#I guess I also had a bit of an unusually uncertain response to my own interest bc I've never really shipped before At All. so like.

[capricioussun]

I was really thinking about if I would ever be comfortable merging my art accounts and I don't think I will. At least not unless I did a full rebrand which I'd really rather not since I'm very happy with how things are situated now.

But I think it boils down to acceptance seeking. I've been socially isolated for a very long time and it's difficult. Even back when I first started drawing au stuff years ago, I contemplated making a separate blog for it because I knew how many ut fans didn't really like the aus. I didn't want to alienate any of the "audience" I'd already built but I also knew there would be a turning point I would just wind up barely posting on one account or the other and it would feel like trying to limp half the time on one leg and then limp the rest on the other, which would be pointless.

But with mirrorshipping (selfcest) being a much more universally contentious topic, I got worried it would only deter people even more. I certainly didn't want to lie about it, especially bc I don't associate it with prshipping the way some others do, so it's not really that im "ashamed" of it, or want to hide it, just that I know it's the kind of thing that's very likely to make some who just walked in turn right back around.

To some degree, as someone who hopes to one day make a career out of being an independent artist, it makes sense to prioritize "growth" over personal satisfaction, but on the other, I've always struggled to care about that sort of thing. Any time I've cared about "alienating" a potential "audience", it's always been more about personal acceptance. I don't want people to see one little aspect of myself or interests and judge me entirely based off of that, even though that's all anyone really can do on the internet. I don't take blocking personally, despite how the prior sentiment seems to contradict that, I get it, I block all the time too, for a variety of reasons. But if there's a chance there're others who don't really mind that I mirrorship, they just don't want to see it or have to block the tag, I don't want them to feel turned away or annoyed, and so I kept it all to a separate account.

There are a few other reasons I won't really get into, too, like how people often do associate it with prship, and how I don't really want to draw that type of a crowd to my main blog, either, but I know in my heart it's the acceptance/approval seeking that was the biggest motivator.

I really honestly wish I knew how to connect with others beyond just trying to "do things right" and hoping that earns me positive attention. I really wish I didn't always feel like my only chance at affection is to improve what I can offer in return.

[wendy130]

Her duckling

When she had gotten up to complete her to-do list, Puffy didn’t think running from Dream would be added to it. This was the second time he had found and followed her (she had ended up nicknaming him her duckling because of how he just acted like a lost duck trying to find its mother). When he had first done it, he had just watched from the distance for the most part. He did help with driving her through the Nether though, which was nice of him since it would have been a huge pain in the ass to travel by herself. Being tiny had its downs.

One of those downs was that she couldn’t run far away.

It started off well, he had just approached her and watched her build a fake toilet on top of Bad’s house. Nothing too unusual. That is until he got uncomfortably closer than she liked. After a couple of minutes, she tried to discreetly lose him when he got a bit closer. That just ended up with him chasing her. Well... “chasing,” he was so much bigger than her that it wasn’t really chasing.

After a couple of minutes of her trying to throw him off her track, and failing, she gave up trying to run from him. She had stopped next to the community house and tried hiding behind some of the chests but that also failed because he ended up just standing in front of the exact chest she was behind.

How he had known she was there, was a mystery to her.

She peeked out from behind the chest to see his white smiley-face mask at face level. A high pitch shriek almost escaped the female sheep’s mouth before she covered it and ducked behind the chest again. She could have sworn she heard a soft chuckle from behind her.

How could she get him away from her? Opening her inventory she saw only her weapons, a few blocks, and some other miscellaneous items. If only she had something she could throw at him to buy her time. Thinking a bit more, she turned around to face the chest. Opening it from behind- the chests had a small opening from the back for tinies like her- she saw a slimeball. She pulled it out from the chest, hopefully, this would be enough to stun him for a bit.

Quickly she jumped out from behind the chest and threw it as hard as she could. It hit him square in the face. A disgruntled sound came from him as he tried wiping it away, only for it to smear onto his hands and armor.

She needed to get away, after that stunt he was most definitely angry.

She ran past him and out the door. Jumping into the water she placed her tiny boat and rowed towards the portal. When she had made it there she took one glance back to see Dream following her to the portal. She hopped through to the Nether, quick to sprint to the nearest bridge that took her away from the portal. To Puffy’s dismay, it was only a couple of seconds before she heard the sound of Dream making it through the portal too, his heavy boots clinking on the floor.

A pearl appeared in front of her moments later and she only had a split second to back away before Dream teleported in front of her. He knelt down and reached out for her. Before he could get a solid grip, Puffy jumped down a gap in the red floor.

Before she could make a move, a purple pickaxe crashed in front of her. It broke some of the terrain and rubble started to fall down the crack. She cried out in surprise and fell back into another hole. The hole led to a small path and she hastily ran through it. It led her a level down from where Dream was.

So there she was, breathing heavily, leaning against the crumbly rocks. It only took her a minute before she regained her composure. Slowly, she got up and tried running more. A cry of pain came from her as she collapsed back down. Fuck. She looked down at her left ankle, it had been sprained. From the looks- and feeling- of it, the wound didn’t seem too severe but it definitely would hinder her. Running with her sprained ankle would be extremely hurtful in the process of healing so her only option was to hide.

Looking around she saw a hidden crack in the wall a few blocks away. Puffy slowly dragged herself up and leaned on her right leg. Slowly, she limped to the opening. She only made it half a block before hearing the soft steps.

She took too long.

Adrenalin pulsed through her when she looked up at his towering form. Abandoning any sense of preservation for her sprained ankle she sprinted towards the gap in the wall. Adrenalin wasn’t enough to push her because after a block of running she tripped on the uneven surface.

She felt a light pressure ease onto her back, forcing her to be pressed against the floor. He had gently placed a boot on her back to prevent her from moving. Not that it was necessary now, the pain in her ankle had worsened to the point she didn’t think she would be able to move on her own.

A small whimper escaped her throat as she watched the masked man cover her escape plan with some blocks. The weight on her back lifted and a hand loosely curled around her figure, pulling her up in a loose fist. She was brought up to his face. Looking closely at the mask, she saw bits of leftover slime still stuck on his mask. What was he going to do..? Is... Is he angry at me? The white mask made it impossible to know what he was thinking and it was nerve-wracking for her.

Nervously, she gave him a small uncertain half-smile, “Y-you found me!” He gave no verbal response, only tilting his head slightly like he was a confused pup. He didn’t seem angry, which was good. She anxiously shifted in his grip. That only resulted in her accidentally putting more pressure on her sprained leg. She let out a small cry of pain before covering her mouth with her hand. Dream jerked back, surprised before he shifted her onto his palm. She pulled her sprained ankle to her chest and awkwardly cradled it.

Warily, she watched as Dream pulled out a potion of regeneration from his inventory and popped the opening of the bottle open. A few drops of the pinkish-purple fluid splashed onto her skin, quickly getting absorbed. The pain in her ankle slowly faded away. He closed the opening of the tonic and placed it back in his inventory. In a soft tone, she stuttered out a quick thanks. He only nodded before placing her back down. She took a few steps towards a rough path that lead back to the portal. She didn’t need to glance back to know he was following her again, the heavy clinking of his boots was enough to alert her of his ever-looming presence.

Guess she was stuck with her duckling.

//hskjdhgdsfkjdf I had to make a not-nomming ending to this so I hope this still works-

//Since like most of my writing is nom-related I wanted to do one where it didn’t end up with noms. But if y’all are curious, I can try editing this to a nom editing. Just send an ask (anon is on) and I’ll do it.

//I hope this isn’t too OOC, I don’t watch a lotta Captain Puffy. I just like the idea of Dream following her like a lost puppy gskhfldflksf

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Random IshiMondo Story Prompt Response

Hi guys!!! So! This!!! Uh… the short of it is that a few months ago, I got an ask about an AU where Taka (who in this AU is the son of a police chief) gets kidnapped by the Crazy Diamonds as a present for Mondo’s 21st birthday. Taka was taken a month before and has been beaten, bound, and starved, and is all around unhappy and in a bad place. He feels that he deserves it. When Mondo is presented with Taka, however, he gets freaked and goes to “interrogate” Taka and they talk, it’s cute, and all ends well.

When I first got the request, I was very uncertain if I could fulfill this request, since I’m not a big fan of torture fics and this was just… it had big torture feels to me. However, I got an idea for it and I posted about it. The person who originally sent me the ask asked to see my idea, and I began writing it out. I thought it would be short, just a quick detail of the idea, but… well. Y’all know me. I don’t know what the word “short” means. So… uh, here’s a 25k word write up of the idea. It’s not quite a fic, since there’s very little actual dialogue in quotes, but it goes entirely through the story, with details and things like that, so… I guess it’s kind of a fic in its own right??? I legit don’t know, ha. I just wrote it and I feel so bad for taking so long without replying to that anon. So, if you’re still here anon, this one’s for you! And if not, then I hope other people like it too. I made a few changes to the initial request that I mention in the story, such as it being Mondo’s 20th birthday, not his 21st, and Taka only being taken for a couple of days, not a month.

Anyway! I hope y’all enjoy! :-D I’m excited to finally post this! It was collecting dust in my notes for AGES before I got around to finishing it. And I like how it turned out! It’s not perfect, but it’s something. And it’s prolly the fluffiest thing I’ve written, which is ironic considering the prompt, ha.

(Also, the anon asked for the fic to not be super mature, so I censored Mondo's curses. I couldn't NOT have Mondo curse, but I could censor them. So that's why it's like that, ha.)

