had a program called Manga Studio Pro 4.0, I didn't know how to use it much but I eventually was able to use it good enough.(Although at points I couldn't figure how to remove the text on some things if I was making a comic instead of just an image) This was an old program, while some of my stuff was digital installs I don't know how I got or were already there(MSPaint) this was the old way involving a CD that came in a box with a code.

At some point either from either from losing the box(this was a program I had a CD & code for in the past), using it too many times(I transferred computers a few times) or who knows what like not knowing how to use the code or losing the code for it I eventually lost the ability to install/use it. I think I tossed everything I had left for it after I lost the ability to use it & I don't remember when I tried to reinstall it. It worked I was able to reinstall it I just couldn't figure out if I had the code or not anymore cause some stuff confused me.

I don't remember much but I know that when you saved new projects you'd have a folder with the file to open the picture in the program(with layers there if they were there) & an image that was a jpeg full sized(depending on how big you made it) image with all visible layers merged.(I mean it's an image so of course) I have many unfinished projects I found in some backups I made of past computers, they'll never be finished & I'll never be able to open them up in the program again. It's not like I could finish them without starting over anyway thanks to how much shit has changed.

Looking around what I was able to it seems the most recent pics I made in manga studio were from 2012 which was my second year of high school.

My art programs back then were MSPaint & a copy of Paint Tool Sai I found somewhere(I bought a license for the program a few years back so use an actual legal ver now)

When I was younger I use to use Photoshop CS & MSPaint(every once in a while I used Manga Studio Pro 4.0)

Today/in recent years I use Clip Studio Paint EX, sometimes Paint Tool Sai, MSPaint occasionally(mostly use it for quickly pasting screenshots or stuff to copy to paste elsewhere) & very recently Procreate.

Up until a certain point after high school I drew with a mouse, I sometimes draw with a mouse but I mostly use a wacom tablet I've had for a few years. Also use an ipad for procreate.

It's kind of funny, I didn't use manga studio that much but I use clip studio paint a lot now. I bring this up cause manga studio is still going, it's called clip studio now.

Here's so images I was able to find from when I still used the program just so you can see what I worked on. If you've seen my art stuff you'll know how much things have changed too.

This pic was from 2011, it's an old image of my fursona's quad form

To the right is a more up-to-date version from 2016, not much has changed but the paw print is gone(the tail has a little more detail like it has fins now)

Here's a pic from 2021 were my fursona is dressed for pride month that shows better details. Funny enough first pic is manga studio, second pic is sai & third is clip studio paint so I guess it comes full circle.

Pic 1

This is the most recent pic(2012) I made in manga studio, according to the description I sketched it in manga studio then colored it in sai, the text is done in MSPaint. This was for an Alice in Wonderland based project I didn't get far in except for a few ideas.

Pic 2:

I have no idea when I made this, DA says I posted it there in 2012 but going off the art style looks older than I recall. After trying to search around I think this & pic 3 are maybe from 2010 & I got a little better in 2012 when I made pic 1.

This is for someone I use to know that I don't exactly have good memories of. I use to be in an AMV group with her & at some point she requested art from me & would repeatedly ask if it was done. I don't remember how often but I know she was asking about it to the point it was considered rude especially after I asked her to stop.

This was for one of her projects that as far as I know never got very far. I don't even remember what the plot was. I think it was two high schoolers falling in love while caring for a kid that was either their future daughter or the guy's little sister.

I think I was experimenting with the background on this & pic 3 cause I think the backgrounds had to do with finding random brushes & using them as much as I could were I thought it fit.

Pic 3:

From the same person that the less said that I remember the better cause I'm just going to end up ranting about how she kept making child me pissed from repeatedly asking if an art request was done when I kept asking her to stop & it wasn't done yet.

Anyway I think this was suppose to be for a slice of life fanime she was working on. I don't remember much past the blond(Midori) being the I think main character & something involving her having 3 ex-boyfriends with the magenta/pink hair one being dead. I think I drew this before pic 2 but I put it at the end cause there's more stuff.

Three of the images(the image in the thought bubble, the photo to the left & all three chibis if you count them as one image) were all imported into manga studio to be part of it.(Or the photo on the very left & the chibis were imported cause I think the pic in the thought bubble was edited in using Photoshop CS & the text was shaded in Photoshop as well)

Here's the three images in pic 3

Pic 1 was made with MSPaint & Photoshop CS(background is one I made in photoshop at some point), the writing was suppose to look crayon like cause this was before I had Sai which had a crayon brush

Pic 2 was made traditionally on paper & with sharpy before editing it in Photoshop CS. Don't know where I found the floor, the text in the corner is the only thing helping me guess this is from 2010. That cat charm is an old character of mine, was kind of a joke on Hello Kitty for some reason.

Pic 3 was made in MSPaint

I got one more pic I made in manga studio but it's getting it's own post.(Link to said post)

It's kind of crazy just how much was done & how much has changed from then & now.(I dunno how to end this)

[darklove9314-blog]

Family : A Nessian Fanfic

Day 19 of Nessian month: Prompt: Nessian bonding with the IC.

Nesta gazed upon Cassian, Her hand firmly in his as Cassian knocked on the front doors of the river house, Feyre opened the door, a smile on her face, a hand pressed firmly to her swollen stomach before a five year old Nyx grinned at the sight of his aunt and uncle flinging himself in his aunt’s arms.

“Aunt Nes! You came!” Nyx exclaimed. A happy chuckle escaping her lips.

“Of course I came. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.“ Nesta smiled as Cassian cocked his head to the side staring at Nyx.

“What? No love for your favorite uncle?” He stated as Nyx’s eyes widened with excitement

“Is Uncle Az with you?” He questioned causing Nesta to hold in her laugh. Only five years old and he already mastered the art of a good come back. Even Feyre was reining in her smile.

“Say hi to your other uncle, sweetie.“ Feyre encouraged him as he wiggled himself out of Nesta’s arms and hugged Cassian.

“Hi Uncle Cass.“ He greeted. Nesta had no real idea why Nyx had grown more of an attachment to her than Cassian, but she guessed she would never really know that answer. Kids were always a mystery.

“Come inside, we’re just getting to cutting the cake.“ Feyre explained as Nesta and Cassian entered Nyx holding onto Feyre‘s hand.

Cassian‘s hand slid into hers before they entered the sitting area. Several of Nyx’s friends gathered around a table as he chatted away. He really was a social one.

Cassian pulled out a chair for Nesta, she thanked him as they took a spot beside Mor who greeted Casan with a hug.

“Long time, no see, stranger.” Mor greeted. Her smile dazzling across the whole room.

“That’s what happens when you go to the court of Nightmares for a whole six months.“

Mor shrugged taking a sip of her wine.

“It’s not easy to undo the damage the years have caused there, but perhaps in a few more years The Court of Nightmares will be a thing of the past and it can start anew.”

A fresh start. Something that a lot of the Night Court had needed. progress was slow, but nothing ever happened over night.

Nesta‘s eyes drew to Cassian, the curve of his lips at his friends accomplishment. The determination she had showed to take over the Court of Nightmares after her fathers passing and do what she thought she should have always done. Made more dreamers in the city of Nightmares. Nesta had even offered her assistance if Mor ever became overwhelmed. Which she had appreciated.

“How are things in Illyria?” Mor asked, her eyebrows raised in question at Cassian, who’s own smiled beamed, his arm going around Nesta. Pride shone in them with their accomplishments.

“We finally managed to convince Devlon to combine a two small units made up of both Illyrian and Valkeryie warriors. One of them are the younger generations who wish to become apart of the ranks and the others are the ones who have already went through the rite.”

“That’s amazing, I knew you two could do it.” Mor smiled looking over to Nesta.

“I couldn’t have done it without the steel will determination of my mate,“ Cassian explained pressing a kiss to the side of her temple.

“Don’t forget Emerie and Gwyn.” Nesta added.

“How could I ever?” Cassian smiled pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I thought the mating bond was supposed to die down some after a couple of years?” Amren asked sliding down in a chair, Varian by her side.

Cassian smirked at her. “You know that’s not how that works.“

“I dread the day you procreate boy. Hopefully the babe has its mother’s smarts.“

“I hope so too.“ Cassian told her making Nesta feel warm in her chest.

She had been thinking a lot about having children lately. Been having dreams of Cassian filling her with life. thinking of the one they would create together. Been gazing at the tea she had been using as her birth control for the past five years and been wanting to have a conversation about what his thoughts were if she stopped taking it, if they had started trying.

but they both had been so busy lately getting everything together that it had been a while since the two of them had time to be intimate, Had time to talk about the future that she wanted to have with him. Would they be able to have a baby? She knew getting pregnant as a fae could be difficult, but she was willing to try. She just needed a moment with him where they both weren’t exhausted.

Amren smirked seeming to catch how deep Nesta’s thoughts ran.

“I guess we’ll see when the time is right.“ She simply said leaning into Varian. Her wedding ring flashing in the light.

Before Cassian could say more, the door opened Azriel stepping through it as Nyx hugged him. Azriel placing Nyx on his back and carrying him into the dining room.

“Be careful there, Uncle Az, you may throw your back out.“ Cassian teased earning him an eye roll from Azriel.

“I’m in better shape than you.“ Azriel retorted. “I bet you couldn’t even lift him to your shoulders.”

“Is that so?” Cassian challeneed as Nesta heard a far off voice say.

“I hate to break up your bet with my son, but it’s time for presents.“ Rhys told them taking Nyx for Azriel’s shoulder. A wide grin on the boys face.

“Presents!” Nyx shouted happily running towards them as the other children followed. Feyre smiled rubbing at her abdomen absentmindedly.

“Do you think he’ll have any trouble not being an only child when his sister arrives?” Feyre asked as Rhys beamed.

“Not at all. though there definitely will be an adjustment period.“ Rhys assured her as Nesta looked back to Cassian. His gaze on Rhys and Feyre as Rhysand pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek.

Nesta had always knew that Cassian had longed for a family of his own. It wasn’t that his close circle of friends wasn’t enough for him or even her, but she knew Cassian had always wanted children. She had been hesitant afraid if she would be a good mother or not.

He had assured her there was no rush for children. That he would wait hundreds of years if he had to so she could be ready for them. Nesta just had to make sure she was doing this as much for herself as she was for Cassian. She would not bring a child into this world unless both her and Cassisn were ready for one.

Nesta joined the others sitting down next to Feyre as Cassian joined Rhys and Azriel having a conversation that Nesta had no clue what it was about.

Elain was beside Mor and Amren, her laughter flooding over to them as she sent both her sisters a slight wave. Nesta waved back before turning back to Feyre, not sure how to start this particular conversation as they watched Nyx open his presents. His eyes growing wide at the mini paint set his mother had gotten him.

“Thanks mom!” Nyx said flinging his arms around Feyre’s neck as she pulled her son closer.

“You’re welcome baby.” Feyre said hugging him as Nesta took in the sight. She knew she wanted that with her own child. But she was still afraid that she would not be any good at motherhood.

Nesta watched as Nyx opened his other gifts, watching as he opened the toy that Nesta and Cassian had gotten for him. Thanking both of them with a hug.

Nesta‘s smile bloomed as she beheld the hug between Nyx and Cassian, Could almost see Cassian with their own son or daughter, How good of a father he would be. She wondered when Cassian saw her with Nyx if he thought the same thing.

“Is something on your mind?” Feyre asked when they both were alone in the kitchen. they were cleaning up while the others were in the living room showing Nyx how to use his toy and helping him set them up. Cassian had always been great at building things. He was putting the others to shame. A smile tugged at Nesta’s lips.

“When did you know?” She asked as Feyre stopped on the dish she was working on.

“Know about what?” She replied scrubbing at a really stubborn stain as Nesta handed her a better sponge.

“Thank you.“ She said as Nesta dried the dishes Feyre handed to her.

”How did you know you were ready to have a baby?” She asked. Feyre stopping mid scrub.

“Are you and Cassian-?” She started but Nesta interrupted her.

“No. At least not yet. I-I haven’t brought up the conversation with him yet.“ Shd told Feyre. Feyre nodded in understanding.

“I can understand that. It’s not a decision to take lightly. There’s a lot of factors to take into account.”

“Like how I feel like I would be a terrible mother?”

Feyre looked at Nesta with the same eyes they both had inherited from their mother.

”What makes you believe you’ll be a terrible mother?” Feyre asked. going back to the dishes.

“Because I couldn’t even take care of us when it mattered most.” She confided to Feyre.

“It wasn’t your job to take care of us. It was our fathers. “

“It wasn’t your job to take care of us either. but you still did it anyway.“

“It still doesnt mean it would have been right no matter which of us took care of the other. perhaps the real mistake was that we didnt take care of each other, but we were young and we’ll learn from those mistakes, God knows I still make them when it comes to my own child.”

“Please. You’re the definition of the perfect mother.” Nesta told her drying the dishes Feyre had worked on.

“I wouldn‘t say that. I still have the deal Rhys and I made which in retrospect wasn’t the brightest idea if you want to have kids.”

“You made a mistake, it happens to all of us.“

“I will admit we didn’t really think it through. the deal I mean. But no one ever said every decision was a rational one, but you’re deflectin. We were talking about you wanting kids.”

“I know it’s been years but I still have those intrusive thoughts that I’ll end up just like our mother.“ Nesta told her.

“We can’t live our life in fear Nesta. and remember you also have a support system in your corner. If you want to have kids than that’s your choice, well yours and Cassian’s. Just make sure that you’re ready to commit to it. To put that child before anything else, because when your baby comes. It’ll be your whole world. only you can determine what mother you’ll be, The past be damned.“

“Thanks Feyre.“

“Don’t mention it.” Feyre smiled as Cassian turned towards them getting up from his spot and heading towards the kitchen until he stopped where they were at.

“I’ve come to relieve you, my high lady.“ Cassian said as Feyre chuckled.

“Thank God you have spared me of the tedious task that is dish washing.” Feyre teased giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you two when you’re finished,“ Feyre told them heading to sit down beside Rhys and Nyx.

“Were you two having fun in here?” Cassian teased grabbing a dish and washing it.

“Aren’t we always?” Nesta smirked grabbing the dish from him and drying it.

“What were you two talking about?” Cassian asked. “It seemed like a pretty intense conversation.“

“It was a sister thing and…there’s something I want to discuss with you when we get home.“ She told him.

“Nothing bad I hope.“

“No. It’s just a conversation that I’ve been wanting to have with you for a while now.“ She confided in him, He nodded, relief filling his features as they worked on the dishes. talking about the party. When things were winding down Feyre pulled Nesta into a hug as Nesta also hugged Nyx,

“Goodbye Aunt Nes.”

“Goodbye buddy, I’ll see you next week when you come spend the night,“

Nyx‘s eyes lit up at the sound of that, the house adored Nyx as it had any other person, Maybe even favored him slightly. Though she didn’t blame the house. it had been a while since a child had been in it.She wondered how the house would feel to have one there permanently.

When Cassian and Nesta went home, She had found her answer in a stack of novels on the house library’s table. Books on motherhood, what to expect when you’re expecting. Nesta felt a warmth in her chest as the house also presented her the herbs for her tea. She hadn’t taken her dosage today.

Footsteps sounded in the door of the library as the books vanished from sight but the tea remained. She had made up her mind. Had known her answer as Cassian approached her.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” He asked taking a seat beside her noting the tea.

Nesta took a deep breath. “Did you mean it? When you said you wanted kids?”

Casian nodded. “It’s something Ive always wanted. What brought this up?” He asked as Nesta took another breath.

“I was thinking-“ Nesta started. “About the future you’ve talked about for us. How you said you wanted kids?”

“Did you change your mind? Did you not want kids? Is that why you said you wanted to talk?” Cassian asked.

”No, I-I wanted to talk to you because I- I want to try for a baby. I-I want to make a baby with you.”

Cassian eyes snapped to hers, searching her face before he stood up, his calloused and warm hand going to her face.

“You want a baby?” Cassian asked. Nesta nodded. And she did. Gods did she want a baby with her mate. the love of her life.

“Yes.” She whispered to him as he smiled. The smile as bright as the dawn as he lifted trash can up eyes flickering to get tea.

Nesta’s smile curved upwards before she took the tea tossing it in the trash before Cassian‘s lips camd crashing down to hers.

He hoisted her on the desk, her back leaning against it as Cassian pulled away smiling down at her in the most breathtaking gaze she had ever saw and whispered.

“Then by all means mate,let’s get stared.“

[voiceswithoutlips]

Calico - Chapter Two

— pairing: Hybrid ot7 x Human Reader (Female) — genre: hybrid AU , fluff, angst, slow burn (like real slow), eventual smut — word count: 2K — Rating: M — warnings: trauma, mention of past abuse.

Click for Tag List

— chapter summary:

Y/N runs a animal shelter, Calico was built on a simple principle, to help those who were in need. What will Y/N do when her sanctuary is threatened by an unexpected hybrid?

— A/N: This is going to be a series, I’m just getting back to writing, so I’d really appreciate your input and feedback <3

Ch. 1  Ch. 3  Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

I stumbled out of bed with a groan, it was almost noon and my hangover was killing me. Last night I was too stressed so I drowned my worries in a bottle of whisky. Why was adulting so annoying, ugh. The house was quiet, Jason had probably already gone to the shelter. I made my way to the kitchen, my zombie brain screaming for coffee. I like my coffee black and bitter, just like my soul. Kidding, I don’t have a soul. 

My phone rang somewhere in the living room. The place looked like a tornado had torn through it. The floor was covered with papers and cushions and clothes and other unidentifiable mess. What the fuck happened last night? By the time I found my phone the ringing had stopped. 28 missed calls from Jason and 2% battery ...great.  

I made my way to the exam room, the most likely place for Jason to be. It was just a five minute walk from the house. I was in my pajamas, my hair sticking out and the coffee cup in my hand. It was Sunday, I was grumpy.

There was a half-naked man sitting on the exam table, no not a man, a hybrid. His white fluffy tail was droopy. Long white ears poked from his long black hair, he desperately needed a haircut. His ears were limp on his back. There was a hole in his left ear, it was properly done but too big for a piercing. My eyes widened with realization, I’d seen that before on cattle, his previous owners must’ve tagged him. 

The hybrid showed no reaction as I went to stand beside Jason, and directly in front of him. His upper body was muscular, he had a thick neck and washboard abs. He was gorgeous. He had a strong jawline, cute eyes and a small nose. The combination of cute and sexy was deadly. His hands were clasped together and he was hunched over, trying to make himself look small, not an easy feat to achieve.  

“Y/N, this is Jungkook,” Jason introduced the hybrid. The bunny stiffened, he didn’t raise his head to look at me. What do I do? I wasn’t good with people, I preferred animals to humans.  

“Hello, I’m Y/N,” I greeted. He was sitting so still that you would think he wasn’t even there. Was he even breathing? He was still looking down. 

I looked at Jason, I didn’t know what to do. “I found him near the hatch this morning so I brought him in for a checkup.” I nodded. 

“Are you hungry? I’m practically starving!” I asked, extending a tentative hand towards the bunny, palm up. He flinched.  I kept my hand where it was. I would stand here for hours if I had to. My stubbornness knew no bounds. Minutes passed slowly, Jason was leaning on the counter perfectly at ease, he was a good actor. 

Slowly Jungkook took my hand. “Let’s go have breakfast,” I whispered, a smile on my face as I slowly led him to the kitchen. Well kitchen was an overstatement, it was a small room with six refrigerators and two freezers, most of them contained medical supplies. A sad, overused coffee machine and a small stove for “Emergency Ramen”, it was our own special recipe. 

I opened the fridge with a “No Science Allowed” poster taped to its door. I pulled out a bunch of greens to make a salad, rabbits need their greens. We always stocked the fridge for humans and the animals. I wasn’t a particularly good cook, I could cook enough to not starve but that was the extent of my cooking skills. A quick chicken salad, eggs and toast and a bunch of pancakes and breakfast was served. 

Jungkook was still standing near the door where I had left him, eyes downcast, ears flopped. I was an idiot, a massive idiot, I assumed he would sit at the table on his own. Bad Y/N! 

“Jungkook, come sit with me,” I mentally hit myself, it sounded like a command, I was terrible at this. I was used to animals, you tell them what to do, you can’t ask a dog if he’d like to sit with you, but Jungkook was a person. I can be an animal therapist but humans? They were beyond me. I didn’t know how to get to him.  

He sat at the table. I pushed the food in front of him, expecting him to eat, another mistake. Hybrids are supposed to obey, they don't do things on their own. I was supposed to tell him what to do. I wanted to pound my head on the table. Stupid Y/N. 

“What would you like to eat?” I asked in the gentlest voice possible, at least I hoped it was gentle. 

 No response.  

“Go on this is all for you,” I tried to be encouraging. 

 Nothing.

 “Tell you what, if you finish your breakfast, I’ll give you a treat,” his ears twitched. He tentatively picked up a fork and started eating. His movements were small, he barely made any noise as he chewed but at least he was eating. 

I was still confuzzled, it is a word, a made up word, but then again all words are made up words. Confused and puzzled. I had no idea how to approach him, do I treat him like a human or a rabbit. The ‘treat’ card worked but will it work every time? He was taking small bites, I wondered if the food tasted bad. Maybe I forgot to add sugar to the pancakes? Did I forget to season the salad? I sighed internally. He needed a proper meal but sadly, Jason and I were terrible cooks. We lived on take-outs and ramen. Maybe it was time to learn how to cook.

I stood up, he froze. I had to get him used to people. I ignored his stiff posture as I walked to one of the freezers and pulled out a container that held my favorite ice cream. It was ‘ice cream for breakfast’ kind of day. I didn’t bother with bowls, two spoons and I was back in my seat. 

“You know this is my absolute favorite ice cream in the entire world. It's called Chocolate Brownie Fudge with Marshmallows. It's like a little piece of heaven in a plastic container,” I offered him a spoon. He looked at it as if it was going to bite him. “Go on, it's your treat!” I encouraged with a grin. It was meant to be a small smile but he was too cute and the ice cream made me happy. 

I dug into the ice cream as if my life depended on it. Jungkook watched me curiously, the spoon still in his hand. He hadn’t finished his breakfast but it was a start. For me, it was Sunday, the day where I threw caution to the wind and ate what I wanted. He hesitantly took a spoonful of ice cream, watching me as if I was going to pull the container away from him and tell him it was a joke. 

As soon as the spoon touched his tongue his eyes lit up like christmas. “Amazing isn’t it?” I asked, taking another bite. He nodded excitedly. Apparently he had a sweet tooth. I pushed the ice cream towards him and watched him devour the whole thing in minutes. God he was adorable!

I settled down on the couch in my office, I desperately needed a shower but that’d have to wait. Jason had taken Jungkook back to our house, he was going to stay in the guest room for the time being. It's not like I was going to put him in the hybrid shelter building, nobody deserved that and he couldn’t stay as a rabbit forever. 

I had a file in front of me, a file on Jungkook. All hybrids are installed with a microchip and registered in the hybrid database as soon as they are born ...or rather created in the labs. Hybrids couldn’t procreate, they were made in labs owned by big corporations. Jason had scanned Jungkooks microchip, the file contained everything about his life.

He was created in Corebear Tech’s lab and sold at the age of six to a wealthy family as a pet for their son. He was sent back to the company when he was twelve because he had grown too big for a rabbit hybrid. Corebear Tech then sold him to Apexi Pharmaceuticals and I guess that’s where Yonu found him.

I felt …I didn’t know what I felt. Maybe a sense of defeat. Jungkook was twenty-three, he was in that lab for eleven years. He was just one year younger than me. I was lost. I couldn’t even imagine what he must’ve gone through. There was no way I was going to let Apexi take him back. I called Song Hwa and gave her the file. After all we had evidence to collect and a case to build.

“Not this again!!” I ran through the front door as soon as I smelled smoke in our kitchen. Jason was standing in front of the stove fanning a pot with a newspaper. 

“I was cooking rice, I don’t know what happened,” he said opening the windows.

I took a peek, the rice was black, utterly totally burnt. “Jason …you’re supposed to add water to cook it…”

“Oh,” Jason loved to cook, the problem was he just couldn’t. I was 200% sure that he was cursed by some evil witch. The moment Jason tries to cook, all hell breaks loose.  

“You’re on clean-up duty,” I grumbled. At least it wasn’t that bad, the cake incident was still fresh in my mind. Once upon a time, when we still lived in our dorm, Jason decided to bake a cake …in a pressure cooker. Needless to say, it was a disaster. The cooker blew up, damaging half the kitchen. Thankfully no one was injured.

I softly knocked on the guestroom door. Jungkook had spent the whole day in his room, not that I blamed him. New place, new people, it was bound to be scary.

“Hey Jungkook, you want to come out for dinner?” I asked. I could deliver him ramen to his room if he wanted but I hoped he’d come out and eat with us. Yes, we were having ramen, Jason and I still lived as we had lived in our dorm, the only difference was our house was nicer and we had a garden.

Jungkook opened the door, he hadn’t locked it. He scrunched his nose as soon as he stepped out. The house was full of burnt smell from Jason’s cooking adventure. The smell must be stronger for him.

“Yeah, Jason tried to cook rice. Pro tip, never eat the food that Jason makes, he’s a terrible cook. Do you want to come eat with us?” I asked. I got a small nod in return.

