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mybworlds · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: This story sets 15 yrs before The Mandalorian events, Din Djarin is hired by Rebel Alliance forces to protect and escort you, the princess of a dead planet, to your new home.

Series warnings: use of you, violence, science fantasy elements, slow burn, angst, fluff, mutual pining, eventual smut (18+ MDNI), trauma.

Masterlist

Before to start: here we are with the first chapter of The Blossom of Arkanon story. I won't give many details of the various characters or places, so you could imagine 'em as you want. I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. English is not my first language, so be patient and merciful.

Thank you for following me in my various stories.

Thanks @idontgetanysleep for the divider

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

Writing about that episode doesn't help you, in fact it only makes you go through a trauma that will probably never pass, you will never heal, you can live with, but never feel better. It'd be like saying that the loss of your whole family, your friends, your Planet is nothing and that's not possible, it's unacceptable.

"NK - 841," you call it.

You close the book Nanuk gave you to write down your thoughts and memories and put it back in the shelf above your bed, get up and look out the porthole: deep space surrounds you, the stars are all around you. You wonder where you are going, you get up and walk to the cockpit where the other member of your meager crew, the robot NK - 841, is in the pilot's seat and is leading you in an unknown direction to you.

"Yes, Princess?" he says in a metallic voice.

"To a safe place." it only tells you, he doesn't add anything else.

"Where are we going?"

You feel bewildered, uneasy, you go back to Nanuk who is consulting the star maps, he has a beleaguered, almost tense expression, "Nanuk?" you call him "Trouble?"

"No, you're there too!" you point out.

He looks up from the star map on the screen "Princess." he greets you "I wish I could say no, but I might as well just be honest." you nod "You're the only Arkanian still alive." he begins.

You lower your gaze.

He smiles sarcastically "I meant the last of the pure and noble blood of Arkanian civilization."

"What do you know about the New Republic?" he asks, turning fully toward you.

You're confused, you've never heard of this, Nanuk continues, "What about the Galactic Empire?" your expression becomes more and more confused and screwy, you don't know what to answer. You have always been raised as a princess, in the comforts, surrounded by your greatest affections, the pampering of your mother's various handmaids who watched you grow up, you know nothing about politics.

"It's okay, princess." the man continues "Sit next to me." he tells you by making a seat appear next to his on which you sit "Many galactic years ago, the Galactic Empire, an ancient military and political power best known for its dictatorship, sowed death and destruction in every corner of space, to stop their vicious rule, a resistance known as the Rebel Alliance was formed to militarily oppose the Empire and to preserve the ideals of the Galactic Republic. " he explains to you "After the Battle of Endor, the New Republic was formed whose capital is never on the same Planet."

"And why?" you ask puzzled.

"Well, they wanted to prevent one Planet from feeling more powerful than the other," he replies.

"And so... I don't understand what this has to do with me, the Republic, the Empire...I'm a little confused." you admit, clutching the armrests of the chair.

"Relax, child." he says smiling at you "Your father recently left the Planet, you know that, right?" you nod "Do you know why?"

"I heard him telling my mother to trade part of our gems for metals and whatnot," you reply.

"And who was that?" you ask him.

Nanuk smiles, "That's not quite right. I was there and yes there was this barter, but your father met with some of the Rebel Alliance military command, including the head of covert operations."

"Well, I don't know, I know he goes by the name Fulcrum, but that's all I know," he tells you in a sigh "Anyway, your father joined the Alliance and-"

"I don't understand." you interrupt him "We are a peaceful Planet, we didn't need alliances or covert operations." you say starting to gesture.

"The covert operation is called the Arkanan Blossom." he says looking you straight in the eyes making your heart flutter "And that operation involves the arrival of the Blossom on Planet Ajan Kloss where the planet's representative in the Imperial Senate and Superior is located. That's all I know."

"And we are going there?" you ask him feeling very nervous.

"I can't do it alone. I need someone who knows the Galaxy, who knows how to protect you, and I-"

"But you saved me! Who better than you...!" you're about to say.

He smiles, "I have no weapons. This ship has no weapons on board, it's a ship made for the purpose of protecting you Princess, but nothing else." he explains.

"So where are we going? And who are we going to ask for help?"

"We're going to Coruscant and there we're going to ask for a person." he answers you vaguely, going back to looking at the star map on the screen.

Your traveling companion - NK - 841 - keeps you a lot of company at the end it has become almost a friend, or a sort of. Nanuk and the robot are the only ones you trust. Without them you wouldn't know what to do or where to go.

You have never made interplanetary travel, you are not used to it and in fact you are sick. You are constantly throwing up. According to Nanuk it also depends on the change in gravitational pressure from one Planet to another. You travel for what it feels like months, years. Actually yours is an eight-week journey. During these weeks you search the computers for everything you can find about the New Republic, the Rebel Alliance and the Galactic Empire. Your head is bursting. This is another effect of the different gravitational pressure according to the man but, you think, depends on the considerable amount of information you're trying to make your own in a short time.

You wouldn’t trust anyone else.

"Are you sure it's the right place?" you ask him hesitantly.

Coruscant is a very different planet from yours. In fact, when the spacecraft lands, an immense city presents itself to your eyes, which has been building and renewing itself for thousands and thousands of years, according to Nanuk. There is no green area, there are no animals or plants. You look towards Nanuk looking for security in his eyes, it arrives immediately thanks to his reassuring look and his warm smile, then you hear him ask permission to land, permission which is immediately agreed upon. The runway almost seems to collapse on your approach and the spacecraft appears to be almost sucked into a dark gorge. You find yourself nervously shaking Nanuk's hand looking at you tenderly, "It's okay, Princess." he repeats to you over and over until you relax next to him.

Before opening, the man checks that the air is breathable for you too and after having ascertained this, he opens the hatch and, as soon as you set foot on the platform, three spaceships suspended in mid-air immediately surround you from which sapphire-blue beings emerge asking you what business brings you there. Nanuk speaks, while two of these strange creatures watch you and your companion. When the creatures calm down about your presence, they move away from you by boarding the ships and disappear at the speed of light.

"Yes. He's always around here. We are looking for a place where travelers can drink or eat after long journeys, someone will have seen it or maybe he will be the one to show up." he replies encouragingly.

"Can NK – 841 also come with us?" you ask him by turning slightly and noticing that the robot had followed you some distance away.

Nanuk turns, "All right, come NK – 841." then the robot reaches you and immediately stands by your side, you smile even if you know it can't smile back or rejoice.

All three of you climb onto a huge disk surrounded by sheets of ice which then, once inside, close and then climb. You observe in amazement the many buildings that present themselves to your eyes, the multitude of creatures that live and work around you. It's a completely different world than yours.

Once you arrive, the ice sheets open, allowing you to enter an immense corridor with blue and white colours, on the sides there are dozens of doors from which as many dozens of strange-looking and colored creatures enter and exit. All this makes you press against Nanuk almost scared.

"It's okay, child. Nobody wants to hurt you, they're all engaged in trade, see?" the man tells you by pointing to the various funny characters from one side of the corridor to the other, exchanging small or large wooden, metal and other objects crates.

Finally, you arrive in a room with a vaulted ceiling made up of many topaz-colored glass that makes the place of yellow and ocher colors shine. Inside there are some diners, none have a vaguely human appearance. There's only one that reminds you of a human being, or almost. Or maybe you're wrong, I mean, you can't see his face, he's from behind, what's clear is that he's wearing a helmet and a cloak.

"Wait here, sit down." Nanuk tells you "NK – 841 stay with her." he adds and then walks away towards the creature, who knows maybe it's a droid!

You sit and watch the man talk to the thing, you can't hear what they say to each other. You just look worriedly at your robot friend "I hope everything is fine." you whisper, the robot turns towards you, but the only answer it gives you are beep beep sounds and you smile if you think the only company is this robot, Nanuk and probably another robot that now is watching you, it has already done it at least three times and it's making you nervous. Is this a good sign? Why did Nanuk say we need him? For weapons? Do you have one?

You find yourself swallowing.

The android turns back to Nanuk who is talking, you see him. You have no idea what they are saying to each other, could it be that this android is also a trader? If so, what kind of negotiation does Nanuk want to do? Nanuk hasn't told you exactly why you need him, but you are getting impatient and are about to walk toward them, when it's Nanuk who walks back toward you and the android turns his back on you again.

"What's going on?" you ask him worriedly making your gaze linger on the mysterious being.

"It's all right, we'll go with him," he replies.

"Um, wait what about our spacecraft? Why? Who is it?" you are increasingly confused.

"Princess, our spacecraft can't travel for much longer in hyperspace, but his" alludes to the android's spaceship "can," he answers your first question.

"And why should it help us? Who is it to us? Is it one of our allies -- someone who owes a debt to my father…?" you ask still puzzled.

"He…" he's about to answer you, but suddenly a commotion is heard that makes all the diners raise their heads, dust begins to fall from the ceiling "They're already here," Nanuk says "quick," he adds grabbing your hand abruptly and pulling you away.

The diners escape by disappearing behind various doors, you two - followed by your robot friend - enter the same door you entered through, you and Nanuk run, but you don't head for your spacecraft but, once you enter the corridor, you take the first door to the left, you find yourself on an airstrip/takeoff, you seek Nanuk's gaze, who instead pulls out what looks like a weapon "What's that?" you ask frightened "But who are we running from? What's going on, Nanuk?"

Suddenly strange white-armored creatures start firing at you, "Run!" shouts Nanuk as he resumes running and from time to time turns to fire toward those mysterious beings, "Don't stop, run!" he exclaims as he stops.

"NANUK!" you call to him, "What are you doing?"

"Princess, it has been an honor to serve you and your family," he says looking fleetingly into your eyes "I saw you being born and would have liked to have seen you arrive at your destination, NK - 841 from now on you answer only to her." you look at him frightened "Now run, I will hold them off as long as I can. The spaceship is up ahead. Go,"

"But--" you are about to say.

"Go!" he shouts and then turns to face those creatures that are incessantly firing at you, you see nothing else because you turn your head and run, you see green laser beams hitting the earth a short distance from you, dust rising, you run, but you don't know where since you see nothing. The spaceship Nanuk was talking about is not there.

"It won't stop," replies a cavernous voice.

You are almost at the end of your strength when a spaceship appears from above, you stop, breathless. The spaceship with a puff opens the hatch to allow you to enter which you immediately do. You don't know if it's the right one, you don't know if you've done it right, but you get in, indeed both you and NK - 841 get in. When you are inside, the hatch closes and the spaceship leaves, you watch the earth move farther and farther away from you, you see Nanuk over there.

You see him fighting again and again, he's always been a fighter, but now he's alone. Alone against dozens of those white beings, you lean your hands on the porthole and watch, that's all you can do. You almost scream when you see one of those laser beams pierce him, "No, no, no, NANUK!" you scream clapping your hands against the porthole, "How do you stop this thing?" you almost scream looking around and looking for levers or switches, but there is nothing.

When you turn around, you realize you are on the right spaceship with the strange thing on board.

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deltas-writing-corner · 4 years ago

Text

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand.

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are.

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day.

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation.

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human.

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation.

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable.

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?”

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place…

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!”

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night.

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness-

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then.

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet.

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely.

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts.

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down.

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated.

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior.

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated.

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

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givemethatgold · 4 years ago

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 1

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship

Length: 1.4k

Notes: Okay, here we go! Giving our babe Frankie an ending he deserves, with a few bumps along the way for fun. Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛

It was almost comical, you thought, at how different the realtor's listing was, compared to the real thing. You’d seen it enough times in bad Hallmark romances: city girl buys a property, property is falling apart, city girl miraculously has the funds to fix it up with the help of the perfect farmer neighbour.

This was reality though and you had already poured your life’s savings, which amounted to very little after all the surprise debts had been paid off, into this farmhouse.

The "Quaint New England farmhouse, filled with the patina of a bygone era" was a wreck. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The crumbling two-story, just a few minutes drive from the small Vermont town, hadn’t been occupied in over a decade and was now in a total state of disrepair.

Swallowing back your tears, feeling the burn behind your eyes and the hot swelling in your throat, you told yourself there wasn’t time for a breakdown. You first needed to take stock of the depth of damage, decide which rooms were habitable enough for the time being, clean, unpack, and prepare yourself for this new life.

The next few hours went by in an exhausting blur. By late evening, there was a larger-than-expected pile of rotten, broken, or otherwise unusable furniture in the driveway; your meager few belongings taking their place. On top of renovations and remodeling it appeared you would also be refurbishing.

Sitting on the porch in the one spot where you felt confident the decking wouldn’t crumble beneath your weight, you looked over your list.

3 cracked windows (can wait?)

no running water in kitchen (ASAP FIX!)

missing shingles (bad??)

deck boards and upstairs bedroom floorboards rotten

carpeted bathroom

questionable smell coming from attic space

peeling wallpaper/paint EVERYWHERE

Folding the list and slipping it into your back pocket, you made your way back inside to discover one last glaring issue, previously unnoticed until now. The electricity had been shut off.

Well, fuck me sideways...

Deciding it was too late and you were too tired to deal with anything else today, you settled for the flashlight on your cellphone for light. Eating the apple you had nicked from the motel lobby the night before, you laid back in your makeshift bed on the floor and gazed around your new home.

Your home.

The first thing you had ever owned on your own.

First, the corner of your mouth quirked up then you quickly allowed it to flourish into a grin. It may be a piece of shit, but then again, you were always attracted to broken things with the innate need to fix them. Maybe this time you’d actually succeed. With that sobering thought, you settled down into your sleeping bag and were quickly asleep.

Frankie couldn’t believe his eyes when he drove past the old McClure farm. Some fool had actually bought it! Chuckling to himself, he could already imagine the gossip that would spread through town tomorrow, everyone clambering to find out who had moved in.

He had moved out this way five years ago and was still considered the “new guy” in town. Hopefully, the new arrival would take that mantle and everyone could start using Frankie’s actual name.

He’ll probably just be dubbed “newer guy”...

Breathing out a huff of a laugh at the thought, Frankie began to turn down his driveway. The long, meandering drive leads to a barn surrounded by rows and rows of apple trees.

Two weeks after having moved in, you’re certain you’ve met, or at least seen, everyone from the town. Muffins, pie, casseroles, and even a case of cider had been brought over by a few of the braver townsfolk who drove out to say hello. While they may have been thinly veiled excuses to come snoop, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The food was delicious, and best of all, it was free.

She had stayed for most of the afternoon, helping you clean and setting her kids about to do menial chores. The eldest, Cole, was sent scurrying up the road to tell his dad to bring Gerta. ... You dared not ask.

The very first visitor was a neighbour from just down the road. “Jacquie,” she had informed you over the noise of her four kids running around the yard, “How do you do?”

She said it with the barest hint of a southern drawl and you instantly fell in love with the soft cadence of her voice. With a beaming smile and a surreptitious wipe of your dusty hand on your pant leg, you shook her hand and introduced yourself.

A short time later, the most devastatingly handsome, all-American-looking man you had ever seen climbed out of a tractor and started carrying a large object towards the house, Cole at his heels.

“Jac, babe, where d’you want her?” He called, voice straining a bit due to the weight in his arms. Smiling at you, he nodded his head in greeting, "Hiya, neighbour! The name’s Mark"

“Oh, I don’t need it,” Jacquie replied airily “I just wanted an excuse to watch your muscles at work.”

With a roll of his eyes, that did nothing to hide the adoring sparkle in them, her husband carried his load to the side of the house and with a thump, set it down.

Turns out that Jacquie had a fondness for naming EVERYTHING and Gerta was their gas-powered generator. Claiming they had no use for it, Gerta was yours to keep for as long as you needed her. Which, you had to be honest, was looking like a good long while. Willing away the tears, not for the last time you were sure, brought on by her kindness, you settled for giving her a bear hug. It wasn’t until you heard a little voice calling “Mama?” that you realized you had been clinging to Jacquie for longer than could ever be considered acceptable.

Pulling away gingerly, you started to apologize, quickly stopped by her hand coming up in front of your face, making you involuntarily flinch.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” She started to exclaim before taking a deeper look at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the side and hollered at Mark to gather the kids and head home.

“I’ll be back past bedtime, so come give me y’all kisses now!” She lovingly bossed her brood.

Once they had cleared out, she turned to you, gently taking your hands in hers, and said, “Now, where do you want to start?”

“What kind of voodoo, witch doctor, hippy-dippy magic do you possess?!” you asked with a laugh while sniffing back the lingering tears.

You had just laid out your entire life to a complete stranger. She had sat there, the whole time, holding your hands and your gaze while you had talked. Everything, you had told her absolutely everything. From the California upbringing in an affluential family to marrying your Highschool Sweetheart days after graduation. The sudden move, his surprise enlistment, his changing demeanor, the beginnings of abuse, all ending with his death while stationed overseas.

The pathetic Death Gratuity from the military barely covered the truck. You’d had to sell everything in order to settle all remaining debts. Your parents had offered to move you back home but the thought just made you ashamed. Moving back home? Being seen as a victim, being pitied by those who had seen your potential wasted? No way.

“Nothin’ supernatural, Darlin,” she assured you, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. It appeared that your emotions had started to affect her as well, you noticed with chagrin. “just the power of a good friend and a strong cider.”

Then came the aftermath. The debt collectors, the funeral without a body, his family claiming anything of value and you meekly allowing it, unaccustomed by that point to standing up for yourself. His grooming of you had started so early, and so slightly, that no one had seen it happen. He had controlled every aspect of your lives; it had made you feel like a fool during that first month as a widow. How could you not know about the multiple maxed-out credit cards? The ignored truck payments? The bank loans?!

That comment made you look around and laugh, breaking the morose atmosphere in a flash. Scattered around the two of you were at least a half dozen bottles of the alcoholic beverage, which you had both sipped on during your sad monologue.

“Ahh, so it’s the maker of the drink I’ll have to kiss,” you proclaimed with a laugh. “I just saved a fortune in therapy bills!”

With a sly smile, Jacquie nodded, “That you will, send him my best when you do.”

Part Two

#oh look! another fic i wont finish #fix'er upper #frankie x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #francisco morales x you

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elucien · 3 years ago

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“Is it because I’m your mate? Or is it because I don’t whisper pretty words to you, or refuse to believe that there isn’t more to you? Would you prefer it instead if I knelt in front of you and offered the food, or fed it to you myself? Or does it enrage you that the world no longer caters to you here, in the depths of the wilderness?” His eye gleams, and there it is, clear as day; embers sparking in the depths. Anger. Clear as day. “I will do no such thing, Elain. And you will eat, because I will not carry out a mission that involves a fainting Fae that refuses to eat because it is not the fare that she ate in the palace of a High Lord.”

“I didn’t ask to come here,” snarls Elain, fists clenching at her side.

“Oh, but you volunteered, yes? Because I recall you offering when Feyre and Rhysand asked.”

She grows silent then, fingers furling and unfurling. Fingers, he notices, that are scarflecked, and because she’d refused to wear the gloves that he’d given her for a solstice.

oneshot (?) set while lucien, elain, and jurian travel through the continent to find vassa and koschei. sort of involves lucien and elain talking about the bond, and is sort of how i’d see their dynamic??? still exploring it though. let me know if y’all like it :’)

The night is a lively thing, with the humming of crickets, fluttering of effervescent butterflies, and the river that seemed to murmur, a steady whisper as it rushed past the camp that the Band of Exiles had set up. The clearing was lovely, really; the flowers are breathtaking, and perhaps not as lovely as the ones that had clamored for their attention while steadily poisoning the air, but these are a close second.