(Read more added to not completely break your dashboard, ha.)

~~~~~

The fic starts with Mondo’s POV. It’s late afternoon slash early evening the day of his birthday. Mondo is in a bit of a funk, since he is turning 20 (not 21, since in Japan the 21st birthday isn’t really anything special. 20, however, is super important as it is the day they come of age and are allowed to legally drink) and is now legally an adult, and yet he is still leading his gang. Many of the original members have left, including Michi, and many others are getting too old to really stay in a biker gang for too much longer, and he doesn’t quite know where he fits anymore. However, he doesn’t know what else he could do. He’s a biker, so it’s not like he has much of an education or job experience other than being a biker… not to mention that Daiya’s dying wish was for him to keep the gang together and running, and he’s not sure when it’s “okay” for him to stop doing that. It all is eating at him, and he is very anxious over the idea of his future. He’s drinking a bit but isn’t quite drunk. He knows his gang is planning a party for him in an hour, though, which he is looking forward to. His gang is the closest thing to a family he has, so he is glad they care enough about him to want to throw him a party. He also knows that they have a surprise for him, which they said would help cure him of his blues, which of course they’ve noticed since Mondo is the least subtle person outside of Taka.

Eventually Mondo gets a call from his gang to head to their main hideout, so he heads out on his motorcycle, kind of excited to see what they have in store for him.

~

The POV then switches to Taka. Taka is bound, blindfolded (bag over his head), and gagged in a small, cold, smelly room. He is dehydrated and is very hungry and has no idea what time it is. It gets revealed that Taka was jumped two days prior (not a month, since I just… could not do that to Taka, sorry. Also, I’m fairly certain Takaaki would move heaven and earth to find his missing son, so… yeah) and was beaten pretty badly as he was walking home. He has a broken nose, bruised, possibly broken ribs, a black eye, and a small cut along his throat (from when he was kidnapped and he tried to escape, so the gang put a knife under his throat). He also has rope burns on his wrists from where the rope has dug into them. All in all, not fun, but nothing permanent and nothing that won’t heal. He has a small mat to sleep on, which he is thankful for, but he doesn’t know much about what is in his room, since he can’t see it.

Taka had not gotten a good look at his assailants when he was taken, so he has no idea they are The Crazy Diamonds, or even that they are a motorcycle gang (I imagine they’d use a van when kidnapping someone? I don’t know, ha), and he figures it’s probably someone who objects to his grandfather and thinks that he probably deserves what is happening to him. He has hope that he will be let go, but part of him fears that he will not.

Taka’s thoughts get interrupted when some gangsters enter his small room, grabbing him and manhandling him. This is not unusual, since they have been allowing him to use the toilet every so often, so he’s not super confused at first. However, he gets concerned when they don’t take him out of the room and instead start stripping him. Taka gets super freaked out and tries to fight them off, but he’s so weak and beaten down that he barely budges them at all. They laugh at him and tell him that they’re just changing him out of his dirty clothes, since he’s hardly presentable as is. Taka reluctantly stops fighting— partially since he doesn’t like how disgusting he currently is, partially because he realizes how futile it is— and is a bit surprised to find they do exactly as they say. They don’t change his underwear, to his private relief, but they put him into some other outfit that is very different from his usual white suit and tie. It’s a soft t-shirt that dips low on his chest and a pair of tight jeans. It isn’t really comfortable, but it is better than being in his ruined suit, he guesses. The gangsters leave then, laughing and joking about the party, but Taka doesn’t understand what they mean. As Taka is left alone, he is again left to wonder if he’ll be allowed to leave soon. Or ever…

~

The POV switches back to Mondo. He is sitting in his hideout, drinking a beer, smirking as his gang tells stories about Mondo’s greatest achievements. It feels bittersweet to him, though, with the doubts and everything he’s been having. He tries to get into it, but he knows that the gang knows he’s not really feeling it. After a little while, the stories trail off and Mondo’s new second in command (a young upstart OC who Mondo has been personally training, kind of like how Daiya trained him) brings up the surprise they have for Mondo, the gang getting excited about it. Mondo finds his curiosity piqued and tells them to get on with it. Excited, a few gangsters leave to grab their ‘surprise,’ while Mondo stays behind, wondering about it.

~

Taka gets jolted out of a light doze when the door bursts open and the gang members burst in, grabbing him roughly. Taka goes along placidly, thinking they are probably taking him to the bathroom again, or something like that. However, he notices that they are taking him down a different path than they usually do, which makes his fear spike, wondering what they are going to do to him now. His ribs and other injuries are hurting a lot, but he does his best to not make a sound, not wanting to get hurt anymore.

Eventually he is led through a door and is assaulted by noise, loud voices jeering at him and boisterous laughter, which freaks him out even more. He begins to struggle then, unable to help it, but it is useless as the gangsters are so much stronger, especially with how weak Taka currently is. They just laugh at him and keep pulling him along.

Eventually they reach wherever it is they are taking him, as they throw him down onto the ground, his knees hitting the concrete harshly, jarring his ribs enough to make him let out his first noise of pain. It shames him, but he gets distracted when he hears a loud inhale of breath, followed by a loud and brash voice asking, “what the absolute f*ck is this sh*t?!”

This leads to a bit of stammering from the gangsters, one of them explaining that it’s supposed to be a present for him, but the person gets cut off by a dangerous sounding growl. The room goes silent, then, for a few moments. Then the same voice from earlier— the loud and brash one— demands they remove the bag over his head. Taka barely has a moment to comprehend what is going on before he is being assaulted by light, his eyes unable to handle it as he blinks, trying to get used to the abrupt change in light.

Once the spots in his vision clear, he is able to look ahead of him, where he had heard a quick inhale of breath a few moments before. He sees legs, dressed in loose black pants with white loafers on the person’s feet. He lifts his eyes a bit more and can make out a black leather duster with designs on it and a white tank top overtop a highly muscular chest. His eyes linger for a moment, before he looks up the rest of the way, eyes intent as they meet what Taka assumes must be the instigator of his capture, his heart racing with fear. And when his eyes meet wide lavender, the most beautiful color he has ever seen, well…

But such feelings are highly inappropriate and improper, given the circumstances, so he hastily pushes them away. For the most part…

Though he can’t escape the feeling that something about this man is oddly familiar to him...

~

Mondo looks down at the kid before him, his blood frozen and his mind completely blank. He can’t really comprehend what he is seeing. He knows that most members of his gang aren’t that bothered by violence, knows that he himself certainly isn’t, but something about seeing this young boy (whom he assumes can’t be older than 16, he looks so youthful even despite the dark bruises upon his face) so roughed up makes his insides squirm and anger rise within him. He does his best to curb it, though, knowing it would just make his gang doubt his ability to lead them if he gets uppity about things like this, but it’s hard. The boy’s face is so messed up he can’t quite tell who he is, but he has the niggling feeling that he is familiar, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Throughout his musing, Mondo has been staring at the boy, absently taking in his busted features. The boy’s eyes, however, hold his attention the most, though he tries to avoid them the best he can, hating how resigned and afraid they look. But he can’t quite help it, and when he looks back at the boy unbidden, he is shocked to see the kid looking directly at him, making him feel very strange inside. They continue to stare at one another for several long moments, until his second in command clears his throat awkwardly, forcing Mondo to look over at him, his anger rising again, though he fights against it. Again.

Mondo demands once more to know the meaning of this, and the second in command (SIC) explains quickly that it was a present, explaining that they had wanted to help Mondo feel ‘like himself again,’ so they had gotten him someone to help him remember what it’s like to be a big, bad, biker gang leader. The SIC pauses for a minute, clearly wanting to drive up the drama, before dramatically revealing that the boy is none other than Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the son of Chief Takaaki Ishimaru, the bothersome chief of police who has been on their tail for months now. The SIC explains hesitantly that Mondo had mentioned a couple weeks prior how he wanted to beat the punk up after seeing a picture of him and his father in the news, explaining that the gang had come up with the plan not long after, wanting to give their leader what he truly wanted.

It’s around then that Mondo realizes why the kid is so familiar looking, dread filling his stomach. He had come across a picture of the boy and his father in the paper a few weeks before, after the police chief had been given an honor or something for his bravery.

His eyes had lingered on the kid, though, tracing over his features in a way he knows means he was feeling interested. Mondo has known he was bi for years at that point, and though he rarely pursues men romantically or sexually, he has done it a couple times and he knows he definitely has interest in both men and women. His gang knows this and is fine with it, but it still sometimes embarrasses him to talk about it, especially when his eye is caught by someone who is decidedly not the type of person that a biker gang leader should ever look twice at, like that kid. So, when his gang had caught him staring at the picture for a bit too long, he had panicked and aggressively said that he was infuriated by the “goody-toe-shoe’s” pretentious look, saying he wanted nothing more than to beat the ever-loving sh*t out of the dude.

He hadn’t thought they’d actually do anything about it, though. He certainly hadn’t thought that they would, you know… kidnapthe dude. Who, he realizes, is actually older than he’d first thought, since he had recalled reading that the was home on break from university, the article saying he was 19. It makes him feel weird inside to think about, knowing that they aren’t that far off in age from one another.

However… however, as he sees the expectant looks on his gang’s faces, all of them expecting him to be happy about what they’ve done, he realizes that he’s kind of trapped. If he rejects their ‘gift’ and yells at them, then they will know he was lying when he said he wanted to beat up the kid. He also realizes that they’ve not really done anything against his rules. Well... kind of. Technically, given his position as son of the police chief, the boy is fair game for them to brutalize. After all, he’s not really an ‘innocent,’ now, is he? Mondo shouldn’t feel any problem about beating the kid, honestly, it’s not like he really knows him. And while he definitely doesn’twant to do that, for reasons he doesn’t understand, he knows that he probably should. The gang expects that he will and if he doesn’t... well.

So... he pushes down the vague nausea rising within him and forces a smirk on his face. He knows he isn’t the best liar, but he knows that the members of his gang aren’t exactly the smartest or most observant dudes, so he figures it’s fine. He then laughs and nods, saying how he recalls that now, thanking his gang for their thoughtfulness. He doesn’t (can’t) look at the kid as he says it, fearing what look he would have on his face.

Then... then Mondo asks if he could have some privacy to “talk with” the kid, smirking the whole while. Despite how he’s still not looking at him, he can see the kid shrink down in fear in the corner of his eye, making the twisting in his gut even worse. But he can’t stop, so he just keeps smirking as the gang cheers, happy that their ‘gift’ was well received.

Mondo has the same gangsters as before grab the boy and drag him to his private quarters at the hideout. They put the bag back on, to prevent him from being able to see their hideout, and while it makes Mondo distinctly uncomfortable— hating how it makes the boy thrash weakly, soft mewls of fear being released from his lips— he says nothing as he trails after them, fighting hard to keep the lazy smirk on his face. It’s hard, but he somehow manages.

As they all reach Mondo’s private quarters, Mondo has a moment to wonder what the f*ck is going to happen next.

~

Taka is terrified. Taka has been scared this entire time, but now the fear has reached its paramount, his heart racing so fast and angry in his chest. Something about the lavender eyed man has made him feel very afraid, especially once he realizes why, exactly, he knows him.

He is Mondo Owada, leader of the biggest biker gang in Japan, and he is definitely a man to be feared. He’s heard everything about him from his father, who has been very annoyed and angry at the biker gang for the vandalism and crime they get up to, and he knows that the man has a fearsome temper and a notorious desire for violence. And now he knows that he had been kidnapped by the gang to be a ‘present’ for their leader, which is a terrifying thought to Taka. He knows all about the kind of things cruel criminals will do to other people, having heard many horrific tales from his father. And while he does his best to not let his fear consume him, it’s hard not to. Especially considering how he is apparently being led to the leader’s private chambers, which he knows never means anything good. Best case, he will just be beaten harshly again. Worst case... well. Taka may be naïve, but even he isn’t thatnaïve. Unfortunately…

Eventually they come to a halt, though, and he hears the sound of a door opening. Taka somehow gets even more afraid, then, and begins thrashing again, more desperate than the last time, finally letting go of his pride enough to beg the gangsters to let him go. He can feel tears falling down his face, knows that his voice is wavering horribly, but he cannot stop it. He wants to go home. He misses his father, and his small room in his father’s run down but nicer than when he’d been a child apartment, and his nice clean suits, and... and all of it. He doesn’t know if he’s even intelligible or not, but he can do nothing to stop the words and the thrashing, even as his arms gets twisted painfully behind him.

Taka only stops when he hears a low growl before him, followed quickly by the feel of something brushing his side. He lets out a yelp of fear, terrified the leader will harm him, but... but the hand on his side doesn’t do anything other than rest there, softer than he expected, almost gentle. He can feel the tension in the hand, though, and something about it makes his heart race. From fear, of course...

The leader begins to talk then, warning him lowly to behave or things would get worse for him, and while it sounds angry and cruel on the surface, Taka... Taka can detect a hint of something else beneath the words. Something... worried. It confuses Taka, especially since he usually doesn’t pick up on things like that, but he decides to accept it at face value, too tried and weak to keep fighting anyway. With a defeated nod, he hunches his shoulders as he gets marched into the room without a word more, hating the snickers he hears sound behind him.

Taka gets thrown to the ground again, then, his knees really starting to hurt from the rough treatment, not to mention how awful his ribs feel. He doesn’t think his ribs are broken, but he can tell that they are at least badly bruised. And he knows worse is yet to come when he hears the leader tell his gang members to leave them alone and not hang around to listen, claiming he wants complete privacy. It makes him shake uncontrollably to hear, a soft keen escaping his lips without his consent. More snickers rise, but then he hears footsteps retreating from him, letting him know that at least there won’t be an audience for what is about to happen to him. He honestly doesn’t know if that is better or not.

The tears fall harder when he hears the door click shut, his body shaking with silent sobs. After a moment of silence, he hears more footsteps, these ones quieter than he would have expected, considering who he knows they belong to. He wants to start begging again, pleading that he just wants to go home, but his throat is so thick that he can’t seem to manage it. All he can do is cringe back to make himself as small as possible and hope to any god who is listening that he somehow makes it out of this somewhat intact. Please...

He flinches when he hears someone kneel down beside him, his breath growing shakier and more ragged, the tears streaming down his face uncomfortably under the bag that is still over his head. There is a beat of silence between them, and then-

“Hey. Uh... know y’ain’t got any reason ta believe me, but, uh... I ain’t gonna hurt ya, okay? Just... sh*t. F*ck... I’m gonna take the bag off yer head now, okay? Don’t f*ckin’ try an’ head butt me or anythin’... sh*t.”

The words are far softer than he had ever expected, causing some dissonance to rise within him as his expectation wars with reality. Part of him wants to believe the man before him, but... well. Taka is no fool.

Before he can try and rationalize anything, he feels the bag get tugged off his head, gentler this time than the last. He can feel his anxiety and fear spike when he feels cool air hit his face, but when he opens his eyes and looks ahead of him at the man before him, he feels his heart freeze when his eyes meet lavender.

He thinks about how they are still so incredibly beautiful, more so now that they are looking at him softly, concern and a simmering anger roiling within them. The anger makes him feel afraid, but part of him thinks that perhaps the anger isn’t directed at him. He knows the thought is foolish, but perhaps...

The man before him starts talking then, making a comment about how messed up his face looks. Taka flushes and looks away, feeling oddly ashamed, but he feels gentle fingers turn his face back, his eyes immediately landing on soft lavender again. He has no idea how to read the eyes before him, he’s never been good at reading other people’s emotions, but he... he doesn’t think it’s bad. Or... he hopes not...

After a beat of time, the man looks away, down towards his body. It makes him feel nervous again, but before it has a chance to turn into fear, the man is talking, saying that he’s going to cut the rope around his wrists, but that Taka has to promise him that he won’t try and fight him if he does. He says that he doesn’t want to hurt him, but that he can’t just let him cause a scene, and if Taka fights, he will be forced to fight back.

After a long moment of internal debate, Taka nods and promises that he won’t, his voice shaking and weak, but loud enough for the man to hear him. The man nods tersely, before reaching for a switch blade from his pocket, which makes Taka panic despite himself, his body automatically cringing away in fear. He doesn’t mean to, it’s just an automatic fight or flight response.

The man shushes him, his hands gentle on him again as he does his best to soothe. He then repeats that he isn’t going to harm him, he promises. He goes on and explains that it’s a man’s promise and that his brother always taught him that promises between men are the most important promises a man can make, and that you can’t ever break something like that. While Taka has no reason to believe the man, he... he is surprised to realize that he does. And so, he nods again, shifting into a seated position, angling his body to allow the man access to his wrists. He mutters an absent apology, to which the man snorts, replying that he gets it, don’t worry about it.

The man cuts the rope carefully, then, Taka super tense the entire time, waiting for the punchline and for the man to abruptly change temperament and start hurting him, laughing at his naivety for believing him. He is expecting this so much that when the man pulls back and puts his knife carefully away into his pocket, studying him closely, Taka doesn’t realize it for a few seconds. And when he does... he can’t help but blink, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips frowning.

Not liking the way that the man is staring at him— uncomfortable more for the gentleness and concern he sees than out of fear— he lifts his arms from behind his back and looks at the red and raw wounds around his wrists, dried blood mingling with fresh blood, making him wince. It hurts quite a lot, but considering how much pain he is in overall, it barely registers, honestly.

His breath leaves him entirely a second later, though, when he feels strong yet still so utterly gentle hands grab his, cradling them oh so tenderly within their warm and tender embrace. It makes his cheeks flush bright red, the sensation making him a little lightheaded and dizzy, even more so when his eyes automatically seek out lavender, shivering when their eyes meet. The man smiles at him, then, a small and crooked thing, but Taka privately believes it may be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The thought concerns him, but not enough to make him berate himself. As confused as he feels, he finds he prefers this than being beaten, thanks ever so.

The man begins talking again, then, saying how he sure has been hurt a lot, his voice low and rumbling, full of concern. It makes Taka flush with embarrassment, oddly ashamed at his state, like it was his fault or something. He apologizes softly, unsure what the man expects from him.

The man hums in discontent, though, shaking his head, before explaining that he’s not blaming him, don’t worry. He then goes on to ask if Taka would want him to dress the wounds, saying he has some first aid supplies and things like that. That makes Taka blush again, but he realizes that that might be for the best. He nods his head slowly, still afraid, but growing more used to this as time passes. He’s still waiting for the shoe to drop, for the man to suddenly decide to hurt him, fearing that the biker is just lulling him into a false sense of security before harming him worse than ever before, but... well. Taka has always been a trusting person by nature, so he can’t help his body’s natural inclination to trust the man.