“Let’s gooooo!! Do you like ramen? We have a really good recipe, well its nothing special, we just throw in some bacon and rice cakes and of course a fuckton of cheese,” I rambled as he followed me to the dining table. “You can never go wrong with cheese, unless you’re Jason,” Jason made protesting noises, I rolled my eyes at him.

Dinner was a bit awkward. Jason and I kept trying to make Jungkook talk but it didn’t work. The poor bunny hadn’t spoken a single word since he’d arrived at Calico. The only thing we got out of him were small nods and silence. I wondered if we should consult a therapist. He was human after all and he needed help.

I heard a sharp gasp from my left. Jungkook’s eyes were huge, he was frozen in his chair. He had accidently knocked the salt shaker off the table.

“I’m so..sorry. Please don’t punish me. I’ll do anything,” his voice was so small, it made my heart ache.

“Oh honey no!” I said as I held his hands. “It was an accident. You remember what I told you? This is a safe space, you’ll never be punished here. I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” I was mentally cursing myself for holding his hands on impulse. What if he didn’t like people invading his personal space? My worries were put to rest as he squeezed my hands.

“Okay,” he said in the smallest voice.

 Previous || Next

[heyitmelexie]

Children

Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Word count: 1050 Warnings: none Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Here’s Day 6 for @honeymandos​ December Writing Challenge! This is a little different to what you probably expect upon reading the title, but I hope you still enjoy it! ❤️

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Five months ago Pero had left for his last commission. Over the past years he had completed orders to save up money so he could prepare to settle down with you. During the winter months he would work for people in the village, earning money this way. And before leaving this time he had promised you it would be the last time, leaving you to not know if he would come back.

“This last commission will bring us a lot of money. And when I come back, I will stay. I will never leave again, hermosa, I promise you” he had said while holding your face in his large, but surprisingly soft hands.

You had spent the evening and the night making love, whispering sweet nothings and just memorising each other’s bodies. Neither of you could sleep, both dreading the morning when he would have to leave.

You had always hated this sight. Him sitting on his horse, riding away from you. He would always look back one last time before disappearing behind the hill. And you would always stand there, tears streaming down your face while clutching a hand over your heart and praying to whomever may hear you that your love would come back to you. Safely.

So far, he had always returned. Usually with some more scars littered across his body, but otherwise unharmed and you were grateful for that.

When he left this time, you stood there again, crying while watching him ride away. Your heart clenched with worry and you prayed that he would come back to you, that this last commission would go as well as all the others before and he would be back home soon.

Now, five months later, you still worry with every day passing, waiting for him to return.

Around three months ago you noticed there were slight changes to your body. Your breasts swelling, you were feeling sick many mornings and you ate more than you normally would. About two months ago you saw that your belly was certainly a little bigger. And rounder.

When you felt sick for no reason, you had already assumed that you were expecting. But after feeling and seeing the slow growth of your belly, you were absolutely certain.

You were not afraid of his reaction. Neither of you had planned this procreation, but you talked many times about having a family once he retires from fighting. And you knew that he would be happy, even if he wouldn’t necessarily say it.

Because, Pero isn’t a very expressive man. He is grumpy, gruff, quiet. And you’re pretty sure the frown simply got stuck on his face at some point.

But with you he was soft, caring, loving. He doesn’t often tell you he loves you, but that’s okay – he prefers to show you how much you mean to him.

He shows you with gentle touches, kisses filled with love and passion, little gestures that he only does for you. Like bringing you flowers or your favourite berries.

As much as you love it when he has his way with you, guaranteed to leave bruises of his fingers gripping your hips, hickeys and love bites scattered all over your body, you prefer the slow love making with him even more.

Believe it or not, Pero can be such a gentle lover. Calloused yet tender fingers caressing your body, chapped but somehow still soft lips leaving tingling kisses all over your skin. You are never left unsatisfied.

And you miss him dearly.

You are being so much more sensitive and emotional since you started to change, crying every day, praying that he would be with you again very soon. Those five months had felt like five years and your heart grows heavier with each day.

The sun is gone already when you go out to get more firewood from the big, and quickly receding pile. Winter is almost there, the days getting colder and shorter. And you didn’t dare going out to chop wood in your current state. Which is one more reason to hope he will be back soon.

You need to go out several times to bring a bunch of pieces into the house. As you step outside for the seventh time you hear the neighing of a horse and the sound of hooves approaching, slowly getting louder. Lifting your head, you look towards the hill behind your acre and the horse you heard comes into view, carrying a person on its back.

It’s dark and the horse is still too far away, so you can’t make out who it is. Fearing it could be William or one of Pero’s other comrades, coming to tell you he had died, you stand in the door and anxiously wait for the rider to come closer. Your hands instinctively find their way to your bump.

When the rider is about 50 feet away you can finally see the face and once you realise who it is you let out a gasp and start crying, not being able to hold back the tears.

He has finally returned to you.

Pero basically jumps off his horse once he’s close enough, tying it to the fence and making his way over to you. When he sees your swollen belly, he stops in his tracks, eyes widening, mouth agape.

You smile widely at him, tears flowing down your face freely and open your arms so he could come and hold you.

He drops everything he carries and runs, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your hair.

“Hermosa…” he says, his voice breaking. You shush him and gently take his hands to put them on your belly.

“I... I can’t believe it…” he whispers, voice full of emotion and eyes glistening with tears.

He drops to his knees and carefully presses his forehead to your belly. His silent tears leave small wet patches on your dress and you smile, gently brushing your fingers through his hair.

“We missed you, my love. I’m so glad you came home to us” you whisper, quiet sobs racking through his body.

He then lifts his head and presses a soft kiss to your bump, his face wet from his tears.

Now you could finally settle down and have your own little family.

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Hope you like it, lemme know what you think! ❤️

@absurdthirst​ @tangledlove27​

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter six: starving limbs

word count: 9.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), joseph spends .000000003 seconds about to go demon but manages to rein it in. uhhhhh LOTS of uncomfortably awkward dialogue. and allusions to past ~steaminess~. that should be it!

notes: this chapter is a tiny bit of an interlude! we get some new players introduced (please note the tags), some ssssssssslooooooooow development with john and elliot too, and just a bit more intrigue. sorry in advance that i can't write anything that doesn't have both body horror and horror-humor in it.

thank you to my beloved @starcrier​​ and @shallow-gravy​​ for putting their eyeballs on this for me, and @vasiktomis​​ for listening to me wax and wane poetic about my agonies; i would be nothing, no-one, without you, and i love you all so dearly!

“Who was that?”

Tall, short-cropped blonde hair. Lots of dark layers. A bolt-action rifle with a scope on it.

“Jacob.”

Not one of ours, he thought, turning the truck onto the highway. Not one of ours. Thought the fuckers were all dead or gone. Where the fuck did she come from?

“Why aren’t we going back to the compound?”

Did she set Fall’s End on fire?

“Jacob?”

“Holy shit.” He exhaled the words out of his mouth, billowing out of his chest in a sigh that only barely scratched the surface of his frustration at listening to Isolde pester him nonstop. Without looking at the brunette next to him, Jacob said, “You must be where John learned how not to shut the fuck up.”

He could feel Isolde’s eyes narrow more than he saw it happen. “I think that’s a Seed trait.”

“If I knew who that was,” Jacob continued, glossing over her little barb, “don’t you think I would have said?”

“Oh, please. You seem the type to get off on being withholding,” Sol snipped pointedly. He shot her a look.

“Don’t throw a tantrum, Isolde.”

“So why aren’t we going back to the compound?” She pressed, and Jacob’s mouth twisted into a grimace. It was a fair enough question—more fair than the initial one she’d posed, anyway—but even now, to a woman that was arguably close enough to a sister-in-law one way or another, he found himself reluctant to elaborate.

It had been over a year of refusing to expand upon questions his brothers posed, absences from family gatherings or an unwillingness to pursue people who had shown a clear romantic interest in him. There were some things that—well, that he had selfishly wanted to keep for himself.

“Gotta pick someone up,” is what he said after a moment, turning down the highway toward the Whitetails.

Isolde turned the heater up, and glanced behind them, as though their little guest might have taken to following them. “And who, pray tell, are we picking up?”

He exhaled out of his nose. “Stop asking questions.”

“Well, you Seed boys have a habit of leaving crucial information out!” Isolde snapped. “For example: John led me to believe that this encroaching cult was well and done, taken care of, extinguished, eliminated, exorcised��”

“You’re on a tangent.”

“There wasn’t supposed to be anymore,” she said after a moment. “Hunting. Killing. It was—you lot were supposed to be all done, now that you’ve run the folk out of their own home.”

Jacob glanced over at Isolde. Bundled up in thick fabrics, but still blushed from the cold, she looked quite small; for a woman clocking in at five-foot-eleven, he thought he’d never seen Isolde so swallowed-up, wallowing, despondent.

“You got an opinion on that?” Jacob asked dryly.

“You know that I don’t,” she muttered. “Just wish you’d have left the bloody fucking mess behind before I got here, is all.”

“I know it might offend those delicate sensibilities—”

“I’m tired of talking now, Jacob, if you’d like to let me lament the loss of my tranquility in peace.”

It took a lot of self-control to not bite out a response. Naturally, talking and conversation were only convenient when Isolde herself had something to say. It seemed she really hadn’t changed all that much, had she? Maybe it was good that she was here, after all. When John had first mentioned over the phone that she was coming down, he’d pictured that she’d mostly be a hindrance—unnecessary drama, despite the fact that he knew she had every capacity to act professionally—but as of late, Joseph had been...

Well. Out of sorts. Perhaps a slap of a reality check would be good for him.

They drove deep into the Whitetails, far enough out that the radio reception crackled and disappeared, leaving them in silence. The clouds were swollen and gray with unshed snow; threatening, looming with the potential to dump, but not quite there yet. All the snow as of late had been a bit heavier than what he would have anticipated, even for Montana.

“So are you going to tell me who our mystery guest is?” Isolde asked after a while, once he was turning up the long, familiar drive to a house that didn’t belong to him.

He flicked the lights of the truck on as the tree-cover turned the dim, overcast light darker. “Name’s Arden.”

“Very helpful.”

“‘S a vet,” he continued. “Worked in Fall’s End. Couple of years.”

“Like the animal kind?” Isolde pressed.

“Mhm.”

“Very fitting for your brood.”

“Ha-ha.”

Another stretch of silence, another turn up the drive, and then: “So?”

Jacob exhaled through his nose. It was either now, or later, and to be honest, he thought he might prefer delaying the inevitable over listening to Isolde complain, but he knew that he needed to just rip the bandaid off.

“She’s...” He searched for the word, shifting in the driver’s seat. “My...Partner.”

Isolde was silent for a moment, but he could feel her eyes on him—insistent. Impatient. Incredulous. A variety of other i-words that properly encapsulated whatever flurry of emotion she was feeling at that moment.

“As in—” Isolde stopped. “Romantic?”

“I guess,” he said.

“You guess?” She scoffed, but her voice was a bit lighter now, lifted by the curiosity. “Is she cute?”

Jacob stared ahead. That detail felt like it went without saying.

“Smart?” Sol prompted. “Funny? Makes you smile? Inspires in you the desire to procreate?”

“We have dogs,” he replied, “together.”

“Oh, if that’s all.”

He muttered, “This is worse,” under his breath, drawing her eyes back to him—as though she had ever stopped trying to pick him apart while this excruciating piece of conversation dragged on—and she cocked her head to the side.

“Worse than what?”

“You complaining,” Jacob said plainly. “You can go back to that, if you want.”

Isolde purred, “No, I think I’ll stick with interrogation.”

He shot her a dry side-glance, lips pressing into a thin line. This wasn’t supposed to be how this went—this whole...Interaction. Introduction. He certainly never pictured that Isolde would have been the first person to meet Arden as his partner, and not Hope County’s veterinarian, but. Well.

Nothing to be done about it now.

He put the truck in park as soon as they’d pulled in front of a small, tidy cabin, far enough out that you’d have to know where to go to find it—it wasn’t something that would just be stumbled across. By now, the late afternoon had started to turn murky; what little overcast light had been making it through the boughs was nearly strangled now by the approaching nightfall.

“Stay,” Jacob said, leaving the keys in.

“Do not speak to me like a dog, Jacob.”

He turned his head to look at her, expression pulling tight. She sniffed.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

He got out of the truck, slamming the driver’s side door and trudging through the snow—only half-shoveled—up to the front door. Through the window and the curtains, he saw the cut of amber light from the reading lamp he knew was by the door, the tangle of warm limbs barely kept under a knit throw blanket. It was a bit too comfortable, in there; too easy to remember the times he’d come to this house just like this, skim his hands under the blanket as he sank into that couch. The last few months had been a bit more demanding than he’d anticipated.

Just as he reached for the door, it swung open with a happy creak, and he was greeted by a familiar face. Just not the one he wanted.

“Well, if it isn’t the big man himself!” the dark-haired man greeted, chirping happily. “Good evening, captain. We were anticipating your arrival.”

“Santiago,” Jacob replied flatly. He gestured with one hand, an indication he was ready to come inside. Santiago flashed a charming grin and made a sweeping motion as he stepped to one side. It had been two months of having John’s favorite lapdog watching after Arden, and two months of hearing the Faithful’s infuriating voice over the radio every time he tried to touch base.

It was all easily forgotten, even as Santiago chattered in the background, saying something elaborate and useless as he made his way into the living room and spotted her; just like he’d glimpsed through the window, Arden was curled up on the couch, book in hand, reading lamp on and dogs asleep on the floor.

The beasts—glossy, long-haired Belgian Shepherds named Castor and Pollux—lifted their heads almost simultaneously, regarded Jacob, and then wagged tufted tails against the floor. They only looked at him for a second before their pointed snouts turned expectantly toward Arden.

She said something, quick and soft and foreign, and they leaped to their feet immediately to crowd him, large enough that their heads tilted to gaze at him reached past his hip bones even while they obediently remained on all-fours.

“Boys are sleeping on the job,” Jacob said gruffly as he gave them each two quick pets, lifting his gaze from the dogs to Arden. The corners of her mouth ticked upward, amused.

“They’re on break. State-mandated.” Her head tilted, loose curls framing her face where they’d fallen out of her bun. “Santi and I heard some chatter on the radio. Fifteen, huh?”

He grimaced, just for a second. His hands itched—to card through her hair, to tilt her face up—but he stayed where he was and instead watched as she came to a stand, tossing her book onto the couch. There were a lot of things that he thought about saying; questions beyond what their brief conversations had been, things that had been sitting on his mind.

Are you happy? Are you happy with this world I’m preparing us for?

“I’m taking you to the compound,” is what he said instead.

Arden laughed, reaching up to cup his jaw. “I figured you wouldn’t be rolling up to my house near-dark after two months of forcing me to cohabitate with Santiago just for fun.”

“In preparation,” Santiago intoned dutifully from the kitchen, sounding like his mouth was full, “for our rapidly impending marriage, cariña.”

“Enough,” Jacob interjected, “out of you, Vidal. Arden, is your stuff ready?”

“Yes, I packed.” She moved to the window, hoisting a bag off of the ground and glancing out through the glass. “Who’d you bring?”

Jacob took in a breath. Too much was going on, and not enough was happening in the way that he wanted it to. The stranger with a precise shot was still hungering in the back of his mind for his attention. When he’d dropped John’s little attack dog here two months ago, he’d intended his next stop-by to be taking Arden to the bunker. Elliot’s killing spree had only made that time longer, and then the Family had rolled into town, and now—

Well, now he was tired of looking for reasons to delay bringing her home, and just needed the one to do so.

As Santiago began gathering his things—decidedly less ready than Arden was—he crossed the room to where she was, turning her face from the window and back toward him.

“Oh,” she said, pleasantly. “Hello.”

“You get whatever you want,” he murmured, “for putting up with that incessant chatter.”

“One thing? Or many things?”

“Negotiable.” He grimaced. “Depending.”

She flashed a smile, tilted her head, and kissed the palm of his hand. “Hm. Brave of you.”

“Dr. Hale,” he rumbled, voice pitching low, watching the way her lashes fluttered prettily and her chin tilted. Expectant. But not yet, Jacob thinks. Not yet. “Are you plotting to extort me?”

Arden’s chin tilted out of his grasp, and she squirmed out from between him and the window, slick as can be despite her height. The woman was all wiry muscle, quick and precise movements, nothing wasted and nothing tossed aside. “Perhaps,” she replied over her shoulder, “but it wouldn’t be plotting if I told you, now would it?”

“What’s the word for ‘here’?” Santi asked from the hallway. “You know, for the hounds?”

Arden’s attention turned back to the brunette, and she patted his shoulder. “If I told you what it was,” she said, “they wouldn’t be very effective protection dogs, would they?”

“I think you mean attack dogs.”

“Interchangeable,” she acquiesced. “Are you packed, Santi?”

He grinned, glancing at Jacob. “Is just stuff, no? I am not interested in the material.”

Her gaze flickered to Jacob, a look of, oh, is that so? before she told Santiago, “Well, out into the truck with you, then. Dogs.”

She didn’t say the command, but whistled, sending them racing out the door excitedly around Santiago. When he’d followed suit and Arden had turned the lights off in the house, making her own way to the front door, Jacob reached for her and snagged her hand to turn her back around.

A second passed. She waited expectantly.

“I haven’t told them,” Jacob said after a minute. Arden’s wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand.

“About the fifteen dead men?” she asked. “Don’t you think that’s important?”

His eyes flickered over the shape of her face; in the dark, he could still pick out the planes of her cheekbones, the dip of her nose, the cupid’s bow of her lips. He’d traced just those things with his hands and mouth plenty of times before. “About you.”

Arden said, “Oh.”

Jacob waited for a second longer, but when he couldn’t pick out any emotion besides, perhaps, confusion on her face, he prompted, “Oh?”

“Well, I just don’t see how that’s pertinent right now,” Arden replied plainly. “People are getting killed.”

Per usual, even after over a year of being together, she somehow managed to completely unseat him. Trying not to sound frustrated, he elaborated, “I just thought you should know, Joseph and John and Faith don’t...”

Jacob felt his voice trail off; Arden tilted her head inquisitively, like she didn’t quite see the point in the conversation being dragged on. He never felt like he was dragging on a conversation, except with her—the woman trimmed the fat out of every interaction down to the barebones, if she could.

“They don’t know,” he finished. “Also, Isolde’s in the car. John’s old business partner.”

“Damage control,” Arden said.

“Damage control,” Jacob agreed.

The blonde gave his hand a quick squeeze, tugging him forward and, as though they hadn’t been apart for two months, as though he had not admitted to keeping her his very own special secret for this long, she kissed him. It was quick—a brush of their lips, fast and easy and not at all wanting, as though he’d never been gone at all—before she turned away and stepped out the door, waving in the headlights.

Jacob locked the door behind him, out of habit rather than necessity. As Arden loaded the dogs into the back and then her bag as well, he opened the back door of the truck to where Santiago had already climbed in.

“Hurry in, guapa, you’ll catch cold,” the brunette said, beckoning Arden in as though she weren’t in the process of climbing in already.

She smiled wryly, puffing the air out as she hoisted herself inside and kicked the snow off of her boots. “Thank you, Santi, for your concern.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, closing the door behind Arden and then settling himself back into the driver’s seat. There were about forty-five seconds of blissful silence as he navigated back down the driver before Santiago cleared his throat.

“So, Jacob, who is your friend?” he asked. His voice was sly, but Jacob stifled the urge to tell him to shut up. He’d probably go whining to John that he’d done Jacob a favor only to get bullied for it.

“This is Isolde,” Jacob said, gesturing at the woman in the passenger seat. “John’s mommy.”

Santi let out a low, little whistle, and said wistfully, “Ah, I have always wanted to meet the woman who raised our John.”

Isolde’s expression twisted something vicious. “I’d kill myself if I had to bear that fucker in my womb.”

“You took care of him while he was in Atlanta,” Jacob pointed out. “Cleaned up his messes in the courtroom. Set him on the straight and narrow. Sounds like a mother to me.”

“Ugh,” was her reply. He knew the kinds of things that John had been up to in Atlanta—post-grad, the youngest brother had been in poor shape. Looking for fulfillment in all the wrong places. If Isolde hadn’t nipped that shit in the bud, who knew where John would have been when they’d rounded him up? He’d never heard John say anything more than he’d said “I have to ask Isolde...” back when they’d been going to school and working together, but he imagined that once they had opened the firm together, spending weekends high out of his fucking mind wasn’t much of an option anymore.

Not, at least, for someone who was going to be doing business with Isolde’s name attached. She was a tidy little control freak like that.

“Oh,” Arden said, her face lighting up with curiosity, “you’re Joseph’s Isolde too?”

“Ugh.”

Jacob flashed Arden a grin through the rearview mirror, carefully turning the truck back onto a road that was more....Well, road than what they had been going on, not quite to the highway yet but close. He’d just have to get back to the compound. Get back to the compound, get Arden and Isolde settled in, and then he could go on the hunt.

It was becoming, unfortunately, more and more of a chore to keep things under control as time went on. Joseph wasn’t helping, and while John’s energy was not typically the “calm and efficient” kind, he at least had been propelled to take action. Of course, that action had ended up being more trouble than it was worth, and—

His brain was turning in circles, over and over again, a snake latched on to its own tail. It was almost deafening, to try and listen to Arden asking Isolde questions—what Joseph was like “back then”, about what it was like to work with John, how was her flight from Georgia—was she liking Montana? You know, aside from the killing and whatnot?—while his brain replayed the same loop. Would be easier if John was here, it said, would be easier if John was here to cause more problems and then try to clean them up. At least someone would be doing something, right?

Get back to the compound. Get everyone settled. Then he could make a plan.

And boy, was he going to fucking need one.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they had gotten back to the compound, Isolde felt like she was in a pretty good mood. Pretty good, at least, for getting shot at and realizing you’d been duped by someone who shouldn’t have had the audacity to try and dupe you at all.

The fact of the matter was that John knew better—he knew better than to lie by omission to her, because she was always going to find out that he’d done it one way or another, and yet he’d done it anyway. Their time apart had made John bold in his disrespect of her, and that was something that just was going to have to get immediately remedied.

Well, as immediate as possible, given that she was in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere-Montana with only a lick of cell service.

“It’s been really fun,” Isolde announced, climbing out of the truck’s passenger side as everyone else disembarked. Santiago had swung around the back to let the dogs out and haul Arden’s bag out. “I’m going to go sit in my rudimentary shack and pretend like today didn’t happen.”

Santi flashed her a wide, toothy smile. “I have an alcoholic beverage that may assist in forgetting.”

“I bet that you do.”

“Sol,” Jacob said, drawing her attention to him; he tilted his head, indicating the chapel where she knew Joseph was likely waiting to hear back about the things they’d seen. She felt her shoulders shag.

“Don’t become my least favorite Seed.”

“He’ll want to know,” the redhead cautioned. “See for himself you’re fine.”

“I’m not,” she snapped, “fine, and if I’m being honest—”

“You always are, in my experience.”

“—the last person I want to be making feel good is your brother.”

Jacob said, “I’m the one that’s going to suffer for it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. The eldest Seed shrugged his shoulders and started heading toward the chapel, nudging Arden ahead of him in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective; that was nearly the strangest thing to come out of the day. Aside from their newcomer trying to make their own live-action version of The Most Dangerous Game.

“Fine!” Isolde relented at last, trudging after them. “I must be fucking insane, to keep helping you lot.” And then, as though to comfort herself: “You’d probably muck up the details, anyway.”

Jacob flashed her a smile over his shoulder. “Practically family at this point.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

The inside of the chapel was degrees warmer—so much so that Isolde hadn’t realized how cold she actually was until she was within range of the space heater rattling laboriously, the sound bouncing between the wood paneling of the walls and ceiling. Joseph was sitting on one of the benches a few rows back from the front, head bowed and cradled against the fold of his hands. A young blonde woman sat beside him, but rather than bent at the waist, her face was lifted, like she was drinking in whatever light and warmth she could get.

Suffused in the amber glow of candlelight from different little pockets around the chapel, he did strike a Renaissance-esque silhouette. Faithful In Repose, or something like that.

It wasn’t until Jacob said, a few feet away, “We’re back,” that Joseph’s head lifted and he came to a stand. His expression looked mutedly relieved—like perhaps he was trying to not appear too relieved.

“I was worried,” he sighed, reaching up to plant his hands on Jacob’s shoulders, “when I heard your radio call. We both were. Fifteen of ours, you say?”

“I think so, anyway,” Jacob replied, not moving to return the physical gesture but not brushing it off, either. “I’m going to go back out after I get Arden settled and get an actual headcount. Hopefully track down the person we saw.”

“Good,” Joseph murmured, and then paused, his gaze flickering to the honeyed blonde standing just behind Jacob. “Arden?”

“Hi,” she greeted, reaching around and offering her hand to Joseph. “Arden Hale.”

His gaze looked inquisitively to Jacob. It was excruciating for Isolde to watch it, the confusion on his face as he took Arden’s hand in his and said, “I remember you, from before, don’t I?”

“Probably,” she agreed with a little smile. “But only in passing. I ran the vet clinic.”

“That’s right!” the younger blonde exclaimed, her face lighting up. “I remember you for sure.” She paused. “I was Rachel, back when we met.”