Or at least Jurian had said so, before strapping a baldric over his chest and venturing off into the forest to find their dinner. So that had left Elain to tend to the fire, or at least in name, because its Lucien who continues to feed it the wood he’d chopped earlier, all while continuing setting up p the tents. The fish he’d caught earlier in the day had been eaten, and there’s still a meager amount of the smoked salmon left, wrapped in something Jurian had brought with him, but she doesn’t near it. Doesn’t want to touch it. Eat it.

She does not want to be here, dressed in God knows what, with two others that she has no desire to speak to. There had been a time period where she’d wanted to speak to Lucien, out of curiosity, maybe, but that had changed with a vision of a roofless palace with pillars buried in the dunes of a desert with a starflecked sky. A vision where she’d been entirely bare, laying atop a flat bed while Lucien dragged a finder down her bare spine, as if in wonder. In awe.

And there had been others, enough to fill her veins with rage and fury, to leave her seething at a world that had seemingly chosen everything for her and given her no say. The visions she’d learned to control, all by summoning that anger and bringing up walls that were more like hedges, closing off a garden that had once been blooming, with flowers and plants that had been bursting, thrumming with life. Now they are all stems, and it is eternal winter.

“Jurian’s still got an hour ahead of him,” says Lucien, his voice rough, showing wear from the other day.

His pants are no longer rolled up but his sleeves are, offering her a glimpse of sunkissed skin and arms corded with muscle. Perhaps he had been an emissary, but he is also still High Fae, and one gifted at weaponry. It’s enough to summon a shudder that she does not suppress.

Let him see how she feels.

He notices it, cataloguing with movement as he always does, but he ignores it this time, sitting on the fallen log that is across from hers. His auburn hair is unbound and it seems to glitter from the light of the dancing flames. He is not like her or Jurian, who seem to be out of place within the wild forests of the continent; he seems to be a part of it.

He hands her the wrapped fish, but she does not take it. Elain merely stares, her nose wrinkling.

“I know you don’t want to be here, Elain,” starts Lucien, his russett eye ablaze, “but I don’t want to either. I don’t find much joy being in the company of someone who cannot stand to be around me, and neither does Jurian. I’m merely attempting to be polite; and you are, in fact, starving. So eat.”

Her hunger tugs at him too; a reminder of the bond that she’s set on ignoring, on the hum that’s often drowned by her rage and fury. A lifeline. That’s what it is, in the sea of emotion that she often ignores, finding that it’s far more simple to provide pretty smiles and kind words. Sit still and look pretty, her mother had once said, And you will find that the world will be far more kind to you.

And so Elain Archeron had learned to wield her looks and kindness as a dagger, with the strategies of a general.

“I’m not hungry,” says Elain in answer, tugging at the tunic that’s still too short, leaving her thighs exposed.

The clearing seems to quiet as Lucien simply stares. It is not a look of anger, nor one filled with contemplation, but a hint at his past, at the years spent as emissary, where one misplaced look could spell disaster for whatever he’d been assigned to. The sly little thing is hiding his emotions, but she knows that all it would take to read him is one simple look at the vine covered corridor that stretches between their very souls.

Instead of frowning, his lips curve up into a smile that screams trouble. “Liar.”

There’s a wolf that lurks beneath Elain’s otherwise impassive surface, one with claws and teeth that are capable of shredding into one’s soul, and he’d seen it come out to play before. He’d seen it before they left Veleris, when she’d caught sight of Azriel standing with the priestess, Gwyneth. Had noticed how she’d stiffened when the girl had taken the Illyrian’s scarred hands in hers. The sorrow did not come that day; he’d grown used to its presence long ago.

Still, Elain does not reply.

And so Lucien leans back, resting a hand on the rough bark of the log before striking.

“I didn’t ask to come here,” snarls Elain, fists clenching at her side.

“Oh, but you volunteered, yes? Because I recall you offering when Feyre and Rhysand asked.”

She grows silent then, fingers furling and unfurling. Fingers, he notices, that are scarflecked, and because she’d refused to wear the gloves that he’d given her for a solstice.

“I don’t want to be here too,” repeats Lucien, and the anger that had flickered is replaced with such endless sadness, but it ebs away in a second. “There is nothing that I find I enjoy in being in your company, Elain, and particularly when you look at me with resentment. I did not anticipate a trip that would span months with my mate who cannot speak a word to me, and who looks at me as if she is shackled to me. As if she is a prisoner.”

Shackled. There it is, an entryway to his soul. A look at how she has hurt him. But she did not intend to, as she had not intended to hurt Nesta in the House of Wind. She doesn't know how to handle emotion, and there is the matter of how he is tied into her trauma, how his hair reminds her of the nightmares that begin with her sprawled on the cold marble of the throne room in Hybern.

“I did not ask for this,” continues Lucien, and there is the reminder that he had loved another before her, and had spent centuries mourning her, decades lost in his grief. “I did not enter that throne room willingly, Elain, nor did I know what would happen to you. And I fought it with every fiber of my being, not because I suspected you may be my mate, but because it was wrong. And yet you look at me as if I myself had done it to you.”

He gestures to her, to the limbs that had been lengthened, the ears that poke through her curls. “As if I did that.”

Lucien does not see the point in mentioning that he knows she mourns the affections of the Illyrian, or that she still had moments where the rejection of Greyson is blinding, crippling, even. He does not enjoy the information that is shouted down the bond, despite it offering insight on her soul, because it is a violation. It is not information surrendered willingly.

She remains silent, and for a moment he contemplates leaving and finding Jurian, but Feyre’s words return to him, in a rush as steady as that of the river behind their camp. Stay patient.

Elain speaks, and there is steel in her eyes, but also pain, and anger, stark against the other emotions. “I came because I couldn’t bear to look at everyone, and to see the understanding in their eyes. To see that they knew… and because I am no longer a child to be coddled.”

She lifts her chin now, and she reaches for the food that he’d set down, taking it in her grasp. “It is because my decisions are meant to be mine, and no one else’s. It is because I am the keeper of my own fate, and I will not allow it to be decided by anyone, not anymore.”

Lucien tilts his head slightly, as if absorbing her words. “Eat.”

Elain bristles at that, and he smiles tauntingly before holding his hands up.

“I’m not asking anything from you, Elain. Nor will I. But if we’re to spend months together, it would help if I didn’t feel as if you felt more inclined to jump off a cliff than to listen to me.”

She peers up from the fish, her eyes still gleaming with the irritation that had come from his order, and chews slowly. As if in careful deliberation.

“We can start over,” says Lucien as he rises, making towards his horse. “It doesn’t have to be a friendship, or anything, not in particular. But anything is better than this.”

The roar of the flames is perhaps the only sound in the clearing as Lucien searches in his pack for a dagger.

“My name’s Elain,” she begins as she stands. Wisps of hair escaped from her bun and fall in front of her face, and there’s a smudge of dirt on her cheekbone. Despite her wear, she’s lovely, and to Lucien, the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

Lucien steps towards her, and in that very moment, his size hits her. He’s far larger than she’d expected, taller than Graysen and Azriel, and well-muscled. Then there’s the matter of the power that thrums from him, as if singing to her, and she pauses, distracted for a fleeting moment before continuing.

“And I didn’t like gardening. Not at first. My mother told me to do it because it was fitting for a lady, and a better talent than painting. But I did it to escape the house and to enter another world,” offers Elain. “And I grew to love it. There’s something about giving life, and tending to it, and seeing the product of your efforts.”

Information in turn for what he had revealed; it is not from the kindness in her heart, but because he had bared a piece of himself. The wolf had made its appearance yet again, but this time in calculation and cunning. The others in Velaris are fools for not recognizing the wit and the strength, and for the neglect as well.

She did not do well in the halls of the riverside mansion, but here she seems to grow, seems to have life in her eyes, movement. In time he would see the wolf that lurked beneath a doe’s skin.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

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Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed.

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock!

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths.

It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then.

Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird.

They were starting to scare me, really.

“There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?”

“Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

“You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?”

The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if we have no victim,”

“But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

“Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy.

Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it.

———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down.

Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed.

Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy.

I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site.

I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it.

Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground.

Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him.

Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb.

My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated.

He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg.

The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me.

I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers.

The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’.

Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty.

I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell.

With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone.

I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster.

Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

“Get out of there, Seam brat!”

I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door.

A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason.

Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face.

A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!”

The boy scurried by with his head down.

My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction.

I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck.

When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!”

Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us.

“No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while.

When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways.

All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg.

While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me.

After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow.

“Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

“You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

“I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless.

——————-

One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise.

A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare.

I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

“Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was.

From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin.

“I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly.

“Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy.

“My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

“Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion.

Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes.

I felt smug and satisfied.

I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk.

“Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe.

“It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

I nodded.

“So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

“Same.”

He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,”

Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!”

I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game.

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it.

He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them.

Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama.

My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability.

He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd.

Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly?

Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me.

I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

“Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh.

Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed.

“Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world.

I nodded.

Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,”

Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.”

“Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

“For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

“Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?”

Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body.

“Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage.

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

The other girls hummed their yeses.

“Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!”

There were gasps all around.

It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

“What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody.

I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree.

‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with.

“Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

A big “Oh!” Swept the room.

Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all.

Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them.

Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on.

“That’s awful!” Said a girl.

“I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

“I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

“Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

“Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one.

I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker.

Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?”

My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

“Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

“Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

“It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

“Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises.

I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate.

Still…

“No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning.

“Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

“Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly.

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals.

The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me.

Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily.

Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain.

It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too.

We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.

It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup.

Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me.

I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone.

“There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me.

“I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate.

Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address.

After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe.

Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

“What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears.

Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit.

First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself?

“Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest.

“What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered.

“He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.”

I turned 16 that spring.

I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back.

I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

“Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass.

“And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

“That’ll take weeks!”

“Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!”

“Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

“What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

“Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

“I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes.

Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody.

I gasped. That had never happened before.

“How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically.

“Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly.

“What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there.

Whatever happened, was bad.

“Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced.

“No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot.

Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad.

“Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,”

“We’ll see.”

The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by.

“Look!” Gale shouted.

A shaky “D12” appeared under my message.

A relieved gasp left my mouth.

“District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2”

We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him!

I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

The answer came back faster. “S H”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned, “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

“Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such.

“Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

“He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

“Mmm… asking has been working so far,”

“Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,”

“You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

“Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

“There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,”

“You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

“YES NE”

“North East! I told you it’ll work!”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

“K”

With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district.

“Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!”

There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy.

“Anybody here?” I called again.

A weak cough answered in the distance.

I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone.

“Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me.

“Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks.

I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

“Well, don’t step on me!”

I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain.

I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue.

“Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

“I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way.

“How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

“Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again.

I was momentarily frightened.

“Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,”

His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?”

I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

“Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree.

“And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice.

He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional.

“Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

“Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly.

I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,”

He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…”

“Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

“I’m so tired, Katniss,”

“I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

“I can’t go back to my house though—“

“You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely.

I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming,

“Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated.

And that was that!

——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline.

“My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

“Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer.

“My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

“That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

“After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away.

“What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

“The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple.

I caressed his arm to sooth him.

He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

“How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius.

Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?”

“Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head.

“Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers.

Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?”

“I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

“Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

“The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

The officers stared at me, flabbergasted.

Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me.

Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers.

“Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook.

“Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!”

“No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

“It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,”

Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

“‘kay.”

“Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly.

Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned.

I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

“Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which.

“So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string.

I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods.

“Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

“Like the sunset,” he finished for me.

Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already.

He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,”

He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”

My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,”

“Thank you for finding me,”

“Thank you for leading me to you,”

We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

“Katniss…”

“Mmm,”

“We are soulmates.”

I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff.

“If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

“It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips.

My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course.

“Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed.

After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief.

I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had.

“I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

“I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

“Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up.

“I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie.

“Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed.

“Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?”

I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness.

The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement.

Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons.

Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants.

Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help.

The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure.

The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope.

It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves.

“I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once.

After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18.

Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips.

On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control.

My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul.

After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

“You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

“Real.”

He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?”

“Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

“Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

#alliswell21 #lovely-tothe-bone #prompt 154 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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haztory · 4 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards.

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer.

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable.

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief.

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer.

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better.

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost.

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you.

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted.

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here.

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence.

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other.

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his.

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself.

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch.

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal.

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you.

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all.

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #my writing #adri your love for blond men is showing #nanami kento x you

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Text

Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home.

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case.

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away.

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy.

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone.

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance.

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile.

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

#tma #the magnus archives #tmagerryweek2021 #gerry keay #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jongerrymartin #my writing

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cancelingthenoise · 3 years ago

Text

Unworthy

Soooo, after a 13 year hiatus, I’m trying to get back into writing and where better to start than fan fiction and with my fave OTP. But buckle up, it’s a heavy one. Hopefully I’ve tagged all the appropriate trigger warnings; apologies if I’ve missed any - please let me know if I have!!

Summary: Addict. Junkie. Worthless. He has been gone for three years and is ready to come home, but his biggest enemy is still the one inside.

Rated: Mature (Addiction, Recovery, Implied Drug Use, Drug References, Mild Sexual Content)

Cross-posted to FFN and AO3

He inserts the coins and dials a number he knows by heart. The only one that is permanently branded into the recesses of his mind. As it rings, he hopes – let it be the right number, let it still be her number, let her pick up …

Hello?

“Kagome.”

Inu … Inuyasha?

“I … want to come home.”

Where are you?

He tells her the city, the intersection, the name on the warehouse nearby. Everything that can pinpoint exactly where he is so she can find him.

I’m on my way. Stay put.

There’s a tone in her voice he can’t identify and it sends pangs straight to his heart, but she’s coming. She’s coming.

And so, he waits.

Two hours later a familiar red sedan pulls up in front of him and its driver approaches. She’s older now, tired, he notices as he stands to greet her. He watches as she looks him over. He’s dirty, he knows, and even his demon-blood cannot mask how battered and bruised he is. He’s shocked but admittedly pleased when she wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes him in an embrace. Her scent is altogether lovely and calming, like coming home.

It takes every fiber of his being not to whine when she pulls away and looks him square in the eyes. Her grey eyes are intense and full of contrasting emotions. All for him. “Let’s go.” She finally speaks, her tone decisive and unyielding.

He has nothing but the clothes on his back, but instead of a pitying glance, she nods. It’s almost cathartic that she’s here and he has no physical baggage to take. She tosses her purse from the passenger seat into the back so he can settle in.

He notices the ring when she places her hands on the steering wheel. Ten-and-two, ever predictable.

“You’re engaged.” He cannot hide the shock, the disdain that he feels.

“Yes.”

Her response is sharp and leaves no invitation for a response, but he can’t help it as the jealousy bubbles up through his core.

“Had enough waiting on the addict to clean up his act?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels instant regret. He’s always been a hothead who runs his mouth before thinking, but he can tell these words sting deep. They pain him too.

She flinches and releases a haggard breath.

“That’s not fair. You left. You stopped calling. You stopped picking up. You couldn’t even text. And then your number went out. Now you’ve called me from a payphone. It’s been three years.” Her eyes remain firmly on the road, hands clenching the wheel, but he can see her body tremble and hear the strain in her voice. She’s angry. Furious.

He slumps, “I’m sorry.” His whisper is meek as he understands a mere apology is not nearly enough to make amends for the past. It doesn’t explain why he had to disappear, why he went away for so long. It can’t make her understand his reasons.

She nods almost imperceptibly and seems to consider a game plan. “I’ll take you to Sesshomaru’s.”

“No.” He’s vehement. There’s no chance in hell he will turn to his half-brother. Especially now.

“Sango and Miroku’s then.”

“And?” He balks at the conjunction.

“They’re married now. Have been for a year. You would’ve been his Best Man, but …”

She trails off, but he understands. They couldn’t find him, reach him. The hole he left in their lives appears to be much greater than he imagined.

They drive in silence for nearly an hour. He wants to speak, wants to tell her everything, but he can’t find the words; and based on the furtive glances she keeps sending him, she can’t either.

“I was so scared you were dead.” She finally whimpers.

“Some days I wished I was.” He admits forlornly.

She looks at him for a few moments before staring back at the road, brows furrowed, mouth turned down.

“I’m glad you’re not.”

Those are the last words spoken before silence consumes them again.

After they hit the city limits, she drives to a house in the suburbs. It looks like a dream with its double-attached garage and neatly manicured lawn. A chokecherry tree sits among a bed of flowers in the middle of the green; simple yet attractive and he knows whose home he stands in front of. She leads him from the driveway to the royal blue front door and it opens almost immediately, revealing two faces he has longed to see almost as much as Kagome’s. Their expressions are a combination of disbelief and relief. Miroku does not hesitate to embrace him with a sigh as Sango looks on with tears in her eyes. He reaches a tentative hand out to her which she grasps tightly with a closed smile.

They usher him into the house and guide him to their kitchen. Miroku settles him into a spot at the breakfast bar as Sango pours him a glass of water. They do not speak, though the questions in their eyes are obvious. Miroku nods at him as he and Sango walk back to the door, to Kagome. She hasn’t come in. Her face has been drawn since they stopped speaking during the drive.

He waits inside the kitchen as they speak outside. He could train his ears to listen to their conversation, and briefly considers it, but he chooses not to. His absence has prohibited him from those intimacies. They are different people now, just as he is. They are probably discussing how to get him on his feet again as quickly as possible so they can get back to their lives. Why would they want him to stay? Why would they want him around for longer than necessary?

Miroku and Sango return to him. He hears the telltale roar of an engine and knows Kagome has gone. He feels sadness, but knows why she’s left without a word. After all, who can jump right into caring for your former partner who has all but risen from the grave?

Sango looks him over, assessing him thoroughly. He avoids her eyes, unsure of what emotions she’s wearing and afraid to meet them. Shame fills his bones. Maybe he should have stayed away. Maybe he should have stayed dead in their minds. He is a spot on their pristine lives.

Miroku refills his glass of water and replaces it on the counter before sitting on the stool beside him.

“You’re alive,” he finally breathes.

Inuyasha meets Miroku’s gaze and is warmed to see compassion and joy in his deep blue eyes. The shame that was eating him just moments ago fades ever so slightly.

“You’re home.” Miroku states, “It’s a miracle. Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

The dam is officially broken and all the questions that he knew were coming are finally bare, and despite everything, he feels entirely unprepared to answer. So he starts slow, begins with the day they last saw him. He tells them of his travels, the hitchhiking, the homelessness, but skimps out on the details of things he has done, the sins he has committed. Those are secrets he will take to the grave. He is unwilling to mar the consciences of those he loves.

“Have you…” Sango shakes her head, unable to finish her question, but he fully comprehends what she means to ask.

“No. I’ve been clean since the day I left.”

“Then why?”

“Loose ends.” He murmurs. “I had to settle my debts. They … they would’ve come for her if I didn’t comply.”

“For so long?”

Three years is nothing, he wants to tell them. He’s lucky he only had to serve that long. Naraku is a malevolent bastard and exploits the last breath out of most. Frankly, his death would have been an easier price to pay.

“I had to earn my freedom.” He admits this ashamedly and hopes they don’t press for more.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t so simple.”

“So you disappeared.” Sango states brusquely, her tone is harsh and unforgiving. “You broke her heart, you know. You broke all of our hearts when you left.”

That admission freezes him from the inside. He knew his absence would be difficult for them all, but hearing it spoken aloud affects him more than he thought it would. He imagines Kagome sobbing into her pillow. It’s a scene that is all too familiar, he’s caused her many tears – too many.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He repeats his submissive apology from earlier and slumps, his forehead almost touching the counter.