The man leaves then for a little while, though Taka can hear him shuffling around in a small room attached to the one he’s in, which he assumes must be a bathroom. He takes the time to observe his surroundings, realizing that he’s in a fairly nice and spacious bedroom. It has a queen size bed along the back wall near the center, with a couple nightstands on either side. There is a large banner for the Crazy Diamonds that takes up half of the back wall, with other smaller decorations littering the other walls. There is a table and a small TV set, a couch and armchair, things like that. Taka thinks it looks kind of nice, maybe even a little cozy, even with the harsh and cold concrete floor and walls. The lighting is kept low, too, which Taka appreciates as he realizes his head is aching softly, the dehydration and hunger getting to him. Not to mention the blood loss...

He doesn’t get to dwell on this long before the man is back, carrying a large kit of first aid supplies. Taka realizes he must have a look of surprise on his face when the man smirks at him, snickering softly. The man then explains that he’s a biker, of course he has an extensive first aid kit in his room, duh. The words are oddly teasing, which makes Taka blush again, averting his eyes shyly.

He jolts a little when he feels gentle fingers touch him again, but he settles a lot quicker than before, offering the man a shaky smile when he sees the concern in the lavender eyes again. The man clears his throat awkwardly then and says that he’s going to start dressing the wounds, warning Taka that it’s going to hurt. Taka knows this, has dressed enough of his own wounds during his lifetime, and nods his head tightly as he grits his teeth in anticipation.

Despite the sting that comes from the antiseptic that the man uses, Taka doesn’t actually feel the pain all that much as the man gently cleans off his wrists first, not with how gentle the man is going. The man works in silence for a moment, before he begins talking, introducing himself formally at last. While Taka had obviously known his name, he finds himself able to think of the man by his first name for the first time.

Mondo asks for his name, then, even though Taka knows he must know it, considering that his gang had said it earlier. But the conversation helps distract from the stinging of the antiseptic, so he hesitantly replies, saying his name. He then, for reasons he doesn’t know, says that Mondo could call him ‘Taka,’ if he’d like. Taka does not get called that often by people, even if he privately calls himself it, but something about hearing Mondo say the nickname his mother gave him is oddly alluring to him, his stomach clenching with knots as a pleasant heat rises within him.

Despite what people often say about him, Taka knows that he is no fool. And as such, he dimly understands what it is he is currently feeling for the man before him. He does his best to rationalize it away, telling himself that it’s just a reaction to the stressful situation, that he’s just responding to the biker’s apparent kindness after so much cruelty, that it’s nothing more than that. Taka knows that he is gay, has known this for some time, but he knows that what he currently is feeling is not real, that it is manufactured based on the situation. Stockholm Syndrome, he tells himself. Nothing more.

Still, it’s hard to ignore how his stomach churns as Mondo gently tends to his wounds, the biker letting out soft comments here and there, asking him questions every so often when the pain gets really bad. Questions about his life, what he’s studying in uni, what career he wants, if he has a girlfriend... things like that. The personal questions make him blush, and while he knows he probably shouldn’t be telling these things to a biker gang leader, he can’t help how he replies honestly. He’s always been an open person, after all. He says that he’s studying political science, since he wants to become Prime Minister one day. He blushes when he says that he has no girlfriend, blushes harder when he accidentally lets slip that he has no friends in general, either.

That makes Mondo pause, the biker staring at him with wide eyes, asking him why not. The question embarrasses Taka, but he again answers truthfully, stammering about how he’s always been very bad at conversation, that he can’t ever manage to hold one for longer than a few minutes without boring or annoying his conversation partner. He also explains a little about his grandfather, embarrassed yet again.

Mondo doesn’t get mad at him, though, like he fears. He just hums thoughtfully, eyes glazed as he thinks about something, before he blurts out that he thinks Taka is pretty good at conversation, mumbling that he likes talking to him. It makes Taka blush bright red again, but he feels some comfort in the fact that Mondo is blushing just as bright too. Taka stammers out a shaky thanks, the words hanging in the air as they both stare awkwardly at the ground, the dorks unable to handle the Emotion.

After an awkward moment passes, Mondo clears his throat and continues dressing the wounds, having just finished wrapping Taka’s torso with a lot of gauze to help with the bruising. Mondo had mentioned that he didn’t think the ribs were broken, just sprained, but that the gauze should help the bruising feel a little better. With that done, Mondo moves onto Taka’s face, wincing a little as he sees the dark bruising and the broken nose.

Apologizing softly, Mondo asks if he can set his nose so it will heal straight. It’s been a couple days since the injury, so doing so might risk breaking it again, he explains. Taka thinks about that for a second, biting his lip gently, before nodding, not looking forward to the pain but knowing that it will likely be better in the long run. Mondo apologizes again, soft and awkward, before gently grabbing his nose and setting it as quick as he can.

It still hurts quite a lot, and Taka cannot help the whimper of pain he gives, tears rising to his eyes and falling quick, stinging the small cuts all along his cheeks. To his intense surprise, he feels a warm hand cup his cheek, a soothing thumb coming up to gently wipe the tears away. He hears Mondo shush him softly again, muttering quietly that it’s okay. That Taka is okay.

Taka feels his heart beat fast again at the action, his cheeks flushed uncomfortably, but also very pleasantly. He has never felt like this for anyone before, and it concerns him a little. It concerns him more for how little it concerns him, though, to be honest.

Mondo seems to realize what he’s doing then, pulling back abruptly with bright red cheeks and an awkward grimace on his face. He doesn’t storm off, though, and instead goes back to setting his nose, putting a nose splint on it to keep it in place. He apologizes for not having any ice, saying that it’s in the kitchen area but that he can’t head out to grab it just then. He promises that he will soon, though. Taka finds it sweet and smiles shakily at him, thanking him once more. His thanks seems to embarrass Mondo more, and Taka is coming to find that he really adores the shade of pink Mondo’s cheeks turn when he’s embarrassed. But that line of thinking is very dangerous, so he curbs it immediately. Or he tries to...

They continue chatting awkwardly after that, Mondo asking questions and Taka answering. It becomes easier as time goes on, and soon Mondo is chuckling at some of the things Taka says, much to Taka’s professed annoyance. Truthfully, Taka couldn’t care less, since the sound of Mondo’s laughter is very alluring to him. Not that he allows himself to think that, of course.

Before long, all of Taka’s wounds are dressed and cared for, his body bruised and aching, but no longer in intense pain. Mondo helps him get back into the shirt but pauses as he watches him struggle to get back into the jeans (which Mondo had removed with bright red cheeks to get a couple wounds on Taka’s thighs), confused when Taka absently mentions how much he hates jeans and things like that. Mondo asks why he’s wearing them if he hates them, and Taka confusedly explains that Mondo’s gang had dressed him in the outfit earlier, to make him look more presentable. The words seem to anger Mondo, and Taka is shocked to realize that he doesn’t really feel afraid. Not when he recognizes that Mondo isn’t angry at him, per se. That gives him pause, but he pushes it aside again, realizing it’s futile to think about.

Mondo stands up and strides away from him, then, much to Taka’s confusion. Unable to stop himself, he asks where the biker is going, blinking when he sees him stop in front of a dresser. Mondo doesn’t reply as he shifts through it, seeming to be looking for something. The biker lets out a soft noise of triumph after a moment and pulls something out, something Taka cannot see from his distance. As Mondo gets closer, however, he notices that he is holding a pair of old, worn sweatpants, which makes Taka blink.

Mondo explains that they are an old pair from when he’d been younger that he’d never gotten around to tossing even though they no longer fit, handing them to Taka with a soft blush. He explains quickly that he thought they’d be more comfortable than the jeans, and that they should fit him since they’re so old. The explanation oddly makes Taka blush, too, before looking away shyly again even as he takes the sweatpants with another soft thanks.

It’s hard for him to put the pants on with the multitude of injuries he has, so Mondo offers to help, which Taka agrees to with great embarrassment. Now that his wounds are all dressed and the pain has gone down, he is starting to register the feel of Mondo’s hands on his body and it is making him feel some very inappropriate things, he will tell you that! He tries to push it down, but he can’t stop how his body reacts, much to his intense mortification.

Luckily, Mondo doesn’t seem to notice and together they are able to get the pants on. Taka notes that they feel very, very soft, softer than anything he has ever worn before. They are slightly too big and slightly too long on him, but he kind of likes them even more for it.

It’s as he absently petting the soft material that he hears Mondo mutter at him, the words so quiet that it takes Taka a moment to register them. And, when he does, he blushes bright red again, since he realizes that Mondo had said— very awkwardly— that Taka could keep the pants if he wanted after this. Since, you know. It’s not like Mondo can wear them.

Taka tries to stammer out a rejection, saying that he couldn’t possibly accept such a nice gift, to which Mondo gives him a weird look. The look makes Taka anxious that he said something wrong, the feeling growing when Mondo states that it’s not really anything big, they’re just a pair of old sweatpants, it’s really not a big deal?

Taka feels awkward again, but again can’t help how he explains that he’s just never been given a gift before, not from anyone other than his father. It makes his insides squirm when he sees Mondo staring at him with wide eyes, but before it can get too uncomfortable, Mondo looks away, blushing softly again as he says again that it’s really nothing.

Before Taka can begin to compartmentalize the words, Mondo continues, his voice so low and mumbling Taka has to fight to understand him, but Taka... Taka swears he hears Mondo say that he deserves all the gifts in the world, really. Which just... makes everything worse for him, in all honesty.

The awkwardness rises between them, both men blushing brightly and looking anywhere but at the other for several long moments, nearing a full minute. Taka doesn’t like the awkwardness, wants to say something to break it, but he has no idea what, given how bad he always has been at conversing. Not to mention how utterly strange the circumstances are, really...

The silence gets broken finally by the sound of Taka’s stomach growling, to his intense mortification. He is glad that it seems to have broken the tension, at least, as Mondo is looking at him again, wry amusement dancing in his eyes as his lips smirk gently. He teases Taka about his growling stomach, which Taka realizes he doesn’t mind as much as he usually does when he gets taunted by someone. In fact... he almost likes the gentle teasing, finding the soft amusement dancing within Mondo’s eyes to be quite amazing.

Taka accidentally ruins the moment, though, when he absently mentions that it’s been days since he last ate, so he supposes it makes sense that his stomach was growling. He’d meant the words almost like a joke, but it of course fell flat, as Mondo stares at him with wide eyed horror, asking him bluntly what he means.

Nervous (and upset that he ruined the beautiful smile upon Mondo’s lips), Taka stammers about how he has not been given any food and very little water since he was taken a couple nights before, leaving him kind of hungry. He’s actually starving, but he does his best to downplay his plight, not wanting to be too much of a burden.

The reminder of why Taka is there seems to upset Mondo greatly, he notes with dismay, watching as any amusement dies immediately at his words, the simmering anger and upset rising in the lavender eyes as his hands clench into tight fists at his sides. Taka doesn’t feel afraid, though, as he realizes once more that the look isn’t directed at him, but instead... instead is at his gang. Taka almost doesn’t believe this, thinking that he must be deluding himself, but his assumption gets confirmed when he hears Mondo mutter that he’s going to “f*ckin’ kill those godd*mn b*st*rds.”

The words concern Taka greatly, and he is unable to stop himself from chastising Mondo, saying that violence is not ever the answer. Mondo gives him a strange look for that but doesn’t reply back. He just keeps scowling, his eyes averting immediately in what Taka thinks might be shame.

Mondo mutters out yet another apology, then, this one more emotive than the last few. Mondo continues and says that it’s his fault Taka is stuck here, his fault that he was harmed this way. If he had just never said anything about Taka in the first place, then none of this would ever have happened, making him the one to blame for this entire situation. Taka watches, his heart aching softly, as Mondo curls in on himself, looking miserable before him.

Before he can stop himself, he finds himself reaching out, touching Mondo’s shoulder gently, doing his best not to flinch back when Mondo jolts at the touch. He gets tongue tied when Mondo looks up at him with wide, unhappy eyes, but he quickly presses on, realizing then that he doesn’t want Mondo to beat himself up over what had happened. While some part of him is still afraid that this is all some very elaborate hoax to harm him even more in the end, the majority of him is starting to get used to the idea that this might be real. That Mondo might truly mean what he says.

The thought creates some cognitive dissonance inside him, since he has spent years listening to his father rant about biker gangs, the Crazy Diamonds and Mondo in particular, and it’s very strange to think that maybe Mondo isn’t all bad. But he decides to shove the thoughts away for now, knowing it’s unhelpful considering his current situation. Especially since he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he doesn’t like seeing Mondo look so miserable and that he would probably do just about anything to make the look go away...

He then awkwardly, but with as much enthusiasm as he can muster (which isn’t much by his standards but is a heck of a lot by anyone else’s), tells Mondo that he doesn’t blame him for what has happened. Not at all, really. He cannot say that it hasn’t been a very terrifying experience, one that he definitely cannot say he has enjoyed, but he assures Mondo that he doesn’t blame him in any way, shape, or form. It was just a tragic misunderstanding, Taka claims, thinking that he almost believes it himself with how confidently he says it. And when Mondo looks up at him, his eyes wide and searching, he does his best to keep his face as open and honest as possible, which isn’t very hard for him to do, honestly.

After a few moments, Mondo asks absently, dazedly, if he truly means that. In response, Taka nods enthusiastically, doing his best to hide the wince of pain the action causes within him. He then verbalizes his answer, saying that of course he means it, he always means everything he says. He even goes on to say how he is very grateful he has met Mondo, his cheeks blushing with his embarrassment as he praises the biker, saying how kind and caring he has been.

Mondo is also blushing, the soft pink he is coming to adore bright on his cheeks, his eyes soft as silk as they look at him steadily. Taka feels his heart beat fast as he stares at Mondo, part of him wondering what is currently going on. He has never felt this way, ever, and while he knows what it means, logically, he has no idea what it means, personally. Emotionally.

He has no idea what exactly it is he wants from this encounter, knowing that what he is feeling is impossible, especially considering who Mondo currently is and who Taka wishes so desperately to be. And yet, as the moments drag on and their eyes do not part, the charged energy around them growing more and more overbearing as the seconds pass, he starts to wonder if any of that truly matters. Mondo’s past and present, his own present and future. Does any of that truly matter when he feels as strongly as this? Or is this a lie, brought on by desperation and relief at having someone be kind to him after such horrible abuse? Can he trust what he is feeling at all? Does it matter? He doesn’t know, he has never felt more lost. All he knows is that when he’s looking at Mondo, he feels calmer and more in control than he ever has... ever, really. Which is ridiculous considering he has never been less in control in his life, but... but...

Before Taka can come to any form of conclusion, he both hears and feels his stomach rumble, his embarrassment rising as he finally breaks the eye contact, his heart pounding, and his breath shaky with all of the weird thoughts and emotions swirling around him. He hears Mondo stumble to his feet, and while his eyes want so desperately to look, he forces himself not to, keeping his eyes on the concrete floor. He is still sitting on the cold ground, but he finds he doesn’t mind it too much, as it is stabilizing in some ways. He sits in the awkward silence that has arisen for a very charged second, before Mondo breaks it soon after.

Mondo mumbles about how he should probably get Taka something to eat, and also some ice, asking him if he has any allergies or preferences or things like that. Taka shakes his head slowly, answering shakily that he doesn’t, and that he is fine with pretty much anything, thanks. Mondo stares at him for a second, before nodding and moving to head to the door. He pauses before he gets too far, his body swaying as he contemplates something. Before Taka can ask if he is alright, Mondo is turning back and muttering that Taka probably shouldn’t be sitting on the floor, asking haltingly if he’d like help moving to the couch before he leaves. Taka blushes, again, and thinks it likely would be wiser to say no, to not allow Mondo to get so close to him again. Besides, it’s not like the floor is that uncomfortable...

But, despite himself entirely, he finds himself nodding as quickly as he can, shaky smile rising on his lips as he stammers that that he would appreciate that, thanks. It makes his stomach clench to see the soft, decidedly pleased smile that rises on Mondo’s face as the biker nods and heads over to him slowly.

Once he’s standing tall over him, he pauses for a moment, seeming to be collecting himself. Taka appreciates this, as it allows him to also collect his own very scattered thoughts. Before he is able to though, Mondo is bending down slowly and is carefully reaching out for Taka, his voice low and muttering as he asks if it’s okay to touch him. Taka blushes yet again at the words (if he ever stopped blushing, of course) and nods once, quickly, smile brighter on his face as he verbally agrees. Mondo smiles brightly back, cheeks also flushed, as he gently moves forward, his hands reaching out to grab Taka. There’s an awkward moment when Taka wonders what Mondo is planning, but Mondo verbalizes his plan before implementing it, mumbling that he’s going to pick Taka up and carry him to the couch, to prevent any of the injuries from getting jolted too badly. This embarrasses Taka, and he stammers that he is pretty heavy, he’s sure he can walk himself, it’s fine.

This makes Mondo smirk, his eyes dancing with humor as the biker claims that he could lift Taka easily, since he routinely deadlifts 90 kilos (roughly 200 pounds), easy. This gives Taka some very inappropriate thoughts, which he forcefully shakes off as he smiles shakily, nodding his agreement with only mild hesitation. Mondo smiles warmly back, before returning to the task at hand, transcribing what he is doing to prevent Taka from freaking out. Taka appreciates it more than he can say, and as such he doesn’t even tense up at all when he feels warm, strong arms wrap around him and lift him gently bridal style, his body pressing wondrously to a warm and highly muscular chest. Taka has some more ~~inappropriate thoughts~~ that he has to firmly stow away as Mondo begins to walk to the couch, the biker so gentle and careful that he doesn’t feel any hint of pain whatsoever.

Being put down also doesn’t hurt, but he finds himself strangely not wanting the biker to let go of him, his heart racing as he feels oddly at home in Mondo’s arms. He reluctantly does let go, though, but he swears that Mondo, too, is letting his hands linger just a touch longer than they should as they slide out from under his body... but surely, he must be imagining things...

Right?

He doesn’t get any time to try and rationalize anything before Mondo is standing again, body angling to turn away. Before he leaves, though, he hesitates, and then... then he darts his hand out to trail gently across Taka’s forehead, tenderly brushing back the hair that has fallen messily into his eyes. Cheeks permanently stained red, he watches as Mondo stammers out a quick goodbye, promising that he’ll be right back and that no one else will dare enter the room, indicating that he will be safe here. His hand is still lingering along his cheek, though, which makes it very challenging for Taka to think.

But then the hand is gone, and Mondo is hastily exiting the room, gait awkward. Taka finds it strange that such a fearsome biker gang leader would ever act so awkward and fumbling, but he finds it strangely... cute. Which is definitely a word he’d never have thought to apply to a biker, but there they are!

As Taka sits alone by himself in the room, he wonders yet again what will happen next. Where this all will lead. If it will lead anywhere good, or if his trusting nature will be taken advantage of yet again.

He supposes only time will tell...

~

Mondo is freaking out. Like, full on internal panic, worse even than when he first realized he likes dudes as well as chicks. And it’s all that godd*mn kid’s fault.