“I remember you too, Faith.” Arden’s smile was light and friendly, despite the fact that she referred to what had been her livelihood in the past tense rather than present tense. It was a painful reminder that they had run the other people with livelihoods out of Hope County—and that it didn’t seem to bother or unsettle Arden at all was enough to make Isolde wonder.

“And you—?” Joseph paused, clearly trying to keep some kind of cool, calm, and collect as he muddled through a thing that his brother was offering no explanation on. “Jacob just, ah...Picked you up?”

“Yes,” Arden replied politely.

Joseph’s gaze darted back to Jacob. He waited a heartbeat for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he said, “I see.”

“Do you?” Isolde prompted, because maybe she was gleaning a bit of enjoyment out of seeing Joseph on the brink of squirming. She knew him well enough to tell he was furiously stuffing down a mounting frustration—Arden, quick and to the point and unwilling to waste time on elaborating something she probably thought wasn’t important, and Jacob, tight-lipped and ready to leave.

Now she knew why Jacob hadn’t wanted to say anything. He’d been keeping Arden for himself, and now this stranger on the hunt had forced his hand.

“So,” Jacob said after a moment, “I’m going to get Arden settled. Sol, bunk with you?”

“Sure,” she replied, only managing to barely contain her delight at having figured out a dynamic in which Joseph was at a disadvantage. “I’d welcome the company of someone other than a Seed.”

“I’ll help,” the girl, who Arden had referred to as Faith, offered. “I could use a good stretch, and I can’t wait to catch up, Arden.”

Jacob made a low noise, something like uh-huh but more displeased, before he turned on his heel and started marching resolutely back to the door, Faith chatting excitedly with Arden as they followed.

Before he could reach the door, Joseph said, “Jacob?”

The redhead paused, turning to look back at them.

“When you have a minute,” he continued, “I’d like a word.”

Jacob’s mouth set into a firm line. He didn’t respond, but gave one short nod before he stepped outside and ushered Faith and Arden out ahead of him.

Isolde watched them go for one heartbeat before she began, “It’s refreshing to see you squirm, Joseph.”

“You always were a little spiteful,” Joseph agreed, his voice mild despite the barb in the words. Isolde’s gaze snapped back to him, head tilted in defiance.

“Don’t deny me my pleasures.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Another moment of silence passed, one where Joseph’s gaze took a leisurely journey over her—too leisurely to have been anything less than admiring—before he said, “I was worried, you know.”

“Well,” Sol replied tartly, “we were getting shot at.”

“You shouldn’t be leaving the compound,” he continued, his voice a bit firmer now, “not while we’re not sure that the Family isn’t still around. Jacob is capable...” Isolde waited for him to finish his thought, to tack on the contingency, but all he said was, “Enough, for himself.”

“I don’t think you have any grounds to be telling me to do anything.”

The words left her mouth coiled tight and unforgiving. Joseph had always been in the bad habit of that—telling her, rather than asking her or suggesting to her; as though his suggestions should be taken as gospel and phrased them as such. Even back then—

I want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife, Soli.

—it had been a demand, not an ask. Not a request—but something that was almost enough to be a command.

The man let out a small, short breath, looking at her for a moment in a way that was almost wary. Good, she thought, you should be wary of me.

“I know,” he began, “that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms...”

His voice trailed off, like he intended to let her interrupt him. Isolde crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.

“But I meant what I said.” Joseph fixed her with his eyes—infuriatingly blue, disgustingly blue. “That I’m happy you’re here.”

“And I meant what I said,” she replied tightly, “that you should be.”

Joseph sighed, “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Then I don’t know why you opened your mouth in the first place—”

“Isolde,” and now he finally sounded a little frustrated, the tone bleeding into his voice. “We have to be on the same side, if you’re going to be here.”

She knew what that meant. She knew that what he was saying was, if you’re going to fight me at every turn, then there’s no reason for you to be here. But he was wrong about that; it was all the more reason for her to be there, to keep him in check, because clearly, nobody else was. Even Jacob, who should have had every reason to want to share this apparent relationship he’d been having, had kept it a secret from Joseph. And what did that say about him? What did that say about the person he’d become?

“I thought of you often,” he continued, his voice pitching a little lower now, taking a step forward. “And the mistakes that I made. That we both—” Joseph paused, his eyes flickering down to her mouth for a split second before lifting back to meet her gaze. “—made.”

Don’t fucking do it, she thought, watching him lift his hand to sweep the hair away from her shoulder in the affectionate gesture he had done so many times before then. If she let him, maybe he would follow up the way he had done so many times before all of this; he would have dragged his fingers along the pillar of her throat, pressed his mouth to the hollow under her jaw, sweet girl, my Soli, so gorgeous, and—

“Well, I didn’t,” Isolde replied, stepping away from him before his hand could make contact, before he could try and suck her back into the world that he’d had her in before. They were different now—she had known a Joseph before Eden’s Gate, and he had known an Isolde before Eden’s Gate, and all that had happened between was well and buried and done away with. “Think of you. At all.”

She focused on the door waiting for her, to take her out of the chapel and out of the romantic amber glow drenching the handsome features of Joseph’s face, to take her away from the cloying words. It couldn’t feel genuine coming from him, not right now. Not anymore.

“I don’t believe you,” is what he said, called after her just as she slammed the door behind her. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.”

The things I’ve done for you, he said. Fucker.

More like the things he’d done for himself.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The house was quiet when they returned. Scarlet must have retired early this evening; those nights that he’d spent sleeping in his car just down the street, he’d seen the light on in the downstairs living room well into the night, but the clock was only barely cresting eleven.

As they walked inside, Boomer lifted his head from where he’d been sleeping on the floor, stretched out in front of the couch. The Heeler’s tail thumped against the floor a few times, and then a low growl pitched out of him upon first seeing John come through the door again—only to have it waved away and quieted by a gesture of Elliot’s hand.

“Elliot,” he started, closing and locking the front door behind him, “are you sure you don’t—”

“I really—” Elliot’s voice tightened, wobbling sharp and tense. “—really need you to shut the fuck up.”

John had become familiar with the way that she said things; the difference between a casual shut the fuck up and the cadence of this, I need you to, so close to the thing he wanted her to say the most but only available to him now if he dredged it up from his memories. So he did as she asked and closed his mouth, instead contenting himself with replaying that parsed little clip of her words over again in his head.

I need you. He could fool himself, trick his brain into thinking as she hung the jacket up, the dips of her face shadowed by what little amber light was glowing from the one lamp left on in the living room. Just like she’d done it before—that night, before the scar. Before her lie. John, I want you so badly, I need you, I need you John, saying it against his mouth in a kiss and driving her nails into him like she wanted to leave a mark that wouldn’t fade, like she wanted him to think of her, always.

I do, he thought absently, jostled out of his near-daydream when she brushed past him to head for the stairs, the hound trailing at her feet protectively. Think of you, always.

“Could sleep in my bed,” he suggested, following a foot or two behind in case she decided to swing. “If you’re feeling out of sorts.”

“Is that what you think I’m feeling, John?” Elliot’s voice carried with it an idle kind of venom, the words barely above a whisper and tossed over her shoulder. It was a loaded question, of course. There was no right answer. In fact, it was more of a threat than anything. “I’m just dying to get some insight from the person who has clearly never read me wrong.”

He didn’t stop when she did; instead, he carried himself all the way to the landing that she paused at until there was hardly any space left between them, where he could still smell the wild winter blushing her cheeks and chilling her skin.

“I just remember,” he tried again, remaining casual, “you always seemed to sleep much better with a body next to you.” And then, pointedly: “A live one. Human and not dog-shaped.”

“Frankly, I don’t think you know a fucking thing about me,” the redhead snipped out.

“Well, we both know that isn’t true.” His eyes flickered over her; the urge to reach up and card his fingers through her hair, glide the pad of his thumb from her chin down into the hollow of her throat stung hard and bright in his chest, flowering with want. “I think we know each other quite intimately, you and I.”

“Fucking,” she hissed, “does not equate intimacy.”

“But it did.” John felt his mouth tick up at the corner. “For you. For us.”

Something vicious twisted her mouth. I know you, he wanted to say, but knew that he shouldn’t because it would only incense her further—he was having to straddle a very thin line. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, and I know we were fucking made for each other and you’re going to see it, too. One way or another.

“I only,” he continued, reaching up slowly and waiting for her to balk, “wanted to offer it.”

She didn’t jerk away from his touch, but before he could tuck the coppery strand behind her ear she had leaned away from him, shrugging off the affection. For a moment, her lashes fluttered, her expression changing into something he almost didn’t recognize. It took him a second to realize that she was considering, that it wasn’t blatant rejection just vibrating under her skin but something else. The times that Elliot had wanted him the most had always been when she was looking for comfort, and the gentle tremor in her hands that she tried to bury into her crossed arms, the way she was making a concerted effort to keep her breathing steady—she wanted him, as she had before.

It was a tiny, tiny little thrill, only a degree closer to what he wanted, but it was there nonetheless.

“No,” she said finally, doing that infuriating thing she did when she turned her eyes away from him—like she wanted to deprive him of her attention, her hand brushing his out of immediate reach of her. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed.”

“Alright,” he replied agreeably, even as every bone in his body disagreed with her decision. He stepped around her, heading up the stairs to the hallway that led to the guest bedroom. “But if you have a bad dream and want someone to hold you—”

“I won’t.”

“—you know where to find me,” John added playfully over his shoulder. Her footsteps drifted after him against the thick carpet, swallowed up by the high ceilings of the house.

“I hate you,” she bit out, her voice still soft so as not to rouse her mother.

John tried very hard not to smile. “I’ve told you once before, you need a catchphrase you can sound like you actually believe,” he told her. “That one just doesn’t hit the same anymore.”

She shot him a stormy, murderous look before brushing past him to reach the end of the hall where her bedroom was. Boomer darted ahead of her, eager to be in bed; John said, “Goodnight, Ell,” from the distance that kept them separated.

Elliot was halfway through the door to her bedroom when she said, “Eat shit, John.”

He shut the bedroom door behind him just enough to leave it cracked—Elliot still hadn’t come clean about the sleepwalking, but he still knew, and that meant he couldn’t have his wife and his unborn child traipsing around in the snow and potentially getting hypothermia while he was asleep.

It wasn’t until he’d undressed into more comfortable clothing that he crawled into the bed and realized how exhausted he really was; the adrenaline that had flooded his system at Elliot’s apparent panic had died out now, leaving him feeling hollowed out and a little empty.

John couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Weyfield wasn’t as good for Elliot as she had wanted, and though that meant she would suffer for now, it would make their return to Hope County all the better; for him, and for her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He tossed and turned for a few hours, and found himself dredged out of his state of half-asleep by the jarring sound of his phone going off. John glanced over at the nightstand where it was vibrating, dull and insistent, against the wood. With no numbers saved as contacts in his phone, it was almost impossible to tell who it was, which always made it a bit of an uneasy endeavor when it came to picking up an unknown call.

Sitting up in bed blearily, he reached over and hesitated for just a minute before he hit the accept call button, bringing it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Johnny.” It was Isolde. Her voice sounded tight, uncomfortable. “How’s Georgia? Hm? Everything good?”

He hesitated again, but for a different reason this time; Sol’s voice was heavily implying something was wrong, and John was not privy just yet to what it was that had put her on edge. “It’s good,” he said, climbing out of bed and wandering to glance out the window. The night outside was peaceful—or as peaceful as it could look, with the dark treeline looming in his vision and the swollen clouds threatening another downpouring of snow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s...progressing,” he ventured, still half-asleep and clearing his throat. “Slowly, but I think I—”

“That’s good. That’s really, really good, honey. Hey, John? By the way, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah. So she was mad.

John opened his mouth to respond when Isolde plunged on, her voice pitching in a reckless kind of vibration, “I told you not to fucking lie to me. That means by omission.”

“Well, now—”

“I came out here out of the kindness of my fucking heart, you asshole. I fucking—they should be calling me Mother Fucking Theresa for the shit I’ve done for you, and you have the audacity to not only neglect to tell me that you didn’t know for sure the cult was done with but that your wife doesn’t want you? You’re hunting this girl across states and she fucking turned you in to the goddamn government?”

John grimaced. He was going to have to chat with Jacob and Joseph about how much information they were deciding to divulge with people. People, like Isolde, who didn’t need to know that his and Elliot’s relationship had ended on more than just “bad terms” and that the gap to heal it was actually much, much larger than perhaps he had implied.

“Also, can’t ignore the fact that you were in government custody at one point but your fucking cockroaches killed government officials to get you out—”

He started, “Sol—”

“No no no, do not fucking ‘Sol’ me, baby—I almost got fucking shot today. I watched someone hunt your fucking homeless population for sport and then make a very clear threat to do the same for me. And the worst part of it is that I’m not even that mad about that bloody bit, but—”

The sound of a door dragging against the carpet wobbled through the air, half-masked by his own closed door and the gentle whirr of the heater kicking on. He glanced blearily a the clock on the nightstand. It blinked 3:27 AM at him, and as he walked to the door and peeked out into the hallway, he saw that Elliot was wandering down the stairs.

Sol chattered viciously in his ear, but he wasn’t hearing it anymore; Ell moved leisurely, a pace that was unhurried, swaying on her feet a little as she came to a stop at the front door of the house and wandering in pajama shorts and an over-sized sweatshirt.

“Hold on,” John said, interrupting Sol’s tirade. “Something’s—can you hold on a second? Something’s wrong.”

“Oh? Yeah? Really? Something’s wrong? You fucking idiot—”

In her haze, Elliot tried to pull the door open. Her hand fumbled tiredly, clumsily with the lock, but the coordination needed to undo it just wasn’t there.

“I gotta go,” he murmured into the phone. “Listen, Sol, I’ll call you back in the morning—bye.”

Isolde’s indignation did not go unnoticed, but it did go unanswered as he hit the end call button and put the phone volume on mute, tossing it onto the bed as he made his way down the stairs. Elliot seemed to have given up trying to unlock the door and now tugged absently against the handle, staring out through the glass front; from the stairs, he could hear that she was whispering something, but not what it was.

“Ell?” John whispered, coming closer. He wasn’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker, right? Gently, he reached up to try and disengage her hand from the curved door handle. Her voice was still so soft that he almost couldn’t hear what was she whispering, but —

“...can’t,” Elliot was saying, to the glass—to the door—to someone or something on the other side of it. “Can’t let you in.”

“Baby,” he said, uncurling her fingers from around the curve of cool metal, “come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Her head snapped, mechanical and machine-like, to fix her gaze on him; the movement almost made him jump it was so precise, like she had just only realized he was there beside her. Though her eyes were open, they were glassy and drifted absently, never once staying in one spot for very long but never straying very far from his face.

“She keeps asking,” Ell told him, letting him take her hand away from the door and blinking, her brows pinching together at the center of her forehead. “She keeps asking me to let her in. She misses me.”

“Who?” He didn’t know that he really wanted to know the answer to the question, but it came out of him anyway—maybe the morbid curiosity of wanting to know what it was she saw in her dreams when she did this sort of thing, and maybe because he’d never been the type of person who could leave a door unopened.

As he guided her carefully to the stairs, their progress halting and uneasy, Elliot said pleasantly, “I told Joey I can’t let her in.”

He felt his skin prickle, dread crawling up his spine. He knew it. He knew he didn’t want to know the answer and he’d asked anyway, and now John would have to go to sleep with the knowledge that at least in her dreams, Elliot was seeing her dead best friend. Outside of her house.

“But I don’t want to,” the redhead continued. “She keeps asking me, but I don’t want to. She doesn’t have a face.”

His stomach churned violently. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, helping her up the stairs and to the guest room, pulling the blankets aside. His phone blinked with several missed calls from the same number—likely Isolde, raging mad he’d hung up on her. “Easy now, Ell.”

“She’s waiting for me,” Elliot whispered, like she was sharing a secret with him, her voice bridging mournful and gutted. “Joey’s waiting for me. She’s waiting outside. I have to let her in, or she won’t let me sleep.”

He pulled the blankets aside, trying to brush off the dread that really hit him the second he heard Elliot say she won’t let me sleep. Once she was laying down in the bed, her lashes fluttered unsteadily, her hand gripping John’s loosely.

Out from the hallway, he heard a low whine. Boomer had stirred at the sound of their hushed voices and now stood in the doorway of the bedroom; when John turned and looked at him, the Heeler let out a low growl, threatening.

“Well, come on,” John whispered impatiently at the dog, “if you’re going to come in.”

Boomer turned his head. It was the most effective side-eye he’d seen a dog perform in a long time.

“I have to,” Elliot whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears now. “I’m so tired, and she won’t let me sleep.”

“It’s okay,” he told her, even though his stomach wrenched a little at her words again, this eerie mantra that insisted on coming out of her now. “You can sleep.”

A little paranoid, he glanced towards the window—but it was empty, devoid of looming corpses or monsters peeking furred faces in through the panes. Don’t be stupid, he thought to himself, moving to the window and reaching for the curtains. Nothing out there. Just Elliot having bad dreams.

He gave the forest, bathed in cold moonlight diffused and filtered through the cloud cover, a final glance over. And for one split second, he was sure he saw something move, scrambling up a tree and shaking the pine boughs in a flash of pale limbs and bony protrusions and—

The dread returned. Cold, trickling down his spine like an IV drip. Just an animal, he told himself, as though the movement did not look like some two-legged humanoid monster scaling the side of a tree with the ease of a spider. Just an animal.

“Come on, beastie, we haven’t got all night,” he said, drawing the curtains closed firmly and waving at Boomer. The dog seemed appeased by this and came in, immediately hopping up to curl roll-shaped in the crook of Elliot’s knees. With the bedroom door shut and the curtains drawn, and Elliot having drifted back to sleep, the room finally felt quiet again.

John slid into bed pulling the blanket up and exhaling a breath.

She doesn’t have a face.

She’s waiting for me.

She won’t let me sleep.

Troubling, that she was seeing these things in her sleep. That she was seeing dogs with human faces. That she was seeing anything at all. It was almost the same as when she’d been drugged up to the gills by the Family and their weird earthy drug—not unlike Bliss, but with some more uncomfortable properties to it.

It wasn’t possible that she was still being affected by it, was it? This far away from Hope County, this long after she’d been experiencing the actual active effects of the drug they’d been plying her with?

Beside him, Elliot stirred, shifting until she’d rolled over to face him. Beneath her eyelids, in the dark, he could see her eyes move restlessly; still dreaming, even now, even after all of that.

What’s going on in that brain of yours? He thought absently, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from her face as she slept.

What aren’t you telling me?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Elliot awoke the next morning, it was in a foreign bed.

She didn’t realize it, not right away; the first thing that struck her as odd was that a familiar smell washed over her, one that broke through the haze of slumber just a little, just enough to make her stir. It was like a memory—was she dreaming? Was she in a dream?

Stop squirming, breathed against the nape of her neck, the comfortable weight of an arm over her, locking her in place. I’m trying to sleep.

“Wh—?” Elliot felt the noise, garbled with a sudden surge of panic, muddle in her mouth viciously as she lurched into a sitting position. Her head swam; her stomach rolled with unspent nausea (yet one more reminder of her poor decision-making); but when she moved, so too did Boomer, leaping off of the bed and instantly alert.

And so did another body next to her.

She swung blindly at first, a knee-jerk reaction, and only barely registered that it was John in the bed with her, having caught her wrist and stopped her from clotheslining him straight in the trachea.

“Easy, Elliot!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demanded, yanking her hand out of his grip. “How did—when did I—”

“Take a breath,” John cautioned, and instantly that hyper-awareness and panic was laser-focused, pin-pointed on the one thing that managed to be a tangible bane of her existence.

“Fuck you?” she said, incredulously. “Explain to me how I ended up in your fucking—”

“Elliot, you were sleepwalking,” he snipped. “I caught you trying to walk outside.”

She blinked at him, trying to process his words through a haze of blood rushing through her head and alarm bells sounding off rapidly. It was getting, she thought somewhere in the back of her mind, harder and harder to turn them off—to convince her brain that she wasn’t in immediate danger anymore, when she had identified a situation properly.

John is a threat? her muddled brain tried to parse through as she took in the scars and tattoos she had traced before—

(with her fingers with her mouth, while he knotted his fingers in her hair and sighed, please Ell please I’ll give you anything I’ll do anything)

—committed to memory.

Not a threat, she affirmed after a moment, lifting her eyes to his. Not a threat in the least.

“Okay?” he asked her, brows lifted. “Are we okay?”

“Why didn’t you just put me back in my bed?” she gritted out. “If you caught me sleepwalking.”

“And risk the beast ripping my hands off for coming into his territory? No, thanks.”

“Seems fine now.”

“Well,” John relented, “I invited him in.”

She rolled her eyes. Pushing the blankets off of her legs, Elliot passed her hands over her face, willing the alarm bells off. Red alert! Red alert! they screamed, over and over; we’re in danger, dig your heels in and sink your teeth in and tear tear tear—

The sound of the sheets rustling forced its way through the warning bells behind her just before John said, “You were talking too, last night.”

Elliot stopped, turning to look at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I suppose I said something like, ‘oh, John, I take it all back, please let me love you, I promise I’ll be the perfect cult wife’—”

The brunette lifted his hands in defense. “As ideal as that would have been, that was not the case.”

And then he didn’t say anything. John Seed, who could not possibly have learned how to shut the fuck up overnight, was regarding her very carefully—gauging her, getting a feel for what was going on in her brain. She felt her molars grind.

“Well, spit it out, then.”

John’s mouth twisted for a moment. “You told me you were trying to let Joey in,” he said finally. “That she kept asking you to let her in, but you couldn’t. And—”

A new wave of nausea washed over her. She didn’t think that was true. She didn’t that she had been dreaming about Joey. Had she? No, she would remember if—

(Joey, dirt packed under her nails and the flower blooms spilling out of the cavern of her chest, shaking the door, shaking it shaking it she won’t stop and she’s screaming even though she doesn’t have a mouth, even though her eyes and nose are smoothed out from her face, begging, begging to be let in, please let me in let me in letmeinletme—)

“—said she didn’t have a face,” he continued,

(LETMEIN)

“—and she wouldn’t let you sleep—”

(L E T M E I N)

“Um,” Elliot said, feeling faint as her brain dutifully trudged up the nightmarish dream sequence once again. “I don’t—um, I don’t think—”

John’s hand went to her shoulder, squeezing there at the junction between her shoulder and neck; instinctively, her hand flew up, gripping his wrist on a mechanical instinct to dig her nails in and rip his hand off of her.

He stayed firm—watching her, watching her reaction, brows furrowing. We like this, a part of her said, when his fingers splayed warm and calloused against the side of her neck, when her pulse jumped under the touch and the fog cleared a little. We remember this, and we like it.

“You said you were sleeping fine, Ell,” he murmured, his voice low as though not to spook her.

I know, she thought, feeling her lashes flutter as the urge to puke reared its head. I know what I said, I know what I fucking said, I know what I did, I’m not sleeping fine, I can’t remember when I slept fine, I can’t fucking sleep—

“I told you before.” The pad of his thumb swept down the front of her throat, close to the hollow just there; any lower and he’d be touching his handiwork. It was almost comforting, that he knew, that he was intimately familiar. “I’ll give you anything you want. Especially if it means helping you sleep at night.”

She knew that he meant it.

“I want,” she breathed, watching John’s eyes light up, “to punch you in the face so fucking bad.”

John sucked his teeth and regarded her ruefully. “Had me for a minute,” he told her. “Thought you were going to stop being so obtuse.”

“Disappointed?”

“A little, admittedly.”

“It’s good for you. Builds character.”

“You can’t be sleepwalking out of the house, barefoot, in the winter and pregnant,” he said, more firmly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, Elliot.”

“No fucking shit? You’re sooo smart, John. Think maybe later, if you have time, you could explain to me how day and night works?” And now she did push his hand off of her—enough familiarity for one morning—and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I have to shower and get ready.”

A frown planted itself on his face. “Ready for what?”

“Going to the stables,” she replied, opening the door and letting Boomer out into the hallway.

“I’ll come, too.”

Elliot stopped, blinking at him. “Sorry?”

“I said,” John began, having gotten out of bed and begun pulling his jeans on, “I’ll come too.”

“As much as I love the idea of you getting the shit kicked out of you by a horse—”

She cut herself off. The brunette raised a brow inquisitively—frustratingly distracting shirtless and standing there like he wasn’t the World’s Worst—and she shut her mouth promptly.

Taking John to the stables meant putting him out of his element. It also meant putting him directly in Sylvia’s path—and if there was someone who seemed almost as unimpressed with John as her mother, it was her new friend. She'd never seen him squirm as much as she had when Sylvia had clapped him on the back and said, jury's still out, but don't worry, bud! Like he'd never before had a woman not fall over herself for his attention.

“You know what?” She felt a smile tick the corner of her mouth. Even amidst the morning sickness riling in her stomach and the exhaustion from feeling like she hadn’t slept a wink, it still felt a little good. “Sure. You can come to the stables with me.”

Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. He had one arm into a button-up when he stopped moving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Elliot replied pleasantly. “But you’ve gotta do something. You can’t stand in the way. Be useful.”

“I can be useful,” he ventured. “It’s—what? Horses?”

“Yes, John, it is horses.”

“Great. Love them. Love horses. Very cool.”

“Uh-huh.” She eyed him, taking two steps out of the bedroom and then turning around. “And John?”