“You’re here now,” Miroku responds comfortingly and places a hand on his shoulder, “You’re here. You’re alive. You’re safe. That’s what matters. We can help you now, if you want it.”

He lifts his head and looks directly at Sango whose cinnamon eyes convey grief and yet hold a glimmer of hope. He turns to Miroku who is awaiting his response.

“Yes.” He declares, confidence daring to materialize, “Please.”

Later that evening he is settling into the spare bedroom they’ve given him. Before him is a suitcase of his belongings that Kagome has dropped off on the front step. He takes a breath and opens it. He is quickly overcome with her sweet scent which is deeply embedded in each item. The clothes are slightly too big for him now. Three years of constantly moving, being on the run, and meager meals have diminished his former stature.

Amongst his clothes is a red leather-bound book. A journal. It smells more intimately of Kagome than everything else. She has wept openly on these pages, he can tell. He opens it and thumbs quickly through the pages. Each entry is a letter addressed to him. As he flips through the journal certain phrases jump out at him amidst the lines of her loopy hand.

I want to hate you.

Where are you?

I wish I had never met you.

Are you alive?

I wish I could hold you.

Please come home.

I love you.

He shudders as he realizes that these pages hold missives from the last three years. These are Kagome’s thoughts, her feelings. This is an intimacy he thought was nearly impossible now. She has to have put this with his things on purpose. She’s thorough like that. Every action is purposeful, thoughtful. He finds the last entry in the journal, it’s dated today.

Inuyasha,

This is a collection of letters that I began writing when I realized you weren’t coming home anytime soon. Eventually I thought you weren’t coming home at all. I used these to talk to you as if you were still by my side. I don’t know what you’ve been through and maybe giving you this journal is selfish of me, but I needed you to see.

I hope they help you understand why I can’t be the one to help you right now. I need time. It’s ironic saying that after you’ve been gone for three years. It feels like there’s been nothing but time between us. I thought you were dead when I received your call today. I thought I was hearing a ghost. I’m so grateful you’re alive, but things are different now. We are not the same people we were before.

I need to figure this out.

Please understand.

Kagome

It isn’t until tears splatter on the page that he realizes he is crying. Of course she needs time. He knew this was a possibility when he made the phone call this afternoon. He’d hoped against hope that she would come for him and take him back fully. But that was wishful thinking. He knew there was a chance she would turn him away. She could have hung up as soon as she heard his voice. But she came for him, made arrangements for him. But she is engaged to another man. She needs to figure out if there is still room in her life for him.

For her, he’d wait a lifetime. Even to just be her friend.

It is another three months before he sees Kagome again. He’s read that journal more times than he cares to admit. All her sleepless nights are immortalized in those grid-lined pages, that he’s now dog-eared and bookmarked. Her worries, fears, even her dreams laid bare. He knows how often she cried when he was in the depths of his addictions, but it has taken this journal to make him truly appreciate how deeply he hurt her, even after he was gone. And to his astonishment, it wasn’t the behaviour that hurt her the most, it was his poor viewpoint of himself.

I wish you could see you how I do.

I should have told you more what you meant to me.

I regret every moment I didn’t say “I love you.”

He knows Sango sees her regularly, he can always scent her when Sango arrives home. It’s not as if they’re keeping their meetings a secret, but he’s respecting her space even though it kills him. It bothers him when he can smell the sadness of her tears and the tinge of fatigue. He wonders what causes her tears these days, why she’s so often tired, why sometimes there’s a trace of illness in her scent that lingers on Sango. From Miroku he learns that she’s busy with her residency at the hospital. Ever the studious achiever. Ever wanting to help others. To heal.

This is the reason he knows she’d never give up on him. It’s why she was the one he called. She’s a walking bleeding heart, always has been. She sees the best in people, even when their best is a mere speck amidst obscurity. When he was at his worst, she stood by him. When everyone else had lost hope and he’d been slipping deeper into his addictions, his darkness, she stayed. She brought him back from the brink of death’s door one too many times. Back then, she truly loved him. And he’s holding onto hope with every fiber of his being that she still does.

He hopes she’s proud of him and the progress he’s making. Since he’s been back, he’s found work thanks to Miroku’s contacts in construction. He’s proven himself to be a hard worker and has met a journeyman to mentor him as an apprentice in iron work. It’s also helped boost his confidence with reintegrating into society. At work, no one cares what his past is, what skeletons he hides in the closet, as long as he gets the job done. At work, they’re all sinners just trying to get by.

He stays away from the parties and the after-work bar stops. He recognizes the patterns in some of his colleagues all too well. One drink leads to two leads to three leads to smack or blow or both which leads to miserable mornings because you’ve spent all night chasing that first-time spark. No matter how hard you try, you can never attain that feeling again and still you chase. It’s the vicious cycle. He’s done with that life. It’s taken too much away from him, cost him too much.

Miroku and Sango have let him know that Kagome will be coming for dinner, so he’s had ample time to prepare. But when she arrives in the doorway and her scent hits him like a freight train, he panics. Has she had enough time? Has she made a decision? Will she want him to stay away? He runs to his room and leans back against the closed door. He’s stared down the barrels of guns with less fear than what he’s experiencing in this moment.

He smells her before he hears her footsteps arriving at his door. Trepidation grips him as he hears her voice call to him for the first time in three months. This is so much harder than that very first phone call that has brought him home.

“Inuyasha?”

She’s there, he can tell her face is pressed to the wood. Her voice is soft, hesitant. Perhaps she is just as nervous as him.

“Can I come in?”

He quakes as he reaches for the handle and turns it painfully slow. He inches the panel open. Finally, finally, he opens it all the way and turns to face her.

Her face is a portrait of concern and tenderness. Her grey eyes are intense as they’ve always been and are already filling with tears. Her arms are wrapped around herself as if she’s blocking a gale.

He steps aside to let her in and shuts the door behind her.

She stares at the floor and he focuses on a spot on the wall above her head for a few moments. He is completely stunned when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and clutching as hard as she can. As he wraps his arms around her shoulders, she sobs fiercely and he feels tears prick the back of his own eyes.

He cups the back of her head, gently stroking her hair, and whispers repeatedly, “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if hours have passed when Kagome’s tears finally subside. His body protests when she begins to pull away, but she clasps his hand and pulls him to sit on his bed. She pulls a tissue out of her jeans pocket and wipes her face.

“Sango tells me you’ve been working,” her voice is pinched from crying, but he admires her attempts at normal conversation.

“Yeah, it’s going well.”

“Good,”

She smiles then and he thinks it’s the best thing he’s seen in years. Her eyes are red and swollen, and her cheeks are ruddy, but her smile can still light up a room and he’s glad that it’s his.

“I … really am glad that you’re home.”

“Me too,”

“I’ve missed you a lot,

“Me too,” He feels like a goddamn broken record, but he may combust if he attempts more words.

“And … I’d like it if we could start hanging out again.”

He gapes at her, slack-jawed and eyes wide. While he has been hoping for this, it is still a surprise to hear it straight from her lips. His mind races with all the things he wants to say and his heart is lodged in his throat.

“That is … if you’d want to,”

He realizes that he’s taken too long to respond and she’s beginning to backtrack. In a lot of ways, they are still the same people they were; confident in so many circumstances and yet, with each other, eternally hesitant and nervous.

“Of course I want to,”

The words rush out of his mouth in an effort to reassure her.

“I would love to spend time with you. I just wasn’t sure … if you’d …” he’s stumbling and feels like a fool, but he needs her to know. He needs her to understand just how much he wants to be back in her life.

She smiles again and his world warms once more.

“I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.”

It takes him a moment to remember that their friends are downstairs with dinner and they stand together. He realizes as they descend the stairs that she has not let go of his hand at all. Her diamond ring is notably absent from her finger, but he leaves that question for another time.

Dinner is a simple affair and it’s the lightest he’s felt in years.

- - - - -

If there’s anything his life has taught him, it’s that happiness is temporary. Six months of being home, six months of stability, and three months of having Kagome back in his life on a regular basis have made him happy. It’s a feeling he didn’t think was possible, didn’t think he was worthy of. After all, when life has ceaselessly handed him cruel lessons, why would happiness even be an option? So when it all comes crashing down as he’s out running errands with Miroku, it doesn’t surprise him, but it still hurts like a motherfucker.

“It’s you.”

The words are scathing and resentful. He dreadfully lifts his gaze to meet the eyes of the person who seems to offended by his mere existence. She’s a petite woman with short black hair, but the animosity in her eyes belies her diminutive stature.

“How dare you?” Her tone is soft but punitive. “How dare you insert your filthy little hands back into Kagome’s life. She was finally moving on. She was happy. She was going to marry Akitoki, he would have taken care of her. He was good for her. But you couldn’t stay away. She broke off her engagement because of you. You’re taking advantage of her heart. She’s let go of her chance at happiness, and for what? To take care of you? A worthless little nobody who can’t wait for his next fix?”

The woman is viciously relentless. Her diatribe is unforgiving, slicing him to the very bone.

He is completely frozen. He wants to yell back at her, tell her that he’s quite aware of how he is undeserving of Kagome’s compassion and forgiveness. He knows that he’s been the cause of her pain and tears. He knows he’s gotten more second chances than he deserves. He knows her life was easier without him. He knows Kagome is better than him. He knows. Oh, he knows.

He vaguely registers that Miroku has taken a step between them and is reprimanding the woman. Eri, he remembers. She’d been a friend of Kagome’s through school and had been more than vocal of her disapproval of him even then.

Eri quickly turns her malice toward Miroku.

“You’re no friend of Kagome, letting this fuck-up back into her life.”

“That’s enough. I won’t allow you to continue vilifying Inuyasha. And Kagome is fully capable of deciding for herself who she associates with.”

Miroku’s tone is level, but Inuyasha can tell he is running out of patience. Miroku grips his elbow and guides him away from the venomous witch, but not before she can get a final word in.

“You should have stayed dead.”

He flinches then, her phrase echoing endlessly through his mind, settling into his gut and clawing at him from the inside.

Somehow Miroku gets them home, everything is a blur with that bitch’s voice reverberating in his skull. He hears Miroku’s voice, but he cannot focus on the words. All he understands is hatred and disgust. Everything he has worked for is worthless. Is this the way it’s always going to be?

She finds him on the back porch, sitting on the stairs, staring blankly toward the sunset. She sits beside him on the step and sighs. Her voice is weary.

“Miroku told me everything. I’m sorry that happened.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

“What?” Her shock is more than evident. She clutches his forearm with both hands and he can sense her tears beginning to form, “How can you say that?”

He doesn’t dare look at her, he knows it’ll ruin his resolve. As low as he feels, he feels a ripple of anger brewing in his gut. Eri’s words have been festering in his brain, allowing an old and familiar voice to break through. He’s a half-breed, accepted but unlovable. He’s stupid and useless, completely unworthy of happiness. He’s committed too many wrongs to ever deserve redemption. It’s been a long time, but the feeling inside is one he’ll never forget. He’s craving a high to numb this pain, this goddamn fucking anger.

“If you want that perfect life, you should take it. I don’t want your fucking pity party. I know you look down on me. Poor Inuyasha and his asshole attitude. The only time he’s bearable is when he’s high as a damn kite and that’s only because he doesn’t know up from fucking down. Of course, the downside is that he might stop breathing.” He scoffs harshly, “Or, is that the upside?”

He knows his voice is bitter and that he’s gotten louder. It’s echoing the one Eri used earlier. He’s shaking from the anger, or is it something else? This scene feels all too familiar, almost like déjà vu; but somehow, it’s different now.

“Inuyasha. Stop.”

She’s pleading with him, her grip on his arm has gotten tighter. He knows she’s weeping openly; he can scent her tears and hear the stutter in her breath. It’s all too familiar. After all, this is what he’s good at: making her cry.

“Doesn’t fucking matter I’ve been clean three years. That’s all anyone will see, a fucking deadbeat addict. You’d be better off with that doctor. He can take care of you, pamper you. He’ll be enough. He’ll deserve you. That’s not me. That’ll never be me. All I’ll ever be is a fuck-up.”

“Don’t.”

She whimpers and lets her grip loosen. He’s sure she’s going to walk away, get back in her car and leave. He keeps his stare steady on the sun that has almost completely slipped beyond the horizon. There’s a war waging inside of him – his angels and demons come out to play. Not for the first time, he bitterly wonders if this continued sobriety is worth it. She’s going to leave, just as she should.

When her hand comes up and gently cups his cheek, he is completely undone. She tenderly moves his face, but he keeps his gaze downcast. Her hand is soft and warm to the touch as her thumb swipes away his tears. Of course she’s staying. Her bleeding heart won’t let her leave. He cries for her, her lost opportunities, her damn sympathetic selflessness. But she surprises him again in what she utters; and in her words, he finds hope.

“You have always been enough for me. I have always seen you. The you who loves me and would do anything to protect me. The you who acts tough because you’re scared of rejection. The you who wishes you could change the past. The you who is more determined and smarter than you realize. The you who has worked hard to conquer those shitty demons inside. That’s who I see.”

She sighs and he feels her whole body tremble.

“Every time you used, I was terrified. I was so scared that you wouldn’t wake up one day, that you’d stop breathing, that your heart would fail. That I would lose you. It made me angry, it’s why I pushed you so hard. I wanted you to get sober for me.”

He meets her eyes then, their pretty grey glimmers in what’s left of the sunlight through the sheen of her tears. In them he finds no pity, only benevolence. Everything she has said, he has heard her say before. He’s read it before. But this is why it isn’t a complete déjà vu, it’s different. It’s different because they are different. They have grown and she confirms it with her next statement.

“It was selfish. I wanted you to get sober, but you needed to do it for yourself.”

He reaches up to grasp her wrist, lightly squeezing in lieu of all the words he wants to say.

She lets the corners of her mouth turn upwards ever so slightly.

“And you did. You succeeded. I don’t know what you’ve been through these last few years, and maybe I’ll never know, but what I do know is that you came home. You did what you had to and came back to me, and I am prouder of you than you can ever imagine.”

She presses her lips to his forehead and gathers him in her arms. He allows himself to take comfort in her embrace because comfort is not happiness and is not so easily taken away.

He goes back to her apartment with her that night. Their apartment. It looks the same as the day he left. He is simultaneously comforted and haunted by the familiarity. This place that they made home together. Where they laughed and fought. Where he wasted his nights and she cared for him. This is where he had joy and lost it. This is where he left her.

She putters around the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea. As she pulls two mugs from the cabinet, he realizes that they’re the matching set they painted for each other on a date some lifetime ago. She sees the recognition in his stare and begins to speak.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I kept everything the same.” She smiles timidly and her eyes are filled with earnest, “Everyone thought it was unhealthy, but it kept me sane. They tried to convince me to move out of here, and I was adamant that I wouldn’t – couldn’t. Because if you came home and found I wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.”

She busies herself again, pulling out a tin of teabags and a sleeve of arrowroot cookies.

“And then as time went on and I started fearing the worst, I needed to hang onto my memories of you, of us. So, everything stayed the same. Even though I was moving forward with school and … eventually, Akitoki,” She glances downward, sheepish. “Home was my constant. It was me. It was you. It was us. It is us.”

He steps toward her. He has so many questions and a spark of hope is igniting in his veins.

“Why?”

The word hangs between them and he tries in vain to push that hope down, down, down. It is such a simple word, and yet holds so much impact.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, grey colliding with amber, understanding pouring through.

“We met when I started my residency. He was a third-year. At first, I didn’t pay him any mind, but he kept persisting. Eventually I figured meeting for coffee wouldn’t hurt.” She pauses, reaching for his hand. “You have to understand that you’d been gone for almost two years. I was lonely. And … and he was safe.”

She scoffs, grips his hand tighter, and leans fully on the counter.

“He was a proper gentleman. Waited a month before he kissed me the first time, even asked permission before he did. It was another month after that before we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. It was a bit of a surprise when he proposed on our anniversary. Obviously, I said yes – you saw the ring. Except, it felt wrong. It was all wrong. We hadn’t even talked about the future or even moving in together, hadn’t done more than kiss. But I guess that’s part of propriety. And yet, I said yes because it was safe, that stupid word.”

His mind is racing. Safe is not a word he has ever been associated with. What does it even mean? He searches her face for a clue, and anxiously waits for her to continue. This is a conversation they have not deigned to have yet in the three months since they’ve been friends again. The kettle is boiling rapidly now, but he knows that it’ll automatically shut off.

“Then five months later, you called me and this feeling I hadn’t felt in so long came rushing back. You were alive. It was like the clouds were finally parting after a heavy rain. I didn’t know what to expect when I came to pick you up, and this tiny part of me told me not to go, but it was right. I felt right again, but I was scared. So I stayed away. Then I heard from Sango and Miroku that you were working and doing well and I was missing out on that. I broke off the engagement. As much as he was sweet and safe … he wasn’t you.”

Tears are welling in her eyes and he feels his are getting misty as well. He steps and pulls all in one motion, wrapping his arms around her tightly. His heart is pounding out of his chest and that spark of hope is now a flame.

She draws in a haggard breath and mumbles against his chest.

He tilts his head down to look at her, silently pleading for her to repeat what she’s just said. His ears picked up her message, but he needs to know for sure.

She tips her chin upwards and shyly brushes her lips against his and repeats herself a little more loudly, “I love you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Her eyes darken and she presses a kiss to his jaw.

“Because you’re you. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away.”

He whimpers, “Kagome,”

She kisses him fully then, grasping his face to ensure he can’t pull away, not that he wants to. His heart is exploding. She has always been able to read him, know what he’s thinking. And she has always known what he needs most. This kiss is full of promises, assurances. This is real.

“You are important. You are loved. You are worthy of it all.”

She guides him to her bedroom. Their bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed in disbelief that he is back in this room. He can hardly believe that this woman is standing before him with love in her eyes. This amazing, beautiful, strong, resilient woman who is holding the door to happiness wide open. He only has to cross the threshold. He falters. Happiness is dangerous. Happiness is temporary. But she is here and he trusts her implicitly. With her, happiness is feasible.

With one look into her deep stormy eyes, he makes a choice.

“Kagome.”

Her name. The only word he seems capable of uttering. In her name he promises to try. Promises to treat her well, make up for the pain he has caused her. Promises to try and see himself through her eyes. Promises to be kinder to himself. Promises to help build their life together back up. He knows with her, they will succeed.

She caresses his face and drops her lips to meet his once again, resting her knees on either side of him. He clutches her waist and revels in the familiarity of her body pressed against his. Their motions are slow, meticulous, not dictated by hormones and lust. And they fall into a routine, a dance that hasn’t been done in years and yet they fall back into with practiced ease.

With every kiss she presses hotly into his skin, she whispers continuous affirmation.

You are enough.

You are worthy.

You are mine.

I love you.

He finds words still impossible to formulate and voice, so he allows his actions to speak for him. Each caress, each kiss, each touch is full of reverence and adoration. When he finally sinks into her and they become one, he truly feels like he is home. And all of his feelings of unworthiness and self-loathing begin to ebb, for it is the love of this woman and her unwavering belief in him that he can begin to heal.

As they settle into each other, heavy with the lure of sleep, he whispers in her ear, “I love you.”

She nestles into him closer and kisses his wrist.

For the first time, in a very long time, he feels worthy.

FINAL NOTES:

I wanted to mention some things as a bit of a debrief to this story, if you will. This is a story that is very personal for me and is quite heavy. Hopefully the ending was enough of a pleasant one to offset the weight a bit.