If he had felt interested when he first saw the boy’s photo, he is full on infatuated now. He doesn’t even really know why, since Taka (as the boy had earnestly told him he could call him, good god) is definitely not his usual type. Not to mention it’s been less than an hour. But he’s just so... good. Kind. Nice. Things like that. Like... sh*t. Even after being beaten to an inch of his life and starved for almost two days, he still tried to console Mondo for feeling bad about it. Like... what the f*ck?! Who the hell does that?!

He’s also cute as all hell... the blush that seems permanently on his face is slowly driving Mondo insane, he swears to Christ. And his smile... d*mn, it’s so adorable! It should be a crime to be that adorable, Mondo swears.

The worst part of it all is that there is no universe in which Mondo would ever have a chance with the kid. Even discounting the fact that it’s entirely his fault the kid is in this situation, no matter what Taka may say, there’s also the fact that Mondo is literally a criminal. One that the kid’s father has made it his life’s mission to see rot in jail. A worse match could not possibly exist, dear god.

And yet... as he walks silently through his hideout— not quite hiding from his gang, but definitely not wanting to deal with them at the moment— he can’t help the way his heart races at the thought of the boy. Nor can he help how he wishes that- that they could... could...

But it’s stupid. And ridiculous. It would never work. And even if the kid feels anything similar to him at the moment— which is so doubtful, Jesus Christ— it would only be because of sh*t like... Stockholm Syndrome, or whatever it’s called. He’d just be latching onto the first kindness he’s been given after a traumatic event. It’s not real. It... it wouldn’t ever be real.

Mondo could never have something so nice.

Tired of the useless thoughts, Mondo pushes it all aside and enters the kitchen carefully, watchful to see if anyone is inside. When he sees that no one is, he enters easily and heads to the fridge, which is stocked with some party food that was put away after the official party ended earlier. He grabs some small sandwiches and some sushi and rice balls, uncertain what the kid would like. After a couple days without food, Mondo figures he probably should eat light, yeah? There isn’t any soup, but he does make sure to grab some seaweed salad and plain white rice, since that should be light enough if he can’t eat anything heavier. He also grabs some water and some juice, for the dehydration.

Finally, he opens the freezer and grabs a bunch of ice packs, knowing the kid has a ton of places that are injured. It’s too much for him to carry, so he grabs a plastic bag to put it all in, which makes it all easier to handle. As he’s looking in the freezer, he notices some frozen mochi in various flavors, which gives him pause. Before he can talk himself out of it, he’s grabbing it, rationalizing it by saying it can be a peace offering, a better apology than the absolute sh*t ones he’s been giving thus far. And if the kid can’t eat it, well, then he can. He f*cking loves mochi of all kinds, alright? Frozen mochi the best, even if it’s not traditional. It’s why the gang got so much of it.

Shaking off the weirdness inside him, he heads back to his room, still looking out for gang members. He almost gets caught once when some newer members pass by the hallway he is in, but luckily, they don’t see him, so he’s able to get back to his room (and Taka) without any incident.

He does pause for an extended moment outside the room, his heart racing strangely in his chest, in a way it never has before. Mondo has had crushes on people before, on both dudes and chicks, but somehow this feels different. Maybe it’s the situation, maybe it’s something else entirely, but something about the kid makes Mondo feel so much inside. He doesn’t think he’s blushed so much around a single person since he was fourteen and his bro caught him jacking off and refused to stop teasing him about it for weeks. But this feels so very different from then, it’s laughable to compare the two.

But he can’t loiter outside his own room forever, so he takes a deep breath and knocks softly, not wanting to startle the kid without warning, before he enters. As he does, he realizes that he hadn’t bothered to tie the kid up before he left, so he has a moment to panic that the kid had escaped while he’d been out. It would honestly be the most logical thing to do, godd*mn. And... and while he can’t deny the rush of absolute disappointmentat the thought, he realizes he wouldn’t be able to blame the kid if he did use the time to make his escape. After all, it’s not like he owes Mondo anything, dear god. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that this makes the most sense and— while it does hurt something deep inside him— he resolves to not let it break him when the door fully opens and he doesn’t see the kid.

He is expecting this so much that once the door is fully open and his eyes carelessly dart across the familiar room, he almost doesn’t register that Taka is still sitting on the couch where he’d left him, still as a statue. He blinks owlishly at the kid as Taka turns to face him, his own eyes wide. Heat flares within him when he sees the startled, almost afraidlook on the youthful face morph quickly into a bright and happy smile, the kid greeting him happily. Like... like they’re old friends or something...

It’s only when the kid tilts his head and gives him a questioning look that he realizes he’s been staring for a little too long. His cheeks bright red (like a f*cking schoolgirl, dear god), he hastily enters the room and places the bag down on the coffee table before the couch. He pauses when he hears the kid absently mutter about how plastic bags are bad for the environment, and how Mondo shouldn’t use them. He can’t stop the incredulous look he gives the boy, but Taka doesn’t seem to even notice it, as focused as he is on the contents of the bag.

That jolts Mondo into action as he begins to remove the various foods from the bag, as well as the ice. He leaves the mochi, though. Just... for now, he tells himself.

He explains to the kid that he wasn’t sure what he would like or what he could handle, so he got a bit of everything, to be safe. Taka doesn’t seem upset as he beams at Mondo, thanking him wholeheartedly, saying that while he doesn’t get it often, he loves sushi and that he can stomach sandwiches, though he prefers traditional Japanese food. Mondo awkwardly mentions that he feels the same, but that his brother used to make them sandwiches when they were little, since he wasn’t very good at cooking much else. That leads to Taka to curiously ask why his brother was the one to feed him, which causes Mondo to freeze up.

Taka doesn’t notice, thankfully, since he’s so focused on grabbing the ice and placing it upon the worst of his bruises, before hungrily grabbing some of the rice balls and eating a few, slowly but clearly hungrily. The enthusiastic noises the kid lets out does not help his nerves at all, but it does help calm down the rising panic. He has never liked explaining his family situation to people, but somehow... somehow, he thinks it won’t be so bad to explain it to Taka.

Haltingly, Mondo explains that his ma and da weren’t exactly the best. That his ma was a horrible, neglectful alcoholic and his da was an abusive a**hole. Daiya— his brother, he explains— had been the one to always make sure that Mondo was kept safe and healthy, protecting him from everything, including his own parents. His da left them when he was five and his ma died when he was ten, but Daiya was always there for him, feeding him and ensuring he was kept alive. He even helped with his schoolwork, allowing Mondo to not fail out before middle school. He can feel Taka staring at him, the boy pausing in his eating to watch him with his wide, bright red eyes.

Mondo can sense the question the kid wants to ask, can tell from the intense way he is staring that he wants to ask about Daiya, about what happened to him. Mondo is anticipating it, even if he dreads it, knowing that lying to this boy is going to be hard, but also knowing he has to do it. No one can know the truth about what happened to Daiya, after all. Absolutely no one...

However... despite the fact he knows the kid is thinking about it, Taka just... moves on. He says he’s sorry such a thing happened, voice soft and sympathetic, and then he... he begins talking about himself. His voice is as halting at Mondo’s had been, the boy clearly unsure if he should be sharing this, but he does it anyway. Talking about how his mother had died of pneumonia when he’d been eight, leaving him alone with his grieving father and the endless debt his grandfather had foisted upon them. How things had gotten very hard for them after they lost one working adult, the debt nearly forcing them to lose their minuscule apartment. His voice is soft as he talks about it, his eyes sad with grief plain within them, but there is strength there, too.

It makes Mondo feel sympathy for the boy, knowing sort of what that is like. He also, for the first time, begins to feel some sympathy for Takaaki, realizing that the harsh and driven police chief had gone through more sh*t than he had expected the overbearing man to have. He doesn’t likethe chief, definitely not, but he realizes he can sympathize with him. Just a little.

But that is very much Not something he wants to feel for the man trying to send him to jail for the rest of his life, truthfully. As such, Mondo decides to steer the conversation away from death and past tragedy then, realizing that it’s making him Feel Things he doesn’t really want to, thanks.

Feeling a touch awkward, Mondo strikes up a conversation about some popular movie that literally everyone in Japan has seen. Or... so he thought. Because, apparently, Taka doesn’t watch movies. Or television. Ever.

This gets Mondo started on a long, impassioned rant, questioning how Taka could be almost an adult but hadn’t ever seen a single Disney movie. Or Ghibli! Mondo himself can’t say he’s a huge movie or TV fan, preferring to ride his hog and be outside, but even he will waste time watching a film or show or something.

It’s after about five minutes that Mondo realizes he’s been ranting nonstop, Taka not saying a word. As soon as he realizes this, he stops talking, his face on fire, feeling like a complete and utter moron. Part of him is afraid to look at Taka, but when he hears the boy let out a sound of disappointment, he can’t help how his eyes dart over, his heart freezing at the interested and invested look he finds there. His heart then begins to race when Taka earnestly asks about the movies Mondo was talking about, apparently wanting to know more. He confesses that the reason he never watched TV or movies was that he had thought that they were a waste of time, but that he’s always privately been curious about such things, wondering what makes them so important to so many people.

At Taka’s insistence, Mondo keeps going, talking about the films that he and Daiya would watch when he’d been young, Taka listening intently and even asking questions here and there. The conversation lasts for a while, and Mondo is shocked to realize that almost half an hour has passed while they had talked, Taka having finished eating and drinking a while before. Mondo had even eaten a little, too, since Taka had confessed that he felt weird being the only one to eat.

It’s then that Mondo has the thought that ‘this feels like a f*cking date,’ though he immediately dismisses said thought, knowing how moronic it is. The feeling still lingers, though, getting worse when he watches Taka throw his head back and laugh at something absent Mondo had muttered in his distraction, Taka so emotive it’s not even funny. It makes Mondo want to do everything he can to hear his laugh again, the desire so strong he doesn’t know how to handle it.

It’s as the conversation is winding to a close that he remembers the mochi, his cheeks flushing as he thinks about the dessert he’d brought, doing everything he can to force down the feeling that this is date because it very much is not, good god. Part of him is worried the mochi would have melted, but the room itself is kept fairly cold and the mochi had been frozen solid almost, so he has hope that it will still be somewhat frozen.

With fumbling words, Mondo mentions the dessert as casually as possible, though he knows he fails miserably. But it doesn’t matter at all, not when he sees Taka’s eyes literally light up, excitement bright within them. The boy explains with so much enthusiasm about how much he used to adore mochi, before his grandfather was kicked out of office, and they fell into debt. He says that he rarely gets the treat anymore, not with how expensive and frivolous it is, but that he has never forgotten how much he adored it once upon a time. He also says that his stomach is feeling better, so he thinks he should be able to eat some, if Mondo doesn’t mind.

Mondo just about self-destructs at the adorableness and mutely holds out the bag, offering Taka the ability to pick out whatever flavor he wants. There are a bunch of different ones, mostly traditional flavors like strawberry, mango, green tea and jasmine, but a couple of them are less common, like dragon fruit and kumquat.

He watches— heart beating fast and off tempo— as Taka deliberates carefully for a full-on minute, eyes darting between the choices like if he chooses wrong, the world will end or something. It’s so cute that it takes him that minute to untie his tongue enough to grunt that Taka can have more than one, so he doesn’t have to worry about choosing wrong or anything. His words make Taka blush again (for the hundredth time, Mondo thinks faintly), the kid stammering out his thanks, saying that Mondo is too kind again. Which is utterly hilarious, especially considering why Taka is even here, but by then, Mondo figures it’s best to just... go along with it, really. If it makes Taka feel better...

Taka quickly makes his choice then, grabbing a green tea mochi ice cream, biting into it soon after, letting out a particularly obscenesound as he very vocally enjoys the treat. Mondo is flushed bright red, and his boxers are significantly tighter than they should be by Taka’s second bite, which is almost just as bad as the first, dear god. By the time Taka finishes the relatively small dessert, Mondo is very flustered and regretting every single life choice he has ever made, truly.

Taka unfortunately notices Mondo’s situation and gets concerned, asking if he is alright. As embarrassed as he is, Mondo can’t help how he yells, not wanting to but being unable to stop it. He immediately berates himself when he sees Taka flinch back, his red eyes wide and terrified, the upset clear within him. That, more than anything, reminds Mondo how futile his ridiculous ‘crush’ is. Taka could never see him in any positive light. He just... can’t.

Softening his voice forcefully, he hesitantly explains about how he always yells when he gets nervous, but that he hadn’t meant to sound angry, he isn’t, he swears. He apologizes too, feeling awful that he’d ruined things with his usual nonsense. But, to his complete shock, Taka gets over his fear quickly and is smiling again before he knows it. It’s less enthusiastic than before, but no less beautiful for it.

Taka then says that he understands and doesn’t fault Mondo for it, saying that it’s okay. A slightly awkward silence rises between them before Mondo manages to break it by awkwardly offering Taka another mochi, which Taka takes happily with another bright smile. Mondo does his best to not let it get to him as badly, and only partially fails.

Taka insists that Mondo eat some of the mochi, too, claiming again that he feels awkward being the only one eating, and soon they both are going through the sweet treats Mondo had packed, the ice cream inside the gummy exterior soft and almost melted, but not quite. It is honestly the perfect texture and Mondo can’t help the soft sound of appreciation he lets out as he eats his dessert. He gets distracted when he hears a strangled noise come from the boy across from him. Concerned, Mondo looks up at Taka, worried that he’d have to somehow give the kid the Heimlich, but all he sees is Taka looking bright red, his eyes wide and his mouth partially open. There’s a glazed quality to his eyes, and it takes a moment to understand why the kid is looking at him like that, before it hits him in a wave of embarrassed pleasure.

The kid had been turned on by the noise he’d made while eating the mochi. Holy sh*t!

Face bright red and stomach in twisted knots, Mondo looks at the ground, breathing deeply to try and stop the heat flooding him. His pants are even tighter now, his junk straining against his boxer shorts, and he has to forcibly think of every unsexy thing he can to force it down. It works, but only barely, since Taka is still staring at him with a sort of hungerhe doubts the kid even realizes. Eventually Taka looks away, face red, as he shakily grabs another mochi to eat. Figuring that moving the f*ck on is the best course of action, Mondo does the same, though he’s careful to keep his noises to himself. For… both of their sakes, really.

Soon all the mochi he packed is gone, Taka looking very satisfied as he smiles gently at Mondo, looking for all the world like they are old friends who are just meeting up again, not a captor and captive. The thought makes Mondo feel so incredibly awful and he knows that it’s time for this whole charade to end. He has dressed Taka’s wounds and has fed him and given him water. There is only one thing left for him to do to try and rectify this whole situation. To make up for the pain and suffering Taka has faced at the hands of him and his gang.

He has to let Taka go free.

The thought is far more painful than he can possibly imagine. The idea of letting Taka go and never seeing him again, never speaking to him again, it’s… it’s awful and it hurts so f*cking badly. He has no clue what is going on between him and the kid, but he finds that he strangely likes it. Their dynamic. Their rapport. And he… he finds he doesn’t want to lose that.

But it’s stupid. So utterly, completely stupid. This isn’t real, he tells himself harshly, the mochi in his gut roiling angrily with his emotions. This isn’t real and Taka isn’t here because he wants to be. He’s here because he has to be. Because his gang forced him to be. If it was up to Taka, he’d never have come to this place at all, would never have willingly spent time with a criminal biker gang leader. This isn’t Taka’s world. He doesn’t belong here. He’s a good kid, the kind with hopes and dreams that Mondo will never have. Yeah, he’s sometimes has the thought of going into carpentry, but it’s not like he could ever f*cking do that sh*t. He’s a biker. A criminal. The only future he has is to spend the rest of his life rotting in jail, honestly. There is no retirement for him. He doesn’t get to retire.

This is his life. Biker gangs and violence and anger. He doesn’t deserve anything else. Not after all he has done. Not after all the people he’s hurt. He doesn’t deserve someone like Taka, who is sunshine and brightness, so g*dd*mn beautiful it hurts his eyes. Someone who is forgiving to an absolute fault, willing to let go of his own anger and fear if it just means helping someone else. Even if that someone else hurt them or is responsible for them being hurt. Taka… Taka is good, so incredibly good, and Mondo… Mondo never will be. Good. Not even a little. Not at all.

And so, his heart aching fiercely, he looks at Taka from the corner of his eyes, not strong enough to face him head on for this conversation. And he… he begins to speak.

Voice halting and way too f*cking weak, Mondo mumbles that it’s probably time to get Taka back to his home. He can see Taka whip his head to face him, eyes wide. Mondo can almost pretend he sees disappointmentand pain in those brilliant scarlet eyes, but he forces himself to ignore it. It’s just a trick of the light. Nothing else.

And yet… he can’t quite ignore the disappointment he hears so plainly in Taka’s voice, the kid dejectedly saying that perhaps that is a good idea. Saying that his father might be wondering where he is by now. From the corner of his eyes, he can still see the reluctance on Taka’s face, and it makes Mondo feel so very, very strange inside. Like his insides are rebelling against him or something. He tries to push it down, standing and making his way over to his dresser to grab his keys, but… but he can’t quite manage it.

When he returns to Taka, he asks softly if the kid thinks he’d be able to handle riding on his hog, or if he should try and grab the van that they use for various events out. He says it will be harder to grab the van unnoticed— since it’s parked in the lot where the rest of the gang stores their rides, while Mondo keeps his baby in a private garage— but that he will do that if it makes Taka feel safer.

Taka is just staring at him with wide eyes, his hands shaking a little, and it concerns Mondo greatly. He’s about to stammer something out, maybe even offering to call Taka a cab, but then… then the kid is nodding slowly, saying that he thinks he’d be able to handle a ride on a motorcycle. Mondo finds the way Taka says ‘motorcycle’ unreasonably adorable and has to squash down his rising emotions to nod slowly in return. But then Taka is continuing, asking anxiously if Mondo has a helmet and safety gear that Taka can borrow, since he knows how unsafe motorcycles are and he wouldn’t want to get hurt in case of a crash.

It makes Mondo snort, a smirk on his face that he hopes disguises the roiling in his gut at such a thought, and mutters how he wouldn’t crash, he’s been doing this since he was practically in diapers, he knows how to ride a hog, sh*t. The look Taka gives him is mildly disapproving as the kid reprimands him, saying that even still, it’s always good to be prepared. Past good experiences don’t preclude a future bad one, Taka explains seriously. It’s so cute that Mondo has to physically hide his face to prevent the kid from seeing the almost smitten look he knows is currently rising on his face. He doesn’t know why he’s so smitten with Taka after such a short amount of time, but dear god, he is.

But he moves on and considers the kid’s request. He furrows his brow as he thinks about it, wondering if they do have any protective gear in the hideout. None of his gang really bothers with that sh*t, but… well. He thinks that maybe… if he looks…

Mondo moves absently over to an old storage box he keeps in the corner of the room, knowing that he used to have an old helmet he used when he first started out, Daiya insisting on it despite Mondo’s displeasure. He thinks he shoved it in the storage box after Daiya- y-you know. He doesn’t know if it’ll fit the kid, but it may. Taka is smaller than him, so maybe the helmet he wore as a kid would fit. If he can f*cking find it, that is…

He can feel Taka’s curious eyes on him as he looks, but he ignores it as he pretty much tears the storage container apart without any care. Finally, as he reaches the bottom, he finds the old thing, letting out a noise of triumph as he holds it up like a prize, grinning back at Taka happily. Taka has a dazed look on his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, looking at the mess Mondo made with disapproval.