He let out puff of air, head tilting as he looked at her, having shrugged the other half of the shirt on. “Yes, Elliot?”

Elliot gave him a once-over, grimacing.

“Maybe don’t wear the Versace to the barn.”

[sleepylixie]

The Prince of Pearls 

Seawalker/Merman! Yang Jeongin

Word Count: 1.6k, Fantasy, Beware of suicide, mentions of depression I’m sorry you guys

A/N: THIS FIC DOES NOT REFLECT THE CHARACTER OR LIKENESS OF THE REAL YANG JEONGIN IN ANY FORM OR MANNER. ONTO THE FIC!! I love this for so particular reason, I really don’t know why, 

 ( @aliceu​ and @rebecca-noona​ welcome to the cult yet again. Today we’re serving Sex on the beach with a side of Fantasy Fries)

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

Every heard about a time when the lines between natural and supernatural were so blurred, they lived as one? Ever heard about a mortal loving the sea so much, he became one with it? Come, let me tell you the story of the Prince of Pearls.

The sea was an entity of dread to mortals, bringing fear in its unpredictability and terror of the unknown that lay within it. 

But for this village off the coast of what would become Busan, South Korea, the sea was nothing more than a god- given blessing for it brought them a bond other inlanders couldn’t even fathom-  

Merpeople. 

Not more than 80 years ago, the first Mermaid queen had reached out to the Busan chief, hoping to find themselves an agreement of mutual benefit. 

Despite strong disagreement, the chief agreed to the Queen’s behest, 

And it was evident, soon enough, that his decision had been for the best.

Her people were curious and benevolent, she claimed, if not slightly impish in nature- They were curious of their land counterparts and wished to observe them from as close of quarters as they’d allow-

They brought with them deep-sea treasures like the pearl and opal for the village to trade in return for their acceptance of her kind.

Busan thrived with their newly acquired trade of rare gems and medicinal weeds from the sea floor, and quickly warmed up to their newest neighbours. 

Soon enough, it was no oddity to see a band of children splashing and laughing at each other in the shallow waves with a trio of mer-children

It was commonplace to see the mothers sitting at the rocks at the edge of the beach, talking marketplace gossip with their underwater counterparts responding with their own equivalents. 

Busan grew well with the merpeople’s companionship, the village blossoming into a robust little trading town. 

\\

Yang Jeongin was the name of the current chief’s son, a young boy with a polite, if not a little shy disposition which was often mistaken for coldness. 

He wasn’t of the chief’s blood, for his wife was too weak to bear a child. He was picked up by his wife at an orphanage, being swept away by the baby with hair like ebony and a smile like nectar.

He wasn’t a child of many words, often choosing silence and smiles as much as he could.

That is, until he saw the ocean. 

The second the waves touched his toes, Jeongin seemed to evolve- no more was he the timid, reserved child his school friends knew him as.

He was a bright, vivacious little thing, unashamed in his loud laughter and witty in his responses, attracting every mer-child’s attention without a smidgen of hesitance. 

It was like he bloomed into his true self when he was in the ocean only to retreat into himself again on land, much to his parents’ exasperation.

“Your life is here, on land, Jeongin,” his mother would reprimand him every time he came back past midnight, tracking sand off his feet and pockets full of coral. “You give too much of yourself to the ocean.”

He would smile his shy smile again, complete with the shiny puppy eyes, and his mother would melt, yet again. 

And so grew Yang Jeongin, from a reserved child with an affinity for the ocean, to a young man with a love for it. 

He was never curious of his true parentage, for his adoptive parents had never made him feel less than their own son by blood- What was the need to look into history, when the present was as beautiful as this?

His hair was black as midnight, cut short so they hung slightly over his coral-brown eyes, brushing at high cheekbones. He stood tall and proud, like a chief’s son should, with swimmer’s shoulders and work-roughed palms. Despite his nature, he was loved by the village, an unconscious charmer who had eyes for nothing but the sea.

Jeongin had begun to spend as much time as he could in the underwater world, loving it all way too much to be able to stay away. 

He could stay underwater for long minutes, swim unnaturally fast with his human limbs, even understand the merpeople’s underwater tongue like it was his own.

There was no doubt, of course, that the merpeople loved the chief’s son. He was forthcoming with his questions, nimble with his trickery and brilliant with his words, all qualities that they treasured very greatly amongst their own people.

“Join the sea,” they’d mock him, laughing their bubbly laughs when Jeongin would frown for he knew he had responsibilities on land that he had no choice but to shoulder. “I wish, my friends.” He’d respond in their tongue, a wistful look in his eyes. 

But at least his underwater friends would always be there for him, no matter what-

but one day, they disappeared. 

One winter morning, Busan woke up to find the merpeople had retreated into the deep sea, far beyond measure.

Busan was lucky that their trading season was over and that they could tide away a few months without the precious cargo the merpeople used to bring for them

But what were they to do if they never returned?

The pressure of the decisions fell onto the chief’s family- who were facing an entirely different kind of dilemma altogether. 

Their son had fallen into a spiral of darkness after the merpeople left, retreating so deeply into himself that he was barely a shadow of his old self. 

It felt like something was missing inside Jeongin, even when he stood at the sea. It was a sickly, poisonous sensation that left him unable to even stand the sight of the ocean- a place he couldn’t stay away from not too long ago.

No amount of talking from his father or pleading from his mother could get him to leave his room- the windows closed, the bed turned away so he would not catch whiff or sight of the sea and it’s breeze.

The healer came up with nothing that could allude to his strange behavior; his body was entirely fine, she said. His mind, on the other hand....

If only they knew. 

If only they knew how he cried at the edge of the beach every night, where nobody would hear him, screaming and begging for the underwater race to come back, bring their ocean magic back with them

The water felt like a trap without their presence, a dark shroud falling over his senses that used to be open and clear even under water. 

Maybe that was why Jeongin gave up, one night. 

He couldn’t take the emptiness inside him anymore, he couldn’t take having to watch the very thing he loved so much tighten a noose around his head every time he so much as smelt it’s air 

So he gave himself to the sea, walking right into the water that felt so poisonous, allowing it to rise from his knees, to waist, chest, shoulders, nose, eyes....

and let go. 

It was a full moon that watched the boy with the midnight hair walk into the very water that gave him life, only to never come out again. 

//

When he felt water rush into his nose, Jeongin’s immediate reaction when he came around to consciousness was to panic and try to push his way to the surface until-

The water wasn’t constricting his lungs at all. The water didn’t feel suffocating, like it did for all those months before.

Right in front of him floated the same people who he’d cried for, all those nights when he felt hopeless and lost in the land. 

“I am sorry you had to live that way, young one.”

The oldest spoke, his merman tongue unfamiliar with his language. 

“Where am I,” he breathed out, finally allowing his eyes to rove over his surroundings- his extremely clear, unblurred vision. 

That was when he looked down at himself- and nearly blacked out in shock when he saw not two legs, but one tail. A strong streamlined tail with shimmering bronze dorsal fins, obsidian scales rippling throughout the length of it. 

“Welcome to Atlantis.”

//

He took to life underwater better than he could have ever imagined. 

Word went out about the newly arrived merman, formerly of human nature but unforgiving in his love for the sea, much like the rest of them. They accepted him graciously, offering him room and tutelage with his true-blooded peers.

He learnt about how merpeople were formed- first by divine intervention, then procreation and rarely, like in his case, when a mortal with a great love for the sea gave his life away to it. 

What Jeongin never understood, however, was why the merpeople that had resided in the waters next to his town decided to leave so suddenly.

When asked, he was told that the merpeople royal court had decided against further interaction with the humans with no explanation at all.

It was sad, he was told.The mer people loved the companionship of their land counterparts, and it pained them to leave the little town that had quenched their curiosities and accepted them without question.

He thought long and hard, over his tutelage, about what the relationship between the merpeople and his human ancestry could bring to the both of them- and then it struck him.

As a human child turned merperson, he could be the perfect conduit between both the worlds- a seawalker who could broker a peace with the landwalkers.

He threw himself into his studies with new vigour, for it felt like he had found a new purpose in life. 

Jeongin rose through the ranks with just the lure of his voice-

For it was easy to accept his words, especially when they were paired with his easy charm, simple smiles and fox-like cunning now veiled behind new sapphire-blue locks.

His new home wondered about him, 

“Is it true that he’s part siren??”

���His land family wasn’t his blood family, what’s to say he truly has our blood in him after all?

Atlantis took to calling him the Prince of Pearls, a fond nickname for the newest addition to their large family who had ideas bigger than them all, a heart filled with compassion and beliefs clad in iron and adamant.

Everybody knows about the seawalker from Atlantis, all midnight hair and trickster allure, the tale of a mortal from the wrong side of the sea now a voice of reason for everything he had learned to believe.

[plus-size-reader]

Abomination

‘

Castiel x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2490 words

Warnings: none 

Summary:  Having a child with Cas and he leaves because an angel cannot be with a human, he comes back years later knowing he was wrong

——————————————————————————————————

The love that you and Castiel shared was fleeting, like a match that was extinguished by the wind. 

However, just like a match, your love burned bright and strong and you never thought that it was ever going to end

Every moment was better than the last from the second you met him and for the first time in your life, you found that you were completely and totally happy. 

You’d made peace with the fact that Castiel was an angel of the Lord long ago, and it made sense that there were certain things he had to attend to sometimes. 

That being said though, there had always been some things about Cas that you had trouble getting passed.

When you found out that you were pregnant for example, Castiel was constantly talking about having to keep it a secret. Through no fault of your own, no one could know. 

However, when you asked why that was, Castiel explained that the baby growing within you was an abomination.  Angels should not procreate with any entity in creation, humans least of all.

The resulting spawn would be cast out of heaven indefinitely, and he didn’t want to doom a child with that kind of fate. What sort of man would make that choice? It wasn’t his place. 

...And that only left him with one choice. 

Castiel knew that if your baby was ever going to have a normal life, he would have to leave. It was an unpleasant thought, and he didn’t want to have to do it but he wasn’t going to put your child in danger.

He wasn’t going to put you in danger, for that matter.

Having Castiel’s baby would put a huge target on your back, with angels and demons alike. He knew that there was just no way that he would be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

 If for nothing else, they would kill you just for tampering with his holiness.

It was just a simple fact that you had no way of keeping yourself safe from an all out angel attack, so he made it easy on everyone involved.

Without saying a word to you, he packed all his things and hit the road.

It would be painless that way, or so he thought. 

In his mind, if he wasn’t there to witness it, perhaps it would be easier for you to process.

Emotions were still rather hard for him to deal with, in that way. Your time together had taught him alot about feeling, and caring for his father’s creations. However, he had never gathered any experience in this area. 

More than anything, he just wanted to make sure that you would be safe. He didn’t want you to be in any danger because of him. It just wasn’t something he was willing to do.

Not that his leaving actually made anything easier on you.

All it did was guarantee that you had to raise your baby girl all by yourself, while also missing the love of your life.

It was harder on you than anything ever had been before and had Castiel been around, it would have broken his heart. Luckily for him though, Cas was preoccupied with the Winchesters, keeping him from constantly thinking about you both.

Instead, he could focus on keeping Sam and Dean out of trouble.

For the first couple of years, it was fine. Grace wasn’t showing any signs of her power but that all seemed to change over night.

Without so much as a warning, you entered your daughters bedroom, expecting the six year old you’d tucked into bed the night before. However, in her child-sized bed, was a full sized girl. 

She looked to be at least seventeen years old and you could hardly believe it. In fact, if you weren’t seeing it with your own two eyes, you likely would have refused it as the truth.

You’d never seen this person in your life and your first thought was that something awful had happened to Grace. 

Perhaps someone had broken in in the middle of the night and hurt her, but you chose to forget about that as a possibility. There was no way that anyone would dare. 

“Who are you? Where’s Grace?” you yelled, holding a doll baby in front of you like a weapon. You had no idea where she went but you were determined to find her.

If Grace was in danger, there was nothing you wouldn’t do to bring her back home. However, you had to figure out how this stranger got into your house first. 

The girl shot out of bed, looking beyond confused as she looked at you, her bright eyes wide. 

...Those eyes.

As soon as you saw those eyes, you found yourself taking a deep breath even if you didn’t want to. You couldn’t mistake those eyes, and as shocked as you were, you knew that this was Grace. 

What you didn’t know was how this had happened. It had to have something to do with Castiel, you knew that much. You just weren’t sure if reaching out to him was worth it.

After the way everything went down between the two of you, you had no idea if he would even answer you or care. 

There was only one thing that you knew for sure, and it was that if you wanted to know what had happened, you had to reach out to him. 

This had to be something angel related, and that wasn’t your area of expertise. 

The biggest problem though, aside from everything else, was that you weren’t really sure how to get a hold of Castiel. He did exactly have a telephone, but eventually you came up with something.

You weren’t sure if it would work but you gave it a try. 

With a sigh, you knelt down on the side of your bed and bowed your head down, like you thought you ought to. You hadn’t made a habit of praying to angels but it wasn’t rocket science. 

You hoped that your intentions would do enough. 

“Hey Castiel, I’m not sure if you can hear me but if you can, I need your help” you started, shocked at the sound of your voice, clearly much more desperate than you’d been planning. 

When it came to your baby girl, you couldn’t keep from being a bit protective. The idea of anything happening to her killed you, and if you had to put your past with Cas behind you to ensure her safety, you would. 

Anything would be worth it. 

Now, Castiel heard your prayer of course. There was no way that he couldn’t have, especially because the bond that you two shared connected you two even if he usually ignored it. 

It was dangerous for you to even mutter his name out loud, but rather than focus on that, he chose to take note of the desperation in your voice. 

You clearly had no one else to turn to, and you mustn't have if you were really willing to contact him. 

After all, you had never tried before and it had been a number of years by this point. You didn’t know where he was or if he was even out there, and yet, you were putting yourself in danger on the off chance he was. 

Which meant that something was very wrong. 

Wrong to the point where he knew that he had to find out what it was, or else your life would be in danger for nothing at all, and he would never know why. 

It just wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. 

He had to be where you were involved. 

~ 

“It’s okay honey, we’re going to figure this out” you hummed, doing your best to comfort her as you sat on her bed, comforting the girl as best you could. 

You couldn’t really say anything to make her feel better about what she was experiencing but you knew that you had to try. Assuming that Castiel didn’t show up, you would have to just figure it out yourself. 

You didn’t have any other choice. 

Now, at this point, Cas was on his way to your house, the same place you had once shared with him before Grace was born. 

He had done a fine enough job at warding it from harm that you didn’t have to leave, but even if something did happen, he would have found out. Leaving didn’t mean he didn’t have tabs on you always. 

It would kill him to lose you. 

Having to not be in your life anymore was bad enough but at least this way, he knew that the two of you were still breathing. However, due to the urgent tone in your prayer, he didn’t know how much longer you would be. 

Perhaps the angels had finally put the pieces together, though he hoped to his father that wasn’t the case. 

You were about to ask Grace if she wanted to help make lemonade with you, in a pitiful effort to distract her, when the doorbell rang. 

That was strange. 

No one knew where you lived, seeing as your living family no longer spoke to you and you had practically cut yourself off from society to protect Grace. Though, it did cross your mind that maybe a solicitor had just wandered into the neighborhood. 

...If only. 

That would have been much easier to explain to your already distraught daughter but when you opened the door, you found Castiel standing there. 

It was his vessel at least, but you knew well enough to know that if another angel had picked up his meatsuit, they wouldn’t have just come here. This had to be him, which meant that he got your prayer. 

He had actually come. 

It hurt to admit but you actually didn’t expect him to show up. 

“What did you do to her?” you started, not even bothering with petty small talk or casual conversation. It didn’t matter what he was doing here or why he had left in the first place. 

All you cared about right now was making sure that your little girl was okay, and to figure out why she was no longer a little girl at all. 

Even still, Castiel only stared at you, honesty stunned at the way you looked. You were stunning, though you had gained a little bit of weight since he’d last seen you. 

It wasn’t a bad thing, of course, just an observation. 

In fact, he caught himself gawking at you without even meaning too, shocked at how quickly the feelings crashed into him as he looked in your eyes. 

For so long he pushed memories of you to the side, almost as if mourning a death, but you weren’t gone. Clearly, you were very much alive and he was here to make sure that didn’t change. 

“I didn’t do anything. I came as soon as I heard your prayer” he tried, the last thing he wanted was for you to think he would ever lay a hand on your daughter.

He had left, sure, but it was ultimately to protect the two of you. He never would have done it if he had any other choice. Though, he could understand if you didn’t want to hear that. 

After all, he had never told you that. 

“Well, I guess I have someone to introduce you too then” you suggested, opening the door a bit wider to let him pass. It was a casual motion but Castiel didn’t move. 

He couldn’t, but it took you a second to realize that. 

“Right, sorry” you huffed, reaching behind the door to scrap a small divot into the warding symbol painted on it. As soon as you did so, Castiel was at your side, not daring to get ahead of you. 

Your daughter would likely not recognize him after all this time. You both knew it but neither of you wanted to speak that sad reality into existence. It was much easier to ignore it like a bad dream. 

It was much less painful to pretend that Castiel didn’t just abandon you both. 

You didn’t have anything to say at first as you stood outside Grace’s bedroom, the angel at your side, but luckily, Cas knew where to go from there. 

One of you had to break the ice with her. 

“Mom, what’s going on?” she spoke first, only really caring once the two of you were standing in front of her together. It was odd to see someone else, especially because she was very well hidden.

You didn’t have many visitors. 

“Grace, my name is Castiel...I’m here to help” he tried, his voice just as slight and one tone as you would have expected. He really had no idea how to speak to his own daughter and it broke your heart. 

However, it wasn’t until you took a turn at it that she spoke. “Honey, Castiel is-”

“I know who he is” 

It shocked you, but not for the reason that you would have thought. The last time Grace saw Castiel, she was only a year or so old. There should have been no reason that she would remember that. 

Though, as you were pondering that, Castiel was surveying the young girl, trying to figure out what had happened to her. He thought he knew before, but this had only confirmed his suspicions. 

…

“Grace is a nephilim” Castiel explained, pulling you away from the earshot of your daughter. You had no idea what that was, not really, but it didn’t matter. 

For a moment you were just relieved, glad that he had some clue what was going on with her. It was much better than the two of you being lost when it came to her. 

Someone had to make sure that she was alright, and you should have known that if anyone had the answers it was Cas. It was always Cas and it frustrated you.

Maybe if he had been here, this wouldn’t have happened. 

...But you swallowed that before you could upset yourself. “Okay, what does that mean?” you hummed, trying to keep your head on straight. You had to remember what this was about. 

This was all for Grace. 

“I assumed that she was conceived of your biology and my vessels when she was an infant, but that doesn’t seem to be the case” he tried, speaking as clearly as he could. 

If Grace was actually of angel descent, that meant he had done well in keeping you both hidden all this time ago. It was much more dangerous for her to actually have angel anatomy.

It complicated things but it was the only explanation for what had happened to her. 

Now, the two of you just had to figure out what to do about it...which may have actually been the hard part. 

[eat0crow]

Maribat prompt - Bruce adopts Marinette please? (Sorry if I misunderstood and this is what you did Not want. If that's the case just ignore this, sorry)

Nope, you didn’t misunderstand at all Anon! I hope you don’t mind a bit of humor, I had a really shitty night-so many customers decided to yell at me it’s not even funny. I needed something lighthearted.

Beta read by some lovely people on the Maribat Discord server.

Who Needs Paperwork?

Bruce is done. So painfully done, that the only one who can’t see just how thin a line he’s walking is the source of his annoyance. Hal Jordan, the very man who makes homicide look more appealing every day. Did Bruce really need a moral code?

It just seemed to get in the way.

From behind him doors slam, people scatter, and yet Hal won’t catch the hint. “All I’m saying is that, isn’t it time you guys settled down, and had a whole flock of little birdies?”

Bruce has never, not once in his life, desired friends. He hadn’t wanted a relationship either, yet here he is, six months into a decades in the making relationship with Clark Kent. If Bruce had known that the League would take his relationship as a sign of him getting soft, he would have sworn Clark to secrecy.

“I’m going to the training room.” Which should have roughly translated to 'follow me, and I’ll use you for target practice'. Several people within hearing distance shudder at the implication. Bruce is darkly satisfied; he hasn’t seen this much fear directed at him in months. Hal Jordan, well Bruce has theories on how green lantern cores affect intelligence.

None of them are particularly positive.

“It’s never too early to start working on your ninja kid army,” Hal says lightly, as if he’s talking about the weather, and not something as morally bankrupt as child soldiers. Sure he trained Robin young, but it’s not like Bruce had a choice. Dick would have been fighting mob bosses with or without his consent. Training had been the only thing keeping him out of even more danger. “Who’s going to carry on your terrifying legacy?”

“I already have Robin.” And because Bruce can see Hal’s next sentence before he even says it— “And Clark has Conner. Aside from procreation being wholly unnecessary, it’s also physically impossible. You are aware that it requires a woman to produce off-spring, right?”

“Yeah, tell that to LexCorp,” Hal mumbles under his breath. Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t ever wondered about that. Sure Conner’s a clone, but he’s also the most stable clone Bruce had ever seen. He wouldn’t put it past Luthor to have spliced in a secondary set of DNA. “Just think about it Spooky. Combine your brains with Clark’s powers and bam! You’ve got the one person on earth who could defeat Doomsday without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that a better tomorrow?”

Bruce stops, because things make a lot more sense now. Doomsday had been terrifying, he opened up a whole world of possibilities. Of threats too strong for the League to deal with, just waiting. There’s no escaping this conversation. Even if he tunes it out now, Hal will just bring it up again and again, until Clark finally catches on. That will make the man pout.

Bruce really doesn’t like it when Clark pouts.

He might not have the patience to deal with Hal’s solution to apocalypse inducing threats now, but he’ll have even less later when Barry no doubt joins Hal’s crusade. One idiot is bad enough. Bruce is not willing to explain to Dick why he killed his best friend's uncle.

“That’s why the Young Justice League was formed,” Bruce points out slowly, his voice careful, like he’s explaining the concept to a toddler. Hal probably has an I.Q that stalled around the fifth grade, so same difference. “Their role is to carry on our legacies in protecting earth after we’re unable.”

“That’s not what I mean! Sure, by the time they graduate out of the little leagues they’ll be ready to take over, but that’s just it. They’re a miniature Justice League. They’ll have the exact same blind spots as us. I’m talking about combining skill sets here.”

Bruce actually hadn’t thought of that, and as much as the words choke him to admit, Hal is right. They would be subject to the exact same failings as the current League. They’re a group trained to take over specific positions. They’ve been trained for years and no one, not even Robin, would be able to break close to half a decades worth of habits.

They make it to the training room, and a flash of vivid, bright red catches his eye. The newest member, Ladybug is talking to Clark. Bruce hadn’t been aware that he would be joining him for this training session, but it all works out nicely.

Ladybug looks worn, and Bruce doesn’t doubt she is. The girl is Diana’s apprentice, not sidekick. They've both been adamant about that. No one, not even Diana, knows her identity. Bruce could respect a healthy dose of secrecy, but she’s only around Dick’s age. The information on her is scarce, and Diana is tight-lipped. Partially out of ignorance and partially out of some vague magical pact her mother made.

A combined skillset.

Ladybug doesn't have years of habits to break. If her own admissions are anything to go by, she doesn’t have any formal training outside of noncombatant magic. She’s dangerously smart too. Bruce has seen her improvise enough times. Sure, she might not have as much super-strength as Clark, but Bruce has seen her lift far more than her frame should allow. Maybe strength proportional to a ladybug’s? Her skin is certainly reinforced by what has to be the tensile strength of an exoskeleton.

Which is glossing over her ability to create solid matter through pure will—maybe he'll have Hal train her a bit, her powers are similar enough to a Green Lanterns’.

“You have a point, Lantern.”

There’s a suspicious pause. “I do?”

Bruce offers him his most deadpan expression. So even Hal knows that ninety percent of what leaves his mouth is garbage, good to know. “The League will be comprised of individuals with the same failings as current Leaguers. In the event of world-ending threats, we can not afford these failings. So I will be taking your advice.”

“Oh, that’s...good.” Hal looks perplexed, like he hadn’t expected his argument to land him anywhere but in a body cast.

“However,” Bruce continues, walking over toward Clark and Ladybug. “I have no interest in experimental science that’s no doubt illegal in numerous countries. So, we’ll be adopting.”

“We will!” Clark shrieks from his left.

Everyone else in the room gasps. Bruce ignores them, reaching out instead to grab Ladybug. “She’ll be the perfect candidate.”

"Bruce," Clark whines. "That's not how adoption works. You've skipped so many steps."

Bruce sends him a pointed look, the one that says play along or you're sleeping on the couch. Clearly, Clark gets the message because he shuts up. The look on his face also implies that Bruce is going to be out in the dog house for this stunt, but he chooses to ignore it anyway.

So what if Alfred likes Clark more. Bruce still owns the house.

Ladybug, to her credit, only blinks.

Wide blue eyes stare at him, she looks eerily similar to Dick and Conner. They all share the same coloring: black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. She has Dick’s delicate bone structure, Bruce could probably pass the two of them off as twins.

Dick is going to be roped into teaching her some actual acrobatics as soon as possible. Would a grappling hook be an appropriate ‘welcome to the family’ gift? Bruce doesn't trust her yo-yo.