The way I designed this story, Inuyasha and Kagome are separated during the toughest part of his recovery. The decision to stay with or leave a partner with addiction is a difficult one and can be different for everyone, especially because addiction is so highly stigmatized. A lot of the time the person struggling already carries guilt. Addiction so very often stems from trauma, depression, and/or other forms of mental illness and these need to be addressed first.

Regardless of whether you stay or go, it is important to set boundaries for yourself. Addiction is often labeled as a third-party to relationships because it attempts to wear down the people involved and whittle them down to their weakest and worst. If you are supporting someone through addiction and an active part of their recovery, it is vital to remember self-care and recognize when you need to say no and that it is okay to do so. It is NOT your responsibility to "cure" them.

If you are somebody who cares for someone struggling with addiction, I am happy to share resources that I have found helpful if you would like to reach out.

On another note, I do have ideas about where and what Inuyasha was up to during his three-year absence. It would probably contain heavier content than this piece, but also be a bit more fantastical. If the inspiration hits or if there’s interest, I’ll probably try and write it. Anyway, comments and likes are love. Thank you so much for reading my return to fan fiction!

#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fic #omg i'm writing again #inukag #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #tw: low self esteem #tw: depressive thoughts #rated m

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salandition · 4 years ago

Note

10 and 126 with Raihan please 💖

A/N: i love writing these because I’ll look at the prompt list and then my eyes will bug out when I see what y’all chose. It’s very fun. ESPECIALLY for this one- my eyes got all big and I went “YEHHH” out loud. So that’s great lmao

Prompt(s): “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”/ "I think about you all the time, it’s freaking annoying."

---

You’ve known the Dragon-Type Gym Leader, Raihan, for a long time. He’s got quite a few different names, actually, which was pretty interesting. The Tamer of Dragons, The Dragon Lord (that one always made you snort), or even The Great Raihan. In a way, he kind of fits those names, but you just like to stick to ‘Raihan’, ‘Rai’, or ‘Daddy Long Legs’.

He hates it when you call him that last one, so you make sure to use it often.

You can easily call Raihan one of your best friends. Though time has a history of bad effects on some relationships, you don’t think that’s the case for you and Raihan; the more time you spent together, the more your friendship solidified and became reliable and comfortable. You didn’t ever get bored or tired of Raihan, and despite your first initial anxieties that he’d get that way towards you, he didn’t. So the two of you are best friends, though and through.

And that’s exactly where your problem lies.

Raihan is your best friend, so- you can say confidently that you know him pretty well. And you know that Raihan isn’t the most enthusiastic about relationships- deeper, romantic ones. He likes to indulge himself every so often, but whenever you talked about crushes or something like that with each other, he always seemed distant and reluctant about entering a serious relationship with another person. The only reason this created a sense of unease in your stomach is because- well- lately… You’ve found yourself liking him a bit more than you used to.

You’re not sure when it happened. You just realized one day that maybe you stare at him for just a bit too long, maybe you’re just a bit too excited whenever the two of you are able to hang out, maybe you stay up with him a little too late on the phone when he calls.

Realizing that perhaps you have a crush on Raihan- it created a fit of anxiety within you. Because falling in love with someone you’re so close with- when did that really ever turn out well? Sometimes it worked, if you were lucky, but you don’t really think the word ‘lucky’ describes you very well. And then there’s the fact that you’re keenly aware that Raihan is definitely not interested in you like that.

Even if he was, you know he doesn’t like deep relationships- and you’re not sure how comfortable you are with being a fling or thrusted into a ‘benefits’ type situation.

So, once you realize your feelings, you do your best to squash them before they have the opportunity to get even worse. You drill the fact that Raihan doesn’t like you and you can’t like Raihan deep into your skull; you remind yourself over and over that you aren’t in love with him and you’re just friends.

And that’s fine. You’re happy to be his friend. That will always be the truth, regardless of the little hiccups along the way.

Usually, though, hiccups don’t last this long, and they don’t hurt this badly. That’s something you’ve come to realize as time has passed.

Because, hiccups- they’re temporary things. Unexpected bumps in your throat- and sure, sometimes they can hurt and leave a funky ache in your chest- but hiccups are supposed to go away after a quick glass of water or something like that.

And this particular hiccup isn’t going away. So it’s probably time to stop calling it that.

You’re not sure what to call it. Torture? That’s a bit too brutal. What about ‘agonizing, lovely, awful torture’? Still a bit dramatic.

It’s a problem is what it is. You know what? It’s almost like a virus, actually. Because it started out as just a tiny problem- a little crush, and then it slowly spread throughout your body and created lots of other problems in it’s wake. Problems that are getting worse as time goes on.

Things like how your body will tingle and ache when Raihan hugs you, how your face will burn when he compliments and teases you, how you don’t even know how to look at him correctly anymore without giving away that you’re slowly falling in love with him. Which wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with The Great Raihan, The Tamer of Dragons, The Dragon Lord.

You were supposed to just be friends. So what happened to that?

---

You know Raihan is starting to suspect something is wrong with you. He has a way of accidentally clueing people in that he’s thinking about something or that he’s curious. It’s the little way he lifts his left eyebrow, his lip quirking up with it, and his head will tilt just a tiny bit. It’s a subtle tell.

You kind of hate that you’ve stared at him long enough that you can recognize such meager things. But it helps you, regardless, because it lets you know when you’re being a bit too obvious and you should leave before he starts to ask you questions.

Except you can’t really leave without giving him more questions right now; because you’re hanging out at his house, planning to spend the night as you drink together and watch movies, and if you left now, that wouldn’t be any good. He’d certainly grill you about it tomorrow, and you’re not sure if you’d be able to come up with a good enough lie as to why you ditched him.

“So,” you clear your throat, trying to look away from his gaze on you as you lean on his kitchen counter, beer bottle in hand as it leaks wet condensation on your hand. “Tell me more about your challengers this year. Anyone catch your eye?”

Raihan hums, lifting his own bottle to his lips and you definitely don’t watch as his throat moves when he takes a drink. “No one in particular yet,” He tells you. “I did hear one of the challengers really gave Melony a run for her money, though, which is pretty interesting. She’s a tough lady- I look forward to seeing who can battle so well against Ice Types, considering they’re one of my team’s weaknesses and all that.”

You nod along as he speaks, and you try not to look bothered when he crosses the counter and leans on it, same as you- right in front of you, actually. Which would only make sense, considering you’re talking to each other- you want to look directly at the person you’re speaking to. But does he have to lean in so close?

“That’s a good point,” you take another drink to distract yourself from his piercing eyes. Maybe it’s not really a good idea to drink with him in the first place, considering he already makes your stomach do pathetic flustered flips, but it’d be odd if you rejected it now. “Besides the frivolous chit-chat, as much as I love talking about your work- I want to see the movie you picked out.”

“Of course,” Raihan grins, leaning off the counter and leading you into his living room. Not like you need to be led, considering you’re more than familiar with the layout of his apartment. “So, I know you hate horror,”

“Raihan,” you groan before he can even finish, and he laughs as he shows you the case of the movie.

“Okay, but we have to! It’s a classic, and it’s not that bad. It’s old, so the effects look shotty to begin with. You’ll be fine,” he assures you, but you doubt he’s being honest. He’s lied to you before to get you to watch horror films with him. You purse your lips, crossing your arms together, still holding your drink between your fingers at the rim.

“You just want to see me scared.”

Raihan turns from you, putting the disk in the player, and you huff. “Maybe,” he singsongs, “you can cuddle into me and hide if it’s too much, don’t worry!”

You fall against his couch and roll your eyes, trying not to let him see you blush as you lean against your hand. “In your dreams, long-legs.”

“I like that better,” Raihan hums and sits next to you, said legs already taking up a lot of space as he crosses them.

“Ah, sorry. Daddy long legs.”

“I guess I deserve it if I’m making you watch this,” he huffs, and you smile.

“Exactly.”

The movie starts, the two of you quieting your banter as the intro scene plays. But you’ve always been chatty during films, especially when it’s horror- talking helps ease your nerves as you groan loudly at the screen, and Raihan absolutely thrives off some of the comments you make, so it’s a good time overall. He also makes some jokes and crude comparisons to the things on screen that makes you laugh, so that’s nice, too.

Despite your nerves and your growing affections for the man sitting beside you, you try to remember these moments. He’s your friend- your best friend. Even if he doesn’t love you like that…

You sneak a look at him during a particularly slow moment in the movie. His eyes are focused on the screen, face lit up blue from the screen, and he laughs at one of the jokes that’s made in the script. You quickly chuckle, turning away from him so he doesn’t catch on that you weren’t paying attention- and your stomach does that funky flip again.

Even if he doesn’t love you like that, at least he loves you at all. You should be grateful for that. For what you have.

Before you even realize it, the movie is over, which is surprising. Usually you can’t wait for the ending, but you were zoning out in your thoughts so much that you didn’t even realize the credits were rolling until Raihan leaned forward, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off. It’s significantly darker in the living room without the light of the television, but you can still make out those blue eyes when he looks your way.

“So,” he relaxes back on the couch, one of his hands grabbing at his knee and the other rests in his lap. “You’ve been weird.”

You snort. “If you wanted to get my guard down for a talk about feelings, you should have chosen a better movie.”

“Would it have mattered?” He raises an eyebrow. “You hardly even reacted to most of it.”

You suppose you can’t argue with that.

Raihan shrugs, sighing a bit through his nose as he turns his head away from you. For that, you’re glad, because he just looks too intense when he looks you in the eye. “Figured I’d give you an opportunity, since you’re not bringing it up yourself. Don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

You frown. You’re still holding your beer bottle, now empty, and you place it on the floor before you lift your feet up on the couch and criss cross. “It’s not a very big deal, Rai,” you tell him softly. “Honest.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a big deal,” Raihan looks back at you, “we’re mates, right? Doesn’t have to be a big deal for you to tell me.”

There’s little room to argue with that. He’s right, and you know that, but this is different. Your shoulders drop as you purse your lips. “I don’t want to bother you with this,” you say, and Raihan just laughs through his nose.

“You once called me in the middle of the night because you felt something weird on your bum and you acted like it was the end of the world because you had bum-cancer.”

Without even thinking, you grab a pillow on the couch and you hurl it at him full strength. “That was a valid concern! And I told you that you’re not allowed to bring it up ever again!”

Raihan barks out a laugh, giggling like a child as he grabs the pillow you threw at him and he tosses it back. You smack it on the floor, making him laugh harder.

“My point is, we’ve been close, yeah?” He says once the giggles finally end, and he smiles at you so genuinely that you have to look away. He notices. “That’s it. You keep doing that. Why?”

“Doing what?” Acting dumb. Grade A plan, sure to work.

Though you can’t see it, you can hear how he rolls his eyes based on his tone. “You keep acting distant. Looking away from me like I’ll jump you or something.”

That’s funny. You actually want him to jump you, but, you know. In the cute, kissy way.

Why’d you think that? Shut up. You shake your head, as if that will shake away the thoughts as well. “It’s not that,” you tell him. There’s a dread building up in your chest once you do- because you know where this conversation is going.

Raihan is nice and respectful of your boundaries, and he’d never make you tell him something you’re not comfortable sharing. The issue is that he’s too nice, and it makes you want to tell him that much more. Because he deserves to know, right?

There’s really only a few ways that this conversation would go. You know- you know that the next thing he’ll say is going to be something like ‘then what is it?’

“Then what is it?” He asks, and you curse yourself. You knew it would be a bad idea to hang out.

You finally look at him again, biting your cheek as your eyebrows furrow. “Raihan,” you shake your head again. “I can’t.” Your voice is soft- a whisper, at best.

Truthfully, you didn’t notice how your hands began to tremble in your lap- but Raihan did. His lips tug into a frown.

“Why?”

You huff, and he shrugs.

Maybe you should rip off the bandaid and get it over with. If Raihan has figured out that something’s been bothering you, and if you leave the conversation tonight without telling him what it is, you know he’s going to pry it out of you eventually. It’s only a matter of time, now.

“You really wanna know, Raihan?” You hold your hands in your lap, trying to get them to stop shaking, and Raihan nods. All right, you think with a deep breath, this is it. Time to tell him and have the awkwardest rejection of your life.

You don’t have the guts to look at him, so you look up at the dark ceiling, and honestly, your eyes are already burning. And you’re definitely not going to cry. Despite that, you sniff, and your voice leaves you shakily, “I think I’m in love with you, and that terrifies me.”

It’s quiet, and a rush of anxiety courses through you again. You stutter and stumble as you try to explain yourself. “I- We’ve been friends for so long. And- and I’m not- not interested in ruining that. I don’t want to ruin our relationship. Because- well, because I love you,” you laugh, “and I- I don’t want to ruin it by getting all weird and reading into things. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, either.”

Finally, you lower your head and let it hang as you sniff again and lift a hand to run through your hair, ruffling through it harshly. Come on, you think, get it together.

It takes a lot of courage to look at him- and you honestly don’t have the courage, so you basically just turn your face his way and then stare at the couch cushions instead. “...Sorry,” you apologize weakly, though you’re not sure why.

From your peripherals, you see him uncross his legs, his body leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He sighs, which doesn’t really make you feel good as you quickly look to the floor instead, even further away from his eyes. “You don’t need to be sorry about that. Not like you can control your feelings,” Raihan finally speaks. “That would just be silly.”

You shrug.

“I guess I can understand why you didn’t want to tell me,” He continues, his hands coming together and rubbing before he entwines his fingers, cracking his knuckles with a swift movement. “Would you like to hear something funny?”

Your eyebrows furrow, suspicious. “...Sure.”

“Well, it’s funny for you, maybe, but it’s been annoying for me,” Raihan chuckles. “It really is. Cause the thing is, I think about you all the time. So much that it bugs me. It’s distracting, too, cause you really shouldn’t be popping up in my thoughts the way you do when I’m trying to ride on Flygon. That’s just dangerous.” You finally lift your eyes to meet his, and he shrugs with a smile when you do, his pointy tooth looking odd when his face is so soft and bashful. “You do anyways.”

You squint.

Raihan rests his face in his palm, laughing gently under his breath. You’re both in a weird staring contest, as if it’s a test of wits. He reaches forward as you stare, and before you realize what he’s doing, he flicks your nose.

You jolt back in shock. “Hey!”

Raihan just laughs, his nose scrunching up and his eyes squinting as he chuckles. “What I’m saying is, I think you’re not alone with your feelings. Either I’m a creeper for thinking of you so often, or I love you, too.” He raises his brow. “You pick which one sounds more appealing to you.”

“Don’t joke around, Raihan,” you can’t help but sigh as you rub your nose.

“Sorry,” surprisingly, he apologizes. Which is odd, catching you off guard as he finally looks away from you. “I’m not real good at this, either.”

“Raihan...” You softly call his name, and he purses his lips. There’s no other way to describe his demeanor other than ‘shy’, which is never a word you’d think you would use to describe him.

“The feeling is mutual, is what I’m saying.”

You almost want to laugh. “What happened to not liking serious relationships? Would- do you still feel that way?” You can’t help but ask him. Just because- wow- maybe he loves you, doesn’t mean that’s changed.

“Well, I’ve never loved anybody before.” Raihan lifts a hand, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he finally stops slouching over his knees and straightens his posture. “But if you’d be into it...” He trails off.

...Hm. Slowly, your hand reaches forward, and you grab Raihan’s as gently as you can. It makes your heart speed up a bit, and Raihan’s eyes snap toward you when you do- but you smile. “We can go slow. See what happens. If it doesn’t work for you- I’m still going to love you.” You tell him, honesty in your tone. “I can’t expect you to be the world’s best boyfriend if you’ve never even thought about being one before.”

“I’ve thought about it sometimes,” he mumbles, and his hand is absurdly long in yours- you notice it even more when he fumbles with how small you are before squeezing your palm. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” you nod at him. Surprisingly, you’re honest- you feel sure of yourself. “You’re my best friend, Raihan. You’ll always be my best friend, no matter what happens.”

Slowly, he smiles back, and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. In the back of your mind, you realize that Raihan is actually a sweetheart, and you wonder how he’d react if you added that to his long list of nicknames.

Perhaps you’ll try it out.

#Anonymous #rushed ending because my FRIEND is a baby who sleeps at 11 on the dot every night #ajdgkadfjgafh #chucks this at you #baby #raihan x reader #raihan x you #gym leader raihan x reader #gym leader raihan x you #pokemon x reader #imagines #swsh x reader #pokemon swsh x reader #pokemon sword and shield x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon swsh imagines #pokemon sword and shield imagines #reader insert

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powerosewaterpuff · 4 years ago

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this idea for a fic/short fic came completely from a tiktok from @ fixation_or_infatuation on tiktok who has such awesome content so P L E A S E go check them out!! and thank u so much for the idea bc legit this made me so happy hehe

(also soft dad Bruce rights ok? oK I CLOSE MY EYES AND EARS TO CANON AND SAY FUCK THAT NOISE BRUCE IS A GOOD DAD FIGHT ME ON THIS HE IS A GOOD DAD WHO IF HIS SON CRIED FOR SOMETHING HE WOULD TURN THE EARTH OVER ON ITS ASS TO FIND IT FOR HIM PERIOD POINT BLANK. HE LOVES HIS CHILDREN OK A Y?? OH ALSO U CAN RIP DICK BEING AN ESL KID OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS OK? OK :) )

“-uce. Bruce? Bruce! Bru-uce! Bruce, I adopted a chihuahua and named her Georgina, what’d you think of that?”

“Hn?”

Bruce shot his head up, realizing he had made the foolish mistake of zoning out through an infamous Dick Grayson tale, that always required every form of attention necessary at all times. He could feel himself chuckle inwardly, as he saw his ward’s little pout as he chewed away at his tortellini, directing a solid stare of expectation at Bruce.

“You really need to sleep more, do you know that?” Dick hummed, raising a little eyebrow at Bruce, which was a facial expression that looked far too adult on his baby cheeked face, and it looked far to Bruce-esque for his own liking.

“Even if I didn’t know that, I’d always have you to remind me, don’t I?” Bruce teased, stirring up a bright giggle from Dick that simply filled his chest with a rush of warmth that he had never really felt before. He loved hearing his laughter, no matter where or when and whether it was a rarity or not, but it always felt just a little bit more special when Bruce had been the one to cause it.

“At this point, I would consider myself your own personal alarm cloc-Bruce, can I please wake you up singing Christmas carols tomor-Why? I have a beautfiul and spec-tac-u-lar voice, thank you very much!”

Bruce didn’t bother suppressing a teasing eye roll, as Dick’s voice sounded like glass being rubbed against a cheese grater when he tried to hit all of Mariah Carey’s notes. He did, however, nod slightly at Dick to congratulate him on his proper pronounciation of ‘spectacular’, which was a word that Dick usually had a hint of trouble with. It was a small action, but one he hoped Dick would understand.

“Anyways, can I ask you a question?” Bruce’s eyebrows curved upwards in question, just a smidge, as he pushed his plate of food aside and leaned closer across the table to give Dick his complete focus.

“You already did,” Dick rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort but Bruce cut him off, “However, what’d you need?”

Then, there was something Bruce never really thought he would see for as long as he would live. It was Dick Grayson, the beam of passionate sunshine himself, squirming shyly in his seat and chewing on his bottom lip. If Bruce wasn’t the master of supressing emotions then he would’ve been throughly surprised by this display.

Dick Grayson was simply not shy, not in the very slightest. He was bolsterous and bold with just a hint of cunningness behind it, but he certainly was not shy. This, of course, caused Bruce to begin categorizing all the possible problems there could be. He ran through them over and over in his head, trying to suppress an inexplicable feeling of dread and fear that was coursing through his chest only slightly, but still present.