To Mondo’s complete and total shock, Taka stands then and heads to the mess, tutting as he claims it’s not a good idea to leave such a mess lying around. Mondo is stunned silent for a second as Taka approaches, but he finds his tongue when he watches the kid kneel down and begin putting Mondo’s things away, a lot more organized and careful than Mondo ever has been.

Confused, Mondo says that it’s fine, that he can just shove the things back into the box later once he gets back, to Taka’s obvious disgust. With an adorably haughty and almost pretentious look on his face, Taka explains that shoving things away in a box is not cleaning, thank you very much. Cleaning is a subtle and soothing task, the kid continues to explain, so ridiculously serious.

Unable to help it, Mondo lets out a huge laugh, so loud and boisterous his stomach aches with it, his heart fluttering awkwardly in his chest. He doesn’t usually laugh this hard, not since Daiya- well. He watches with his churning insides as Taka halts in his organized cleaning, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed again as he looks at him, his mouth opening on a silent gasp. He looks dazed, but not in a bad way, and it’s doing some seriously funny things to his insides, Jesus Christ.

Taka eventually looks away, face now red, and goes back to cleaning. He winced a little, though, reminding Mondo of Taka’s injuries. Feeling guilty but knowing Taka won’t give up, Mondo kneels down beside him and begins to help with the cleaning. He even folds the clothes the way Taka does, though a lot clumsier and less neat. It still makes Taka beam at him, his eyes practically sparkling, so he supposes he’s doing something right.

They finish cleaning after about ten minutes, Taka looking highly satisfied with the newly organized box. He explains to Mondo shyly that he has always found comfort in cleaning, saying that it gave him control as a child that he often didn’t have. Mondo can understand that to some extent since he feels the same way about riding his hog. Mondo accidentally says that aloud, his cheeks flushing again with his unintended confession.

Taka doesn’t judge him, though. He just hums softly, a thoughtful look on his face as he leans back from his kneeling position to sit on his knees. And then… then he’s looking at Mondo curiously, an oddly nervous look on his face. Mondo wonders why he looks nervous, but learns a moment later, his body freezing as he hears Taka ask hesitantly why Mondo chose to join a gang in the first place. Why he decided to go down this path.

The question makes Mondo feel defensive, his anger rising with his discomfort. He’s had people ask him that before, mainly cops when he’d get caught as a kid, and he’s always hated being asked it. It reminds him, though, that Taka is the son of the police chief, and his chest goes cold as he wonders if Taka will be telling his father all about this conversation. He wouldn’t blame him, god he wouldn’t, but it makes him feel cold and aching and f*cking sad, and he doesn’t know how to handle that, he really doesn’t.

Luckily, before he can say anything that he’ll regret, Taka begins talking again, his words fast and frantic, his eyes wide as he takes in Mondo’s mounting anger and upset. Taka explains that he didn’t mean it negatively, but that he was just curious as to what made him choose this lifestyle. He says that his father has always been disparaging of such choices, but that he, himself, has always been curious about it. What makes someone go down such a path. Taka also shyly says that he doesn’t really see how Mondo could be that bad, since he’s been so kind to him since he got here. It makes Mondo feel like utter sh*t.

Looking away from Taka, Mondo considers the question more rationally, his stomach still clenching, but not angrily. While he hates talking about himself in such a way, he again finds that it… it’s not so bad. Not when it’s Taka he’s telling. Plus, he… he’s gotta clear up the clear misconceptions the kid is having about him. Because he is ‘that bad’. He most definitely is.

Faltering again, Mondo explains that Daiya had started the gang up when he’d been about nine and Daiya had been fifteen, as a way to make money and to give them independence. Daiya had been working in a different gang for several years before that, ever since their father left and they were pretty much on their own money wise, but it wasn’t until Daiya started The Crazy Diamonds that Mondo joined, too. He’d always loved riding with his brother on his hog, he explains fondly, but the gang stuff didn’t come until later.

Joining the gang had felt right to him, he continues, voice slower and less confident. He’d always had trouble controlling his anger, so being in a gang helped since he could get his anger out in some way. He admits sheepishly that he knows it’s not the best way he can handle the rage inside him, but that he doesn’t know what else to do. Besides. He’s the leader of his gang now and he can’t stop that. He just… can’t.

Part of him expects Taka to question him about that, but to his relief Taka doesn’t. Instead, Taka just hums softly, nodding with understanding. And then… then he asks softly if Mondo had ever considered leaving the gang. If he ever had any plans that didn’t relate to being a gangster.

Again, Mondo feels himself stiffen up, his discomfort and anger rising. It’s easier to push down this time, though, more so since he can see the earnestness on Taka’s face and he knows the kid doesn’t mean to be accusatory or judging, but that he’s honestly just… curious. Like he truly wants to know. It’s… refreshing, quite honestly.

And so… even though he knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s wrong, he… he confesses that yeah. Yeah, he has. A lot recently, if he’s being fully honest. The honesty makes him squirm, and before he can stop himself, he’s mentioning his absent and stupid as f*ck ideas of becoming a carpenter, of all things. He hurriedly says that he knows he never could, that he barely knows anything about woodworking and that he’d never actually get a job as a carpenter, not with his record. Despite himself, his throat gets thick while saying it and he has to swallow forcefully to try and get the emotion down. He jolts harshly when he feels a tentative hand touch his, his eyes wide as he meets wide red ones.

Quietly, Taka says that he doesn’t think that. That, with hard work and effort, anything is possible. He claims that if Mondo wants to… if he truly wants to become a carpenter and leave his life as a gangster behind… well. Then Taka is positive that he could do it. That Taka believes in him fully. And the strangest thing is… Mondo actually believes that he’s telling the truth.

It’s immediately overwhelming and Mondo has to force down the rush of emotion, breathing deeply to push it all aside. Taka is still looking at him with kindness and it’s too much. Standing abruptly, Mondo grunts that they should get out of there, that they’ve wasted enough time, Taka scrambling to stand soon after. Mondo hands the kid the helmet that started this whole mess and tells him to try it on, which Taka does without a word. The fit is a bit snug, but it should keep Taka safe should anything happen, Mondo thinks.

Taka removes the helmet once he’s done trying it on, his hair sticking straight up adorably once it’s off. It makes Mondo smile, but he quickly looks away before Taka can see. Clearing his throat, he tells Taka to follow close behind him and do as he said, privately hoping that they won’t get caught by anyone, but knowing that the risk is there. It’s been hours since he was left alone with Taka, and he has a feeling his gang is going to be curious about how their ‘meeting’ went. He has no illusions as to what his gang will be assuming they’ve been doing in here so long, though the thought of it disgusts him greatly. Despite all his faults and failings, he is proud to say he would never, ever force himself on someone else. The one time he slept with a woman was consensual, thank you very much, as have been the various other times he’s fooled around with people.

Besides… Taka is such a straight lace looking dude that he doubts he’d ever sleep with someone without knowing them very well first, maybe not even until marriage, even if he clearly feels some measure of attraction towards dudes, and—

Mondo cuts those thoughts off quickly, knowing that it’s useless to dwell on it. Fact is, he’s just a captor to Taka, even if the kid seems to think higher of him than he should. Once he sets Taka free, he probably won’t ever see him again. And that… is that.

Taka agrees to Mondo’s terms, reminding him that they are supposed to be leaving now. With a soft sigh, he gestures for Taka to follow him, heading to the door, reluctance stupidly high within him. It’s as he’s reaching for the door handle that he hears Taka call out to him, his voice confused. When Mondo turns back to face the kid with a raised eyebrow, he sees a confused frown (pout, really, but Mondo doesn’t think about that, not at all) on Taka’s face, which is kind of concerning…

Mondo then freezes when Taka speaks, the kid asking hesitantly if he should have the blindfold put back on if they’re going to be wandering through the hideout. Because, to be perfectly honest… he’d forgotten the kid is the son of the police chief. Again. Despite being reminded of it only a handful of minutes before. Jesus Christ…

However… as he looks at Taka and sees the small frown he’s still wearing, clearly not happy at the idea of wearing the blindfold but willing to do it if Mondo asks, he… he realizes he doesn’t want to force the kid to wear it again. Yeah, it’s stupid. This has been one of his favorite hideouts over the years, the one he’s kept most of his personal items in, and letting an outsider see the interior, let alone the son of a police chief is… reckless. Stupid, honestly.

But as he looks at Taka… painfully honest and open Taka… he thinks that maybe he can trust the kid. And that’s stupid too, since for all he knows maybe Taka is just a ridiculously good actor and has been playing him this entire g*dd*mn time, but… he doesn’t think so. He’s got a pretty good bullsh*t detector and it’s not gone off once around Taka. So maybe… maybe…

And even if Taka does rat them out and tells his father all about their hideout and where it’s located… maybe they’d deserve it. For what they all collectively did to the poor kid… the torture and starvation and terror they put him through… maybe it would only be right.

Regardless of how ridiculous it is, Mondo just shrugs tightly and tells Taka that it’s fine. That it doesn’t matter. He can see shock on the kid’s face, as well as a small measure of pleasure, which he does his hardest to not think on, god. Taka nods hesitantly, the small smile widening as he realizes Mondo is being serious. Since that just about shorts Mondo’s brain out again, he turns back to the door and focuses on finally getting Taka out of this dump.

Silent as mice, Mondo leads Taka through the catacomb of hallways and rooms, footsteps silent as he peeks around corners for signs of his gang before leading them down those paths. It feels hella weird to be sneaking around his own g*dd*mn place, but he doesn’t focus on it. He does notice that the kid is fairly silent too, even his footsteps barely making a sound on the concrete. It’s then that Mondo realizes that Taka isn’t wearing shoes, but by that point it’s not like he can fix that, so he puts it out of his mind and focuses on sneaking again.

Luckily, they manage to make it to Mondo’s private garage without any problems, Mondo letting out a sigh of relief as they enter the relatively large space. The only people allowed in this garage are him and his elite guard, but the guard isn’t allowed to enter without his permission. If someone were to enter now and see them, he’d have grounds to pretty much kick them out of the gang. After all, it’s not like he’s doing anything bad. He’s the g*dd*mn leader, for Christ’s sake. If he wants to take his captive around on his hog after leading them through the hideout without a blindfold, he’s f*cking allowed. It’s just… easier if they didn’t have to deal with all that at the moment, is all.

As he approaches his pride and joy, he sees Taka shuffling awkwardly by the entrance of the garage, fiddling with the helmet he’s still holding. He has a look of discomfort on his face and Mondo finds himself concerned despite himself. Forcing his voice to go as soft as it’s able, he asks the kid if he’s alright. If he needs anything first. Taka looks up at him with wide eyes at that, before shaking his head slowly.

Taka replies haltingly that no, he’s fine, he’s just nervous at the thought of riding on the ‘bike,’ as he calls it. He then mentions that he rarely, if ever, does anything risky, and that riding a ‘bike’ is very risky.

While normally Mondo would be pissed at hearing someone say such a thing about riding a hog, let alone calling his baby a ‘bike’ like a f*cking nerd, he finds Taka’s nerves kind of endearing. Trying to force down his smile, Mondo shrugs and mentions how he gets it, but reiterates that Taka has nothing to worry about. He’s been riding a hog alone since he was ten, after all, long before he had his official license, and he is an expert at driving it. He makes a joke about being the Ultimate at the action, which makes Taka smile faintly.

Taka goes quiet then, clearly thinking things over. After a minute, Taka nods decisively and says that he trusts Mondo, and that he will ride the ‘bike,’ putting the helmet on clumsily. The unexpected trust floors Mondo, and he finds himself unable to make the snarky comment about it being called a ‘hog,’ not a ‘bike,’ like he had planned on.

Instead, he just awkwardly clears his throat and heads for his baby, getting on fluidly. He gestures for Taka to get on too, which he does after a moment’s hesitation. It takes a couple false starts, but soon they both are mounted on the hog, Mondo instructing Taka to hold on as tight as he can, which Taka immediately does without question. Mondo is once again floored by how much trust Taka is putting into him, but he tries not to focus on it, knowing that he needs to focus.

Before leaving, he asks Taka where to drop him off, knowing a location would probably be good. And then, to his absolute shock, Taka tells him his home address. And Mondo knows that the kid understands how stupid this is, since Taka even jokingly says that he knows he probably shouldn’t be telling Mondo his address, but that he knows Mondo won’t do anything with it. His trust is once again overwhelming to Mondo, and he decides then and there to never break it. He may be a monster and a criminal, but somehow, he feels that breaking Taka’s trust would be the absolute worst thing he could ever, ever do.

Pushing down the swell of emotions, he sets off to the address given, warning Taka before he does. The kid still screams, though it is thankfully muffled by the helmet somewhat. But Mondo doesn’t care if his gang realizes what he’s doing now. They’d learn eventually and Mondo will handle it later. Later, when Taka is safely at home and Mondo can convince his gang to never, ever go after the kid again. And maybe… maybe provide a detail for him to ensure his continued safety once he gets home… after all, if he’s so foolish as to actually trust a monster like Mondo despite everything that was done to him, and despite having a police officer as a dad… well. Clearly, this kid needs protecting.

He pushes that all down yet again as he drives on, figuring the drive will take roughly twenty minutes given city traffic. He distantly allows himself to enjoy the feel of Taka’s arms around him, reveling in the sensation, but he doesn’t allow his mind to focus on it too long, for obvious reasons. It’s still nice, though. Very, very nice.

But it’s not meant to last. And before long, they are in front of a worn-down old apartment, one that even Mondo eyes critically. Taka doesn’t seem to notice his disdain and just smiles brightly at Mondo, saying that he is very grateful to him for his assistance, even going so far as to call Mondo a ‘good friend.’ Mondo can only stare with wide eyes at Taka, which clearly makes the kid nervous, as he begins to stammer that he hopes he isn’t overstepping his bounds and that he’s sorry if he had offended. Making it sound like Mondo is the one who should be offended at having Takaas a friend.

Which is… so wrong Mondo doesn’t have enough hours in a day to point it all out, so he just shakes his head quickly and states that he’d be f*cking honored to have Taka as a friend, if the kid wants him. The words make Taka beam, so bright it takes his breath away, his nod frantic once more. He also says he would like that very much, so earnest Mondo wonders if he died and this is some strange version of heaven. But like hell would he ever get into heaven after all the sh*t he’s done, so he curbs that thought. Still… it is very nice…

And still not real. That thought douses Mondo into ice cold reality, knowing that once Taka has some time to think things through and work through the trauma, he’ll want nothing to do with Mondo. Ever. Yes, he may think them friends now, but… it won’t last. Mondo has to remember that. He truly does, or else this is going to hurt so much worse than it already does…

Still. Despite that. Despite what he knows will happen and that he should avoid Taka and all thoughts about him. Despite it all. Mondo… Mondo can’t help but pull out a scrap of paper from his pocket, grabbing a pen he keeps in his side storage of his hog, and writing down his number shakily on the stained and frayed paper. Stomach alive with butterflies, he thrusts the paper towards Taka, muttering that if he ever has need of help, or if he just needs someone to talk to, he can call Mondo. And while Mondo doesn’t say it, he privately knows that he just gave Taka his personal, private number, not the number he uses for ‘business.’ Only the elite guard have his personal number. And now Taka. And now… Taka.

He feels a shot of pain shoot through him when he sees Taka’s reluctant look as he stares at the messy scrawl, thinking he f*cked this up and now Taka is mad, but then… then Taka mutters awkwardly that he doesn’t have a phone, cheeks bright red. At Mondo’s incredulous stare, he hastily explains that while his apartment does have a landline, since his father likes having a backup in case his cellphone breaks, Taka wouldn’t be able to call Mondo using it since his father checks the phone history as a precaution. And he doesn’t have a cell phone since he’s never really needed one, he’s felt. What gets Mondo the most, though, is how regretful Taka sounds while saying it, like he… like he truly is unhappy that he doesn’t have a reliable way of contacting Mondo. And while he makes sure to tell himself that this isn’t real a thousand more times, he truly wishes that it could be. That Taka truly does feel regret at not being able to talk to him again.

Perhaps it’s that that has him say it, perhaps it something else entirely, but he finds himself blurting out that Taka should still keep the number so he could call if there is an emergency, and he desperately needs someone. Mondo promises, solemn and full of grave intensity, that if Taka ever needs him, he will drop everything and be there. No matter what the need is, he stresses, needing Taka to know how serious he is. And… judging by the bright blush and the dazed look that has returned to Taka’s face… Mondo thinks the kid does.

After that, Mondo knows it’s time to go, knowing that hanging around outside the home of the police chief— chatting with the man’s clearly beaten son— is a recipe for disaster. Still, Mondo doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to go back to a world that Taka isn’t a part of. He knows how stupid the thought is, but as he looks into Taka’s bright red, comforting eyes… he knows that if he leaves here, he’ll be leaving behind something truly special. Something he’s been missing for years. Something… something good. Truly and fully good.

But he can’t stay. He doesn’t deserve someone like Taka, and none of this is real, besides. Taka will come out of his shock eventually and realize the error of his ways. And Mondo… Mondo deserves that. He truly, truly does.

And so… despite how much it hurts… despite the fact that he wants so desperately to never leave this perfect and stupidly trusting kid’s side… Mondo forces himself away.

With a tight smile that absolutely does not hide the pain he’s feeling, Mondo absently raises his hand in goodbye and makes his way back to his baby, claiming that he’ll see Taka around sometime, though he absolutely does not believe it. Not unless Taka is there when his father comes to arrest Mondo and his gang, that is. He doesn’t expect Taka to reply anything more than a shaky goodbye in return, maybe sounding a bit regretful like earlier, but nothing special.

That’s why he’s absolutely shocked when he feels a cool hand wrap around his wrist, not tight but firm. Mondo wheels around in shock, eyes wide as he meets Taka’s wide and yet determined ones. He listens with a distracted ear as Taka says that this entire experience has been terrifying and frightening in many, many ways, but that he does not regret meeting Mondo, as meeting him has probably been one of the best experiences of his life. He sounds so earnest and truthful that— for a moment— Mondo almost forgets that it’s not real and almost believes that he could deserve this. And then he… he can only watch, heart pounding out of his chest, when… when Taka leans forward and… a-and…

Kisses his cheek…

Cheeks on fire, Mondo dumbly watches Taka hastily back away, feeling bereft as the kid’s hand leaves his wrist, absolutely dumbfounded and maybe a little turned on. It doesn’t help that Taka’s face is bright red again, and that there’s a small, somewhat pleased looking smile as Taka says lowly that he hopes they will meet again one day, as he would truly hate to never see Mondo again. And Mondo— brain offline and mouth moving without his consent— says that if Taka uses that number, he will.

With that exchange said, Mondo knows it’s time to leave before he spontaneously combusts. He knows that he is well and truly f*cked, so gone for Taka that it’s kind of pathetic, like a grade schooler with his first crush. It should embarrass the hell out of him that he’s acting so foolish for someone he’s known less than half a day.

But as he finally mounts his hog and looks over his shoulder at Taka, seeing the sad smile on his lips and his hand raised in a final goodbye… he realizes it doesn’t. Embarrass him. Like hell would anything have ever worked out between them, their worlds are much too different, but… it was nice, for one evening, to pretend.

He raises his hand in a final farewell, grinning widely at the enchanting kid he had the absolute fortune to meet, and then he’s gone. Driving a bit faster than the speed limit, Mondo peels out of the small parking lot and onto the city streets, heart aching as he leaves the kid behind.

And as he heads back to his hideout, knowing he’ll have to explain to the guys what happened… he has a small hope that he can’t crush, no matter what, that maybe… maybe Taka will call someday. That this— whatever this is— was real. That it wasn’t only him who felt the connection.

It’s ridiculous. And stupid. And absurd.

And yet…

And yet.