A beat passes. “I already have parents.”

“Not superhero parents.”

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 11

AO3 Link

Marcus had faced armies. Had gone head-to-head with mob bosses and mafiaso assholes. He’d been shot, stabbed, tortured and looked death straight in the eyes on more than one occasion. Every encounter had only made him wiser. Each scar had only made him stronger.

And despite all his prowess, his strength, his wisdom, Marcus was fairly certain he wasn’t going to survive Helen Kingston.

John had warned him.

Hell, Helen had warned him.

He’d taken it as a joke. Just because John had fallen victim to sharing his feelings certainly didn’t mean that Marcus would.

After John had left, they made small talk. They watched a movie, and then another. Helen would read until her eyes hurt and then they’d watch another movie.

It started with a simple question, asked over chopping vegetables to have with dinner.

“How’d you get involved in the Underworld?”

“I saved a man’s life in Vietnam. The son of a prominent member of the mob. When we came back to the States, he recruited me."

And Helen had seemed genuinely interested. She asked questions so casually, he hadn’t even realized that they were delving into his past. Not until their plates were in the sink and Helen was curled up on the couch, facing him in his chair and nodding along to a story from his early days as a New York City mobster.

Before he knew it, he was lost in his own past, searching to understand things he thought he had left behind.

“It just seemed like the right course to take. My father did it, his father did it. I think a part of me thought if I followed in their footsteps and joined the army, things would start to make sense. Like I would understand how my father viewed the world.”

“How he viewed the world or how he viewed you?”

The question stabs at him and Marcus looks away, “My mother used to defend him all the time. He never loved us the way he was supposed to. She said that the war had damaged him—that when they were younger, he was caring and loving. But when he came back, he had a hard time adjusting.

“I wanted to understand why he couldn’t get over it. Why he couldn’t leave the war behind. Why—” He stops himself.

“Why you couldn’t be enough.” Her voice is soft, almost hypnotic, lulling him in further.

He nods, despite himself. “He had a great job, a good house, a family… and it was never enough.”

Helen nods along, “You know, every generation has its experiences, it’s rights of passages, it’s issues, it’s stories. Your generation was built in that post-war haze that focused on going back to what had been normal before the war. Except there is no going back from that sort of cultural upheaval. Time changes, and values with it.

“And in that day and age, we didn’t really understand the consequences of war on individuals. So, your father came back, as your grandfather had a generation before, and tried to make sense of peace after having lived in a warzone.”

Marcus nods, “And I get that it must have been tough for him. I do. But then why get married? Why bring another person into your fucked-up life? Why bring children into the picture?”

“I can’t answer to your father’s motives.” Helen says softly, “At best, I can guess that he probably felt like it was his duty to rebuild America. To have a family and try to put the past behind him. But the past always has a way of catch up with us. And it wasn’t fair to the rest of your family and your father’s trauma is not an excuse for the pain that he put you through.

“In therapy, we use a term called ‘intergenerational trauma’ to explain this. It’s the idea that severe trauma, severe distress can follow each generation. Your grandfather probably brought his experiences from the Great War into your father’s life. And your father brought those experiences, combined with his own from the second World War into yours.”

“Didn’t know there was a term for it. But it’s why I don’t ever want children.” Marcus admits, jarring himself with the fact that he admitted out loud how much his father had affected him. “I couldn’t bare to pass that down again.”

“Which is entirely within your right.” Helen’s calming voice eases his anxiety. “A lot of people, particularly from the baby boomer generation and before, believe that we have some sort of duty to procreate. The remnants of generations’ past, I suppose. But the reality of the matter is we don’t owe anybody.”

He shivers at her words and wonders if she notices.

He’d laughed at John for being tricked into revealing his life to a pretty face, but it was so good to say the things out loud that haunted him at two in the morning when he was unable to sleep.

“I always thought I had moved on from all this.” Marcus shakes his head, “That I left my father back in Idaho. Thoughts creep in every now and then but when I work, I can forget about it.”

Helen nods, “We forget how broken we are when we start to fixate on something else. But, eventually, we’re forced to look back at ourselves and face the truth: distracted is not the same as healed.”

And that cuts deep, but not as deep as the thoughts simmering beneath the surface. The knowledge that he had spent decades hiding behind jobs and contracts to ignore the rejection and isolation that seemed to follow him.

“So, there is no moving on, no healing.”

Helen offers him a small, empathetic smile, “I had this conversation with John just yesterday. We tend to think of healing as linear. Something happens to us, we give it time, and it heals. But that’s not always the case. You should know as well as anybody—not every scar heals. Sometimes a bone doesn’t set right.”

She lets out a soft sigh as she tries to find a way to explain, “Try to think of it in terms of a broken leg. If your broken bone is tended to right away, if it’s splinted properly, if you’re cared for during your recovery, it will heal. Sometimes even stronger than it was before.

“On the other hand, maybe you’re alone. You splint your own bone the best you can, but there is no one with you to share the burden. No one to help you heal. The bone may mend but, oftentimes, it won’t heal correctly. Maybe you walk with a limp. Or maybe you walk fine, except on days when it rains. The trauma comes back, haunting you.

“Then, of course, your bone breaks and you ignore it. You try to stand but your leg can’t support you anymore. You pretend that nothing has happened, but all you do is injure yourself the more. So, what happens, then?”

“If you can’t heal, you’re dead.”

“In the animal kingdom, you would be.” Helen says, “But we are human. We are resilient and we can adapt and, even when we feel like we are, we are not alone. So, what happens if your bone doesn’t heal correctly?”

Marcus feels a shiver travel through his body, “We re-break the bone.”

“Very good.” Helen rewards him with a real smile this time, “We re-break the bone and we try again. And, most of the time, trauma isn’t quite so severe. Most of the time, we’re stuck somewhere in the middle. Our wounds heal, but they still come back, aching on days when it rains.”

He sighs, “But what does that mean? That even if I make peace with my father’s memory, I’ll still feel him haunting me now and again?”

“There are no guarantees, but it’s likely. We all experience trauma differently but it seldom disappears all together.”

Idly, Marcus hears the sound of a car on gravel but he shakes his head, still lost in his own thoughts, “And what, there’s no way to make it disappear?”

“Not permanently. There are skills you can learn to help cope with the memories or to restructure your experiences. But trauma engrains itself within us.”

“It’s stupid.” Marcus spits out, “I came out of ‘Nam without feeling a thing. I’ve killed more people than I can count, and I don’t think about it. But the thought of my father’s voice makes me want to scream.”

“The events that happen in our formative years leave far deeper scars than what comes later. You spent your childhood seeking the approval of a man who probably lost sight of who he was long before you were born.”

The door opens and Marcus catches sight of John, carrying a couple grocery bags and a suitcase.

“And you can’t hold yourself responsible for that.” Helen adds softly, checking over her shoulder. Her eyes scan John, assessing for injury before she asks, “Is that your blood?”

“No.”

Marcus swallows, forcing the heaviness weight on him back down his throat and motioning to the bags John is carrying. Still, his voice is gruff as he asks, “You go shopping?”

“Just picked up a few things. Soap, a toothbrush. Better coffee.” John reaches in the bag and pulls out a pint of ice cream, reveling in the way her eyes light up as he hands it to her.

“Oh, fuck yes.” She takes it and undoes the plastic wrap locking the lid on, looking at Marcus as she does, “Do you need some. too?”

“Marcus won’t eat that much sugar.”

“What I need is Cognac.” Marcus mutters.

Helen hums, “Was Cognac also your father’s drink?”

Marcus looks up sharply, “Pass me the damn ice cream.”

Helen tosses the pint to him and John sighs, “Hels, I thought I said not to break him.”

“I didn’t! We were just having a discussion.”

“Uh huh.” John watches as Marcus slips into the kitchen for a spoon, “I’ve never seen Marcus eat refined sugars. Ever.”

“Physical health is only one facet of being. Ice cream tends to the mind and the soul.” She says knowingly.

Marcus plops down on the couch next to Helen and hands her a spoon.

John raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Fuck off.” Marcus says, digging the spoon into the ice cream, “I have unprocessed trauma.”

He looks from Marcus to Helen, the latter of whom just shrugs.

“Couldn’t last one day without breaking somebody’s psyche?” John teases.

Helen swallows a mouthful of ice cream, “I can’t turn it off any more than you can stop counting exits, looking for weapons.”

Marcus nods, “I say next time we have a tough case, we just send her in.”

Not a chance in hell, John thinks even knowing that Marcus is largely joking. Still, he couldn’t deny that it would be hilarious to drop Helen in the middle of the Continental and just watch.

She leans to the side on the couch, looking up at him with her warm brown eyes. “Did you have dinner?” He shakes his head and Helen sighs, “We saved you a plate, just in case. Go shower, I’ll heat it up.”

“It’s okay—”

“Go shower.” She says again, leaving no room for argument as she stands, “And change in the bathroom! I don’t want you getting blood on our bed.”

Our bed. He tries not to read to much into that but holy fuck the way that sounded… The casual way that she said it felt so fucking right even if he knew he was reading far too much into the innocent statement. He pushes it out of his head as he acquiesces with a soft, “Yes, ma’am.”

She swats at his side the best she can from her seat on the couch to prompt him forward. John sets the grocery bags with actual food on the counter and heads to the back. He tosses the suitcase on the bed and finds his own sleepwear from the night before.

Grabbing the bag with the hygiene products, he disappears into the bathroom.

He showers quickly, watching the tub stain red then wash clear as he cleans the blood from his body. It had been a long day, as he had known it would be. And while John had hoped that DeLuca would change his demands, he had been correct in assuming that he wouldn’t.

Already, a clock was moving against him.

Three days until Senor D’Antonio and Gianna returned to Rome. Three days in which to kill him and his heirs.

Marcus had said they would find a way out of it, but John wasn’t so sure.

He’s run every scenario he can think of in his head on the drive home. For four hours, he contemplated possible courses of actions that he could take. They all resulted in either Helen’s death, which was unacceptable, or his own, which was unfortunate.

He cut the shower short, anxious to see Helen after spending a day dealing with people who wanted to do her harm. See for himself that she was safe and uninjured. Let himself feel a glimmer of joy at the sound of her voice, the energy of her presence.

Cloak himself in her scent and sound and sight. Memorize it all just in case he was unable to make it through this week with his life.

He changes into his sleepwear and quickly towels his hair.

There’s food sitting in front of the armchair when he returns to the living room. A plate with vegetables, potatoes, and chicken. Helen and Marcus share the couch and are passing the ice cream back and forth to one another.

John idly wishes he could use his phone to snap a quick picture for Sofia. Marcus with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in his hand, a spoonful of chocolate ice cream aimed for his mouth…

Sof would have a field day with that.

Helen’s eyes meet his and he wonders, for the millionth time, what it would be like to kiss her.

He’s probably going to die anyway, already set for Hell. Would it be so wrong to steal a kiss before going to his death?

“Did you meet with DeLuca?” Marcus asks, snapping John out of his thoughts as he sits down with them.

He nods once, his eyes flitting to Helen. Not wanting to discuss it in front of her, John adds, “We’ll chat later.”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say he realizes as her eyes flash.

“Oh, no. We’re not doing this.” She bemoans, “You don’t get to shut me out of this.”

John shakes his head, “Helen...”

“I have every right to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t need to be worrying about this!” He insists and watches as her entire body tenses.

“Marcus,” She says, and her voice is just a little too sweet for John, “Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

Marcus, ice cream in hand, looks between them, “I mean, I’d rather stay and watch you demolish him but—”

“Marcus!” Helen and John say together and the older assassin laughs, sliding to his feet.

“Guess I’ll just go downstairs and see if anything new has magically appeared since yesterday.” He pats John on the shoulder on the way to the basement, “Good luck.”

Helen waits for the door to close before she speaks, “We are not doing this, John.”

“Doing what?” He asks, resigned.

“You’re not leaving me out of the loop! I know that you think you’re protecting me by keeping me in the dark from what is happening, but I can handle this.”

Again, he shakes his head, “It’s not about what you can handle, I know you can handle this, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to be worrying—”

“You don’t get to decide what I’m allowed to worry about.” She snaps, not unkindly. Helen pauses, sighing to herself. She moves down the couch so that she’s closer to where he sits and, gently, tries again, “John, I am doing what you ask. I’ve cut off contact from the world, I’m staying hidden. Meet me halfway here.”

His leg is shaking, she notes. His face is tense.

She reaches out across the space to where his hand sits on the armrest and lays her own atop. “I know things are going to get worse before they get better. But you trying to deal with this all on your own, without support, isn’t helping.”

He hesitates again, gathering his thoughts together before he admits, “I don’t want to let you know how bad it’s gotten. And not because I don’t think you can handle it,” He adds before she can say anything, “But because I don’t want to expose you to that. You might not like some of the things I might have to do.”

“We got to this point together.” Helen argues, “Hell, I’m more accountable than you are for this fiasco.”

John snorts, “No, you’re not.”

“I’m a licensed professional. I was the one in the position of power. I had a moral obligation to ensure the boundaries between us stayed clear. I knowingly violated that, okay? I got us to this point, too. So, please, let me help fix it.”

John lets out a breath, his shoulders settling. “I don’t like it. I don’t like involving you in this world more than you already are.”

“You don’t have to like it.” She reminds him, “But you’re going to deal with it, because I’m not going to let you carry the weight by yourself.”

There’s such force behind her words. And Christ, she would be pissed if he laid it all out. She would demand that he ignore DeLuca, even at the cost of her own life. And they would argue and fight about it, but ultimately, he would do whatever it takes.

But she’s not backing down and, while John has never been good at compromising, he is more than capable of recognizing when an opponent is going to fight until their last breath. She has that same look in her eye now.

“Okay.” He agrees. “Okay. But tomorrow? I… I don’t think I can handle that tonight.”

She nods and her hand tightens on his, squeezing momentarily, “Thank you.”

For a moment, she stays in place, looking at him. A small smile of thanks graces her face. He forces himself to look away from her lips.

“Marcus!” She calls, letting go of his hand and sitting back in her corner of the couch, “You can come back in.”

Marcus comes back up and makes a show of checking his watch, “Not even five minutes? Come on, John. That’s just sad.”

John smirks at his friend, “You think you can win an argument against her? Be my guest.”

Marcus winks at Helen and holds up the ice cream, “You want more?”

“Not now, thanks.” She replies and he puts the ice cream back into the freezer.

John takes a bite of his leftover, noting that this might be the first time anybody had ever thought to save dinner for him. It’s a little bit better knowing that Helen had thought of him when putting it away, certain it was not Marcus’s doing. Not that Marcus didn’t care, but he was more from the school of everybody fend for themselves.

Marcus settles on the couch and looks to Helen, “What did I miss?”

John finds himself smirking despite himself, “What, is she in charge now?”

“Have been since the beginning, but glad you’re catching on.” She says with a heart-stopping smile before looking back at Marcus, “Discussion is tabled until tomorrow.”

Marcus nods, “Fine by me. My head still fucking hurts.”

John smirks as he raises his fork, “Welcome to the club.”

Marcus shakes his head, “And you do this with her every week? Willingly?”

“It gets easier once you know what to expect.”

The older assassin looks to Helen, “We’re not making a habit of those discussions.”

“We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

John recognizes the look in her eyes. She’s an expert at subtle manipulation—letting you think you’re in control right up until the moment she snatches the rug out from under you. And by then, you’re too addicted to her kind words and soft stares to leave.

She’s magnificent.

Marcus sighs and glances at John, “How screwed am I?”

“Very.” Helen shoots him an amused glance and he feels his own gaze soften as he looks at her, “You know I wouldn’t change a thing.”

At least, about her.

Their circumstances on the other hand…

Her lips twitch slightly and yeah, John thinks, he’s going to do it. Not now. But before he goes off to face death, he’s going to kiss those soft, pink lips. He’s going to carry the taste of her with him to the next world.

Let that be how she remembers him—not as a broken man or as a murderer. But as someone who loved her completely.

That wouldn’t be so bad.

“Me, either.” She says and it takes everything inside of him not to fly across the room to her now.

“Yup!” Marcus says, very loudly, interrupting the moment that passes between them, “Therapy is not for me.”

Helen looks away, her cheeks tinged with pink. He watches her swallow before looking up at Marcus, “It’s not for everyone.” She admits, then teases, “Some people just can’t handle the weight and strength needed to address their inner battles.”

“Listen, Kingston…” Marcus says but there is humor in his voice, “If assassins actually started addressing the issues we all have with our parents, we wouldn't have the time kill anybody.”

She laughs at that, “God forbid.”

Marcus looks over her head, “Don’t you just want to set her on Winston? I want to know what’s going on in his head.”

“That’s the guy who operates New York, right?” Helen asks and John nods.

“That’s him. And, frankly, Marcus. I’d rather not know what’s going on in Winston’s head. Or anybody’s.” Looking back to Helen he adds, “I don’t know how you deal with knowing so many people’s thoughts.”

She shrugs a shoulder, “We all have our stories, but the same themes come up again and again.”

“Jung?” John asks.

“Very good.” Helen says, “Did you ever end up reading The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious?”

John nods, “I did.”

“Nerd alert!” Marcus coughs into his hand.

Helen and John both glare at him before she looks back to John, “I mean, you know my feelings on listening to anyone labeled an ‘expert’ but, at the very least, I agree that if you look close enough at peoples stories, you’ll find the same themes prevailing over nearly all of it.”

“And what are your thoughts on listening to experts?” Marcus asks.

John smirks, already knowing the answer, “Helen believes very strongly in subjective truth. Nothing can be taken at face value.”

Helen nods, “And people in the psych community tend to stick to their niches. The psychoanalytics stick to Freud, the REBT people stick to Ellis, Cognitive Behavioralists stick to Skinner. The reality is, they all work in their own ways. But to put all your stock in one school of thought, you’re going to miss out on a lot of relevant shit.”

Marcus smirks, “You talk with that mouth in your office?”

Helen inclines her head, “Only with John. But he’s got a thick skull. Sometimes you need to do things to catch his attention.”

“That thick skull is necessary to protect the small brain inside.”

John flips him off.

“He’s had a lot of undiagnosed concussions.” Marcus adds, ignoring the gesture.

“I’d smack you,” John comments, humor in his voice, “But I wouldn’t want to damage your hearing aids.”

Marcus smirks in response, glancing to Helen, “You don’t get to be my age in the Underworld without some wear and tear. You spend enough time around munitions and guns, your hearing is the first thing to go.” He looks over at John, “This one laughs now, but he’ll be exactly where I am in fifteen years. If he lives that long.”

Helen rolls her eyes, “Well, on that note, I’m going to get ready for bed.” Helen stands up, her hand brushing along John’s arm as she walks by. “Come to bed soon, okay?”

He nods, forcing himself to remember to breathe when she talks to him like that, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Good. Night, Marcus.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

She disappears down the hall, watching her long after she disappears. There’s the sound of a door closing and a sink running. He can still feel where her fingers grazed his arm.

“Henry.”

John looks up at Marcus, blinking in confusion.

“Henry.” Marcus repeats, “It’s my middle name. Good strong name, you know, if you’re starting think of what you’ll name your children.”

“Fuck off.”

Marcus laughs, “Jesus, John, you’re fucking gone.”

John glares slightly, “Really? Calling her sweetheart?”

The older assassin rolls his eyes, “Calm down, Romeo. I prefer my women not have the ability to psychoanalyze me. I meant exactly what I said—she’s a sweetheart.”

He nods, relaxing slightly. He’s well aware of Helen’s allure, even platonically he understands the way she manages to pull people in. A kind word from her is enough to hook anyone and, before you can remember to think, you’ve bared your soul. A search for absolution that can only be found in the quiet of her eyes.

“She is.” John agrees.

Marcus nods, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about the marker.”

John raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t need it. Not for doing this.”

“You’re doing me the favor of a lifetime.” John states the obvious. This was no small thing that Marcus was doing for him.

Marcus nods, “I was. But, truth is, I’m happy just to do this for her.”

John huffs a small laugh, “I get it. She pulls you in, doesn’t she? So fast you don’t even know you’re sinking.”

“She does that.” Marcus pauses, thoughtfully. He looks to John and asks, “How long the two of you going to keep playing this game?”

He looks away, “Marcus…”

“You are both way too smart to be playing stupid to the looks, the touches. If I didn’t know the two of you and we just met, I’d assume you were married with the way you act around each other.”

Shaking his head, John looks to his friend, “Let it go.”

“John—”

“Let it go.” John says again, “I promised her we wouldn’t talk about it without her but… things aren’t looking good. And, if by some miracle, I’m still alive at the end of all this, what can I offer her?”

“She knows exactly what you are and she doesn’t care. She still adores you.”

John can’t even begin to address that so he ignores it, “She’ll never be safe so long as her name is associated with mine.”

Marcus stares at him incredulously, “I think that particular ship already sailed.”

John pushes his hair back, frustrated, because Marcus is right on that note. Everything was already fucked. But there was still something looming over John that forced him to add, “She deserves better.”

“Definitely. But she still wants you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“My ears may be shot to hell, but I’m not blind.”

John takes his plate, shaking his head as he stands up, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Night, dumbass.”

[arcgeminga]

ANSWERED ASK from  @/starlightofdream​​​​: Jealousy + Aspros ♚ Meme:  Send me a number + an emotion and I will write a drabble/starter of my muse expressing that emotion!

♚— Fair warning, this is really all over the place for a drabble, and it’s not my best drabble... I… honestly cannot see an instance of Aspros getting jealous. He hasn’t ever really shown jealousy in any of the threads I have (if you exclude crack threads and the moments when I felt salty because of my NOTP being on my dashbord. I exclude those because I was projecting at those moments.)

I’ve already made a statement regarding the topic, so forgive me for this being pretty… off-topic and perhaps mildly uncomfortable? I dunno. Who cares. 

Again, I’m not proud of this and it’s not my best work, so... that’s why I hid it under a read more LMFAO

-- 

Defteros hasn’t seen his brother act like this before…

His brother came home upset--which was surprising since he had been pretty happy these past few days. Then Aspros had locked himself in their shared room and refused to get out for dinner (dinner! The best meal of the day! And it was a red meat day too!). Defteros had to work the lock open before snuck next to his brother, who laid on his side with his back facing the door.

“Aspros?” Defteros poked at his brother’s side, not yet joining his brother on the bed just in case Aspros was in a terrible mood. “You’re not gonna eat today? I’m hungry.” 

“Eat without me then,” the older twin swatted away Defteros’ hand. Okay, Aspros was definitely in a horrible mood… but he was talking!

“But we always eat together,” Defteros pouted as he crawled onto the bed. He knelt over his brother and gathered the long locks of hair in his hand. After he snatched the comb from the nightstand, Defteros started to brush Aspros’ hair as he tried to coax his brother to talk to him. “Klotho always said that a feast alone isn’t a feast at all. What made you so upset, brother?”

“Go away, Defteros,” Aspros groaned, his fist tightening around the bedsheets. But, of course, at sixteen years old, Defteros had a stubborn streak.

“I’m not going to! Tell me what’s wrong. Do I have to ask Klaus?” 

“Don’t!” Aspros bolted up and leveled a glare at Defteros--a warning.

Finally, some sort of reaction other than an upset dismissal from Aspros, but the outburst only caused Defteros to suspect… 

Aspros continued with his warning as he flopped back onto the bed and buried his face against the pillow, “Don’t even talk to him! Just forget him!”

“What? Weren’t you two friends?” Defteros asked. His brother was rather good at making friends. Aspros would always tell him about his outings with his friends, but he had a particular type of excitement about Klaus. At Aspros’ silence, Defteros realized what he said and tried to assure his brother, “Don’t worry. I haven’t met him myself, remember? I didn’t mean it when I said that I would ask Klaus.” 

After a while, Aspros muttered something against the pillow, but it was unfortunately so low and muffled that Defteros didn’t hear it.

“What?” 

“I said, we weren’t just friends….”

...It probably took Defteros embarrassingly too long to realize what his brother meant--and even then, he was shocked to the point of pausing in the act of combing his brother’s hair. Even after the incident with Victor… well, not like Aspros could remember that incident.

“Oh,” Defteros kicked himself mentally to resume his actions. Whatever his brother does in private is his own business, and his preference didn’t matter either. As long as Aspros wasn’t drugged or hurt… wait… 

Defteros frowned as he stopped his hands once again, peering at the back of Aspros’ head. “Did he do something then?”

Silence was the only answer he got. Instantly, Defteros started to worry. 

“Aspros, did he do something to hurt you?” his hand lighted on his brother’s shoulder, prepared to pull him back so that he could look into Aspros’ eyes when he answered. Instead, however, Aspros swatted his hand again and huffed. 

“No… not physically.” 

“You think that ‘not physically’ is any better?!” Thanatos, give him the strength to kill this bastard if he did what Victor had done… 

“It’s not important!” Aspros tried to argue, but Defteros wasn’t having it. The younger twin shoved his brother, nearly knocking the unarmored gold saint off the bed. Aspros screeched, “Defteros, what the hell!?” 

“It is important! Tell me what he did!”

Aspros fussed before he sat up. The boys’ short-lived scuffle halted when Aspros looked at Defteros. It was effortless to see the signs of… well, the less Defteros described, the more pride his brother saved. So he willfully ignored the redness that outlined Aspros’ eyes.