Dick took a deep breath, and Bruce could feel himself holding his almost inadvertently.

“When Superman comes today, d-do you think I could get an autograph,” Dick spluttered out, saying it almost too fast that Bruce barely understood what had been uttered. He did feel himself take a massive sigh of relief, even though what replaced the dread in his heart was just a prick of bitterness. Dick had never asked for Batman’s autograph.

“If Clark’s alright with it, then I don’t see why not, chum.”

Then, like a burst of light on a cloudy evening, Dick jumped out of his seat and went around the table straight into Bruce’s arms for a full koala hug.

Bruce, who still wasn’t fully accustomed to such open and loving acts of affection, froze for just a slip of a moment but then melted into Dick’s hold, as he usually did. There was just something magical, dare he say, about his wards (sons) hugs.

Dick then propped his head onto Bruce’s chest, and beamed up at him with stars glittering in his eyes, “Thank you, B!”

Bruce yearned to say something, to say anything along the lines of; Of course, I would bring the moon down if you asked me too or I love you so much that your very laugh eases this knot in my chest that has never been able to budge.

Bruce only managed a meager, “No need to thank me, chum.”

Dick, who had been completely content with the answer given even though he shouldn’t have been, placed his hands onto Bruce’s shoulders and flipped into a handstand position. He then curved his body around enough to sit onto Bruce’s broad shoulders, which in full honesty, didn’t surprise Bruce at this point. He had become labelled as the ‘jungle gym man,’ which was a nickname graciously given to him by Dick himself.

“Now, ride my steed! To Alfie!”

Bruce prayed inwardly that Clark wouldn’t have to be a witness to this mayhem, because it really would lessen his fearsome status in the Justice League.

•••••••••••

Bruce was not jealous.

He simply was not and it didn’t matter how many side eyed stares Alfred shot his way, Bruce was a perfectly fine without a sliver of jealously.

It’s hero-worship, it’s just complete and utter hero-worship.

From the moment Clark Kent had stepped through the Cave’s doors, Dick had been unable to contain his sheer excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The two had hit it off better then anyone Bruce had ever seen before, gabbering on about nothing and everything all at the same time. Now, Bruce was not upset about this, because Dick deserved someone who could give every inch of love he so generously gave back to him. Clark was just that person, as the Boy Scout himself matched wits with Dick far easier then Bruce had ever been able to do.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce swiveled his chair to face Alfred, as he sorted out the rest of his paperwork.

“Have you seen Master Dick since our guest left? I’ve been unable to locate him since then.”

His jaw clenched slightly, as he racked his brain around everytime he had seen Dick between the forty minutes since Clark had left and that moment. He felt his heart sink when he realized he hadn’t seen a trace of Dick since the Kryptonian had left.

Fuck.

Bruce hurried up to the third floor of the Manor, and felt his heart that had sunk into his gut shatter at the sound of a faint whimper slithering up to his ear from the bathroom across the hall. He gently walked towards it, slowly but surely turning the knob only to peer his head in, as not to startle Dick.

Dick was curled up into a ball across from the sink, small sobs heaving from his little chest as he desperately tried to push the oncoming flow of tears away with his palm. His cheeks were marred with fresh tear stains and his eyes were a leaning towards the pinker side as fresh tears began to bubble to the surface.

Bruce wasted absolutely no time as he skidded to the floor in front of Dick, gripping his wards shoulders tightly. Dick raised his head slightly, looking all the more ashamed for being caught crying which weighed down on Bruce like the weight of the ocean.

“Dick, what’s wrong?” Bruce whispered, wishing he could erase every inch of sadness off his face, “Please tell me what’s wrong, chum.”

Dick bit his lip, chewing on it for a bit, which Bruce recognized as one of Dick’s nervous habits. He made a note of that, just in case.

“I-Bruce, it’s stupid, alright? I-I’ll get up, I’m sorry for sitting on the bathroom flo-.”

“Dick,” Bruce huffed, firmly pushing Dick back onto the ground as he moved his hands to cup Dick’s cheeks, still filled with baby fat, “Nothing you say is going to be stupid. I want to know what’s wrong, alright?”

Bruce was not one to plead nor grovel, no matter how much life pressed its dirty heels into his back he never swayed. However, seeing Dick crying was such a weak point to him that it unnerved and horrified him. (It was probably why his nightmares had all had one consistent theme of Dick being in some sort of danger that Bruce could not save him from.)

Dick practically melted into Bruce’s hold, and nuzzled his face into his palm as Bruce wiped away stray tears. Fuck. Bruce needed to hug Dick more, or just show any shred of affection. He just wasn’t used to having to show an abundance of physical affection to someone, and had forgotten how much he had craved for it when he was younger, starving and hungry for shreds of affection he wasn’t expecting to receive, until he simply became numb to it. Dick really deserved someone better, and Bruce knew this more than anyone else.

After taking a shaky breath, Dick peered up at Bruce as he blinked away tears, “Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?”

“I promise,” Bruce vowed as he rubbed his thumb across Dick’s cheeks comfortingly.

“Do you remember how I wanted Superman’s autograph?” Dick mumbled softly, sniffling slightly. Bruce nodded but mentality cursed himself a thousand times for not realizing that Dick hadn’t asked a single time for an autograph from Clark.

“I-I really wanted to ask him! I kept waiting and waiting but I just couldn’t do it, b-because I thought he might find me annoying. I really, really wanted him to like me, Bruce! I thought he might get upset or get annoyed by me because I talk so much, so I just couldn’t do it and I don’t even know why I’m crying! He was so nice to me but I just really got scared a-and my tongue got tied like-like a knot! Does that make sense? My tongue was like this big heavy knot and it was stuck to my mout-Why am I crying!”

Dick tried to suppress a rising sob, as he covered in his eyes in shame. Bruce gently let go of his cheeks and spread his arms out gently, with the offer standing clear. Dick flung himself into Bruce’s waiting arms and buried his face in the crook of his neck, as he continued to try to mumble out a few words and hiccup. God, it was enough to make Bruce’s chest ache, as he rubbed soothing circles into Dick’s back softly.

“Clark would never find you annoying, not in a million years. Dick, can you look at me for a second? Clark would never find you annoying, and I don’t know a single person who would,” Bruce stated firmly, as he cradled Dick in his arms and shifted him so he would be facing him, “Dick, Clark would give you a thousand autographs if you asked, and do you want to know something? There’s nothing wrong with being a little shy, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all.”

Dick sniffled a bit, as he snuggled closer to Bruce but he stayed quiet, which worried Bruce more so then it should’ve.

“You know, I get shy sometimes too,” Bruce confided quietly, as if it would provide some sort of comfort to Dick. It proved to work as Dick sat up with a start, glancing up at Bruce wirh furrowed brows.

“It’s never this emotional, but you know what? I think it’s better you let it all out, then trying to bottle it up inside,” Bruce murmured, pushing Dick’s fringe back. He saw a pensive look set into Dick’s features, and was met with another soft hug.

Dick was going to being the reason Bruce’s heart burst, he was sure of it.

“You’re the best, Bruce.”

Oh well, Bruce didn’t need a heart anyway. Not if he had Dick with him.

•••••

Bruce leaned over his phone, dialing a number into it as he kept his ears open to the sound of the tap shutting.

He had gotten Dick to wash his face a bit, with Alfred stepping in to look after him while Bruce made some executive calls.

The phone beeped for a bit. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Hello? Bruce?”

“I’m going to say this one singular time, are we clear? You are going to fly over here and give Dick the best goddamned autograph you have given a person but you are going to let him ask for it first, then you’ll be on your merry way unless he asks you to stay for dinner, clear?”

“I-.”

Bruce ended the call, satisfied with the answer he was given. It still stung just a bit that Dick wasn’t demanding a Batman autograph, but he would make sure his ward (son) was as happy as can be, even if it meant letting the Boy Scout take his place as Dicks, ‘Favourite Adult.’

It was worth it, if he could make sure that brilliant smile was always there.

Fin

(P.S. Later that night, when Bruce was tucking Dick into bed after shutting The Vevlveteen Rabbit and setting it onto the nightstand, he noticed Dick was happily gripping the signed Superman card tightly in his hand. He shoved back his exasperation, but couldn’t help but give a raise of the brow when Dick asked if he could buy a Superman backpack.

“You already sleep in Superman pajamas, I think the commodities can stop at that,” Bruce suggested, ignoring the fact that Dick probably had no idea what that word even meant, “Would you not want any other hero?”

“Nope, he’s my favourite. Oh-Besides you, of course!” Dick hummed, as he used his other arm to grab Zitka from behind him, as casual as could be.

Bruce, on the other hand, had just had a bombshell dropped on him. A happy bombshell. A pleasant bombshell. A bombshell nonetheless, though.

“I wouldn’t get your merch, though. I have the real thing, and he’s my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Wally that though!” Dick exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce like the most important part of that sentence was the warning of not to tell Kid Flash, and not that Bruce was his ‘bestest friend in the whole wide world.’

(Not father. Never his father.)

Bruce was silent, but leaned over to give Dick a peck on the forehead and a rare but soft smile. One he really only reserved for Dick and Alfred. He couldn’t afford to be selfish, this was enough for him. This was absolutely enough for him.

Dick returned his smile with one that shone brighter then all the suns Bruce had seen in his life.

Bruce really adored this kid.)

AND THATS IT HEHE PLEASE EXCUSE WELL EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FIC I WROTE IT AT 2AM AND WHILE I CONSIDERED POSTING IT ON AO3 (my account is ordinarilyspeaking btw :) ) I DECIDED TUMBLR IS WHERE IS POST MY 2AM THOUGHTS ANYWAY SO WHY THE FUCK NOT SO YEAH IM GOING TO GO PROCRASINATE MY ASSINGMENTS SOME MORE SO THANK U SO MUCH FOR READING HEHE!

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

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Mutual (Mis)Understandings

Summary: Wild and Zelda seem to be engaged... and Twilight like the worried mother hen of the group that he is overreacts and misunderstands greatly.

Or, Zelda and Wild are best friends, but they’re also both arcace and the only reason they’ll ever get married is for the Hylian equivalent of tax-benefits.

Note: this was purely self indulgent and was written instead of my actual next LU fic. In the mean time, enjoy this. From now on I only write aroace Wild and Flora and if you don’t like it then don’t talk to me lmao

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight supposes it was only a matter of time before they ran into Wild's Zelda. Because, despite Wild's Hyrule being so much larger than it's versions before it, Zelda apparently was still a woman who could not be confined to the walls of her castle. If she wanted to explore and meet new people, then she would. According to Wild, that is.

Zelda is, at first glance, the embodiment of grace and beauty. Her hair is golden and her eyes the color of the grass that flourishes on the hills. Her lips are full, and colored not a perfect red but not a perfect pink either. Her hair, while chopped short, is braided and styled perfectly in a way that compliments her beauty even more.

But then, you look at her traveling clothes and the twigs in her hair, and you realize that Wild once told you a story about how she tried to force a frog into his mouth.

She stands in the center of Terry Town, near a beautiful fountain built around a small shrine for the goddess Hylia, and in a strange reincarnation way, a tribute for her as well. As the group walks into the town that's suspended on a circle of land that towers high over a small lake, she turns and smiles, delight sparkling in her eyes when her gaze lands on her knight. It's an unexpected reunion, one that started with Wild wanting to show them something he's proud of, and one that's turning out to be more of a treat than any of them expected. Especially, when besides Twilight, Wild lets out a happy gasp and runs ahead of the group, slamming into his princess with a tight and joy-filled hug. The moment is so touching that even Legend smiles.

The hug lasts a little longer before Zelda and Wild part, splitting to stand next to each other with shoulders brushing. They look perfect together. Like they were made for each other. Wild smiles at the group and Zelda matches his smile but in a more polite and curious way.

"I believe introductions are in order?" She asks, though it's not really a question. More like an invitation.

Twilight looks over at Wild, a matching look of awkwardness passing between them. Hyrule pulls at his collar nervously. It's always… strange to introduce themselves to people. While many people are named Link to honor heroes, it is still strange to have nine boys traveling together all introduce themselves as such. They really need to come up with better names than rancher and traveler and the old man.

Thankfully, Time is ever the wisest and the owner of the group's meager stash of brain cells. He steps forward with a respectable bow. "Princess Zelda," he says, standing up from his bow, "we have traveled with Link for a few months now and have found ourselves caught in… quite a complicated story. Perhaps, if I may be so bold, it would be wise to allow us a more private space for introductions?"

"I see," Zelda says, her polite smile turning into something a little sharper. Not in an offended way, but in a way that she knows something that they don't. Thankfully, she doesn't keep them waiting for long. "Yes, perhaps it would be wise. Though, it seems I must have to introduce myself as well before we begin. It's not princess. It's queen."

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight sometimes keeps himself up at night wondering about how his Zelda might take the news of there being eight more heroes carrying the name "Link" around. It's hard to tell with her, and it's not like they're close. Their relationship is strictly "Princess and Hero", and the most they have in common besides the whole reincarnation thing is Midna.

Which is a topic both of them tend to avoid.

So really, he cannot say for sure how she'd react. Would she believe it? Would she take it in stride? Twilight can really only imagine her taking in the information with a straight face before saying it doesn't concern her so begone.

One thing's for sure, she wouldn't react like Wild's Zelda does.

Because, well, if Twilight thought the kids at his home village were made of skin, bone, and questions, then the Zelda before him is made of questions, questions, and more questions.

"Who is the first among you? What year was it? Strange, it seems you used a different calendar than us. And it's peculiar you two have the same dates but live in completely different worlds- oh you and your Zelda were childhood friends? And you have two Zeldas'? What about you? What is your kingdom like-?

By the end of the afternoon, everyone's mouths had run dry from talking and Warriors was about to jump into the fountain at the center of town yelling about thirst before a tall Gerudo lady stopped him with a level look.

Zelda and Wild have broken off from the group; the town's people and the various guards who must be here for Zelda's protection (even though Twilight's sure she can definitely more than protect herself, it must be for their own peace of mind) have stopped giving them those you nasty foreigners looks and have actually started to seek out conversation in the form of you have money, I have things to sell, wink wink. As the sun crept closer towards the edges of Death Mountain, everyone one-by-one decided the beds promised to them at the inn sounded more interesting than sitting around and doing nothing.

Time being one of the first to retire, not that Twilight blames him. The question "Which one of you is the hero from ten thousand years ago?" weighs heavy on all their minds. The lore of that hero doesn't sound familiar to any of them, and it left the whole group wondering how many lives they have lived, and if they are destined to add more to their group of nine.

Regardless, Twilight finds himself one of the last members to head to bed, and not for the lack of trying. He had accidentally mentioned wrestling around a towering Goron and his little brother and had, in a sting of events he was entirely unwilling in, found himself wrestling Greyson with a whole crowd of townspeople watching with jeers and enthusiasm. Greyson wasn't a full grown Goron, so it was surprisingly easy to knock him out of their makeshift ring carved into the ground with a stick without the aid of his iron boots.

After winning that fight, the Gerudo lady who probably made Warriors wet his pants with her glare decided she wanted in on the action, to which Wind and Hyrule screamed out he was a coward for turning her down by saying he definitely already knows she'll win.

Because she definitely will win. He's seen fully grown pumpkins smaller than her biceps.

But, Twilight is ever the gentleman and absolutely not a coward and caved even though he knows he will walk away from this with a few new bruises.

Turns out, the kind of wrestling the Gerudo lady (who he finds out is named Rhondson judging by the "TEAR HIS ARMS OFF, RHONDSON!" that was yelled out from the crowd as she knocked his feet out from below him) was trying to do was different from goat and Goron wrestling, and he was completely unprepared for her to bring him to the ground and attempt at pinning him down like a madwoman. He's never been so terrified in his entire life.

He should have explained the rules better to more than just Greyson.

He was in the middle of trying to shove her off from him (because apparently a loss is being pinned down for three seconds as refereed by her husband and Twilight is not about to lose so easily with Wind in the sidelines laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes) when he notices Wild and his Zelda leave a building and quietly retreat towards the far cliff edges of town. Rhondson seems to notice this as well, because she pauses in her tortuous wrestling long enough to mutter under her breath "young love..."

To which. Twilight promptly short-circuits.

Young love?

Wild?

And Zelda?

HIS WILD?! AND QUEEN ZELDA?

Yeah sure, he knew Zelda and Wild were close, but Wild was the most… rowdy and dirty piece of work he's ever met. And sure, Zelda isn't exactly the most poise and elegant creature in the world—the twigs still in her hair, the mud running up her boots to her trousers, the ever slowly becoming undone braids in her hair that she doesn't seem to truly care about are all testament of that. Twilight is just… well, he didn't think Wild had it in him. To catch the attention and affection of someone like Zelda… Twilight needs to hand it to him. He guesses Wild can be romantic when he wants to be.

Unfortunately, thanks to his little brain explosion, Rhondson manages to pin him down long enough for Hudson to smack the ground three times. (Seriously, what is up with the son part of everyone's name?)

Rhondson lets him up with a triumphant smirk and Twilight lays on the ground, winded.

"Young love?" He croaks, because his brain is still trying to process. It's like adding two and two together and getting goat.

Rhondson's smirk seems to widen even more as she extends a hand, golden jewelery clinking on her toned wrists. "Don't you know? The Queen and her knight are engaged."

She says it casually like it's nothing truly new or exciting as she lifts him to his feet.

Wind's laughter from the sidelines suddenly turns into choking noises. Twilight can only short-circuit some more.

Because what.

Rhondson doesn't explain anymore as she accepts cheering from the rest of the town. No one explains as the crowd disperses, the sun fully behind Death Mountain and the moonrise breeze moving in with the smell of the ocean. Soon enough, Twilight is still standing where he's been left, Wind sitting on the ground cross-legged with his chin in his hands, and Hyrule standing besides him looking unsure if he should suggest bed or something else.

Engaged.

Wild is seventeen (plus one hundred but that doesn’t count) years old and he's engaged.

He knows the age of adulthood changes every so often, but honestly at least wait until you're twenty before you commit! Or let Twilight be married first!

He slowly manages to crawl out from his churning thoughts back into his body, and the first thing he does is look towards where Zelda and Wild disappeared to and suddenly his brain is thinking of a whole matter of things the two of them might be doing. Alone. With no one to catch them.

He's moving to follow them before he can make himself rethink to maybe respect their choices and boundaries. Hyrule, perhaps thinking the same thing, grabs onto the tail of his wolf's pelt.

"Wait!" Hyrule says, trying to be the voice of reason, which is strange because normally that's Twilight's job, "maybe we should let them be… alone-"

"Traveler, are you a man or a mouse?!" Wind demands, catching up to the two of them, looking way too determined to intrude upon a potential make-out session.

Hyrule squeaks. "M-man!"

Twilight ignores them as he creeps towards the buildings the two love birds disappeared behind.

"Besides, the champion brought this upon himself," Wind continues. "He should have told us he was going to be the future King of Hyrule. He deserves it."

It; being a good sneaking up on. Twilight finds himself agreeing. They've known Wild for how long and he hasn't told them at all that he was engaged?

The topic of love and settling down has come up many times in their group.

"Champion, do you like anyone?" "Nah, the only thing I like is cooking." "Hey champion, after all this and settling down, what are your plans?" "To become a world renowned chef." "Cook! I saw the face you were making when Malon was talking about girls! Who were you thinking of?" "Food. Duh."

The sniveling little weasel. To think Twilight fell for it.