~~~ (time skip!)

More than two months have passed since that day in the gang hideout, and yet Taka has forgotten nothing of the encounter. He hasn’t forgotten the pain or the fear, and his nose only just stopped hurting a few weeks ago, but he… he definitely hasn’t forgotten the rest, either. Meeting Mondo. Talking to him. The weird fluttering in his chest whenever they spoke. The desire he’d felt when Mondo had looked at him. The yearning inside that only grew brighter and brighter as the minutes passed. No… no, he’s not forgotten anything.

Nor does he want to. While he can concede that the kidnapping and the torture were not at all something he enjoyed or would ever want to do again, he can’t deny that he doesn’t regret meeting Mondo. Doesn’t regret their conversations, or the gentleness and trust Mondo showed towards him. He doesn’t regret it one bit.

After Mondo had left him outside his apartment, Taka had stood there in a daze for what felt like hours, his lips tingling with the phantom sensation of rough stubble underneath them, mind racing with thoughts and feelings. He’d been exhausted, since he’d not had a good night’s rest in days, but he’d not been able to force himself from that spot for a very long time.

Eventually he had shaken himself out of it and had climbed the stairs to his and his father’s shared apartment, stopping at the front door abruptly when he realized that he didn’t have his keys anymore. One of his kidnappers had taken it with his clothes earlier that day, so he’d been stuck standing outside his apartment, the night air a bit chilly around him.

His father had eventually arrived home from work, his eyes widening immediately upon seeing Taka’s ragged state. He’d started to ask Taka a million questions about what happened, but Taka had tiredly asked if they could just enter the apartment and he could tell his father later, as he was very tired. His father had stared at him with intense concern for a minute, before hurrying him inside, saying that they would be talking about this once Taka woke. Taka had absently agreed and headed straight for his small bedroom, passing out the second his head hit the pillow, despite all the aches and pains he had been feeling.

Morning was better, thankfully, and he’d stumbled out of bed with a tentative plan of action. His father was still home despite how he usually would have been gone by the time Taka awoke. When he asked, the man said that he called out that day, since he needed to ensure that Taka was okay. It made him feel a swell of affection for his father, but he knew he couldn’t tell the man the truth. While part of him wondered why, since he barely knew the man, he knew he couldn’t betray Mondo. Not after all he’d done for him.

And so, he’d told his father that he’d fallen down some stairs, which had led to his disheveled state. He inferred from the way his father spoke the night before that the man hadn’t noticed his three-day absence, which Taka understood. With his busy work schedule, it wouldn’t have surprised him if his father hadn’t even come home at all during those days, maybe even sleeping in his office at the precinct like he’s done numerous times before. So, all he had to do was come up with an explanation for the injuries and not the missing time.

He could tell that his father didn’t believe him, as the man kept asking more and more questions, but while Taka is usually a horrid liar, he’d been adamant this time. He fell down some stairs, causing him to break his nose and bruise his ribs. It was a plausible story, a simple one, and eventually his father begrudgingly accepted it. He knows his father still didn’t believe him, but Taka can be very stubborn when he wants to be, so he figures his father just accepted it for both of their peace of mind.

He had been very anxious about having to explain to his father how he’d lost not only his clothes and shoes, but his keys, bag, wallet, and all of his other daily possessions, knowing that saying such a thing would only immediately bring the suspicion back, though he knew he’d have to eventually. However, he’d not had to worry about that long, as that problem had been solved the very next day.

Taka had been on his way back from the library— where he had a part time job for the break— wearing an old pair of dress shoes since his boots were MIA, when he’d seen a fairly large package sitting on his welcome mat that was addressed to him. Confused, he’d brought the thing inside and entered his room, where he immediately set about opening the box curiously. He’d never had a package addressed to him before, so it was honestly a little exciting.

And then he’d felt his heart stutter in his chest when he’d seen all of his things neatly placed inside, even his wallet (with more yen inside than he’d left it, he later realized), keys, and clothes. The clothes had even been freshly laundered— the stains and tears mended too— and his boots had been shined. It had overwhelmed him for a minute, tears falling down his cheeks as he touched the things he’d thought were lost forever, the few personal items he had to his name.

It was then that he’d noticed the note tucked in the bottom of the box, almost like whoever placed it there didn’t want it to be found. But it had been, and the words written inside…

‘Thought you’d like your things back. Take care.’

That was it. No signature, nothing. But Taka had immediately recognized the writing as the same as the one on the piece of paper he had stored inside the box that he keeps his most treasured possessions. And he knew exactly who had brought him his belongings back. It had been a bit more overwhelming than he’d care to admit.

With that crisis solved, Taka had focused on getting back into the swing of his everyday life. While his father may not have noticed his absence, his boss and coworkers had, and to his surprise they were all worried about him when they saw his bruises and broken nose.

He’d quickly told them the same thing he told his father, claiming to his boss that he was sorry he’d not called and informed her of his absence, but that he’d been doing his best to heal and hadn’t thought to make the call. The elderly woman had immediately told him it was fine and that he didn’t have to worry about it, even offering to give him the rest of the week off— paid— so he can take care of himself and heal properly. That had also been overwhelming, and he’d had to fight back tears as he explained that he wanted to work, since he hates inactivity. It had taken a little convincing, but she’d agreed to let him work, though she kept a close eye on him for weeks after, still watching even after the worst of his wounds healed.

The days had been hard, though, and the nights even harder. Even after his body stopped aching so badly, he couldn’t help but prod at the pain in his mind. And he doesn’t even mean the pain of having pretty much been tortured and starved for two days. But… the pain of being away from Mondo.

Taka isn’t stupid. Right? Even while it had all been occurring, Taka had wondered if what he was feeling was real. If he actually cared so much about this ragged biker that he’d met under the worst of circumstances mere hours before. It had all seemed so farfetched and fantastical to him that part of him had been waiting the entire time for the other shoe to drop. For Mondo to suddenly yell ‘ha! Gotcha!’ and change on a dime. He doesn’t know why he’d told the biker his home address knowing how stupid it was, but he’d felt so tired and so alone at that moment that he hadn’t even seriously considered the danger involved in telling Mondo his home. Where he and his father— the chief of police— lived.

He’d realized it later, though. The next day, his heart and mind racing with every that had happened. And despite the buoyancy he still felt when he thought of the biker gang leader, he’d also felt trepidation and a hint of fear at the thought of Mondo using the information against him, spending the entire first day panicking silently to himself. And part of the next day.

But then he’d gotten the package. And then a week passed. And then two. And then a month. And then a second month. And at no point at all did Taka face any possible retaliation from Mondo. No hint of gangs loitering around his apartment or harassing his father. Nothing.

Well… not nothing, actually. Because sometimes… sometimes, on odd days, there would be a package left at his front door addressed to him, with no return label. He’d bring the box to his room with a racing heart and open it, finding a random assortment of goods each time. Sometimes they were sweets, like fine chocolate or assorted traditional mochi with sweet and savory fillings. Other times they’d be practical items, such as a fancy notebook or a nice fountain pen. And sometimes… sometimes, there would be DVDs in the box, for movies he’d always heard about but never seen. Receipts would accompany each box, proving the items were paid for Taka assumes, though there would never be a note, no matter how hard Taka looked. And oh, how he looked.

He knows who sends the boxes, though. Of course he does. He’s never had anyone who would send him things, and given that there’s no return address or stamps, he knows the boxes were delivered in person. Plus, they always mysteriously arrived on days he would get home from work before his father, though that’s a little less impressive considering how often such a thing is the case. And finally… the writing on the box is the same as from the note and from the phone number. Which is the most damning evidence, really.

Part of him thinks that he should find it creepy that a criminal biker is sending him gifts, but strangely, he doesn’t. Especially not when he remembers Mondo’s muttered comment after Taka had remarked that he had never been given a gift before. Instead it just makes him feel… warm. And remembered. And appreciated.

It also reminds him of the number Mondo had given him, which he has long since memorized. It makes his heart pound to think of, recalling the moment he’d been given the number with complete clarity. Part of him longs to call just to hear Mondo’s voice and talk to him again, but part of him is afraid to do that. What if… what if Mondo doesn’t want that? Or if he gets annoyed at Taka calling for a non-emergency, even if Mondo had told him he could? Or if it turns out it has all been a big hoax and Mondo doesn’t actually want to be friends with him? While the gifts say otherwise, his lifelong rejection from every possible friend says yes.