“He had a sweetheart,” Aspros turned his eyes away as he said the sentence; a light cringe folded his features a bit as he spoke with a grumble. “And she was away on a family trip when he and I started to ‘hang out’ at night. Of course, he didn’t tell me that until after… Well....” 

Defteros… Slowly nodded at the information. Well… it was certainly better than everything Victor did… but…

“I see,” Defteros nodded again as he turned away to place the comb on the dresser with a calmness that betrayed his inner thoughts. “You sure you don’t want me to meet him? I really don’t mind ripping the balls off of that two-timing--” 

“It’d make everything worse if you met him,” Aspros groaned as he pulled the bedsheets over his shoulders.

“It might,” Defteros shrugged. “But I’d say, I wouldn’t want brats like that to procreate. Imagine the little monsters they’d make….” 

At the younger’s words, Aspros looked at Defteros with a funny look. “...You do know that we’re brats too?” 

“Yeah, but he’s especially a brat. Cheating on two people at once? The dog,” Defteros rolled his eyes as he repositioned himself to sit crisscross on the bed. He rocked side-to-side a little before he cautiously asked, “Do you… want to forget about him?”

 Aspros was silent at the proposal… Defteros was almost sure that he would take the offer, and he already thought of how to replicate that skill again, but his brother sighed and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said ultimately. “I don’t want to forget this. A lesson for my idiocy.”

“You’re no idiot,” Defteros rushed to defend him. He gave a light pinch to Aspros’ thigh as he countered. “It’s not your fault he took advantage of your interests. If you’re an idiot, so is that girl. If you want to forget about him--” 

“I said no,” Aspros restated a bit firmly; the force of his voice was sharper. “It sounds like you’re offering me drugs. Stop it.”

That made Defteros immediately clamp his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever do that to you,” the younger brother offered in a whisper, inwardly slapping himself for his inconsiderate pestering. He only wanted to protect his brother from anything that hurt him, and in the end, he nearly became like that man.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Silence fitted itself between the twins like an unwelcome rift.

This kind of atmosphere always felt terrible. Defteros grew tired of it and snatched Aspros’ wrist and pulled him into a firm hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said again against Aspros’ ear. His brother might not exactly know why he was apologizing, but it didn’t matter. He’ll apologize for every unfortunate thing that befell Aspros just for being in the limelight all of the time. Half of the shit that Aspros goes through should have been a shared burden...

It only reminded him that while, yes, he is his brother’s Shadow, he should still be protecting him. The best the could.

“You’re annoying when you’re hungry,” Aspros joked, his tone was a bit lighter as he seemed to have sensed that Defteros change in attitude. Aspros patted Defteros’ back and forced himself to smile. “How about we just put this behind us for now, okay? We’ll deal with it after dinner.”

“...You know, I’m supposed to be the one that is coaxing you to eat dinner,” Defteros pulled himself away with a pinched expression. Aspros laughed at him. 

“Ah, yes. You were. But it turns out that big brother has to take care of you even when he’s in poor humor.”

“Yeah, but big brother can’t cook anything but basic food, remember?” 

“...h-hey, my food isn’t basic...” 

.

.

.

After dinner, the twins were resting on the bed together. They had overeaten and felt sleepy, so they decided to take a nap together on Aspros’ bed. Defteros loved cuddling, but he wouldn’t ask for it... 

Just before Defteros drifted into the land of sleep, Aspros whispered, “Why do you refuse to tell me about what I forgot?” 

“I told you what happened already. You accidentally took something you weren’t supposed to,” Defteros groaned as he snuggled closer to the warmth of his brother. “If you don’t want to forget anything, then stay away from drugs.”

“You’re lying.” 

He was. Partially. 

But Aspros didn’t say anything more, and soon Aspros was fast asleep. The stress of the day must have caught up to him.

Defteros, on the other hand, lost the string of sleepiness.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 2/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

The fae lady showed up to another fight with the team. It was getting more and more dangerous as Loki was keeping an eye out for her. It was difficult to get in and out without being caught, especially as he had the habit of dropping everything to confront her the moment she arrived at the battle. He very nearly caught her and would have, had he been trying to hurt her.

If he hadn’t been trying to restrain her instead of actually harming her.

She had to be more careful.

*

A few days later, she was leaving the coffee shop with her takeout cup of morning desperation, and admittedly wasn’t exactly paying attention to where she was walking. And maybe reading a news article on her phone while she was walking wasn’t the best idea ever when walking out of the shop onto the busy street.

Granted, people usually didn’t walk that close to the building, not wanting to get hit by the doors of the shops on the street.

So it was a series of unfortunate events that led to her walking into the thin, extremely well-dressed man in the all-black suit. She only barely avoided spilling her coffee on him, and it was battle reflexes and her supernatural abilities that managed that. She knew he was well dressed when she saw his shiny black dress shoes, which were the first thing in her vision since she’d been looking at her phone. His hand reached out to steady her as her face show up to see how angry he was.“Oh gods, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” she asked him quickly.

She blanched when she saw the too familiar raven black hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes of Loki. Of course, she recognized him from seeing him every battle she helped out in.

She saw his expression change from the frustrated anger of being bumped into, to recognition, to interest, excitement. He smirked, his hand was still on her arm, over her coat, appearing as if he were supporting her from bumping into him, but there was a slight shift of his hand so he was keeping her from fleeing before he was ready for the conversation to be over. At least it would be more difficult for her to escape without drawing unwanted attention.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” he told her pleasantly, his too-familiar accent so pleasant to her ears. She felt the strange desire to relax at his purred words. And she had to fight it, fight not to let herself get drawn in to him.

What the Hel? Odin’s beard, why was he so familiar?

“What are you doing here, Lady Fae?” He asked pleasantly, still with no intention of letting her go.

She took a nervous step back, but he wasn’t being outwardly hostile, so she gave him a very tentative smile and held up her coffee. “Getting coffee, your highness” she replied. She was cautious of him, but she also knew who he was, besides just from the alien attack. She did her research on the team after all. Plus it annoyed her that he was so familiar.

There was so much she had blocked from her memory to keep herself and others safe. She knew that much, but not what those memories contained. She hadn’t dared figure out the magic to retrieve them again.

She’d had to lock them away in order to survive.

Loki raised an eyebrow. He clearly wasn’t used to being called by his title on Earth. “So you know who I am. Good. That’ll make this a bit easier,” he told her and seemed to be plotting while his hand moved down her arm to wrap viselike around her wrist, still on top of her coat, but she still wasn’t escaping without a fight. He wasn’t hurting her, but he wasn’t letting her get out of talking with him either.

“That’ll make what easier exactly?” she asked him warily. She could break his grip on her wrist if she really wanted to. But she had to admit that she was intrigued about why he seemed so familiar. And they were in public and the last thing she wasn’t to do was cause a scene.

“Would you be up to a chat, Lady Fae?” he asked her pleasantly, kindly even. Their postures kept those passing them thinking this was a pleasant conversation. “I have a warning for you. Not from me, but from the organization I am being forced to work for,” he explained.

She sighed and checked her watch. She had still had a little time. “Very well,” she said warily. She gestured to the coffee shop behind her. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Or tea?” She wasn’t going anywhere alone with him, not when the team was after her, and he was on said team. He seemed nice enough without the rest of them, but there was no reason to take chances.

He inclined his head regally. “Tea would be appreciated. Thank you,” he told her and let go of her wrist once it was clear she wasn’t running. At least not until she’d heard him out.

She nodded and turned to head into the coffee shop. He moved to hold the door open for her, a gentleman despite being regal. She gave him a small smile for his courtesy, unused to it on Midgard. She went up to the counter and ordered and bought the tea for him and picked a quiet table in the corner for them to sit and chat. She removed her hat and second-hand coat. Everything she had was second-hand and she looked like a ragamuffin compared to the extremely attractive Loki in his well-tailored suit. She made sure her sidhe red hair fell in such a way that the points of her ears were covered as usual. She didn’t want to draw too much attention.

She noticed Loki examining her closely. He took in her second hand-clothes, her too-thin appearance, her fae looks. She could see his curiosity, though his face was a mask that would be at home in the fae courts. Yet, she could read his expression clearly. Like she’d had practice reading him. “So, why hide among the Midgardians? A being as beautiful as you should not have to hide what they are among others so inferior,”

She tried not to huff and roll her eyes at his obviously over the top flattery. “I escaped the fae not so very long ago. I try not to draw too much attention to myself, at least not attention that they’ll notice. The easiest way is to hide among the mortals and refrain from as much magic as possible,” she explained softly with a shrug, sipping on her coffee.

He furrowed his brows, his court mask slipping that much, giving her that much of an expression. “Why escape the fae? You are one of them, are you not?” he asked, curious and… more? Something seemed off about the question, like he had that same sense of almost-recognition as she had.

She shook her head. “I’m not, actually, not originally. They kidnapped me as a child. The fae don’t procreate easily and their numbers were dwindling…” she shrugged at his horrified expression. That was just how the fae were, there was nothing she could do about the past. “Some of their mages thought they could turn non-fae children into fae,”

“So you are actually Midgardian?” he asked, his curiosity overriding his pretense at disinterest and court mask. He was openly curious over her now. Something seemed to be bothering him about her, the same way something about him was still bothering her and she still couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It seemed he couldn’t either.

She shrugged, a bit embarrassed. “I don’t remember actually… It’s been… 500 mortal years or so, and I had to repress a lot of memories to keep my family safe from the fae after I was taken…” she admitted softly. She didn’t know why she was opening up so much to him, there was no logical reason for it. She tried to convince himself it was because he had cornered her, but that wasn’t exactly right.

He nodded in acceptance of her words and didn’t press her further, not on that. He sipped on his tea while he gathered his words, to get to the point of this conversation. “I should inform you that Shield plans to hunt you down if you do not come with me. I do not wish for that to happen after what you just told me,” a fae who’d been kidnapped once was a dangerous creature at the thought of being kidnapped again. “If you come willingly, the team will do whatever they can to protect you from them, but that is only if you come willingly,” he told her, his voice firm, but with a hint of hidden kindness. He didn’t want to hurt her. He seemed to want her safe. “This is a courtesy, mind. I could just as easily take you in now. Do you understand?”

Well, that just sounded threatening. Though he would have a hard time taking her in. She could fight and likely win. She’d seen him fight when she was helping the team. She wouldn’t bruise the poor boy’s ego, especially since she had known for a while that she was running out of time and would have to meet the Avengers eventually.

She sighed. It really had been only a matter of time before they pulled the big guns out. “I accept that you can… probably... take me in,” he probably could if he wanted to really fight her for the pleasure, which she didn’t think he did. “How about a compromise instead? I’ll come to the tower and hear out the team. After I get off of work at 3 this afternoon. I’d rather not compromise my mortal cover if I can help it, just in case. It would be a pain to make a new one,” he looked like he was going to protest. He wanted her in and… safe… if she were reading his expression correctly, as soon as possible. It was strange to think a stranger wanted her safe. Before he could protest, she pulled a ring off her finger to hand to him. “A token of my goodwill. That is the only thing I have from before I was kidnapped and I expect it back this afternoon,” she told him firmly. The ring was black with a purple jewel and even though she’d looked 7 or so by Midgardian standards when she’d been taken, it had never stopped fitting her, had grown with her. And the fae hadn’t been able to take it from her as she was the only one who could remove it.

His eyes widened in surprise and what appeared to be recognition at her ring. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, shocked.

She glared at him before he got any ideas. “It’s mine,” she told him firmly. “I was wearing it the day I was taken and the fae couldn’t take it from me. That and my name were the only things I got to keep,” she informed him, though she wondered why he was surprised at her ring, and why he seemed to recognize it.

He slid her ring onto the ring finger of his right hand, and it fit because of magic. She felt a pang at being without it, since it was her only tangible memory of home and had been her only reminder for centuries. But she wouldn’t risk the life she’d built, such as it was, just because of a chance meeting with the Avengers. She wasn’t going to risk everything for a meeting that might not work out. “I shall return it to you this afternoon and will inform you of its importance then,” Loki promised and she could hear the sincerity in his words. He may be the god of lies, but he was capable of telling the truth. Plus no one could successfully lie to a fae, not even him.

She nodded and checked her watch. “Very well,” she agreed, no matter how hesitantly. She would get her ring back. Even if she had to tear down the entire Avenger’s tower to do so. “I should get to work before I’m late. Until later, Prince Loki of Asgard,” she stood and gathered her things before he changed his mind about letting her leave without a fuss. She waved as she headed out of the coffee shop, amused that he hadn’t even gotten her name.

He’d been distracted indeed.

*

Loki watched her leave, curiosity obvious in his expression, but he didn’t stop her from shrugging on her coat and rushing off to work. He teleported back to the tower; he needed to speak with his brother regarding the ring she’d given him.

Thor looked up from the newspaper he was reading when Loki teleported back into the common room of the tower. “Feeling better?” he asked, knowing Loki had been getting ready to stab someone when he’d stormed out of the tower earlier. He’d been storming through the streets of New York in a fit of emotion when the fae had run into him. Sometimes he just needed fresh air to keep from being stabby.

He gave Thor a hostile glare in reply. Thor shrugged it off, that’s just how Loki was. Loki sighed. He really did need to speak with his brother, which meant brushing his manners off for a while longer. He slipped the fae lady’s ring off his finger as he walked over to Thor. “Does this look familiar to you?” he asked Thor, holding out his hand with the ring in his palm. She’d entrusted the ring to his care, he wasn’t compromising that trust, even with his brother.

Thor stood and examined the ring, careful not to take it, reading that much from Loki’s body language. “That looks like an Asgardian noble lady’s ring. And I’m sure you haven’t been off proposing to noble ladies while you’ve been out of the tower… where’d you find that? And whose colors are those?” Thor asked confused as he looked over the ring, as if the colors should be familiar. He looked at Loki expectantly.

Loki huffed and rolled his eyes. “How should I know? I did not make a study of the colors of the noble families of Asgard. This belongs to the fae lady I have been tasked with bringing in,” he sounded bitter about that task. She was far too intriguing to hunt down like an animal and force in. He was glad that she had agreed to come so he didn’t have to force her. “She will be visiting the tower this afternoon and gave me her ring to hold onto as a symbol of goodwill that she would arrive as she promised,” he explained.

Thor shrugged. “You know more about all the court politics than I do. Thought you might have an idea. Or her name since she gave you her ring…” Loki flushed at the reminder that he’d been too preoccupied to get her name, which was a massive oversight on his part. It was Thor’s turn to roll his eyes. “I best inform Stark and the Captain that she will be arriving. You’re sure she won’t just run?” he asked, disappointed that Loki hadn’t brought her in while he had the chance.

“I informed her of the threat of Shield chasing after her. She does not wish for that. Plus I have her ring and she was quite insistent that she will come to get it back if nothing else,” Loki replied overly patiently for his oaf of a brother. He didn’t seem to understand that she’d given the ring as a symbol of good faith that she’d come after work. She would keep her word.

Plus she was a fae. She would keep her word.

Thor nodded. “Very well. I will inform the others,” he knew that even after months of being here, the team didn’t much like or trust Loki yet. It was better if he smoothed things over instead.

*

Around 3:30 that afternoon, as promised, the fae lady entered the lobby of the tower after she’d walked over from her job. She didn’t need to look up directions, she only lived a few blocks away and it was really hard to miss the tower. She wasn’t surprised that Loki was waiting in the lobby for her. He gave her a smile when she entered the lobby, glad she hadn’t flaked on him. “It is good to see you again,” he greeted her politely, all court manners and polish. He definitely reminded her of a fae lord. And more.

She stepped closer and gave him a smile. “And you as well,” he seemed nice enough and hadn’t hurt her. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to help her when he hadn’t had to. He could have dragged her straight to Shield if he’d wanted. He’d have had a hell of a fight about it, but he could have done so.

He smirked at her before he spoke again. “It has come to my attention that I have not yet gotten your name, Lady Fae,” he told her, making the statement into a question. One that demanded an answer

She hesitated only a moment, tempted to give him her Midgardian alias, but he would be able to hear the… not lie, but not the complete truth. She had a thing about names, but he deserved to know hers. “My name is Sigyn,” she finally told him.

His eyes went wide in shock? horror? complete and utter disbelief? when she spoke those words. He grabbed her wrist over her coat again and practically dragged her into the elevator while she yelped in surprise and tugged to get her wrist out of his grip. He gave her a look to stop her from fighting him. He wasn’t letting her go no matter what she said or did. For whatever reason, her name had caused this frantic reaction from him. The only explanation he gave was:

“We need to go see my brother. Now.” 

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (26)

Author’s Note: Happy New Years! I realize that it has been a LONG time since I have updated this story. The school year has been an absolute killer. Not to mention that I am also working on my master’s degree and taking a ton of classes this summer.

In regards to this chapter, I ended up running out of time and decided to cut it in half due to the coherency of the story and the length. I wanted to give Satou and Isao a bit of a wrap up that does the story justice. However, the good news is that the second half will take less time to be posted. I will definitely be trying to work on this story because I have a LOT planned for it and it’s only just getting to the good parts (one coming up next chapter.) For my patient readers, this will be good news to you. For those who aren’t patient, hoping you’ll stick around to read J

Also, next to Naruto, reading and writing are my passions and my New Year’s resolution is to encourage more people to read. I created an Instagram account called read_with_rich where I will be posting about high-interest books in order to encourage non-readers to read by using the social media platform that can introduce people to books without them going to libraries or book stores (which they won’t if they don’t already read.) Give me a follow if you are interested!

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Chapter 26: Monsters

There was a sharp mix of pungent smells permeating the air around them as Sasuke looked over Sakura’s shoulder at a particular herbalist book. His friend was sitting at a table in the center of the greenhouse, flipping through the Sunagakure plant log, scratching down a list of all the ingredients she would need to create the military ration pills.

When Sasuke commented on the smell, Sakura replied with “You get used to it.” And then she went into a detailed explanation of why plants even created all sorts of different smells--why many flowers had sweet aromas, but other plants had fouler scents. Sakura elaborated that it all had something to do with procreation. Something about bugs being attracted to them in order to spread pollination. She even went into the genetic purposes of tastes in plants. Sasuke listened with genuine interest at the wide variety of facts that she possessed.

Sasuke turned and leaned against the table as she spoke, tucking in his chin to his chest and closing his eyes. When he was sure she was distracted, Sasuke peeked at her between the lashes of his right eye. He noticed that her brow was furrowed as she searched for the plant she had written down. After a few minutes of this, she began to tap the end of the pen against her bottom lip, a subconscious behavior many people did while thinking. Sasuke couldn’t help but realize that he hadn’t paid much attention to anyone’s small habitual behaviors in the past few years except for in battle scenarios. To watch the cogs spinning in Sakura’s mind, had Sasuke feeling like he had missed out on much in the last several years.

After another few seconds, Sakura explained her concern: “I’m going to have to find a substitute plant for the medicinal aspects of the pills. Sunagakure doesn’t grow Tikasia in abundance here. The amount that I would need would deplete their entire reserve.”

Sasuke considered her word for a few seconds before his eyes narrowed a fraction when the door of the greenhouse opened. A white-coated man with sandy colored hair beamed hugely and raised his hand in greeting as he entered. “There you are, Sakura-san. I’ve been looking for you!”

Sakura broke from her deep concentration and turned from the table as she picked up on the calling. Sasuke raised his eyebrows slightly at the familiar tone the young man used. This must be a staff member from the hospital, a colleague that was working closely with Sakura while she was here. His presumption was confirmed when Sakura returned both the smile and call.

“Sorry Mako! Hope you haven’t been looking for too long.”

Mako?What-- are they on a first name basis or something? Sasuke pondered with a frown of disapproval.Sakura barely knew him, or at least, that’s what Sasuke thought. At least Makohad the decency to add the proper honorific to her name. Not that Sasuke could be the one to lecture on the topic.

The young physician made his way over to them and immediately offered a respectful bow to the both of them. Sasuke was never very good at returning these customs of respect, but after a minute of awkward staring, the Uchiha nodded his acknowledgement in a very uncaring sort of way. After bowing, the medic immediately turned to Sakura and glanced at her work on the table.

“Are you creating another medicine?” Mako asked, crossing his hands behind him in consideration, boldly reading the list she had compiled next to the herbal catalog.

Seeing her co-medic’s interest, Sakura picked it up and handed it to him while simultaneously pushing the book in his direction, an invitation for his opinion.

“You’re just the person I need right now actually.” She explained to Mako how she was creating a batch of military ration pills, a notion at which the male medic’s facial expression turned to one of surprise. Sasuke understood his disbelief; not many people knew how to make such a desired sustenance that tipped the scale in favor of those who consumed it in battle. When bringing up the topic of the ingredients she needed, he raised his thumb and forefinger to his chin, pinching it in contemplation.

Sasuke stiffened slightly when the young man pulled up a seat to sit beside her, pulling the book closer so they could both look at it together. “What about Ashuwa?” he offered, flipping to a plant towards the front of the book. Sasuke peeked over towards the illustration and noticed a shrubby little plant with bright yellow flowers.

“Ashuwa?” Sakura questioned, frowning down at the picture. “That belongs to the nightshade family, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he informed, “but it’s not fatal like many of its other relatives. It’s actually quite safe to consume unless the patient has some sort of allergic reaction to it.”

“That’s interesting. I’m not very familiar with it. What are its properties?”

“It’s a little stronger than Tikasia but more acclimated to our desert climate, so we have plenty of it here. Its primary effect is a boost in brain function. However, we have observed an increase in energy and muscle mass along with it. Some ninja even claim that after consuming it, it relieves them of stress.”

“All that?” Sakura pondered, dropping her jaw.

Sasuke raised an inquisitive brow as well. With benefits like that, it was a wonder they didn’t add it to every meal here. There had to be missing information obviously…

Sakura must have been thinking the same thing Sasuke had, because she immediately responded with. “What are the negative effects?”

Mako smiled at her insight. “Just like Tikasia, you crash and suffer chakra depletion as a result. You have to take far less of it than Tikasia. Like I said earlier, many people have severe allergic reactions to the plant which is why we don’t use it often.”

Sasuke couldn’t help but frown at the pair of doctors who discussed plants so casually with one another. Mako had a sort of charisma about him, and Sasuke could tell why Sakura would rely on him while she was here. The young man’s temperament sort of reminded Sasuke of their old schoolteacher, Iruka-sensei. However, Mako’s knowledge was so thorough that he almost reminded Sasuke of Kabuto; Sasuke had witnessed many in-depth medical conversations between Orochimaru and he.

Still leaning against the table, Sasuke closed his eyes, adopting an uninterested guise to go with the frown. Seeing them together, discussing their common interests, reminded Sasuke of something despite his epiphany last night. Watching her familiarity with this person reminded Sasuke that just because he had finally admitted to himself that loved her, didn’t mean that he should do anything about it. Sakura had told him firmly that she would only ever choose him and to not assume that if he left her alone, she would fall in love with someone else. Sasuke truly believed his female teammate about this. But seeing her cheerfully interact with Mako made Sasuke want to believe otherwise. Even though it stung him to think about Sakura loving someone else and another man being a part of her daily life, waking up beside her and hearing a confession from her lips, Sasuke knew it was what she deserved. He could never be that sort of man for her, especially not in the near future.

But now that Sasuke was certain of his feelings, would he be able to only ever be a close friend to her? Would he be able to watch someone else come into her life and become the person Sakura swooned over and built a family with? He would, Sasuke told himself. He hadto. Sasuke had already chosen in his heart to be the Itachi of this time and make the sacrifice for the greater good so that his loved ones like Sakura even had a future. He had to keep reminding himself of this.

Without meaning to, he let a low exhale of self-defeat escape his mouth. Realizing he had done so, Sasuke quickly glanced to his right to make sure no one noticed.  Sakura, who Sasuke now noticed had stopped what she was doing, was now watching him despite the fact that Mako was still flipping through the book and explaining something to her.

His kunoichi teammate locked gazes with him, furrowed her eyebrows, and tilted her head in silent question. Sasuke broke their eye-contact immediately and Sakura returned her attention to Mako. It’s for the best, he thought to her.

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

Mako lead Sakura across the greenhouse to the white-labeled bushel of Ashu that he had spoken to her about. She measured out the amount she would need and began cutting it carefully with his assistance. Sakura had been surprised at this substitute that Mako had offered with certainty at its effectiveness. She pinched a sizable piece of it and placed it on her tongue and began to chew. With it being a nightshade after all, she wanted to be certain that it wasn’t toxic. Nightshades were highly cultivated by humans and most were safe to consume like Mako said, but since she had never heard of this plant and it was unfamiliar to her, she wanted to double-check Mako’s claim. Besides, he said it could cause allergic reactions.

Just so Mako’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt by her taste-testing, Sakura simply announced, “This actually tastes quite yummy. Much better than the bitter Tikasia.” Then she called out loud enough for Sasuke—who had been casually leaning against the table since their arrival—to hear, “You’re in luck, Sasuke. Maybe these pills won’t taste like ‘mudballs’ this time like Sai famously calls them.”

Sasuke peeked open his right eye at her, clearly not grasping a word of what she was referencing. Mako, on the other hand, laughed at her statement.

“Tikasia israther bitter. Is Sai a friend back home? Your friend really called them ‘mudballs’ to your face?” Mako laughed.