Twilight holds up his hand as they approach the buildings, Wind and Hyrule quiet down their conversations. It seems even though Hyrule took a rare attempt at peacekeeping, he has ultimately decided upon even though I don't like it I still want to come along. They poke their heads around the corner of the building and find…

Nothing.

No one is here.

How interesting.

Wind gives a groan of outrage and Hyrule releases a sigh of relief so powerful the grass waves a little. Twilight continues forward and looks at the soft dirt on the ground that leads to the sheer unforgiving drop of cliff. They should really fence this off, he's seen the children in the town and one of them could easily fall.

"I can't believe the cook, the sly fox," Wind was grumbling and not for the first time Twilight decides to not ask how the kid knows so much about stuff like this. Hyrule says something back about maybe there's a reason Wild's kept it secret but Twilight doesn't listen in too hard as his eyes catch on something in the ground.

There. Footsteps. Fresh. Two different sizes, one small and the other slightly larger. Could easily belong to a queen wearing muddy boots and a knight.

He follows the footsteps and his stomach jumps when he follows them to the edge of the cliff.

Did they… were they so... that they didn't notice the cliff?!

He rushes towards the quite literal edge of Terry Town and frantically looks down into the water below. It's hard to see with the light of the quarter moon creeping up behind them.

He can't see a thing, but thankfully Wind has a knack for looking into the horizon because his voice cuts through his internal panic with the pointing of a hand.

"Look!"

Twilight follows the pointing finger until his eyes land on the distant sight of two people sharing one lantern in the forest past the edge of the lake. One is vaguely femininely shaped and the other about the same height but with less curves. They're walking through the tall grass and wirey trees, past the empty husks of what Wild calls Guardians.

Until Wild points out something and they share a look before running behind one of the husks and staying there.

How… how unseemly! Didn't one of those things kill Wild?!

Twilight grabs at the grapple in his bag, thankful he decided to keep that with him instead of putting everything in the inn, and ties the end of it around one of the nearby fence posts. The shore of the lake doesn't look too far from here. He should be able to swim it. Easy.

Wind and Hyrule follow him down without complaint, as Twilight drops the other end of his grapple down with the fill length of chain extended. It takes a few minutes and a few stomach churning, chain wiggling moments with the wind for Twilight to finally find himself at the end of the line, just a short distance from the water.

He hopes there's no monsters in there.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He lets go of the chain and his stomach flips just a bit before he hits the surprisingly refreshing water. Not too cold but not worryingly warm. It's also shallow, his toes brushing the bottom for just a moment before he swims towards where he thinks the shore is and upwards until he reaches the surface with a gasp. There's two more splashes behind him and soon the three of them find themselves gasping and dripping on the muddy and rocky shore of the lake. Hyrule looks the worst out of all of them, perhaps not as used to swimming, but they at least all made it with no monster battles or near drownings. So a win.

The light of the two love bird's lantern is still a good distance away, and by the time they near most of the water has dripped away from their clothes and hair, leaving them uncomfortably damp.

And as they near closer, the louder they can hear… giggling.

Twilight puts a hand to his lips and stops Hyrule and Wind where they stand. Wind looks about ready to throw a fit with a string of embarrassing things like I know what sex is and 'm not a kid but thinks the wiser of it when Hyrule frantically makes cut throat notion, signalling yelling is not the best idea right now.

Twilight takes it upon himself to approach the husk of the Guardian himself. He feels… icky. Like he shouldn't impose. But there's such a thing as chastity and being too young to accidentally become with child. Twilight knows Wild and Zelda has been away from each other for some time, and the… urge must be strong, but he will not allow his protégé to make a mistake he might regret before he's even married.

"Oh Link, it's beautiful!" Zelda says, breathless.

Twilight takes a deep breath and walks around the Guardian with his hands on his hips. Hopefully Zelda doesn't order his death for this.

"What are you two doing?!"

And then he pauses, eyes wide as Wild jumps up from where he's been crouching, pulling out his sword and looking more angry than what Twilight's ever seen him, before shock and curiosity replaces the anger. Zelda is standing behind him, having jumped to her feet and pulling out a dagger, and behind her a green firebug flies away.

They're both fully clothed and looking at Twilight like he's grown a second head.

"Um." Twilight says smartly, his brain going back into process-mode as Zelda rolls her eyes, puts her dagger away, and looks behind her for the firebug that's flown away.

"Are they decent?" Hyrule's voice asks, which is something Wind doesn't bother to do before he steps around the Guardian to stand by Twilight with a disappointed face. Someone really needs to wash that kid's brain out with soap.

"Decent?" Wild asks, confused. Zelda doesn't say anything, she's crouched further into the forest and creeping up on another firebug.

They were… looking at bugs.

"It's okay, traveler," Twilight says, releasing a breath and thanking Hylia and all the other spirits for everything somehow being a misunderstanding. "We were wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Wild asks, sounding even more confused.

Twilight shakes his head and grabs Wind's head, wrapping his hand around the boy's mouth before he can say anything gross. Hyrule walks over, looking as relieved as he might if he were told the spirit of the demon Ganondorf was forever destroyed. Which is to say, he was looking extremely relieved.

"Oh good," Hyrule says as Wild mutters what's probably explicits behind Twilight's hand. "We thought you were having- mmph?!"

Twilight has successfully grabbed Hyrule's face with his other hand and covers his mouth too. Now, with both boys successfully gagged and pinned to his chest, Twilight gives Wild his best smile and hopes it doesn't look too conspicuous and nervous.

"We saw the light and thought you two saw something dangerous," he lies easily.

Wild gives him a slight suspicious look, his eyes flickering between Twilight's two captives and Twilight himself before shrugging and putting his sword away. Twilight had to fight to keep a straight face as Hyrule elbows his side and Wind licks his hand.

"It's Zelda's first time at Terry Town, and I wanted to show her the creatures that call this place home," Wild explains, not looking all that concerned that Twilight is still holding two of their group members captive by the faces. Hyrule is licking too now, but Twilight can't trust them not to say the sex word yet. Twilight grew up the perpetual older brother of four kids in Ordon, he's been in positions like this before with much more slobbery licking.

"Oh that's good then, no danger!" Twilight says, keeping in a gasp as Hyrule elbows his side harder and Wind makes a mad grasp for his hair.

Thankfully, Zelda speaks up in a whisper-yell from where she's crouching. "Link! There's a wolf!"

Wild gives the other heroes a wide grin before he quietly sprints towards Zelda and couches besides her. The two begin to talk to each other in hushed voices.

Twilight let's a second pass, and then he releases his captives.

Hyrule takes in a deep gasp like Twilight had been strangling him—he wasn't—and Wind spits at the ground furiously like what he licked had been poisonous—Twilight is doubtful the palm of his hand tasted that bad.

Before either of them could recover, Twilight leans down and grabs them both by the points of their ears.

"Do. Not. Say. A. Word."

Wind whacks his hand away, scowling. "Okay okay! Geez-"

Twilight gives them both level glares and eventually they both nod in agreement. Whatever misunderstanding has just happened, Wild and Zelda were to remain unaware of it. Period.

With the unspoken agreement, the three of them walk up to Wild and Zelda, of which Wild is currently in a long ramble in the differences between all the kinds of wolves in Hyrule. Apparently, wolves in Akkala have slightly shorter snouts compared to Hyrule Field Wolves even though they have the same coloring. Interesting. Kind of useless to Twilight, but he'd much rather listen to Wild explain the slight differences of wolves than… other things.

When Zelda requests to see the two kinds of wolves side-by-side, Wild promises he has pictures of both of them on his little magic box thing.

And that's... pretty much how the next few hours go. Wild and Zelda run bush to bush, talking excitedly between each other about black winged butterflies and the abilities gained from eating a golden beetle, and the three other heroes follow along like lost puppies, not able to offer a single shred of new information to the chatty environmentalists. Twilight manages to get in a small comment about the Ordon goats—and ignores the triplet groaning from Wild, Wind, and Hyrule—but after he fails to produce a picture of his favorite animal Zelda loses interest and moves on to poking the leaves of some random flower.

Twilight sighs. Someday someone will worship the Ordon goats like they deserve.

Sigh.

Someday.

Hours pass and Wind gives a huge very bored sounding yawn, which somehow earns the pity of Zelda. "You're right, small pirate Link. It is probably about time we should head back." She turns towards the Wild with a glint in her eyes. "I'm sure the guards are missing us."

Wild snickers and Twilight rolls his eyes before turning to look at where the cliffs surrounding Terry Town. Then, something occurs to him.

"Hey, you came down with your paraglider?" Twilight says and Wild nods slowly, patting the folded up contraption on his back. "How did you two plan on getting back to town?"

Matching looks of we didn't think of that flashes on Zelda and Wild's faces.

Twilight sighs, turning to Zelda. "Think you can climb a chain or do you want to walk up the long way?"

Zelda narrows her eyes and rolls up her sleeves. Her biceps, too, resemble that of a grown pumpkin. Twilight won't ask if she's sure, he bets she can take him down wrestling as well.

"Alright then," he says.

They walk back towards the lake as a group, and Twilight does his best to comfort Hyrule who's glaring at the water with resentment. It will definitely be harder getting back up than it was getting down. They'll have to swim the lake and climb up the cliffs a bit before jumping to the hanging chain and climbing the rest of the way up there. It'll be a fun workout.

As they walk, Twilight falls back to fall into step with Zelda and Wild. Wind and Hyrule continue onwards in front of them.

"So…" Twilight says under his breath, just loud enough for the two champions of this time to hear them. They both give him curious looks. "Engaged, huh?"

Twilight expected blushing or blubbering or something. What he got was a full on belly laugh from the queen and a rolling-of-the-eyes from her knight and husband-to-be.

"Who told you," Wild demands as Zelda laughs on, earning slightly concerned looks from Hyrule and Wind, "was it Rhondson? I bet it was Rhondson."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Twilight asks, ignoring Wild's (accurate) accusations towards Rhondson.

At this, a flash of guilt passes over Wild's face and Zelda quiets, looking interested. "It… never came up?"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Zelda asks. Wild gives her an apologetic look and she scoffs, looking shockingly more amused than anything.

"I didn't... forget. I was just focused on the quest!"

"It's okay, Link. I forgot too."

"Oh thank Hylia."

The two of them fall into some strange companionable understanding silence and Twilight is left completely and frustratingly out of an apparent inside joke or some sort.

He sighs. "Look, I know this might sound weird, coming from me," Zelda and Wild give him their attention with matching expressions of curiosity, "but I know you're both young and probably haven't been taught very well about… adult matters, so…" oh this is so awkward, they're looking confused, "if you have any questions about… um… urges or desires-"

"Oh!" Zelda says, clapping her hands together in front of her. "You mean sex!"

Twilight chokes on his words and Wild nearly trips into the dirt. Zelda looks like she hasn't said anything strange at all.

"Don't worry, Mr Goat Farmer Link. Link and I know all about sex and we decided we will not being doing it," Zelda says as if she's reassuring a worried soldier or something similar. Indifferent. Straight faced.

"Y-yeah," Wild says after he had refound his footing. "Strictly business. Our marriage."

"I was tired of Impa asking when I'll get married and produce an heir," Zelda explains easily, though she gave a slight disgusted tone at the word produce. "I am much more interested in so many other things, but Impa was getting insistent." Zelda rolls her eyes.

"So Zelda decided to ask me to marry her," Wild puts in quietly, "and I told her that um… I'm not interested in her or in anyone that way, but she said the same thing and then told me that it would benefit us both to marry anyway and so… yeah."

"Impa would stop bugging me about getting married and Link would have unlimited access to the castle kitchens once it's fully repaired. I can continue my journey to study and rebuilt this country in peace and Link can continue his dreams of cooking."

Twilight finds himself nodding, because it makes just as much sense as it doesn't make sense. Which means he doesn't get it but they do so he won't argue on it. "But what about… continuing the royal line?"

"The line will die with me," Zelda says. Like that wasn't a royal bombchu-shell . "Because I will not be bearing any children. We will adopt or I will choose someone I trust to take the throne when the time is right. We will decide when the time comes." She grabs Wild's hand and he squeezes in reply. "Together."

Twilight nods again, deciding against arguing that too.

"Is that what you thought we were doing, rancher?" Wild asks. "Having…"

Twilight's cheeks heat up. "Nope. Not at all."

"Oh, okay…"

Wild definitely doesn't believe it, and he's smirking, but it seems he will save Twilight from embarrassment for the rest of the night. No promises tomorrow though, Twilight's sure.

Turns out, Zelda can absolutely crush them all at swimming and scaling a cliff with a hanging chain. She is hardly even winded when they all reach the top. She bids them all farewell and heads towards the home that has graciously lended her a guest room for her stay. The guards all look extremely relieved to see her, and they disappear into the home with a final wave from Zelda towards their direction.

"I can't believe you're engaged, gremlin," Wind says through a yawn and Wild laughs.

"We're just really good friends," he replies, and Twilight smiles. The trust between the two of them must be so strong regardless of physical desire. He still doesn't understand it, but Wild looks happy and Zelda looks happy and they both clearly love each other.

In their own way.

And Twilight can respect that.

#linked universe #hero of twilight #hero of the wild #botw #zelda #loz #aroace characters #jin writes #zelink #sorta #zelink but also not zelink lol #hero of the wind #hero of hyrule

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 5 years ago

Text

Messenger

AN: This is my prompt for @liliesoftherain and I’s server April prompt. I thought I would do a Greek Gods with Japanese fusion. I haven’t edited it thoroughly just yet, I will do it later when I have time.I cut this prompt short cause I had a whole ass plot figured out before Final weeks hit then I was too late to finish on time and so I’m posting it as is. I still hope you guys enjoy it though <3. Read rest of the prompts: HERE

Warning: Contains explicit sex and smut. Read at your own discretion.

Gods & Godesses:

Aizawa- Hades

Keroberosu- Cerberus. It’s now a three headed cat cause I said so.

Haru- Another “potential reader” Persephone. Her name means Spring.

Shikaku- Basically an OC who is suppose to be Demetor. Her name means Harvest.

Hawks- Hermes.

Endeavor/Todoroki- Zeus

Hadajuban- a white layer worn underneath a kimono

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

The Messenger God known as such to mortals, nicknamed Hawks by fellow gods, and Keigo Takami among his closest companion, smiled indulgently as he tried not to show his irritation. He really couldn’t be mad at the Spring Goddess as she ran around trying to gather her necessities to leave the underworld, she was too wholesome. Her childish sunny smiles and giggles echoed throughout the desolate world as she ran.

She abruptly stopped in the middle of her packing.

“Shouta, do you think I can take some pomegranates with me?” she asked the dour god eagerly.

The God of the Underworld paused in his playtime with Keroberosu, the three-headed cat.

“I don’t care, but you better hurry up. It’s rude to keep people waiting,” Shouta said as he spared a glance at Keigo before he resumed playing with his cat.

Keigo raised an eyebrow at Aizawa. When people picture the God of the Dead, they certainly don’t expect a man like him. Many times, Keigo made the trip down here and he spotted the God sleeping on a makeshift futon, while souls passed through. Though, Aizawa certainly resembled the part with the appearance of being half-dead with baggy eyes.

Keigo didn’t make the trip here often before the debacle. But, now with seasonal change, Haru was ordered to return to her mother so that spring and crops would flourish again. Though humans all suspected Aizawa kidnapped her when in reality the Goddess had wandered into the underworld, and Aizawa wasn’t bothered enough to order her to go home. Keigo suspected that Shukaku or the Goddess of Harvest had spread the tale of kidnapping and rape to her priests who in turn spread it throughout the lands. After all, she was the only Goddess who regularly had contact with the mortals.

Keigo turned to observe Aizawa as he lured Keroberosu with a toy and the black feline excitedly chased the bait.

Yet, what was suspicious in all of this was how quickly Aizawa had married Haru. While delivering messages between Todoroki, Shukaku, and Aizawa, in that short amount of time they had gotten married, consummated it, and Haru had even eaten seeds of the underworld. Preventing the Goddess from returning the surface world for 6 months. Clearly, the man cared far more about his interloper than he let on at the beginning.

“I’m finished!” she announced cheerfully. Keigo sighed with relief. Finally. He was anxious to go.

Aizawa petted Keroberosu one last time before he turned around to face them both. He approached Haru and caressed her cheeks.

“I will see you later,” he rasped quietly to his wife. Haru, in turn, smiled gently.

“Try to get some sleep while I’m gone ok?”

Aizawa grunted and kissed her forehead.

Keigo looked away from the intimate scene as his heart clenched with jealousy. The easy affection between the Gods was something to be cherished not torn away in their world of immortals.

The Spring Goddess skipped happily to Keigo.

“Ready?” he asked.

She grinned and nodded as she held up the basket of goods for the trip home.

Keigo gathered the Goddess in his arms as his red wings sprawled out from behind. He flapped them a few times.

He could feel the harsh glare from Aizawa, Keigo couldn’t help but smirk. He carefully maneuvered Haru and bridal carried her. The glare seemed to intensify like Aizawa wanted to rip his soul out and cast it into Tarutarosu. Keigo sweatdropped and flew off before Aizawa could comment. Haru screamed out her goodbyes as she twisted around to wave to her husband.

Hours later Keigo let down Haru in the shrine of Shukaku that was her home.

‘This is my chance.’ He thought.

Shukaku didn’t like any Gods to linger around her dwellings or shrines. Her wrath was worth fearing especially since her daughter had gotten married, she was even more short-tempered. However, he noticed how for a few hours she would be distracted by the arrival of Haru, caring for her daughter.

He gave a salute to the young Goddess before he flew off. Just in time too as Shukaku barreled to her daughter and gave her a tight hug.

He encircled the temple a few times before he spotted her. He made his way to the temple and landed on top of it, to get a perfect bird’s eye view of the worshippers who were making their tributes. Keigo felt his heart skip a beat as he finally spotted Y/N. She was a bewitching human. He had noticed her a while ago when making a delivery to Shukaku who had noticed his wandering eye and shoved him away in a hurry. So, a few days after that encounter, Keigo had disguised himself as a peddling old man to get a glimpse at Y/N who would take care of the incoming devotees.

She wasn’t perfect, her skin too tan evident of her farming origins. Her clothes too torn and shabby, but her smile and gentleness as she accompanied the disguised Keigo enchanted him. The swell of her breasts took his breath away when she bent down to offer him a meager meal of bread and potatoes. She was at first another peasant that hung around the shrines before the priests took advantage of her youth and put her to use. The priests themselves were too busy appeasing the Harvest Goddess to deal with the hungry and the poor.

Yet, all he wanted to do was adorn her in silk and riches. Why didn’t anyone steal her away was a mystery. Didn’t anyone else not notice the beauty behind the dirt-covered fingers and peasant clothing?

Ever since that day, Keigo would whisk away after delivering Haru to her mother to catch a glimpse of his beauty. He watched for hours as she worked in the shrine before finally, she headed home for the day. However, Keigo knew he couldn’t just watch anymore, his desire to possess her overwhelmed him. He had to have her and soon. Keigo smirked, he knew exactly how to do go that, and he flew off to make the appropriate preparations.

A few days later, Keigo straightened up his extravagant yukata as he kept a close eye on his entourage that was accompanying him. All of them were nymphs ordered to participate in this charade by him. This was necessary he can’t have Y/N’s family suspect him for even a second. The neighboring villagers gathered around to watch the wealthy man in his riches make his way through the slums. They had reached their destination and with inhumane finesse, Keigo lept off the horse, made his way to the bowing man who’s home they had stopped in front of.