So, he hasn’t. Called. Every time he’s headed to the pay phone at the end of the street, intent on calling, he’d get nervous and chicken out. This has happened no less than twenty times, with it once happening twice in one day. Taka wants to call, truly he does! He’s just… scared.

But today. Today, he has decided that no matter what… he will call. Even if Mondo doesn’t pick up, or if he doesn’t respond, or if he rejects him… he has to call today.

It’s his 20th birthday, after all. And while his father had planned on doing something special today, taking Taka out to a restaurant they could only barely afford, the man had unfortunately been called into work for an emergency. Leaving Taka alone in his room, his chest aching fiercely with loneliness. He doesn’t blame his father for leaving, no! But… it hurts sitting in this room alone, thinking so desperately of one person, fearing rejection but thinking that just this once… the potential reward would be worth the risk.

It’s still hard for him to force his legs to move. To stand up, hold his weight, and make the trip to the nearest pay phone. His heart races at just the thought of it, but he knows he’s being ridiculous. He is not a quitter and he’s never run from anything in his life. Yes, perhaps Mondo will reject him, but… he has to at least try.

After about half an hour of useless deliberation, Taka is finally able to force himself to stand and march out of his apartment. His legs are shaking horribly, the shaking getting worse and worse the closer he gets to the pay phone, but he refuses to stop.

Finally, he reaches the pay phone and hesitates only a second before he’s putting his yen in and dialing the number he’s long since memorized. His heart is racing fast as he hears the phone ring, his mind blank. Part of him wishes that Mondo won’t answer, so that he can just leave a message and leave it at that.

But that hope is dashed when he hears someone pick up the phone, and then a familiar voice is sounding, though Taka is far too tense to comprehend the words said to him. It takes him a moment to realize he’s not taken a breath since he arrived at the pay phone and his lungs are screaming at him in protest. He manages to take a huge inhale of breath, though he’s still feeling very nervous and almost afraid. Not of Mondo, no, no. But… of himself. That he’ll ruin this like he’s always ruined everything. That Mondo will realize how uninteresting and worthless he is and won’t want to talk to him. That… that what happened two months ago was just a fluke, that it wasn’t real, and that Mondo wouldn’t want to get that back.

Finally, after another moment passes, he hears the voice call again, worry thick within it. And Taka is finally able to comprehend what the voice is saying.

“Taka…? Is, uh… is that you? Not many people have this number, so, uh… sh*t. Are ya alright, man? D’ya… d’ya need me ta come get ya or somethin’? ‘Cuz I can if ya want… uh… sh*t, is this Taka? Uh… if ya could say somethin’, that would be, ya know… appreciated…”

That jolts Taka out of his daze and he finds himself stammering out a greeting, his cheeks red again. He hears Mondo let out a small laugh, greeting him with so much unbridled affection that it makes Taka’s chest ache. Before he can force the lump in his throat down, Mondo continues, his voice a lot more serious and concerned as he asks him again if he needs help, if he’s hurt, if he needs Mondo to drive out to him. The questions almost overwhelm Taka, making him feel terrible for worrying the biker for something so simple, so stupid. But he can’t just hang up now, not without worrying Mondo more.

And so, voice trembling, he assures Mondo that no, nothing is wrong, he’s okay and doesn’t need assistance. His throat gets thick again before he can explain his actual reason for calling, forcing him to peter out awkwardly, his heart racing painfully in his chest. He then hears Mondo speak again, his voice soft and soothing as he reassures Taka that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to be nervous, it’s all fine, and Taka can tell him why he called if he wants, but if his reason is that he just wanted to talk, that’s fine too. That almost makes Taka more nervous, but he swallows it down and pushes forward.

Voice still trembling, Taka explains haltingly that it’s his 20th birthday and he has found himself unfortunately alone. His father is working, and he never has had any friends, and he was wondering if Mondo wanted to… to hang out. Or something. Taka gets nervous around then and begins babbling that Mondo doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to, that he’s okay being alone, he’s been alone most his life so it’s fine. He would hate to impose upon Mondo and if he’s busy he understands completely and he isn’t entirely sure why he called, he hates being a bother, he’s sorry, he-

Mondo cuts him off around then, his voice soft with something almost fond deep in the tone, mixed with something that sounds sad. Mondo says that he’d be honored to spend Taka’s birthday with him, since Taka had helped make his birthday one of the best he’s ever had, and he could only hope to return the favor. The honest words make Taka’s face flush even hotter, his breath shaky and his heart clenched.

Taka shakily agrees and makes plans for Mondo to meet him outside his apartment, since his father isn’t there anyway. Mondo promises that he’ll be there in twenty before hanging up with a warm ‘see ya soon, Taka.’

Taka walks back to his apartment in a daze, and once he gets there, he takes a heavy seat on the front stoop, wringing his hands anxiously. He’s incidentally dressed in the same outfit he’d worn the day he’d been kidnapped, his usual white suit and red tie that he always wears when at university and his internship and doesn’t bother to change out of during break. This suit has numerous stitches in it, and it doesn’t look very professional anymore, but he can’t help but like it regardless. He hadn’t consciously put it on this morning, but… well.

It feels like both a second and a millennium have passed when he hears the unfamiliar roar of a motorcycle pull up before him. His head whips up instantly, heart racing, a gasp escaping his lips when he sees a now familiar person straddling the powerful vehicle.

Scrambling up and over to the bike (he knows Mondo doesn’t like him calling it that, but he dislikes calling it a ‘hog,’ so they’ll just have to agree to disagree), he tries to think of what to say, what to do, but finds himself coming up blank.

Luckily, Mondo breaks the silence by clearing his throat and awkwardly asking what Taka wants to do. Unluckily, Taka has no idea whatsoever. He hadn’t really expected Mondo to actually show up, to be honest, so he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here. He feels very awkward and regretful as he tells Mondo this, and then he apologizes softly for wasting the biker’s time, sure that Mondo will be mad at him for making him come all this way for nothing.

However… to his absolute shock, Mondo doesn’t get upset. Or even slightly unhappy. Instead, all he does is hum, tilt his head, and ask Taka if he likes going to the park. When Taka stammers that yes, he loves the park, Mondo grins and tilts his head towards his bike, clearly indicating that Taka should get on. Which he then verbalizes, telling Taka that he knows the perfect place for them to go.

Taka is only a little reluctant, not wanting to ride without a helmet (while he’d surprisingly enjoyed the last ride with Mondo, he would never have wanted to do it sans helmet), but to his surprise yet again, Mondo unclips something from his bike and hands it to Taka. It takes him a second to realize it’s a helmet. But he can tell immediately that it’s not the same helmet as the last time. This one is bright red, for one thing, and looks to be a bit bigger. When Taka looks at Mondo in question, the biker sheepishly mentions that he’d gotten Taka a new helmet on the offside chance they ever met up again, this one being a size bigger, which Mondo guessed would fit better.

The idea that Mondo cared enough to get him his own helmet, just for his own comfort flusters Taka greatly, and he feels the stirring in his heart he’d first felt two months ago and hasn’t stopped since. He’s never felt so much for another person before and it’s making him feel very flushed. Especially when he catches sight of the gentle smile Mondo has on his lips, his eyes like liquid silver as he looks at him. It… it’s very nice, though…

After a moment of stunned silence, Taka shakily puts the helmet on, noticing immediately that it fits much, much better. He then carefully gets on the bike behind Mondo, the process a lot easier now that he knows sort of what he’s doing. And now that his ribs aren’t aching fiercely, of course.

Once he’s mounted, Mondo waits a moment while Taka gets comfortable, before telling Taka he’s going to move, Taka nodding his consent. He still feels a bit terrified when the bike begins moving, but at least this time he doesn’t scream like a child. He just holds tight to Mondo, moving his body with the biker’s, both enjoying the ride and also kind of hating it. It does wonders to help calm his nerves about inviting Mondo over to ‘hang out’, though.

They arrive at Mondo’s mystery location about half an hour later, Taka looking eagerly at the decent sized park he’s never been to before. As Mondo parks, Taka looks at the green fields and the groups of families and friends that walk around, enjoying the last day before the school semester starts up again. Taka has never really celebrated his birthday, considering his father’s busy schedule and his perpetual lack of friends. Not to mention how it always occurs the day before the first day of the fall quarter, leaving it a bit forgettable. But as he stands here with Mondo, looking at the busy park before him… for the first time, he almost feels happy it’s his birthday. If only because it gives him the excuse to enjoy Mondo’s highly pleasing company again.

Mondo gently touches Taka’s hand to draw him back to reality, which Taka does with a smile. Mondo begins to chat about random things as they start to move through the park, like he had the previous time, and the conversation feels as easy to Taka now as it did back then, putting him immediately at ease. During the drive, the anxiety and fear Taka had been feeling had waned, and now all he can feel is happiness and brightness, excitement filling him at whatever it is Mondo has planned for them.

They meander through the park for a bit, and at one point Mondo mentions that Daiya used to take him here when he was little, the pair playing and rough housing whilst on the fields. They even brought their late dog— Chuck, an incredibly smart Maltese that Mondo is still adorably fond of, Taka learns— here all the time for his walks.

After a while their wandering takes them past an ice cream stand and Mondo asks Taka if he’d like one. Taka declines with a stammer, insisting that he couldn’t possibly impose on Mondo like that, though he greatly appreciates the offer.

Mondo, though, just snorts and deadpans that it’s really not an issue to buy a ‘f*ckin’ ice cream.’ Taka wrinkles his nose at the vulgarity, but after a bit of back and forth, Mondo finally pointing out it’s literally his birthday, Taka finally concedes and asks for a vanilla ice cream, since it’s his favorite flavor. Something about that makes Mondo laugh, and Taka is afraid at first that he’s laugh at him, a measure of hurt rising within him at the thought. But then he sees the softness in Mondo’s eyes when he looks at him, the gentle tilt to his lips, and Taka realizes that no. Mondo isn’t making fun of him. He just… finds it funny, he supposes.

They reach the front of the line before Mondo can say anything, and Taka just listens as the biker orders himself a chocolate soft serve ice cream with sprinkles, mini gummy bears, and a cherry on top, before he orders Taka the exact same but in vanilla. Seeing Taka’s displeased pout at the biker ordering more than a simple ice cream for him, Mondo smirks and gently nudges Taka’s shoulder with his, saying that Taka should learn to take it easy sometime. Live a little. Enjoy the small things.

“Like vanilla ice cream with sprinkles, mini gummy bears, and a cherry on top?” Taka questions skeptically.

Mondo smiles, bright and happy and clear, taking Taka’s breath away.

“Hell yeah man! Exactly like vanilla ice cream with sprinkles, mini gummy bears, an’ a f*ckin’ cherry on the g*dd*mn top. Now enjoy yer g*dd*mn ice cream, ya g*dd*mn nerd.”

The vender gives them their respective ice creams before Taka can reply back with a witty rejoinder. Though perhaps that’s for the better, because Taka’s brain is currently offline as butterflies erupt in his stomach. During their last encounter, Taka hadn’t been able to escape the nagging thought that— despite the unfortunate circumstances they’d found themselves meeting under— parts of it had felt almost like… well… a date. And it had been ridiculous at the time, they’d barely known one another, and they did have the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their meeting. But still… he’d not been able to push it away no matter how hard he tried.

But now? Right now, holding onto a quickly melting ice cream as Mondo begins talking about his childhood with his brother, detailing how much they always enjoyed getting ice cream and wandering about on a hot summer day like this one? The feeling of this feels like a dateincreases by a tenfold and Taka is left reeling on how to continue on without making a complete fool of himself.

Because… well. He can’t lie to himself. He likes Mondo. A lot. It’s not quite infatuation and definitely not love, but it… it’s the start of something. Something he thinks could be very nice if they let it.

However, he tells himself forcefully, he doesn’t even know if Mondo is into guys that way. And even if he is, there is no guarantee he’d be into Taka specifically. Taka isn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with, he knows. He’s very opinionated and likes things to go his way exactly. And while he’s been trying to not do it with Mondo, he knows that once he gets started, he can talk for hours nonstop about certain topics that interest him, like politics or ethics or morality. And he’s been told so many times that it’s annoying and aggravating, so he just… he knows he’s not an easy person to get close to. Even if the thought hurts. And oh… does it hurt…

During Taka’s distraction, the pair had still been walking, and it isn’t until they arrive that Taka realizes Mondo had had a destination in mind. But as they reach the mid-sized pond that is bracketed by trees with a bridge that goes over it, with koi fish in the water and ducks floating leisurely atop it, Taka is forced to stop his restless worries and focus solely on the beauty before him.

After a minute of awed staring, Taka hears Mondo chuckle warmly, before a warm hand brushes the back of the hand not holding the small amount of ice cream that he still had left. Taka turns to face Mondo then and sees a warm and tender look on the biker’s face, making him look much younger than he usually does. It makes Taka’s heart squeeze to see, the baffling affection nearly overwhelming him. He can only hope his face isn’t completely betraying him, but knowing his luck…

Either way, Mondo doesn’t mention it and instead just places his hand on Taka’s mid-back to direct him towards an empty bench before the pond so they can watch the koi and ducks swim together for a bit. Taka ignores the racing of his heart and smiles shakily as he follows Mondo, his back tingling not unpleasantly.

They sit beside one another on the relatively small bench, so close they’re almost touching, but not quite. It drives Taka up the wall, his skin prickling with goose flesh and shivers each time either of them moves. It’s quiet between them, Mondo happily finishing his ice cream cone as he watches the ducks swim lazily by, and Taka has to admit that it’s nice. Very nice. Nicer than anything else has ever been in his life, save for every limited interaction he’s had with the biker.

It feels too good to be true, honestly. All of it. That someone like Mondo would willingly want to spend time with someone like him. Even discounting his unfortunate habit of being overly blunt and borderline rude at times, he is probably the textbook definition of a ‘goody two-shoes,’ while Mondo is the textbook definition of a ‘bad boy.’ Not that he thinks Mondo is bad! Not at all! Just… his demeanor and profession. The two don’t really seem to have much in common. Even their special interests are divergent, though Taka finds himself strangely captivated by how enthusiastic Mondo is about all of the things he enjoys. But just… why, he has to wonder? Why did he give him his number back then, and why… why did he show up to meet him today? Just… why?

Unable to hold the question in any longer, Taka blurts it out, no decorum at all, and he feels his cheeks flood with his mortification at his lack of social grace. However, Mondo still doesn’t seem to mind. He just hums thoughtfully, clearly mulling it over seriously. That’s another thing Taka really likes about Mondo, he thinks pensively to himself. The biker always seems to take the things Taka says seriously, not dismissing them out of hand as something irrelevant, like so many other people do. It feels… nice. Like he’s actually being seen and heard for once. It’s strange but… but nice.

But then Mondo is talking, his voice musing and contemplative. And Taka… he isn’t really sure what to make of it.

“Huh. Why did I show up? I mean… I dunno, man. Ya called. An’ I said I’d come if ya called, didn’t I? An’ ‘sides. Yer, uh… sh*t, I dunno. Nice ta talk ta or somethin’ like that. Let me f*ckin’ ramble ‘bout random *ss bullsh*t, not seemin’ ta mind. An’…” Mondo pauses here, seeming to collect his thoughts. After a few moments, he continues. “I dunno. You, uh… ya were the first person ta really say ya believed I could actu’ly be a f*ckin’ carpenter… ya know? Never got ‘round ta tellin’ Dai ‘bout that ‘fore he, uh… y-ya know. An’ like hell could I tell that sh*t ta the gang. They’d think I’d gotten weak or somethin’. In fact, think yer the first person I ever told I even was interested in woodwork ta begin with. So… sh*t. I really don’t know, man. Just… s’easy ta talk ta ya, I guess. Kinda f*cked up when ya think ‘bout it, considerin’ how we met an’ all, so I try not ta. Think ‘bout it. An’… an’ if ya like talkin’ ta me, too, then… heh. I dunno. Works out. I guess. ‘Less ya don’t like talkin’ ta me… uh… in which case I can always stop… heh…”

The mumbled words make Taka’s chest ache even more then, and tears start to fill his eyes despite himself. This worries Mondo a lot and the biker immediately starts back tracking and trying to rectify things. Taka cuts him off before he can get too impassioned, though, and explains that he’s not crying because he’d upset, but that he’s just a little overwhelmed. Because… because he likes talking to Mondo, too. And he’s just not used to people actually enjoying his company.