Sakura chuckled to herself a bit, returning her full attention to Mako. “Sai is a sort of special friend. He’s brutally honest; always has been.”

“Sometimes we need friends like that,” Mako said reassuringly, helping her pluck the stems and flowers of the plant and wrapping it up in paper.

Sakura nodded in agreement and instantly recalled many of her friends back home and a sort of homesickness radiated in her chest at the thought of them. She wondered how all of them were doing. She also thought of the hospital and Lady Tsunade in that moment too, and made a mental note to write a letter to check in on them.

She glanced up at Sasuke for the twentieth time that day, and her homesickness disappeared. When he was absent, she was always sick with longing for him. It suddenly surprised Sakura that she had never felt more at home than when she was with this man. She had confessed this to him before, but when he was gone, it felt as if she was alone. Sakura would fall asleep with thoughts of him and miss him just as much the following morning. That feeling had disappeared on her journey and this was the first time the kunoichi had missed someone else since she had picked up her bag and followed Sasuke down the cobbled street that night a few weeks ago.

Mako’s statement returned her to the present moment from her thoughts. “Isao slept well last night. After you left with Gaara, he was distraught and restless after what happened. We ended up giving him your dosage of the sleeping medicine and he didn’t experience any sleep terrors.”

“That’s terrific!” she exclaimed, almost jumping for joy in her excitement. This was exciting news. If they could eliminate the terrors, then Isao would be okay. Maybe he could stop taking the medicine once his body adjusted.

“Satou, his father, however,” Mako began as they made their way back towards the center table towards Sasuke. “Well—he’s a bit hysterical in the hospital. The man definitely needs to be there, but we are not quite sure what to do for him. He’s actually the reason I came looking for you. I figure you might be the only one able to talk to him.”

Sakura nodded as they came to a stop and she set her items down. “I see.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  

Sasuke had been thoroughly pissed when Sakura had announced to him her plans and handed him the bundle of paper-wrapped yellow flowers. “Will you grind these up for me while I quickly check-in on a patient? They should be dry enough on their own. We need to mix this in with the rest of our batch as soon as possible.”

The Uchiha nodded with a “hm” but had half a mind to shove the flowers and grinder toward Mako since he was inclined to be so damn helpful.

Apparently, she was duty-bound to go see some hospital patient with an attitude problem and Sasuke had guessed easily who it was. After seeing the bruises on her chest last night, it was hard not to think about this patient of hers. It settled like a knife between Sasuke’s shoulder blades as he began to pulverize the flowers in the mortar with the stone pestle. He glowered after the two medics as the door to the greenhouse swung to a shut behind them.

Sasuke knew that Sakura was aware of his eagerness to get the pills so he could return to his mission. And because she predicted this, Sasuke knew without a doubt that Sakura had played him. She had given him this little job to keep him occupied for a few minutes because he couldn’t put the task off. But what shedidn’t know was that it certainly wouldn’t take him as long as she hoped. Sasuke removed another heap of flowers from the paper and began to smash them forcefully.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .  

Sakura had managed to come up with a small plan in the few seconds after Mako had informed her about Satou, Isao’s hysterical father, whom Sakura and Gaara had placed under the care of the hospital yesterday. The first and most necessary part of her plan was to keep Sasuke busy and away from her patient. After seeing her teammate’s reaction to the small bruises on her chest last night, she didn’t want the two ninja to have the least bit of interaction.

The second part was to ensure that Isao was kept far, faraway from his father. If the child was showing any progress at all after having distance from him, then Sakura would be damned if Satou meant to screw that up. Trailing closely behind her, Mako confirmed her hope that Isao remained at the mental health children’s clinic and was being strictly supervised.

Finally, the last rocky bit of her plan was to try her best to remain calm and civil with Satou despite what she predicted his treatment of her would be. Sakura anticipated every bit of an angry temper and possibly aggression.

Having Mako with her made Sakura feel more reassured. In the back of Sakura’s mind, she knew she didn’t have anything to worry about because she could rely on her abilities as a ninja, not his, but it was still a comfort to have him with her as a steady, supportive presence.

When they finally reached Satou’s hospital room and they entered, Sakura gasped. Apparently, Satou had considered this place a prison cell rather than a patient room. The bed was tipped, and the curtain torn from the rod above the windows. The massive punched out crevices in the walls around them were threatening portraits of warning. Sakura heard Mako echo her surprise. Sensing their presence, Satou turned from the window and glowered at them.

“Glad to see my warden has finally come to see me,” the man spat viciously.

While Mako’s expression was one of disbelief, Sakura erased the emotion from her own, slipping on a blank pretense. Forget step three of her plan, then. It was obvious what kind of man Satou was. He had no respect or care in the world for anyone and her kindness would be seen as a weakness to bully her for. Pretending to be civil would be an entire waste of her time because Sakura recognized the hate in Satou’s eyes, glassy pools that reflected the darkness in his heart. How bitter it made Sakura—to see Sasuke’s formal self in one of her patients; how hopeless this conversation would be even though he was the one person who needed it the most.

Sakura believed this man deserved her gentlest persona, but Sakura had tried playing this game before and failed miserably with Sasuke. If Sakura—a former teammate and close friend—couldn’t have reached into the depth of Sasuke’s darkness and rip him from it, then how could she expect to be successful with an absolute stranger? She thought of Naruto and Gaara and how they might approach this. Adopting Naruto’s methods before, Sakurahad fought Sasuke to knock some sense into him, but Sakura couldn’t just go starting fights with her patients.

Confidence then. Sakura crossed her arms behind her back and raised her chin. “I’m not your warden; just someone who is trying to help you and your son.”

He began to laugh—that psychotic pitch that set Sakura’s heart racing. It frightened her to see that this man was more lost than she had thought. This wasn’t just a man who had taken his anger out on his son. “That’s what pisses me off the most about you leaf village filth. You think you have the right to march in and do as you please.”

Mako responded before Sakura could silence him, “Be careful what you say. Haruno-san is an honored guest of the Lord Kazekage and he asked for her assistance at the hospital.”

Well half true. I did invite myself here I suppose. Sakura didn’t correct Mako; Satou was completely prejudiced toward Konoha and its citizens.  She reminded herself to steer clear of the political past between their two villages. Satou’s next comment brought an immediate halt to Sakura’a analytical approach to reasoning with him.

“You’d think the Kazekage wouldn’t give his whores a false sense of entitlement in village they don’t belong in.”

It was hard to contain her inner voice at that moment, who happened to be screaming loudly. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS BASTARD THINK HE IS?

Sakura let out a calming breath and put hand on Mako’s arm who was surprisingly doing a good enough job for the both of them at giving this terrifying ninja a piece of his mind despite the aptitude gap.

Before she could respond, the door opened and someone stepped in. Seeing Sasuke momentarily took her aback because that powder job should have taken him at least 45 minutes to complete, yet here he was a mere 10 minutes after being assigned the task. He must have a question.

And then Sakura saw his face. A red and purple combination flashed towards Satou and Sakura’s stomach dropped to her feet. Had he just heard what Satou called her?

When Sakura reached him and placed a hand on his arm, his gaze snapped from Satou and landed on her. “Did you need something?” she asked kindly, assessing the situation and deciding to act casually. Maybe if she came off as unaffected by Satou’s comment, then Sasuke wouldn’t feel the need to react.

“Here,” he responded gruffly after recovering some composure, shoving the mortar she had given him earlier towards the space between them. “You said you needed this quickly didn’t you? Go on ahead and make the batch. I’ll talk to this guy.”

Sakura briefly savored the startled look on Satou’s face before turning her body towards Sasuke so she could whisper in private with her teammate. “Sasuke, I don’t think that’s—”

“It’s fine,” he softened his murmur to match her whisper. As he said this, his sharingan faded and his emotionless mask slipped back on. “Just a talk between ninja.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” came Mako’s eager voice behind her, “I’ll stay too. You go on ahead and make that batch before time runs out.”

Sakura snapped her head towards him, shaking her head with large eyes in silent begging, but Sasuke was the one who spoke. “I didn’t ask you to stay. You can leave too.”

“He stays,” Sakura volunteered, to which Sasuke glowered at her for. “A doctor must be present during an exam, after all.” This was most definitely not professional, but Sakura had used a “time” excuse to keep Sasuke busy earlier. Mako knew as well as she did that it didn’t matter what time the Ashuwa was added to the mixture, and he was using her lie against her. She didn’t know her friend of a medic could be manipulative like that. Mako knew she didn’t want to tell Sasuke that she had fibbed about it.

Grabbing the mortar, Sakura peered up into the Uchiha’s eyes, reconsidering her fear of the two ninja meeting. If Naruto or Gaara weren’t here, maybe Sasuke was the next best person to talk to him. Now that he had come back to the light, perhaps Sasuke could reach Satou in a way that Sakura wouldn’t be able to. Sometimes people who had experienced trauma would only listen to someone who had shared a similar pain. And it had been proven to her throughout the years that sometimes only monsters could understand monsters.

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

Sasuke waited until Sakura’s footsteps receded far enough down the hall before his eyes locked onto Satou for the second time.

“Uchiha. Uchiha Sasuke isn’t it?” Satou inquired, daring to speak first. “I never would have guessed I’d ever see your face again after the war.”

“Good. You know me.” Sasuke announced, fully entering the space and leaning against the right-most wall, just fifteen feet away from Satou in this small room. “Then you’re aware of the terrible things that I have done to better men than you.” To be honest, Sasuke hated to play the reputation card—in fact, he wanted to get as far from his past as possible, but he needed this bastard to know just exactly what he could still do to someone that pushed him far enough.

He noticed Mako shift excitedly at the left of the entrance. Apparently Mako was hoping for a show. Good, Sasuke thought, he needed to hear this too if the male physician had future plans to stay next to his friend.

Sasuke got straight to it. “The truth is that you’re not going to listen to anyone, so this is going to be a waste of time and breath.” Sasuke knew because he had been in this exact same frame of mind before.

“So why bother staying?” the man spat, rage leaking from his mouth like saliva from a rabid beast. Sasuke was correct in his analogy. Like Sasuke himself had once been, Satou was nothing more than a creature that there was no hope left for, and it needed to be taken out of this world. That’s what Gaara had practically told Naruto to do—take Sasuke out and do the right thing as his friend. It’s what Sakura had tried to do and failed.

But Naruto had done the impossible. With memories of his friend in his heart, Sasuke sighed and willed himself to put at least a little bit of effort into this for his friends’ benefit.

“For the sake of the woman you just called a whore. I care more about her and her goal than the few minutes I could be doing something more beneficial than talking to you.”  Of course, he would never tell her that.

Sasuke felt like there was no point in beating around the bush. His voice would give out if he continued talking at this rate. He reminded himself that he didn’t owe any explanation, any psychological nonsense, just the cold truth that Satou needed to hear. Despite how hard he might try, Sasuke wouldn’t be able to pull this off like Naruto. Naruto would have marched up to him like a bull, grabbed his collar, proceed to threaten him for saying such a thing to Sakura, and then somehow miraculously convince this man to change.

Sasuke on the other hand, was less predictable. Depending on which part of his life you looked at, Sasuke could have had several reactions to Satou’s comment. The Sasuke before Orochimaru would have been angry but level-headed, at most offering the man an analytical glare. Sasuke immediately post-cursemark would have gutted him in the same mania he had broken that sound ninja’s arms in the Forest of Death. Vengeance-bent Sasuke would have completely not cared at all. But the Sasuke he was now? Even though he was on his path of redemption now, something in him had become honed again, sharpened along with the internal acknowledgement that he had feelings for Sakura. Despite his accepting of the truth, Sasuke hadn’t anticipated feeling this defensive and this is what scared Sasuke the most about himself—his unpredictability.

When Sasuke had tried to sever his bonds, it was to eliminate the feelings that came with them. He had seen it as a weakness. If his attachments were few, then Sasuke could remain loyal to a way of life he hoped for, one of peace. But having Sakura near again and feeling responsible for her had Sasuke fearing for the worst about his character. He had relayed this concern to Naruto before he left the village several weeks ago. “What will keep me from the darkness? From choosing the path of revenge?” “I will,” Naruto had responded. “I’ll stop you.” If men like this were regular in Sakura’s life, how could Naruto guarantee that Sasuke wouldn’t snap one day and kill every single person who threatened to do her harm? What if one of them succeeded? Could Naruto prevent everything? Stop, Sasuke told himself. Stop thinking like that.

Satou didn’t laugh again for the entire conversation. He remained standing by the window, narrowing his eyes at Sasuke in wary consideration since the Uchiha had arrived—not scared necessarily, but an enemy weighing his odds and deciding to avoid major triggers. Smart, Sasuke thought. Not completely brain dead then.

As Sasuke was consumed in silent thought, Mako stepped in for him. It was the first time all day Sasuke liked the medic. “We know that your wife died. Is that the reason you are abusing your son?”

Unlike with Sasuke, Satou revealed his temper, like a bomb going off without warning. “WHAT I DO WITH MY SON IS NOBODY’S DAMN BUSINESS BUT MY OWN.”

Unaffected by the sudden rise in volume, Sasuke surveyed the damaged room around them. Satou sure made it look like he was being held against his will, but the truth was, Sasuke realized, that if Satou had truly wanted to leave, he would have. There was nobody physically stopping him from leaving. The only thing really holding him here was Gaara’s command. Ah, so that was it. Badmouth the Kazekage all he wanted, Satou still respected one thing and that was power.

Sasuke tested the theory with, “The Kazekage believes it is his business.”

“Everything is apparently his damn business,” Satou growled in his direction.

Sasuke immediately noted that this was not a shouted response like he did when Mako spoke. Sasuke deduced that Satou held enough respect for the people he feared. That included himself. Damn. How annoying; Sasuke was going to have to do all the talking after all. To be honest, Sasuke had just wanted to remove Sakura from the situation and came up with the “talking” part to get Sakura to leave. Now, he supposed he would have to deliver.

Mako tried reasoning with him again: “Does the child remind you of your wife? Is that the reason you mistreat him?”

Satou’s eyes grew wide at Mako’s question. “HOW DARE YOU-“

Forget it. Talking like this was getting them nowhere. Sasuke’s visual prowess was nowhere near restored, but what Sasuke planned to do wouldn’t take up much chakra anyway. This wasn’t his typical style, but trying to talk with this man sure as hell wasn’t his style either. Sasuke revealed the black tomoes of his right Sharingan, instantly immobilizing the man where he stood.

“What are you doing?” Mako asked with concern, walking up beside him. “You’re not going to use a genjutsu?!”

“Just shut up and stay out of it,” Sasuke announced in annoyance. “I am getting the answers.”

Satou’s mind was a black, fiery wasteland that Sasuke stepped out on. The ninja’s memories appeared before him like colorless corpses rising from the grave. Sasuke walked forward toward the past surveying memories in order from most recent to oldest. The first memory that shaped in the air before him had Sasuke considering deactivating the jutsu. Whether he had subconsciously looking for this memory or not, Sasuke didn’t know, but he watched it play out before him. His pink-haired teammate was standing her ground, glaring up into the face of the man whose memories Sasuke violated. Sasuke frowned in hatred at the image of his fingers jabbing into her chest. Satou was looking down at her with a ferocity that he had yet to display towards anyone else. Why?

On cue, another memory emerged, connected to this one and providing Sasuke with the answer he wanted. It was during the war and Satou was immobilized on a cot, bandaged and regaining consciousness. Pink hair came into the ninja’s vision as he tried to roll to the side. “Miss,” he called toward the female ninja. “Where am I?”

“Stay still,” Sakura ordered him, pushing him back down on the cot. “Your leg is severely injured and needs to remain immobile.” She began giving orders to her assistants when a boom suddenly sounded somewhere nearby. Satou watched as she got to her feet and headed in that direction as someone began screaming her name.

“My wife,” he croaked, trying again to rise. This time, no one stopped him as he began to fumble towards the line of patients, some unconscious, others screaming. “Rina,” he sobbed, searching the faces of the incapacitated. “Where are you?”

He finally found her in the back row and he began limping faster toward her. “Rina!” he screamed, falling to his knees beside the woman who was bloody almost beyond recognition. Sasuke looked away from the memory as Satou began searching with hands for the wound on her body. Somehow the woman had reopened her injury and was now bleeding through the bandaging.  When Satou found it, he began to moan. Satou clutched onto his broken wife and lifted her despite his leg. He was barely able to support her as he began limping back toward the medical professionals. “Haruno!” he tried to shout after the woman who had disappeared in the rising clouds of debris and dust. “Haruno!”

When a medic finally arrived to assist him, it wasn’t the one Satou had hoped for. “Please,” he begged them. “She’s dying—bleeding out!”

Sasuke saw the man’s world shatter on his face when the medic began to shake his head after checking the woman’s pulse. “I am sorry sir. She’s already gone.”

“No!” he began to scream, picking up his wife again and limping after the woman he believed could still save her. The memory ended after Satou disappeared into the rubble screaming after someone he clearly never found.

So that was it, Sasuke realized, stepping toward a new memory that materialized in the swirling darkness. He blamed Sakura for his wife’s death.

The next memory Sasuke played was Satou returning from the war and staring into the face of the child he and his wife had left behind. Sasuke was shocked at the resemblance the child held of Rina; Sasuke witnessed Satou experience the blow of pain that came at seeing the same likeness. When the child reached for him with tears in his eyes, Satou turned away from him, covering his anguished face and stepping past the threshold. Isao’s current caretaker reached for him to relieve his father’s neglect.

Sasuke felt like he had ashes in his mouth. He was more familiar with grief than anyone, but grief affected people in different ways. Sasuke both understood and didn’t understand. He didn’t dare go further; Sasuke knew what happened next concerning the child and didn’t want to see it for himself.

Deactivating his Sharingan, Sasuke withdrew from the black backdrop of Satou’s mind.

“What did you just do?” Satou asked, sinking to the floor on his knees and holding his head, an aftereffect that had Mako looking between the two ninja in fearful concern.

Sasuke saw no point in explaining to either of them. Satou was more than aware of what just happened. “I could erase a couple of those memories,” Sasuke explained to the whimpering man on the floor who gazed up at him in anger. “Is that what you want?”

Satou hesitated before saying, “You could really do that?”

“Is that what you really want?” Sasuke asked bitterly, “for someone to reach into your mind and take away all memory of your wife or child? To dishonor the both of them?”

“No,” Satou declared at that. “Not if it will remove them from my memory. The pain— just take that away.”

“Pain is a part of life and not something I can tamper with,” Sasuke deadpanned. “If you let it, your pain will turn into darkness, consume you, and taint every aspect of your life. Your son is the only thing you have left of your wife. You should value that and cling to that as your light.”

Sasuke understood what Sakura meant earlier when she told Sasuke her conversation with Gaara about the past generation affecting the next with their toxicity. Satou didn’t repond and Sasuke didn’t say anything else. He had said what he needed to although it left the Uchiha feeling like a hypocrite.

Turning to Mako, Sasuke declared, “Send the son to the Leaf’s mental health clinic; get him as far away as you can. The child needs to be in a different environment, or he will turn out like father. It’ll give Satou some time to reconsider what’s important to him.”

Opening the door, Sasuke thought twice before exiting. “Also,” he remarked to the man who began to sob on the ground. “The next time you lay your hands on my friend, you’ll have me to deal with, not the Kazekage.”

Satou began to scream in anger, throwing things against the walls again. The door swung shut behind Sasuke and Mako, closing the prisoner in his self-made cell.

[toxicsquad]

There is no better way to get to know someone than through a good question tag. In this case we have decided to make an Indie game dev question tag with the responses of our four developers. We hope that it will reveal many unknowns, but if you are left with any questions, do not hesitate to use our ask.

What part of game development are you responsible for?

Athe: I write and write, I melt in my seat, I correct, I cry and then I program. It’s an endless cycle. Occasionally I laugh like crazy while I eat Pringles.

Sam: I draw and color without leaving the lines (almost always) the sprites, the illustrations and the ravings that usually occur to us past 3 in the morning.

Illy: English translations.

Sher: I draw BGs

What tools do you use (hardware / software)?

Athe: Recently my desktop PC has passed away, so I’ve had to rescue my old PC from the garage. I also have a laptop that saves my life more times than I would like to admit. As for the software, I need, above all, drive documents, video editing programs, image etc (I have an Adobe package) and of course Renpy and Atom.

Sam: My main friend and companion is my tablet, a wacom intuos S (pistachio color, so cute). As programs I mainly use the Paint Tool Sai, because there is nothing in this life like its stabilizer. And less frequently than I would like (for details, texture brushes, effects ...) I also use Clip Studio Paint, which I only know how to use at about 2% of its capacity ... If someday I have time I would love to stop and learn seriously what can be done with it.

Illy: During the school year I live in a residence, so I use an old laptop, and when I return home I use a desktop computer that never has memory space. I translate the chapters in the same Atom where the complete script is and I keep them in google drive files where I share them with our beta reader. I also use editing programs like photoshop when I have to translate comics or procreate for when my artistic skills are required.

Sher: ipad+procreate+some final tweak in photoshop, I don't need much more

What is your favorite part of the job?

Athe: Would it be wrong if I say that is when we released the episode? During the whole production time everything is very stressful, there are times when it’s really uphill, but when we release a new chapter it feels soooo good. It's like saying to yourself, yeah, dammit, I can do it. Look at everything you've climbed by yourself. You're doing it right.

Sam: In general, my favorite parts are when the first scenes start to be programmed, and I can see the sprites with the backgrounds, the texts, and how the illustrations look. Everything always looks so much better when viewed in-game… I also really like being able to check out the script as it is written. And from the artistic part that concerns me, when I see that my hands capture the idea that I had in my head ... Especially in character designs.

Illy: Having to find a way to translate very spanish expressions into English, research vocabulary that I have never had to use and commenting on some translations with our beta reader (which we adore) to make it understandable without losing the original meaning.

Sher: I like to do the lineart when the sketch is complete, if I no longer have to think about anything else and it's just going through it, I find it very fun and relaxing

What is the most difficult part for you?

Athe: Offf, yes, I admit it, sometimes writing is the WORST. Other times I love it, especially when I can expand on the descriptions or stop at a part that is intimate or that I find interesting (for example, Hasiel's conversation from 6.3, small spoiler: P). But, I HATE having to paste scenes, often the protagonist moves between scenes and you always have to add lines to those transitions that really do not interest anyone, but that otherwise the text would be confusing. Anyway... It is a very wide world, with a lot of history, I have to deal with what I need readers to know to understand the facts, although sometimes it gets a bit boring.

Sam: What part does not... Rather who e.e Zihel and Ariel are a thorn in my side. Especially Zihel. I know it has to do with the fact that it has never been my strength to draw boys, and much less if they are more masculine in appearance... That's why I also suffer a lot from drawing muscles. Another thing that brings me a headache is the perspective of the illustrations. Every time I try to get out of the typical shot or poses a little... It doesn't work out.

Illy: Doughy’s  stuttering ¬.¬

Sher: chairs, sofas, tables... anything with four legs is my enemy

Anything to help or encourage you while you are working?

Athe: I need music, no, seriously, I NEED IT. I’m unable to focus without it. If, on top of that, I can get what I hear to act as a sounding board for what I write, the text is a thousand times better... But the muse is a pretty bad person.

Sam: Having a show/movie in the background that entertains me. The longer the better, so I don't have to stop to think what I want to put on next.

Illy: Eating sunflower seeds to trick my brain and not be tempted to do something else that distracts me.

Sher: I try to see other artists to motivate and inspire me before I start drawing, what I find most difficult is that initial push and that is where I need the motivation, then I usually have something in the background but it is not necessary

Something that’s a pet peeve or discouraging?

Athe: Some narrative climax moments. Generally, they are not important plot moments (that is almost entirely decided), they are often small decisions to go from scene A to scene B, but I can spend a LOT of time deciding which is the fastest and best way to tie those two ends. I'm the worst.

Sam: Many times when starting, I can't get the poses to fit the way I want, for example.

Illy: Finding many parts in a row that I find especially difficult to solve and that make me believe that I have forgotten how to English properly. And looking at how many lines I still have left.

Sher: When I don't know how to fill in some area, if I see something very empty but I don't know how to solve it, I can spend days looking at the screen without being able to advance, even if I have other areas that I could do in the meantime

What is required on your table or work surface?

Athe: Notebooks, sticky notes, pens… I’m a person who writes everything down, especially the tasks, but I also order the story by color schemes. The stack of sticky notes have 9 different colors, each one represents a character and I play a lot with them for a lot of nonsense. Besides, even though I have been writing on the computer for many more years than I wrote by hand, I still have a preference for the analogical.

Sam: Coffee, sweets, chocolate, cereals... And cats.

Illy: My phone, the sunflower seeds, a Capital America: Civil War 1L water cup, sticky notes that remind me of tasks.

Sher: I have nothing really lol all my things are for decoration

Your most productive hours?

Athe: Owl. Totally nocturnal. Although I have several crises a month to force myself to work at other times that always end... Wrong.

Sam: Also at night for the most part, although I can no longer stay awake as long as I endured before having a job (the good old days...) However, in the middle of the afternoon, when the zoo that I have at home is still taking a nap, I also manage to go a long way.

Illy: From when I finish eating until 7 or 8 in the afternoon, when I don't have to cook, clean, run errands...