“My lord. How may I help you?” the peasant asked as he bent low.

“You are Y/N’s father, aren’t you?” Keigo asked despite already knowing.

The peasant looked up in surprise before looking down in a hurry.

“Y-yes, I’m her father. Is she alright? Or has she done something to offend you, my lord?”

Keigo shook his head.

“I have something to offer you. Let’s talk inside.” Keigo conveyed with this head towards their shabby shack of a house.

Y/N’s father shook himself and quickly made his way inside with Keigo following close behind him.

Keigo fought hard to keep the frown off his face as he looked around the surrounding. His beloved Y/N grew up in such a dwelling when clearly, she should have been a queen.

Y/N’s father offered him a seat and even some drinks and food to the rich man who just refused.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I want to ask for Y/N’s hand.”

The peasant gasped incredulously.

“My lord, I cannot accept that offer. She is in Shukaku-sama��s service. I can’t with good conscious deprive of her duties,” he begged.

Keigo smirked. “Oh yes. The Goddess that still starves your family despite your devotion. Remind me how many of your crops survived this year? Or do you and your wife still starve yourself every night so that Y/N and her siblings can have something to eat?”

Y/N’s father looked away in shame.

Keigo seized the opportunity, seeing the peasant’s weakness. “Give her to me. I’ll adorn her like she deserves. She will sleep every night with a full belly. All the children that are blessed to Y/N and her future generation after won’t ever starve.”

The peasant was now shaking, just a little more.

“Even you. As Y/N’s immediate family will it not be her husband’s duty to take care of them? I will make sure all your children prosper. Though, I cannot make your crops grow. I can give you gold to buy all the food you will ever desire.”

Y/N father’s felt his heartache at the dilemma. For far too long the family has been struggling with meager rations and crops.

“I have to ask since she is my eldest daughter. Will you treat her with the respect a wife deserves? You won’t cast her aside, will you?”

Keigo felt his inwards burn with fury and felt the need to bury his claws and talons into this mortal. Even throw some of his sharpened feathers to turn him into minced meat. He forced himself to calm down as he breathed a deep breath through his nose.

“Of course not. I have made a journey all the way down here to ask for her hand from her father. I wouldn’t do that for a woman I was just going to set aside.” Keigo reassured the mortal.

Y/N’s father wiped the tears that welled up and solemnly nodded.

Keigo felt the first genuine smile since he came here threatening to creep upon his face and he became serious once more.

“Get her ready in a week. I will send supplies to make sure she’s ready for the journey,” Keigo said as he made to leave the shack.

Y/N’s father interrupted, “but my lord what will I tell her?”

Keigo shrugged and let a small smile bloom on his face. “Tell her she’s going to become a bride.”

With that, he hurriedly made to leave the slums that rank of animal feces, tracked mud and dirt everywhere. Keigo gathered his entourage as he made his way back to his temple that was worshipped by his cult. There he celebrated his win with a cup of sake.

“To Y/N and I’s future! May she forever remain lovely and exquisite as she does now.” He toasted brilliantly before drinking his sake.

Wedding

Keigo couldn’t help but sneak peeks at his bride. He was right she looked impeccable in the bridal clothes he had provided. Y/N was clearly nervous as her hands shook and she also snuck peeks at her husband. Keigo would flash warm smiles to her each time she did. Y/N would quickly turn away as she blushed.

With the wedding party settling down, Keigo was anxious to get Y/N alone. It had been hours of festivities as minor deities and nymphs visited disguised as humans. Y/N’s family, of course, wasn’t allowed to attend, instead, she had said her goodbyes in the morning before she was whisked away for preparations.

No, what his attention was currently focused on is discerning the secrets underneath the kimono of his lovely wife. When the last guest had retired to their home, Keigo helped his wife up. He took her to the room in his temple that would be their shared room. The futon was laid out along with some sake. Keigo quickly put away the sake as he didn’t want Y/N to get too drunk to enjoy their night.

He offered her his hand as he brought Y/N closer to him.

“Did your mother explain about your duties to your lord husband?” he whispered huskily in her ear as he toyed with the obi of her kimono.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt his warm breath sending goosebumps throughout her body.

“S-she did. She also told me that it would hurt,” Y/N whimpered out.

Keigo let out a chuckle.

“Y/N, I’m going to make you so delirious with pleasure you won’t feel a thing,” he promised as he undid the knot on her obi and took off her kimono.

The white layer underneath showcased just a bit of Y/N’s curves that he ached for so many days to touch and hold.

Keigo grabbed her face as he softly kissed her and coaxed Y/N to respond. Slowly and reluctantly she did as he subtly taught her the art of kissing. While she was busy, Keigo let his hands wander getting the hadajuban off her body. He slid the robe off and let it flutter down onto the tatami.

He pushed her down to the futon, still kissing her as she let out quiet, reluctant moans that Keigo cherished. He made his way to her neck, leaving behind marks showing his claim on her. Kissing the tops of her breasts, he caressed her thighs that had her keening for more. She grabbed his shoulders and tightened her hold on him, not knowing what she needed at that moment. Luckily for Y/N, Keigo's favorite type of lover to have were virgins. He loved the way they got all excited and needy from a few touches, he knew exactly what she needed.

He removed his own kimono before switching positions with Y/N to settle her on top of him. Y/N blushed as she felt her husband’s member hot against her juncture. She balanced herself by putting her hands on his chest and tried to get off.

Keigo grabbed her waist before she could.

“Stay. This way it will hurt less.”

Y/N started breathing erratically as he started to pluck her nipples and grinded against his hand when he checked her readiness. He could feel her virginal barrier still intact.

“I-I’m not sure what to do,” she confessed as she looked anywhere but at her husband.

When Y/N felt him shaking, she looked down to see him chuckling.

She felt his hands tightened around her hips. “I have you so don’t worry,” he reassured. “Though, you should probably start by putting my cock inside.”

Y/N spluttered at his straightforwardness and felt her face get even hotter. Keigo smirked, delighted she could be undone by a word, though by the time he’s through with her he’s going debauch her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t even look him in the eye for weeks.

Keigo reminded her to start by thrusting and grinding below her. Y/N whimpered in return as the contact sparked tingles through her core. She hesitantly grabbed his member, the temperature, and hardness of which perplexed her. Keigo exhaled, trying to remain in control as he watched the mortal he was obsessed with, fulfill his wildest fantasies.

She couched her hips nearer so that her entrance she was so intimately familiar with lined up and slowly sank onto his cock. Her breath hitched as he stretched her out so wonderfully, giving a pleasure that she had only felt through her fingers. Yet, her fingers couldn’t compare to the fullness that his cock inspired. The strange sensations of his ridges also provided extra stimulus.

Keigo held her steady as Y/N let his member in and out several times before finally letting him in deeper. Y/N licked her lips in nervousness as he was only a few inches in and the rest of him still to go. She hesitated before changing her mind and was about to withdraw. Keigo seeing Y/N’s second-guessing herself when she had made such good progress, made him impatient. He tried to wait he really did, but sometimes even an immortal can be tempted by earthly pleasures. He thrusted in fully, as he ripped through her hymen and filled her to the brim. Y/N choked out a gasp at the slight pain, but mostly pleasure as her body slumped forward.

“Come on wife show me what you can do,” he said as he nudged her to move.

Y/N straightened up and moved her hips. At first, her rhythm was all off and she kept her thrusts short and uneven. Still, she gained more and more confidence as she found what she liked and fulfilled her needs. Soon her body naturally started doing a wave of sorts as her hips rose and fell on his cock. Y/N gasped and moaned as sweat started dripping from her forehead and down her body. Keigo reached up and licked the salty moisture before it disappeared into the valley of her breasts.

She was truly a magnificent sight as Y/N evolved from a peasant girl into a God’s woman right before his eyes.

Y/N finally finding the rapture she was looking, sped up, and starting actively bouncing. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Keigo held the bouncing globes in his hands as he swirled his tongue and suckled. That proved to be too much for Y/N as she let out broken groans and clenched her eyes shut. The sensations exploded and overwhelmed her mind as Keigo helped her ride it out from below. She collapsed on top of him as her body rested.

Keigo helped her move to the side and spooned her from behind. He grinded into her back, his cock still pulsing with need. Moving Y/N’s hair out of the, he kissed her neck a few times before plunging his cock back into her. Keeping her flushed against his body as he had his hand over her waist to keep her still as his thrusts rocked her body back and forth.

She concealed her screams into her futon as he set about a harsh pace, faster than the one she had been used to. He stealthily trailed his hand down to her pussy. Her clit was well lubricated due to the moisture that gushed out each time he pulled out and slammed back in. Feeling himself get close, Keigo started rubbing her clit frantically, wanting to feel her walls squeeze him and greedily suck his seed into her womb.

Y/N despite muffling her sounds, got louder and louder, screeching as she came once again. Keigo groaned and nestled his face into her shoulder as he released his cum into her. Y/N groggily felt herself being tucked in beside him and a blanket soon covered them both before she drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later Y/N was hastily woken from her rest for the third time that night as Keigo took her over and over. As she keeled over from yet another orgasm, she blearily looked at her blonde husband who was panting above her and swore she saw his eyes turn gold and red wings erupt from his back.

#bnha prompts #mha prompts #bnha smut #mha smut #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x oc #keigo takami #keigo imagine #takami keigo #keigo x reader #bnha au #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha greek au

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thedistrictsleepsalonetonight · 4 years ago

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Kiss me now that I’m older (or Jamie tries her best to run away from love and it finds her anyway)

@nikkismalls28, here’s my best attempt at trying to convert your prompt into a semi-coherent fic.

******************************************************************************************

Jamie has long decided she’s going to live, and die alone, when Dani Clayton, au pair extraordinaire, walks into her life and upturns that plan very nicely.

It’s not like she sets out to do that, to be fair. Not like Dani knows the sheer magnetism that dogs her footsteps, knows the force with which her bright, blue eyes demand attention. She isn’t affected by the same energy that permeates the air in every room she walks into. Dani Clayton is trouble, and like every girl in the world who is trouble, she has no clue.

And Jamie, like any other sad sucker who is prone to falling in love with tiny, pretty girls with eyes of steel, takes one look at her and decides to stay the fuck away.

(And thus begins the story of the biggest failure in history, ever)

She tries. Tries not to let her eyes linger on Dani, not even when she asks her if she’d seen a man on the parapet, although it’s hard. Trouble or not, Dani Clayton is the kind of girl who was born to draw attention. But she keeps on laughing with Hannah and teasing Owen about going after the new au pair.

(Here’s the thing about what you want. It’s easier to deal with never having it if you know it was never yours to have)

But then she finds Dani having a panic attack behind the statue, and she can’t help herself. She stands there, staring at Dani’s back, and tries her very best to make her smile.

(And dear God, when that girl smiles in her direction, it’s like there’s a light shining right on her head, a choir playing in the background, flowers falling and gently landing on top of her. Jamie tries to blink it away. It doesn’t work)

One conversation turns to a second one on the couch, and this time Jamie has no excuses. She sits on the couch, Dani at her side, and can’t help the way her eyes stay on Dani, can’t help wanting to talk to her more and more, can’t help thinking What are you doing to me. She wants to stay up the whole night just talking to this strange woman with so much depth hidden in her eyes. Jamie feels weak, feels way out of her depth. This wasn’t the plan; she tells herself every five minutes.

And then they kiss, and all plans flip upside down.

*****

Jamie remembers love as a distant language that has never quite made sense to her.

It never ends well.

For every gentle hair ruffle her mother left on her head, there’s another imprint of her footstep walking away; for all the meager memories she has of her brothers, there’s one that stands out the most – the day they came to take them away and put her younger brother in a home. For every kiss she’s received, there’s an indelible mark on her chest as a reminder of the loss that is, inevitably, to come.

At this point in her life, Jamie has forgotten so many pieces of herself behind with people, that she isn’t sure there’s enough left of her to piece together, isn’t sure if what’s still standing can even count as a whole person.

(And here’s another thing about what you want. It’s easier to deal with losing it if you refuse to go after it in the first place)

(Dani will leave. There are no two ways about it.)

(And if — when — she does, Jamie is certain there won’t be anything left of her anymore)

“It would be kinda boring, wouldn’t it?” Dani asks her, raw hope shining in her eyes, her words, and God, Jamie can’t do this.

“Dani,” she says, “I’m sorry, I — I can’t.”

There’s a dreadful attempt at a smile, that Jamie can’t bear to watch.

“Okay,” Dani says, and when Flora wanders out, an entirely different kind of hell begins.

*****

Here’s something about love Jamie’s discovered since she’s met Dani: you really, really can’t help it at all.

She says no, but she can’t stay away. Says no, but her eyes still seek out Dani every time they’re in a room together, still feel an odd sense of euphoria and relief whenever she’s in her line of sight, as if a gentle hand is tapping on her heart, letting it know it’ll be alright. They’re still talking, and Jamie can’t help the way her hands sometimes reach out for Dani, and she has to consciously ball them up into little lovestruck fists.

“I’m gonna go,” she tells Dani, reluctantly, after Flora’s been put to bed.

“Oh,” Dani replies, her eyes wide, her voice soft. “You could.... you could stay, you know? It’s late.”

And Jesus, Jamie wants to. She wants to step forward and hold Dani’s hand, wants to trace her face with her fingertips, wants to forget her stupid rules and kiss her.

(Plus, there’s this delicate sense of foreboding just hanging in the house. Every room at Bly Manor is drenched in it. Jamie wonders if she should stay anyway, but decides against it. If she does, she will do something stupid, and there’s no way she’s risking playing around with Dani’s feelings like that.)

“Goodnight,” she says, instead, the words hanging in the air between them. I don’t want to go. Ask me to stay one more time. Just one more time, and I will. I’ll never leave.

“Goodnight,” Dani replies.

The night has just begun.

*****

Jamie’s running long before she even knows what’s wrong.

Dani’s saying something that sounds like itsusitsusitsusitsus over and over again, and she knows she should worry about what of it means, but now that both Dani and Flora are in her arm, all she can do is tip her forehead against Dani’s and hold them as tight as she possibly can. You’re here, you’re okay, she says in response to Dani saying It’s you It’s me It’s us, not knowing which one of them sound more frantic. Dani, Dani, Dani, she says, the water on Dani’s face masking their panicked tears.

You’re here. You’re okay.

(I’ve got you. I’m never letting go)

And then they’re torn apart again, Jamie with Owen, and Dani back up to the house to take care of the children. She finds herself holding on a bit longer to Dani’s hand when they’re separating, trying her best not to ask her to come with her. She knows it’s selfish, but unless her greedy eyes see Dani safe and sound in front of her, she’ll have trouble believing they’re alright.

“I’ll meet you back at the house,” Dani says, a hand on Jamie’s cheek, eyes glancing once at Owen, who’s barely holding himself together.

“Dani.”

“I know,” she says. “I’ll be alright.”

“Sure?” Jamie asks, and feels like a little kid in need of constant reassurance. Do you promise you’ll still be here? Do you promise you’ll be okay?

Dani nods.

*****

It’s a long, long time after that goodbye that they get to be alone.

In all honesty, it’s probably hours, but it feels like eons. Making sure Owen eats, that Hannah’s body is laid to rest, and there is no evidence of the horror left behind is a long and arduous task, and Jamie does it all, completely numb. It’s been a long time since she’s cooked for anyone but herself, but she whips them up something, just so they can all go to sleep.

The door to Dani’s room is closed. Jamie stands there for an embarrassingly long time. Dani could be asleep. She could be resting. She could want to be alone.

There’s another part of her that thinks – Dani could be panicking. She could be huddling on the floor, trying, and failing to gather her breath.

Jamie takes a deep breath, then another, then another until she realizes she’s this close to panic herself. There’s an awful rope making its way up her insides, tightening around her chest, contracting until she can hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands can’t, won’t stop shaking, her legs feel like they’ll give way any second. She blinks furiously, trying to regain some feeling, trying to make sense of whatever it is that’s turning her lightheaded.

Dani, she thinks. I need to know Dani’s okay. And then she knocks.

(Or more accurately, her hand falls upon the door like a dying man’s last wish.)

Dani opens the door immediately, which would be something she should ideally think about except seeing her drives all thought out of her head.

“Jamie!” Dani’s face is twisted in concern. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”

Jamie breathes, and falls into her arms.

*****

Holding Dani nudges the air back into her lungs.

There’s nothing she’s ever felt like it. Dani in her arms is both ecstasy and relief. Holding the girl she loves is a drug all its own. It’s intoxicating. Addictive. She isn’t sure she can ever let go. She isn’t sure she ever wants to.

And there’s a part of her that dimly registers the material feel of everything around her, the soft fabric on Dani’s back, the way her hair smells (like fruit, like berries, like what she imagines heaven to be like), the sensation of Dani’s own hands around her shoulders. Dani, she says, through a shuddering sob, as her hands move on her back, making sure she’s okay. Dani, she says, as she presses kiss after kiss onto her shoulder, her neck, her hair. Dani, Dani, Dani.

“Jamie,” Dani draws back, after a long time, frowning at her. Jamie thinks, like she’s in a fog, that she could listen to her talk forever. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“What — what are you—”

“You’ve been saying you’re sorry for the past minute.”

“I,” she flounders. “It’s probably because I am.”

“Why?”

She draws back, the scoff escaping before she can help it. “Why? Because I fucking left! I should’ve been here! You asked me to stay. I could feel something was wrong, and I fucking should’ve—”

“—Jamie. Stop.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dani tells her, pulling her back in even as Jamie shakes her head. “No. No. You listen, okay? You didn’t know what was gonna happen. Neither did I. I mean, who would’ve fucking guessed—”

“It’s not just that,” Jamie admits. “Everything I did. Everything, even with us and I was so stupid—”

Dani puts a finger on her lips, then very quickly rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her forehead. It shuts her up nicely.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does. I—”

“I know, darling,” Dani reassures her, her hands now on either side of her face, thumbs wiping away tears Jamie hadn’t even known existed.

“I tried to stay away, you know?”

“I know you did,” Dani just looks fond.

“Dani,” Jamie says her name like it’s a benediction. It feels purer than one. “I don’t want to stay away anymore.”

“I think we’re pretty shit at staying away from each other, to be very honest,” Dani’s smile is wry, and makes Jamie’s stomach fall, and settle softly, somewhere near her toes. “You wanna stay today? And tonight?”

Ask me to stay forever, and I will.

(Here’s one final thing Jamie stumbles across when she finally stops running from love: here is all the pain in the world wrapped up in the possibility of one person, all your broken parts, pieced together handed over to them in the hope that somehow, by some miracle, they won’t drop it. Jamie doesn’t care, as long as she gets to spend all of it on Dani, consequences be damned)

“One day at a time,” she says, instead, and kisses Dani. All of her plans are up in the air. She kind of doesn’t give a damn.

#the haunting of bly manor #fanfiction #thobm fanfic #thobm #dani x jamie #hah - another shitty hurriedly written hurt-comfort fic from yours truly #no editing we die like dani clayton #also this one's angst heavy and no humor so a little departure from the norm #anyways #happy reading #submission

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typewriterghcst · 4 years ago

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Title: A Very Small Wish Fandom: The Cat Returns Characters: Baron, Muta, Toto, Haru, plus some OCs Rating: PGish maybe?? Summary: A pleading request from a parent whose daughter has been cursed by a resentful witch is nothing truly out of the ordinary for the Cat Bureau— in fact, it might be so common so as to be routine— so why does something feel inherently off about this particular one? Notes: Fourth chapter of seven of a Secret Santa gift for @deedee-sunflowers. As mentioned on ao3, I split up the fourth chapter, so consider this something of an intermission! And I’m sorry it took me all the way until the fourth chapter to finally get to the ‘witch’ part of the prompt rip I also had neglected to apologize before now for the lack of romance. I hope that’s not a deal breaker orz I tend to gravitate toward gen, and that held true for this story, unfortunately, aha

Ch. 4: Grandmother

By the time the errant inhabitants of the Sown Forest are put back where they belong, a few mishaps aside, and the Bureau and Haru make their way back to Vanya’s spot, any disquiet he’d been on the verge of verbalizing is long gone. He greets them with an expected cheeriness, almost shyly giving Baron’s hat back to him.

...Were he not seemingly incapable of such an emotion, that is. In truth, he is dangerously close to instead offering the Creation a remarkably potent example of ‘bedroom eyes’ as he hands the accessory over.

Perhaps in a polite attempt to distract from such a reaction, Baron asks, “Which direction is the— ah, what did you call them? The Top-Top? Will it take us long to reach our destination?”

“If we go, we will reach it,” Vanya responds nonchalantly.

Well, it doesn’t take long at all for that answer to rankle Muta’s nerves enough for him to protest.

“...Yanno, you’re pretty mouthy for something that’s about a foot tall.”

“Let’s not idle,” Baron cuts in as politely as he’s able, giving Muta a discerning look where Vanya can not see. “Time is against us, and, as previously detailed, we ought to shave off as much unnecessary labor as we possibly can in our endeavors. Mr. Vanya,” he starts, turning to the fox, “This is your home, and you know the ins and outs of the environment much more thoroughly than we do. We will follow your direction.”

“I’m still gonna complain when it doesn’t make sense, though,” Muta grumbles from the side.

“With your comprehension skills? That’s going to be a lot of complaining,” Toto is swift to remark.

“At least I’m not a birdbrain!”

“That is Oostal, though!” Vanya chirps, having clapped his paws together a few times in delight while listening to the two bicker. Then, thoughtfully, “There is a caravan that accepts passengers. It will take us to the Top-Top.”

“It’s too far to walk?”

“No,” Vanya chirrups again, scampering away and waving for the four of them to follow him shortly after. They share a dubious look with each other before complying, leaving the tidy border of the Sown Forest behind them.

When Haru turns to look just moments later out of nothing more than muted curiosity, she finds that the orderly line of white trees which made up the framework of the forest are no more than faint outlines, like a particularly abstract watercolor painting or a distant cityscape through rain-dotted glass. Seeing also that she’s let a fairly substantial gap form between her and the others even as Muta pauses to let her catch up (having noticed her absence), she jogs forward to continue beside him, putting the oddity out of her mind.

&&&

The roving carriage that Vanya leads them to is, like many things in Oostal, not so terribly outlandish so as to be wholly alien, but still just enough to feel… unfamiliar.

It’s at once delicate and rusted, another relic of Oostal’s ostensible fading vitality, or perhaps of its apparent age, two rows of seating enveloped in a velvety but threadbare and stained layer of scarlet cloth. What had likely once been quite a pretty canopy stretched over the back of it now lies in ragged gauze hanging from bent and dainty posts. The creaking of its wearied joints and wheels echo throughout the air as it rolls stubbornly over the landscape.

There are no horses. Nor is there an apparent driver. More than that, there’s no apparent motor attached to it (and had there been, it would have been the most traditionally technologically advanced object in Oostal the Bureau had yet seen). Yet Vanya is forced to break into a modest jog to catch up to the thing, and it still doesn’t stop in its implacable journey even when he manages to gallop alongside it and clear its side.

“It’s easy!” He calls to them once he’s settled in the back of the wagon.

Amusingly, simply gaining a passenger, even one so minuscule as Vanya, seems to slow the carriage, enough so that it’s little more than a meager sprint the Bureau must employ to catch up. And the addition of four more passengers results in it coming to a momentary stop; then, with all the weary resignation of a browbeaten beast of burden, it circles back around in the direction it had just come, and they are again on their way. At least, Haru assumes they are.

She notices Baron open his mouth and almost immediately close it again, looking faintly discomfited with something, and to herself she hazards a very plausible guess that it was most likely to ask how long the journey might take them.

They’ve all gathered by now that Vanya’s grasp of the passage of time is… tenuous, to say the least. It’s not an entirely comfortable handicap, considering.

So, as a rather roundabout way to procure an answer, Toto instead asks, “Would you advise getting comfortable, Vanya?”

Vanya wastes no time in flopping down into a sitting position at the edge of the base, tail twitching contentedly. “It won’t hurt!”

“So, when were you gonna tell us about that whole ‘spend too long in the forest and you can’t leave’ bit?” Muta asks sourly in the proceeding silence.

“We weren’t going to be there that long,” Vanya sniffs.

Muta appears unsurprisingly unsatisfied with this answer, and he stares the fox down for a good minute before the lack of reaction from Vanya leads to him giving up the ghost for the time being and figuratively throwing his paws in the air.

“Whatever. I deserve a nap. Don’t talk to me until we get there.”

Vanya surreptitiously turns up his nose, but otherwise doesn’t respond, and Muta wanders a short distance away to the driver’s seat, where he quickly plonks into a sleeping position with his back turned to the rest of them. Baron, having watched this show of exasperation with a small measure of knowing affection, then turns that same half-crooked smile to Vanya, this time with a faint edge of sympathy.

“...Well, if there’s room for rest—”

“A short rest,” Vanya clarifies, back to his earlier agreeable tone.

“A short rest, then— I believe I’ll take advantage of it, as well. Don’t hesitate to let us know when we’ve arrived.”

“It’ll be obvious.”

Baron nods once in acknowledgement before moving to join Muta in the front seat. The indistinct, murmuring conversation they begin shortly after is quick to fade into the ambient noise of the laboring of their current mode of transport.

Toto seems content to remain where he is, perched upon one of the velvety seats lined along the side. Haru sits across from him on the opposite row of seats.

“Not to sound skeptical or ungrateful, Vanya, but it’s awfully convenient that this carriage is so willing to take us to our next destination. Does Oostal have a lot of secrets like this?” Toto starts.

“Yes,” Vanya doesn’t hesitate to answer. Then, more thoughtfully, “...or, maybe no.”

He leans back a little and stretches, and when he continues, there’s a certain impassively dazed quality in his voice, “...The Muta Cat complains a lot about Oostal. He wants Oostal to make sense, but Oostal wasn’t made that way. It is what it is.”

“Don’t fret too much about Muta,” Toto says with a dismissive wave of his wing. “He’s just grumpy because we didn’t bring enough snacks.”

Vanya gives an amused-sounding hum.

“...also, out of curiosity, why are we using it anyhow?” The crow pats one of the cushions under him with a talon. “At least, since it’s not too far to walk.”

“Hmm, because it makes it easier.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Because sitting down is easier than walking,” Vanya replies with a glib obliviousness, the sincerity of which Haru finds she can’t quite discern one way or the other.

Toto, at least, only laughs. “I guess you have me there.”

“It seemed like it was already on its way somewhere, though,” Haru then begins, and the oddness inherent in this ostensibly sentient carriage is not at all lost on her, though she neglects to address it specifically. “Where was it going before we, er… commandeered it..?”

“Nobody knows,” Vanya explains blithely. “Always on a journey Somewhere, though. We just let it roam, because it never stops.”

He pats the faded wooden base under him, almost affectionately.

“Maybe it will finally sit down and sleep when it gets There. In the meantime, it takes you anywhere you wish.”

For a fleeting moment, Haru thinks to ask how the wagon knows the way to all these locations, but she’s by now gathered that, however it works, locations in Oostal do not exist in the same way they do on Earth (or, indeed, in her general understanding of how such things exist). She has often liked to think of herself as being a natural with directions, and yet has consistently felt lost in Oostal (the inherent disorientation seemingly built into the Sown Forest notwithstanding).

She watches Vanya kick his dangling feet for a few minutes, and then moves from her seat to sit beside him.

“I haven’t asked yet, but I’m curious, Vanya—” She eventually starts. “What is the witch like? Does she have a name?”

Vanya seems happy enough to answer, long tail thumping once against the worn base of the carriage and one tiny paw going to his chin in thought. “We call her Grandmother.”

“Grandmother?” Toto sounds profoundly amused, and Haru can’t blame him.

“She’s given us no other name. We came up with our own, and I think she likes it. It is a very affectionate name.”

“Yeah, it is. From her antics, I would have expected her to have a more… um, nefarious name. Definitely not something so casual.” Then, after a moment of further deliberation, “Is she really a grandmother?”

Vanya emits his pealing laugh again, flapping one of his paws. “She is a witch! She has no family. She has lived almost as long as Oostal itself!”

“Th-That long? How old is Oostal..?”

“Old,” Vanya responds unhelpfully, as per usual. Haru is abruptly reminded of Muta’s earlier assertion of the same, back when they’d been searching through the Sown Forest.

“...I see.” Haru glances out at the rolling scenery— a golden sky streaked with teal blue, long, pearlescent grasses that wave in the breeze, and dark water in the distance. It’s beautiful, scenery unlike anything she’s seen before, and so blissfully dreamlike. Then, seemingly just as soon as she’d expressed her appreciation, it all shifts in an instant. It’s seamless, but… indescribably disorienting, how the colors and shapes of their surroundings suddenly melt away into something new.

The sky now is dark, clear of clouds or gold or teal-colored streaks. The gentle hills and their shimmering grasses vanish; all around them the landscape has flattened. Like the Sown Forest, the horizon stretches on so far so as to be near unfathomable. And despite the fact they had previously been traveling uphill and are now incomprehensibly rolling across a flat surface without reaching the top of the hill, there had been no crash downwards, the transition from hills to plains as unremarkable as the one from their surroundings.

If Haru spends too long questioning it, her head will start hurting, she knows it.

“I’m no expert on witches,” Toto starts behind them, “But I’ve always heard many of them have an unassuming object which serves as a source of power for them, nefarious or not. In fact, I recall one which had hidden her soul inside a flower. Does Grandmother have one..? It isn’t often I hear of mischievous witches who also happen to be very graceful losers, after all.”

“Mm, a source of her power, maybe not, but Grandmother is the sole proprietor of a very curious book,” Vanya answers. “It’s the only one of its kind, and no one quite knows just how she came to be the owner of it.”

“Oh? And what sort of book is this mysterious tome..?” Toto asks.

Vanya gives a questioning, thoughtful noise, twisting a little to look at the crow as he does. “It is like an address book. Every creature that now lives in Oostal, or once has— its name is written in that book. Its real name, that is.”

It’s here Toto tilts his head, and his eyes, to Haru, sharpen just so, not so abruptly so as to cause alarm or suspicion, but noticeably for someone who has become more accustomed to his mannerisms. When he speaks, it’s with a marked delicateness.

“...I imagine such a book would be quite coveted.”

“Oh, yes.”

It’s when they pass through a broken iron gate that Vanya suddenly stands, dusting off his hands and sides excitedly before pointing out in the distance behind the two of them (Haru has to crane her neck to see what’s got his attention; as she does, she sees that Toto is following suit, as well).

“There it is! The ruined workshop of the Top-Top. Once home to the finest crafters of decorative eggs in all of Oostal.”

Haru, again feeling the faintest veneer of old destruction and deterioration lingering over yet another Oostal location, gazes up at the looming structure, overgrown with red ivy and moss, and the deteriorating gate they’d just rolled through, and then asks, “...What happened to the Top-Top?”

“Nobody is quite sure,” Vanya answers blithely; his own eyes never leave the dilapidated factory, and Haru gets quite the impression that where she sees the echoes of a lamentable catastrophe, he sees something quite different. “It happened overnight, and by the time there were explorers doughty enough to traverse the city, there were no remains to tell the story.”

“That’s a sad story,” Haru says.

“Mm! Sad! It’s an enduring mystery, all right. Virtuous Siree is obsessed with it. Oh! There— on the side, there’s an entrance. That was for their clients.” Vanya hops over the side of the carriage with such speed, he’s little more than a wispy, white blur. Haru slides off the back end to follow him, sharing a — look with Toto before she sees that Vanya has been joined a short ways away by Baron and Muta.

“There will be many eggs inside,” Vanya is explaining.

“So, what, we just go in and grab one that looks good..?” Muta asks with a shrug.

“Were you paying attention to the original riddle at all?” Toto replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means not just any egg will do, Hairball Brain. From the sounds of it, we’re looking for one that never had the chance to be decorated. Isn’t that right, Vanya?”

Something in Vanya’s expression appears lightly annoyed, as if he feels Toto had rather upstaged him and his no doubt theatrical reveal of the answer to this particular stanza of the witch’s riddle.

“That’s right,” he answers, but his clipped tone at least doesn’t last. He laughs again, though, clapping his paws together once. “A bird should know his eggs, shouldn’t he? Here, follow me.”

&&&

If the outside of the old factory had looked desolate and crumbling, then the inside only furthers the aesthetic— peeling wallpaper, overturned furniture, thick, dusty cobwebs. The air is stale, cold. And unlike the Sown Forest, there is no persistent ambient noise to temper the silence. There are, however, hundreds (if not thousands) of tiny eggs scattered across every surface. They litter the floor. Some of them appear to have been dropped and now lie in shattered slivers across the stone flooring.

...Not one of them, from what they can see by the door, has been decorated.

“Wa— hold on, how are we supposed to tell which one is the right one..?”

“We take them all!” Vanya responds brightly.

“You can’t be serious,” Haru starts.

“I’m not.” He scampers to a nearby cluster of eggs and swipes one, holding it out to the rest of them so that they can more easily discern the thin seam along the middle. Then, when he’s certain they’ve all four seen it, Vanya takes both paws and… gently pries it open much like a jewelry box.

“Oh!” Haru responds with breathy awe. “It’s beautiful!”

In contrast to its plain, unadorned outside, the inside of the egg boasts a vibrant green coating, whitish gold lining an overlapping shell pattern in dainty filaments. The same gleaming platinum is present just below the egg’s seam, forming a tiny floor, upon which rests a minuscule, lace-clad mouse carved from something that resembles ivory.

“It reminds me of a music box,” Haru continues softly.

“Mm! ...But not every egg here is like this. One of them must be unlovely both inside and out.”

“It’s just a little plain, that’s all,” Haru feels oddly compelled to counter.

Muta, on the other hand, appears to have singled out a different issue in the present discussion.

“...so, the plan is to just… open every single egg here and hope one doesn’t have some glitzy trinket in it? How are we supposed to do that in just— how long do we have left..?”

“Somewhere around 28 hours,” Baron says.

“In just 25 hours! Look at all these things— there’s gotta be an easier way..!”

“There is, but…” Vanya appears rather uncharacteristically abashed, paws linked behind his back and stance nearly cringing inward.

“But..?” Muta prompts warily.

“You can not be upset with me! It had to be done!”

“Mr. Vanya,” Baron starts with measured patience. “Please, we are here to assist you and your daughter— there is no need to keep secrets. What is the faster method you know of?”

Appeased, the fox clasps his paws together and then opens them again, revealing a modest handful of the scarlet-colored berries from the Sown Forest.

It doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place.

“It was you! You’re the reason those things all turned on us!”

“I was promised there would be no upset!” Vanya cries, apparently deeming Baron the least likely to condemn him, as he quite swiftly scurries behind the Creation, only peeking out to yelp his defense. “Pretty Vanya happened across a berry bush while running to meet the others! It couldn’t hurt to have extras! What if something happened to the one the Helpful Bureau was given?”

“Cut the crap, twerp, you picked them up because you knew we’d need them to make this egg hunt easier,” Muta argues. “Why else would you have worried we’d get mad at you, like it was your fault?!”

Vanya doesn’t respond, but the way his eyes widen in apparent consternation, and the vulnerable, searching look he directs to the four of them says that he hadn’t expected to get caught in one of his own fibs. Even Baron, ever the charitable gentleman, displays some misgiving as he stares at the fox cowering behind him.

“...There do appear to be a number of details you’ve neglected to advise us of, Mr. Vanya,” he eventually agrees softly.

Feeling evidently betrayed by this quiet admonishment from Even Baron, Vanya backs away from the four of them, glancing rapidly between them all again and giving the impression he’s quite frantically running through all his options in his mind. Perhaps predictably, he settles on… well, what they’ve all come to expect as the usual.

“It has been a long time!” He cries, hiding his face in his scarf. “Little Virtuous Siree has spent so long being the way she is now! I wanted a surefire way to gain Helpful Bureau’s assistance, and fast! A time limit, I thought, was the easiest way to do it. The Pretty Vanya Creature is not so devious!”

“Th… that’s it?” Haru pauses. “I guess that explains the time measurements always being off.”

“And the speed of the riddle being solved,” Toto adds. “You must have been working on this for a while, Vanya.”

Muta seems unconvinced, but reluctantly so. “Are you really telling me that a witch not only gave you no restrictions about getting outside help but also didn’t slap down a time limit on you? Eh, look, I’m not trying to be that guy, but that just seems real careless to me, specially for a witch.”

Vanya only cries more loudly.

“Now, now,” Baron starts, offering his own handkerchief to the fox. “It is understandable why you’d feel the need to fabricate this, er, half-truth, but I do promise you, it’s not necessary. We of the Cat Bureau are quite happy to offer our assistance to you in a timely fashion, Mr. Vanya, legitimate time limit or not. And I do hope you will, here on out, feel comfortable placing your complete trust in us.”

Vanya’s black eyes, always rather stark against the pale ivory of his fur, shine now as if they’ve been dusted with glitter as he regards Baron with his paws clasped.

“Yes, yes! The Prettiest Vanya Creature promises— from here, no more fibs.”

“Good.” Baron responds with an obliging nod.

“Alright,” Toto agrees, as well, before continuing, “These berries you picked up at our last location, though— they’re going to help us find the right egg in a quicker fashion? How’s that?”

“We eat them,” Vanya answers bluntly, miming the motion of popping one of the little berries in his mouth.

A reluctant uneasiness settles over the group, then. Their eccentric client has just promised to abandon his exaggerations and falsehoods, and Haru, personally, thinks to herself she’s never been the type to rebuff a genuine apology, but… So, too, does she think this feels like an awfully monumental amount of trust to place in someone so fickle so soon.

“Eat them…” Toto echoes pensively, softly.

“...They don’t taste gross, do they?” Muta asks, unimpressed.

“Hmm, I don’t know. There are no records kept in Oostal about the taste of the Sown Forest berries. So few people have had them!”

“Well,” Baron starts, again the voice of optimism, “If, even though there have been but a handful of pioneers who have tried this particular curiosity, it hasn’t yet gained a reputation as an anathema, then I believe it should be taken as a sign of favorable fortune. No news is good news, as some might say.”

“Bet they said the same thing about enemas,” Muta grumbles under his breath.

Vanya holds his own little red berry above his head, as if attempting to see the light pass through the opaque sphere, and smiles at it in the same way a mother might her stumbling toddler. “They are very special, like most sacred things. And because of that, they allow those who have been gifted with them a most impressive temporary ability.”

“Oh, yeah? And what ability is that..?”

Vanya smiles at Muta, distracted from the fruit. “To see to the heart of anything.”

“Ah,” Baron says with an acknowledging nod, “Like the Lubov, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Muta sighs, interrupting the silence that settles seconds after. “Bottoms up, I guess.”

Finally, with one last tentative look between the four of them, they all take the proverbial plunge.

#the cat returns #secret santa #three fics in two days???? is this madness???#fjfjkd;a

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