Sher: I take over for Illy apparently, from 7 or 8 is when I start to get into the mood until bedtime

Do working hours make you forget to eat or make you eat twice as much?

Athe: It depends, in the past I ate a lot, now if I have stress I don't eat anything. If I'm in a normal productive phase and I'm not on my nerves, I'm probably eating by inertia.

Sam: They make me eat more, but especially junk food e.e And they make me forget healthy meals, especially dinner at night.

Illy: It depends on my mood, but I usually eat twice as much.

Sher: I'm generally a VERY distracted person so I don't usually get to focus on a task to get to either of those two modes but I guess when I am sooooooo much on the task, I forget. But that happens like a couple of times a year and "forgetting" is "I delay an hour."

What part of your set up would you improve / change (in aesthetics or functionality) if you had no money limit?

Athe: I'm trying to match some of my peripherals with the rest. They are all a damn different color, apparently I'm cursed... Now seriously, I wish I had a better graphic card that would allow me to make video captures, some speakers and a quality printer.

Sam: Actually, I don't think I need anything more complex than what I already have… But if I had to improve something, I'm curious about the most professional tablets, the big ones with the included screen and all that stuff.

Illy: A new laptop that lets me open 4 chrome tabs, Atom and photoshop at the same time without dying.

Sher: A pc screen that will not change the colors I use on the iPad would be nice, really

Which character are you most like? And why?

Athe: Phew I think the easy answer would be to say Akane ... But, Akane is a better person. : P

Sam: This is very difficult... They are all very different, but still I do not think I look much like any of them. If I have to say something, I could identify with Maske's tendency to avoid problems, and his more homey and calm side. And well… Since Akane has been an OC of mine for many years, surely I have something of her too.

Illy: I think I partly have Maske's instinct to stay out of trouble, and on the other hand Joe's shallowness, although tbh I wish I really did look like any of our awesome babies.

Sher: surprised because (unpopular opinion around here) is one of those who I "least care" about really but I would say that Pin because he is a little dumb, happy and probably has a Satanic room and proud of it

Favorite CG/art.

Athe: AT THE MOMENT. Maske chapter 1. It couldn't be more predictable. I know.

Sam: I quite agree with Maske in chapter 1. But I would also put Pin in chapter 5 and Akane in chapter 6.2 on the top.

Illy: Kyeran in Coco's tank ?? Is he even real? Being basic is my brand.

Sher: surprised again and disappointed but I would say that of angel Hasiel because I like pretty dresses, pretty hairs and pretty wings

Favorite BG/scene.

Athe: The Red Light District amazes me. I already liked the life of that place, its history, but the way of expressing it... Uggg Sher took it to another level. The dirt on the street, the night, the constricted buildings...

Sam: I think I’ll say Raziel’s square, I like it a lot from the first day.

Illy: I don't know if I can choose just one T__T but I would say that the Red Light District and Valefar's pub are at the top.

Sher: for not repeating the red light district that I also like very much, I really like the areas of Coco's laboratory, including the “main” area although the perspective is horrible and makes the characters look tiny, but I like how it looks :(

Your favorite chapter to date?

Athe: Ufff... The first and second one I assure you no, hahaha. I will say that the third one, but also for things that are not necessarily from the chapter, but of the production. It was a good moment. I felt that everything was flowing with ease. We all assumed a clear role, they were times that made us feel comfortable and capable of assuming what came next, I think it was a qualitative leap also, both in texts and in art.

Sam: Oh. Well let's see... Chapter 5 is amazing for me, for everything that happens but also because there are many personalized interactions and choices. I can't say I have a definitive favorite, but it could come close… Also from the last ones I really like the 6.2.

Illy: Chapter 5 has so many details, so many things happen, it's hard not to be my favorite. But the last ones with the specific routes are so great that if I stay with the 5 it’s with the  pain of my heart to have to choose one.

Sher: I would say 5 also because in the end when a lot of things happen is when you remember the most

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No hay mejor forma de conocer a alguien que a través de un buen tag de preguntas. En este caso hemos decidido hacer un Indie game dev question tag con las respuestas de las cuatro desarrolladoras. Esperamos que os aclare muchas incógnitas, pero si os quedáis con alguna no dudéis en usar nuestro ask.

¿Qué parte del desarrollo del juego llevas a cabo?

Athe: Escribo, escribo, me derrito sobre mi asiento, corrijo, lloro y después programo. Es un ciclo sin fin. Ocasionalmente me río como una demente mientras como Pringles.

Sam: Dibujo y coloreo sin salirme de las líneas (casi siempre) los sprites, las ilustraciones y los desvaríos que suelen surgir a partir de las 3 de la mañana. 

Illy: Las traducciones a inglés.

Sher: Hago fonditos

¿Qué herramientas utilizas (hardware/software)?

Athe: Recientemente mi PC de sobremesa ha fallecido, así que he tenido que rescatar mi viejo PC del trastero, también tengo un portatil que me salva la vida más veces de las que me gustaría admitir. En cuanto al software, necesito, sobre todo, documentos de drive, programas de edición de video, imagen etc (tengo un paquete de Adobe) y por supuesto Renpy y Atom.

Sam: Mi principal amiga y compañera es mi tableta, una wacom intuos S (color pistacho, muy cuqui.) Como programas uso sobretodo el Paint Tool Sai, porque no hay nada en esta vida como su estabilizador. Y con menos frecuencia de lo que querría (para detalles, pinceles de texturas, efectos…) también utilizo el Clip Studio Paint, el cual sólo se usar como a un 2% de su capacidad… Si algún día tengo tiempo me encantaría pararme a aprender seriamente todo lo que se puede hacer con él. 

Illy: Durante el curso vivo en una residencia, así que uso un portatil del año que reinó carolo, y cuando vuelvo a mi casa un ordenador de sobremesa que nunca tiene espacio en la memoria. Los capítulos los traduzco en el mismo Atom en el que está el guión completo y los guardo en drive donde los comparto con nuestra beta reader. También uso programas de edición como photoshop cuando tengo que traducir viñetas o procreate para cuando mis habilidades artísticas son requeridas.

Sher: ipad+procreate+algún retoquito final en photoshop no necesito mucho más

¿Cuál es tu parte de favorita del trabajo?

Athe: ¿Estaría mal si digo que es cuando sacamos el episodio? Durante toda la producción todo es muy estresante, hay veces, que se hace realmente cuesta arriba, pero cuando liberamos un nuevo capítulo sienta taaaan bien. Es como decirte a ti misma, sí, joder, puedo hacerlo. Mira todo lo que has escalado tú solita. Lo estás haciendo bien.

Sam: En general, mis partes favoritas son cuando se empiezan a programar las primeras escenas, y puedo ver los sprites con los fondos, los textos, y cómo se ven las ilustraciones. Todo queda siempre mucho mejor cuando se ve dentro del juego… También me gusta mucho poder cotillear el guión conforme se va escribiendo. Y de la parte artística que me toca, cuando veo que mis manos plasman la idea que tenía en mi cabeza… Sobretodo en diseños de personajes. 

Illy: Tener que buscar la forma de traducir a inglés expresiones muy nuestras, investigar vocabulario que no he tenido que usar jamás y comentar algunas traducciones con nuestra beta reader (a la que adoramos) para conseguir que se entienda sin perder el significado original.

Sher: me gusta hacer el lineart cuando el sketch está completo, si ya no tengo que pensar nada más y es solo ir repasando me parece muy divertido y relajante

¿Cuál es la parte que más te cuesta?

Athe: Ufff, sí, lo admito, escribir a veces es lo PEOR. Otras me encanta, sobre todo, cuando puedo explayarme con las descripciones o detenerme en una parte íntima o que a mí me parece interesante (por ejemplo, la conversación de Hasiel del 6.3, pequeño spoiler :P). Pero, ODIO tener que empastar escenas, a menudo el protagonista se mueve de escenarios y hay que agregar siempre líneas a esas transiciones que realmente no interesan a nadie, pero que de lo contrario el texto quedaría mal montado. En fin… Es un mundo muy amplio, con mucha historia, tengo que lidiar con lo que necesito que los lectores sepan para entender los hechos, aunque a veces se haga un pelín peñazo.

Sam: Qué parte no… Quiénes, más bien e.e Zihel y Ariel son mi espinita. Especialmente Zihel. Sé que tiene que ver con el hecho de que nunca ha sido mi punto fuerte dibujar chicos, y menos si son de aspecto más masculino… Por eso también sufro mucho dibujando músculos. Otra cosa que me trae de cabeza es la perspectiva de las ilustraciones. Cada vez que intento salirme un poco del típico plano o poses… No sale bien. 

Illy: El tartamudeo de Doughy ¬.¬ 

Sher: sillas, sofás, mesas… cualquier cosa con cuatro patas son mis enemigos

¿Algo que te ayude o anime mientras estás trabajando?

Athe: Necesito música, no, en serio, LA NECESITO. Soy incapaz de concentrarme sin ella. Si ya consigo que lo que escucho haga de caja de resonancia de lo que escribo, el texto es mil veces mejor… Pero la musa es bastante mala gente.

Sam: Tener alguna serie/peli de fondo que me entretenga. Cuanto más larga mejor, así no me toca pararme a ver qué es lo que quiero poner después. 

Illy: Comer pipas para engañar a mi cerebro y no tener la tentación de ponerme a hacer otra cosa que me distraiga.

Sher: intento ver otros artistas para motivarme e inspirarme antes de empezar a dibujar, lo que más me cuesta es ese empujón inicial y es donde necesito la motivación, luego ya suelo tener algo de fondo pero no es necesario

¿Algo que te corte el rollo o te desmotive?

Athe: Los nudos narrativos. Generalmente, no son nudos gordos de la trama (eso está decidido casi en su totalidad), a menudo son decisiones pequeñas para pasar de la escena A a la escena B, pero puedo tirarme MUCHO tiempo decidiendo cuál es la forma más rápida y mejor planteada para atar esos dos cabos. Soy lo peor.

Sam: Muchas veces a la hora de empezar, no conseguir encajar las poses como quiero, por ejemplo. 

Illy: Encontrar muchas partes seguidas que me cueste especialmente resolver y que me hacen creer que no tengo ni idea de hablar inglés. Y mirar cuantas líneas me quedan todavía.

Sher: cuando no se como rellenar alguna zona, si veo algo muy vacío pero no se como solucionarlo puedo tirarme días mirando la pantalla sin ser capaz de avanzar, incluso aunque tenga otras zonas que pudiera ir haciendo mientras

¿Qué no puede faltar en tu mesa o superficie de trabajo?

Athe: Libretas, post-its, bolígrafos… Soy una persona que lo anota todo, sobre todo, las tareas, pero también ordeno la historia por esquemas de colores. La pila de post-its tienen 9 colores diferentes, cada uno representa un personaje y juego mucho con ellos para miles de idioteces. A parte, a pesar de que llevo muchos más años escribiendo a ordenador de los que escribí a mano, sigo teniendo querencia a lo físico.

Sam: Café, chucherías, chocolate, cereales… Y gatos. 

Illy: El móvil, las pipas, un vaso de 1L de agua de Capital America: Civil War, post-its que me recuerdan las tareas.

Sher: no tengo nada realmente lol todas mis cosas son de adorno 

¿Tus horas más productivas?

Athe: Búho. Nocturna totalmente. A pesar de que tengo varias crisis al mes para forzarme a trabajar a otras horas que acaban siempre… Mal.

Sam: También por la noche en su mayoría, aunque ya no aguanto trasnochando tanto como antes de trabajar (qué tiempos aquellos…) Aunque a media tarde cuando el zoo que tengo en casa aún está echando la siesta también consigo dar un buen empujón. 

Illy: Desde que acabo de comer hasta las 7 o las 8 de la tarde, cuando no tengo que cocinar, limpiar, hacer recados...

Sher: le tomo el testigo a Illy aparentemente, a partir de las 7 u 8 es cuando empiezo a entrar en el mood hasta que llega la hora de dormir

¿Las horas de trabajo hacen que te olvides de comer o te hacen comer el doble?

Athe: Depende, antes comía mucho, ahora, si tengo estrés no como nada. Si me encuentro en un rango productivo normal y no estoy de los nervios, probablemente, esté comiendo por inercia.

Sam: Me hacen comer más, pero sobretodo porquerías e.e Y hacen que me olvide de las comidas sanas, sobretodo de cenar por la noche. 

Illy: Depende de mi estado de ánimo, pero normalmente comer el doble.

Sher: en general soy una persona MUY distraída así que no suelo conseguir centrarme en una tarea para llegar a ninguno de esos dos modos pero supongo que cuando estoy muuuuuuy dentro de la tarea, me olvido. Pero eso pasa como un par de veces al año y “olvido” es “lo retraso una hora”.

¿Qué parte de tu set up mejorarías/cambiarías (en estética o funcionalidad) si no tuvieses límite de dinero?

Athe: Estoy tratando de que alguno de mis periféricos peguen con el resto. Todos son de un maldito color diferente, al parecer estoy maldita… Ahora en serio, desearía tener una mejor gráfica que me permitiese hacer videocapturas, unos altavoces y una impresora de calidad.

Sam: En realidad, no creo que necesitara nada más complejo de lo que ya tengo… Pero por mejorar, me llaman la atención las tabletas más profesionales, las grandes con la pantalla incluida y eso. 

Illy: Un portátil nuevo que me deje abrir 4 pestañas de chrome, el Atom y photoshop al mismo tiempo sin quedarse tieso.

Sher: Una pantalla de pc que no me cambiara los colores que uso en el ipad seria bonito la verdad 

¿A qué personaje te pareces más? ¿Y por qué?

Athe: Ufff Creo que la respuesta fácil sería decir Akane… Pero, Akane es mejor persona. :P

Sam: Esto es muy complicado… Son todos muy distintos, pero aún así no creo que me parezca mucho a ninguno. Por decir algo, me podría identificar con la tendencia a evitar problemas de Maske, y su lado más casero y tranquilo. Y bueno… Dado que Akane es OC mío de hace muchos años, seguramente tenga algo de ella también. 

Illy: Creo que en parte tengo el instinto de alejarme de las movidas de Maske, y por otro la superficialidad de Joe, aunque tbh ojalá parecerme realmente a nuestros bebés geniales.

Sher: sorprendida porque (unpopular opinión por aquí) es de los que “menos me importan” realmente pero diría que Pin porque es tontito, feliz y probablemente tenga una habitación satánica y orgulloso de ello

Tu CG/arte favorito.

Athe: DE MOMENTO. Maske capítulo 1. No podría ser más predecible. Lo sé.

Sam: Coincido bastante en la de Maske del capítulo 1. Pero también metería en el top la de Pin del capítulo 5 y la de Akane del capítulo 6.2. 

Illy: ¿¿Kyeran en el tanque de Coco?? ¿Es siquiera real? Ser básica es mi marca.

Sher: sorprendida de nuevo y decepcionada pero diría que la de Hasiel de ángel porque me gustan los vestidos bonitos, los pelos bonitos y las alas bonitas

Tu BG/escenario favorito.

Athe: Me flipa el Barrio Rojo. Me gusta la vida de ese sitio, su historia, pero la forma de plasmarlo… Uggg Sher lo llevó a otro nivel. La suciedad de la calle, la nocturnidad, los edificios constreñidos...

Sam: Creo que me quedo con el de la plaza de Raziel, me gusta mucho desde el primer día. 

Illy: No sé si puedo elegir solo uno T__T pero diría que el Barrio Rojo y el bar de Valefar están en el top.

Sher: por no repetir el barrio rojo que también me gusta mucho, me gustan mucho las zonas del laboratorio de Coco, incluida la zona “principal” aunque la perspectiva sea horrible y haga a los pj parecer diminutos, pero me gusto como quedo :( 

¿Tu capítulo favorito hasta las fecha?

Athe: Ufff… El uno y el dos os aseguro que no, jajaja. Diré que el tres, pero también por cosas que no son necesariamente del capítulo, sino de la producción. Fue un buen momento. Sentí que todo estaba fluyendo con facilidad. Todas asumimos un rol claro, unos tiempos que nos hacían sentir cómodas y capaces de asumir lo que venía después, creo que fue un salto cualitativo también, tanto en los textos, como en el arte.

Sam: Ay. Pues a ver… El capítulo 5 es una pasada para mi, por todo lo que pasa pero también porque hay muchas interacciones personalizadas y elecciones. No puedo decir que tenga un favorito definitivo, pero podría acercarse… También me gusta mucho de los últimos el 6.2. 

Illy: El capítulo 5 tiene tantos detalles, pasan tantas cosas, que es difícil que no sea mi favorito, pero los ultimos de rutas específicas son tan geniales que si me quedo con el 5 es con un poco de dolor de tener que elegir uno.

Sher: Diría el 5 también porque al final cuando pasan muchas cosas es cuando mas se te queda grabado

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[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraObito Word count: 1955 Soulmate au: The one where you each feel each other's pain

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 208

Madara was known by most as a clumsy person, which he’d always thought was incredibly unfair. It wasn’t really his fault that he was clumsy. Most of the time when he tripped suddenly or dropped things it was because of the sudden pain coming from somewhere on his body. His theory had always been that it was his soulmate who was the clumsy one, constantly knocking in to things or jabbing themselves, and with no warning for when it would happen Madara was of course startled in to clumsiness every time.

After nearly three decades he’d gotten fairly used to it, though it was still annoying on bad days. Driving up to the northern ass-end of Hi no Kuni with Izuna snoring in the seat beside him was probably one of the better times for his right arm to cramp up suddenly. He’d long gotten used to driving with his left hand, propping his elbow up on the center console and guiding the wheel as they rolled down some forgotten dirt road, which left his other side free to stretch out through the open window. Tons of space there.

Whoever decided that the far spread Uchiha clan needed to have a reunion probably had good intentions of reconnected several branch families with the main lines after generations of distance but in all honesty Madara was fairly sure the dust bunnies under his bed could have picked a better spot to host the damn event. Having lived in downtown Konoha his entire life, all of this fresh country air was more likely to give him some kind of asthma than anything else. The scenery was repetitive, the roads were deserted, and the one farm they’d driven by had smelled so bad he nearly threw up in to one of the empty cups that always seemed to replace themselves each time he cleaned out the cup holders. If it wasn’t for their father threatening to revoke his inheritance if he ‘insisted on showing such abysmal lack of interest in his own bloodline’ Madara wouldn’t have bothered braving the wilderness outside of his comfortable metropolis.

Startling himself awake with a particularly sonorous snore, Izuna jerked upright only seconds before they went over a solid bump that would have thrown him towards the ceiling anyway. After looking around and still seeing nothing but thick trees he sighed.

“Are we there yet?” he whined.

“Do you see anything even vaguely resembling human inhabitants?” Madara growled back. Just for that he should make the idiot drive all the way back home.

Before Izuna could say anything else the GPS on Madara's phone sprang to life after two full hours of silence.

‘In 600 meters your destination will be on the left.’

“Fucking right!” Izuna pumped the air with one fist.

“Oh thank the gods.”

“I know, I need to piss so badly.”

Madara wrinkled his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

Knowing their goal was finally within sight, he pressed the gas with just a little more force than necessary, sending them flying around the next corner to where they could at last see what appeared to be some sort rustic resort spreading out through the trees ahead. Lights twinkled at them from the windows of quaint log cabins but it was the squat and sprawling main building that drew them in with promises of other human beings and electricity to charge their phones with; thank all the gods they had booked a room early enough to secure a space there rather than in the cabins.

Unfortunately they should have known better than to be excited for the siren call of technology. From the moment they pulled in and stepped out of the car it felt as though there were relatives they couldn’t remember materializing out of thin air, always ancient and always eager to pinch their cheeks. With the baby fat he’d never entirely gotten rid of Madara had a lot of pinchable cheek area. After fighting their way through the first wave they made it inside the building but they were ambushed at the front desk by another throng of old coots warbling on about how much they had grown. Madara was fairly sure he’d never actually met half these people before.

Getting their room keys and hauling their bags in to the elevator took more than an hour with all the people that wanted to stop and chat. By the time they finally managed it Izuna looked down at his key card and whined.

“You’ll never believe this,” he grumbled. “Our room’s on the ground floor.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. In all the nonsense I never actually heard him say our room number and I didn’t have a second to check!”

“There’s definitely some stairs. Let’s take those and see if we can sneak past the crowds.”

Madara nodded. “I had no idea our genes had spread this much. The Uchiha really need to stop procreating before we overpopulate the damn planet or something.” His brother nodded in solemn agreement.

When they reached whatever floor they had sent themselves to in their rush to close the elevator both of them peeked around the sides in fear of any more distractions. Thankfully the hallway looked clear. Neither of them waited to see if it would stay that way, darting towards the fire exit sign denoting a stairwell and hustling downwards.

At the bottom they both had a moment of panic when they spotted a lone figure resting on the bottom step as though to bar the way. Whoever it was didn’t seem very interested in the racket they were making, however, and Izuna was the first to step forward bravely. The closer they got the more the figure seemed to shrink in to themselves until finally they were only a few steps above the other when their torso heaved with a deep sigh.

“Five more minutes?” the figure pleaded in the weary voice of a man probably around their ages. “It’s so boring in that stupid room.”

“You can have all the minutes you want, my dude, we’re just passing through.” Izuna gave a vague salute on the way by and skipped down the last few stairs.

Madara hurried to follow after – or tried to, anyway. For once in his life it was only his own clumsiness that struck at just the wrong time. As he came down from the bottom step he landed just in the wrong way, rolling his ankle and sending him careening in to the wall on his left. Through the sudden ringing in his ears he only just barely heard a sharp gasp from behind. Probably Izuna. His brother was a worrywart sometimes when it came to how often he hurt himself so that was fairly easy to ignore.

“Holy shit,” Izuna’s voice whispered.

“I’m fine,” Madara growled back, embarrassed to have stumbled so badly right in front of some distant family member he would technically preside over someday.

“No – I mean, yeah, that looked rough – but I…aniki…turn around.”

With a deep scowl he did as he was told. Annoying as the unnecessary worry was it was a little insulting to know the other considered something more important than his possible injuries at the moment. As soon as he turned, however, he understood.

The single dark eye staring back at him was scrunched with pain, one hand rubbing at the same spot on his forehead where Madara had just crashed in to the wall with his own. Just looked at him it was obvious that he was someone who would not appreciate any extra pain. Half of his entire face was twisted with deep scars that extended under the collar of his shirt and ostensibly continued all the way down his arm to where they were visible covering his right hand as well. To one side of him a cane could be seen leaning against the railing, clearly waiting to assist him wherever he needed to go.

“You hurt him,” Izuna said in a daze.

“I what?”

“When you ran in to the wall he grabbed his head.”

“Do try to refrain from doing it again,” the man chimed in finally. “It did hurt.”

Madara stared openly. Scars or no scars, cane or no cane, he couldn’t believe he had met the other half of his soul here in the last place he would have suspected. Despite clearly understanding the situation it seemed to take a minute or two for the gravity of it all to catch up with the other man. Only when he had finally stopped rubbing just above his brows did he freeze and gasp a second time.

“Oh shit…that…you’re…”

“Could you give us some space, Izu?” Madara refused to take his eyes off the one he’d been waiting to find but his brother didn’t seem to mind.

With a low mumble about taking both their bags to the room Izuna scurried off, leaving them alone in the stairwell gawping at each other like a pair of idiots. Clearly made to match. Once he got past the shock of seeing them Madara found that he was able to look past the scars to the attractively messy hair and the strong jawline, the way his one glittering black eye actually seemed to be enhanced by the addition of a patch over the other.

He wondered for one moment what he himself looked like, raggedy hair down his back and still wearing the wrinkled clothing he’d fallen asleep in the night before. There was no use worrying about that now though.

“May I ask what happened?” he said. The man looked away uncomfortably.

“Got in a car accident a couple years ago.”

Doubt wriggled in, drawing out a frown as Madara admitted, “I didn’t feel anything like that on my end.”

“You wouldn’t have. I blacked out on impact. Spent the next year in a coma. Only woke up about eleven months ago and I’m still going through physical therapy. Mostly I’m just…sore and frustrated.” The hand free of scars lifted to rub at the base of his neck. “Name’s Obito. Sorry I’m probably not what you were imagining.”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks.” Obito’s voice practically dripped with acidic sarcasm and Madara smiled.

Stepping forward, he carefully lowered himself next to the other man on the bottom stair. “I never said you were a disappointment. Just a bit of a surprise. My name’s Madara. It’s good to meet you.”

“Is it?”

“Of course.”

His soulmate eyed him dubiously and that made his smile turn up in to a sharp expression, dark with a humor he so rarely allowed other people to see. Not many people could take the full force of his true personality but he had a feeling that he’d found one who could.

“Sounds to me like someone’s been keeping you cooped up in your rooms here in the main building. To be honest that’s probably a better option than drowning in all the old fogeys hanging around. What do you say I keep you company for a while?” He was delighted to see Obito slowly straighten his back, relief flickering over that scarred yet pretty face.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

“Lead the way, then.”

That was the right thing to say. Although he refused any help Obito’s sudden good mood remained as he struggled his way back down the hall on obviously tired limbs. Madara resolved to work on building trust between them as quick as possible to convince the other it was okay to lean on him sometimes.

But there was time for that, as much time as he needed. They had their whole lives ahead of them to wander through life being clumsy together – and he couldn’t wait.