That seems to upset Mondo, as the biker is now frowning at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes full of an emotion Taka can’t begin to explain. And then Mondo says that it’s their loss, as he finds talking to Taka to be quite enjoyable, and his company is more than appreciated too. It overwhelms Taka again and this time a couple tears slip out, to his intense mortification. Thankfully Mondo doesn’t mention it. He just smiles at him gently before looking away over the pond, the silence between them strangely not awkward or tense, but instead soothing and peaceful. Tranquil. It’s honestly so, so nice…

Minutes pass in their silent reveries, their ice creams long finished but still remaining in place.

Finally, after what Taka estimates is about five minutes pass, he hears Mondo talk again. And this time, his voice is very soft. Softer than before, even. So soft it takes Taka a second to decipher the fact that Mondo had just mentioned quietly that he’s been thinking more and more about quitting the gang recently. About retiring and moving on with his life. He isn’t entirely sure what he’ll do next, as he knows he doesn’t have the skills needed to go directly into carpentry— even if he didn’t have a criminal record— and all of his contacts and connections are related to the gang in some way or another. For over a decade, all he’s known has been his gang. What is he without it, Mondo wonders aloud, his tone wistful and a little scared.

It makes Taka feel deeply for Mondo, and while he’s never been the best at comfort, he knows roughly the mechanics of it. And he knows he wants to try. So, despite his misgivings as to his comfort abilities, he hesitantly rests a hand on Mondo’s shoulder and states that if Mondo really wants to do something new with his life and is willing to put in the effort, then Taka knows he will be able to do it. And… Taka hesitates here for a second, before plowing on and saying that if Mondo needs help, that Taka will be more than willing to provide assistance. While Taka doesn’t really know much about carpentry either, he knows that his father has a lot of connections thanks to being the police chief, and that he may be able to help Mondo find cheap courses that teach woodworking and carpentry, if Mondo would like.

Mondo stares at Taka for several seconds in stunned silence, before muttering that he doesn’t have to do that, that Mondo doesn’t want to inconvenience Taka more than he has. Taka just smiles in response, shaking his head firmly. Then he says that he likes helping people, and that if he could help Mondo out in any way, then he would be honored.

Taka then pauses again, before blushing brightly. He visibly debates what he wants to say, but ultimately decides on saying it. Hesitantly and very awkwardly, Taka then offers to allow Mondo to stay with him in his apartment he rents using his scholarship and internship money near his university, about an hour away from their hometown, if he needs a place to stay that isn’t with his gang. He hastily says that it’s only a one bedroom, but that the couch is a pullout, and that Taka wouldn’t mind if he wanted to stay. While he tries to disguise it, Taka can’t quite force down the hope and eagerness of his offer. He doesn’t even know why he is so keen on the idea, he barely knows Mondo besides, but… something about it seems right to Taka. Plus… he does always love to help people…

At first, Taka is sure that Mondo will reject him out of hand. He can see the hesitation on Mondo’s face, so clear that even Taka has no problem recognizing it. But before Taka has a chance to take back the offer and stammer out something to make things less awkward, he hears Mondo softly ask if Taka truly means that, saying that he barely knows Mondo and what little he does know can’t be good.

Taka rejects that idea, though, shaking his head firmly again. He ignores all his uncertainties for the moment and says that the things he has heard about Mondo don’t matter, as hearsay is very rarely accurate. After all, there are many people who claim that Taka is a fraud and a sham, that his efforts in morality and ethics are lies, when Taka knows for certain they are not. And besides. While they’ve only known one another for two partial days, Taka likes to think himself a good judge of character. And he… he thinks Mondo is a good person who deserves to have a second chance. A fresh start if you will. A way to get away from his old life if he so chooses.

Taka then says that it doesn’t have to be a permanent solution, that Mondo can stay with him temporarily until he finds something better. And that the offer is always there if Mondo wants it.

Mondo seems a bit overwhelmed at the kind offer, as he spends a full minute staring out at the pond, hands twitching slightly at his sides. Taka jumps a little when he feels Mondo grab his hand, but he doesn’t pull away. He just turns to face Mondo with wide eyes, and watches in stunned silence as Mondo leans closer and closer slowly. His eyes seem to be telling Taka something, but Taka has no idea what, as frozen as his brain feels. He still doesn’t pull back, though, as a strange sort of anticipation rises within him. And then… then…

Mondo stops about a millimeter from his face, eyes bright and captivating. Taka has one second to realize what is about to happen when… when…

Mondo kisses him.

It’s sweet. And gentle. And is barely a kiss at all, just a brush of lips, but it’s far more than Taka has ever had, and he’s fairly certain he’s forgotten how to breathe, honestly.

After a moment, Mondo pulls back, Taka’s eyes opening back up (he doesn’t recall closing them, but clearly, he must have, he thinks in a daze) and seeing the hesitant look on Mondo’s face.

“That change yer mind?” Mondo asks him breathily, his words shaking and weak. And Taka… his brain is still very sluggish, but he knows what his answer will be.

“No, Mondo… n-not at all…”

Mondo begins to smile brightly then. It starts off small before consuming his entire face, his eyes shining with it. It makes Taka feel bolder than he ever has before, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s leaning forward and pressing a soft— if a bit clumsy— kiss to Mondo’s lips in return. Pulling back a hair, Taka shyly confesses that he’s been dreaming about doing that for a while now. Just as shy, Mondo laughs and confesses that he has, too.

But then Mondo is sighing, pulling away from Taka completely and looking back out over the pond, a pensive look on his face. The expression makes Taka nervous, but he says nothing as he also looks out over the pond, fidgeting with his hands.

After a while, Mondo starts to talk again, his voice soft and shaky as he claims this whole situation is ‘kinda f*cked, ain’t it?’ They met while Taka was kidnapped all because of Mondo and his lifestyle. How on earth could they ever have anything more than that, after how they first met? Is such a thing even possible?

Taka contemplates the question, biting his lip anxiously. After a few moments of thought, Taka hesitantly replies that he doesn’t think the way they met should matter. No, he can’t say it was a particularly good time for him, but he knows himself well enough. If what he was feeling was just manufactured due to that situation, he doesn’t think it would feel so real. But honestly, he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe this is all manufactured emotion due to a bad situation. But… wouldn’t it be worth it to at least try? To see if something could work out between them?

Mondo contemplates that for a while, the pair staring out at the pond in shared silence. Taka is nervous about Mondo’s reply, he has no idea what any of this even means, but he… he’s willing to find out. If Mondo wants to as well… he’s more than willing to find out.

Finally, long minutes later, Mondo speaks. He gives one firm nod of his head and claims that, you know what? Why not. Why not try. It will take him a little while to get all of his affairs in order, but that if Taka wants to try and is willing to help… then why not? Mondo doesn’t have any active warrants out for his arrest, and he’s been training his new second in command for a couple years now, and he thinks the kid is ready to take over fully. He… he could get out, Mondo says softly, his expression a bit lost, but also a bit excited. Taka hesitantly grabs his hand, and Mondo twines their fingers together, smiling at him hopefully.

Taka doesn’t know where this all is going to lead. If there will be a happy ending for the two of them or not. He doesn’t know if they will work out, or if their emotions are false after all. He has no clue whatsoever what is going to happen next.

What he does know, though, he thinks as he looks at Mondo— who is smiling softly back at him, his lavender eyes liquid soft, his expression so tender it makes him ache… what he does know is that he is more than willing to try. To try this thing out. To help Mondo get away from his past and help him move towards the future. There are no guarantees in life, and their situation is a very unique and shaky one. But… but god, is he willing to try.

And at the end of the day…

He supposes that’s all that matters.

THE END.

~~~

(Okay, so I'd been working on a kind of epilogue for this, but I never got around to finishing it before things got really busy for me. But I want this out in the world, so... here you all go! A mini epilogue.)

Mondo’s POV:

It’s several years later and it is made clear that Mondo and Taka have been together for a while. Taka is hurrying around their room trying to get dressed in a fancy suit and tie, frazzled over something, while Mondo watches on fondly. After a minute of this, Mondo saunters over to Taka and wraps his arms around him tightly, muttering that it’s okay. They have over an hour until the party. It’s okay.

Taka sighs heavily, tension still within him, but fading as he holds Mondo in return, resting his head on Mondo’s broad chest. The pair stay like that for several minutes, just existing together.

Mondo muses about their relationship, about how it has progressed over the years. How it wasn’t easy at first and how living together made their tentative relationship a lot more complicated. But eventually they made it work. Taka was able to find Mondo some relatively inexpensive carpentry classes, and Mondo found he truly adored the art. He’d always figured he would, as he secretly loved watching those house building shows on TV, but he hadn’t realized just how much he would love working with wood. He was also good at it, to his extreme shock, and within a year he’d been able to find work at a small carpentry shop not too far from where Taka was staying.

Taka was always very supportive of his dream and spent many nights listening patiently as Mondo would ramble on and on about the things that he learned that day, or the things he made. The apartment they shared (Mondo insisting he pay for half after he stayed there for free for a month) was soon full of Mondo’s projects, Taka so proud of Mondo and all he achieved. Mondo is even currently building them a house to live in together, the pair having bought the land earlier that year.

Mondo was supportive with Taka, too, always willing to listen when Taka would express frustration at his internship with the local city council. Taka was often unhappy with how slow the system worked, wishing he could do more to help people and that he didn’t have to worry about bureaucracy all the time. Mondo would mostly listen and hum in commiseration whenever Taka would get on one of his rants, but a couple times he’d distract Taka from his troubles by kissing him sweetly, something he learned early on was a very effective distraction. As the years passed, Taka moved up in the city government and now has a fairly high position where he can do a lot more good for the general populace, though it was still very taxing on Taka. And as such, Mondo’s means of distraction got a lot less chaste, he thinks with a smirk.

Their relationship, Mondo contemplates, has always been a strange one, honestly. Especially at first. They never really spoke about it or their growing feelings those first several months. They just… kept going and learned as they went. There had been some bumps and hiccups here and there, some fights that seemed inevitable at the time but that probably could have been prevented in retrospect, but for the most part… they just worked. It would often baffle Mondo, the idea that they could work so seamlessly despite being so different on the surface, but he never really questioned it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth, right? As the years passed, they grew closer and closer, and at one point they started calling one another ‘kareshi,’ never really talking about it but knowing that it felt right. They moved into a bigger apartment together, began making financial and life decisions together, and throughout it all, they remained happy together.

All in all, things aren’t perfect for them. They have their problems like any couple does. For one, Taka’s father is still not exactly pleased at their relationship, but he’d given up trying to break them up years ago, to both Taka and Mondo’s relief. For another, their personalities are honestly very similar despite the differences on the surface, and that sometimes leads to some epic bumping of heads. But that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, does it? Not when— more often than not— they are very, very happy together. Happier than either of them ever expected they’d be. Mondo has even been contemplating buying Taka a ring, though it still is not legal for two men to marry in Japan. Just… as a promise. To show Taka he wants that. That even though their relationship progressed unconventionally… he still wants it.

Mondo pulls back from his embrace with Taka, smiling when Taka lets out a soft whine of displeasure. To placate him, Mondo kisses Taka gently, even though they need to get going soon.

[when-a-humble-bard]

what my heart just yearns to say

Word Count: 5575

summary: Jaskier’s a romantic at heart. So you would think he falls in love at first sight. But... when he falls in love with Geralt, he falls very, very slowly. Or, ten moments where Jaskier falls a little bit more in love with the Witcher, until he's really not sure when it started in the first place.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, injuries, vomiting, mentions of death, nonconsenual almost-groping by a patron, shipping lens on a canon scene, near-drowning, cursing (of course), first kisses, feelings confessions, Jaskier yearns so much oof

A/N: In which I continue to be amazed by the other creators in this fandom, inspired by them, and also wanted to further explore these two. I hope you enjoy it! A companion piece is in the planning stages already... Heh. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3

...

I.

“They said it’s a water nymph?” Jaskier asks the Witcher one evening.

A fire crackles in front of them, sparks shooting up into the night sky. Stars peek between the breaks in the forest canopy above them. Geralt glances at the bard, then sighs and turns his attention back to the fire.

“That’s what they said.”

“But you don’t buy it,” Jaskier says. It’s not really a question. He can tell from Geralt’s tone.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line. “Rusalki and some bruxae share a number of similarities in terms of appearance. The rusalki they described has pale skin and dark hair.”

Jaskier’s fingers twitch with the sudden desire to grab his notebook. “And… rusalki don’t look like that?”

“They can,” Geralt replies, glancing at him, “but so can bruxae. They also have similar tastes in prey.”

Jaskier purses his lips as he remembers what the townspeople had told them. “Men.”

Geralt nods. “Which is why you’re going to stay here with Roach tomorrow.”

Jaskier glances over towards the horse grazing a few yards away, then looks back at the Witcher. “So what’s the difference?”

He doesn’t know if the question tumbles past his lips because he’s genuinely curious about the answer or because he just really likes hearing Geralt talk. The Witcher’s subdued cadence was stubbornly persistent. Often when Jaskier made a concerted effort to engage Geralt in conversation, his responses were brief, clipped, and straightforward. A staccato drum against Jaskier’s lilting melody.

But apparently, Geralt was a fountain of willing knowledge when it came to monsters. And Jaskier could listen to him for hours.

Geralt’s brow quirks in surprise at the question. “To start with, bruxae are of the vampire family. They lure men to their death so that they may feed on their blood. Rusalki are, usually, much more amenable. They lure men to them for procreation, and rarely intend death.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “Which is why you think it’s not rusalki. You think it’s a bruxa.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier feels something twinge in his chest. “How do you kill a bruxa?” He tears his gaze towards the fire as he feels Geralt glance at him.

“They’re susceptible to silver, like most monsters. Igni is also useful. Bruxa tend to hunt in packs, so its unusual that the villagers here have only seen one.”

“Have you fought them before?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nervous? About tomorrow?”

A pause. “No.”

Jaskier huffs and offers a faint, uncertain smile. “That makes one of us.”

“I told you you’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, but that’s quite beside the point, isn’t it?” Because Jaskier isn’t nervous about himself.

Geralt’s head snaps over to the bard in surprise. “Jaskier—”

Jaskier waves him off. “So tell me, dear Witcher,” he says, because he just wants to hear Geralt talk as much as he can tonight. “Why does silver work so well on monsters?”

 II.

Jaskier watches him. The early spring air tugs gently at the loose strands of his white hair. Birds twitter happily in the canopy above them. The stream nearby is still. Mid-morning sunlight filters through the leaves and branches, leaving a mosaic of light around them.

Geralt breathes.

Kneeling in a patch of grass with his hands resting on his thighs, the Witcher has his eyes closed and just… breathes. Jaskier watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way it expands with each inhale, the way the ever-present tension in Geralt’s shoulders eases just the slightest bit with each exhale.

Jaskier knows he’s not asleep. Sleeping and meditating are different things. But he thinks that Geralt actually looks more peaceful like this. Jaskier had spent many nights in the bedroll near the Witcher and knew all too well that when Geralt slept, it was usually fitfully. But when he meditates like this…

Geralt is still.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like he’s getting a rare glimpse at who Geralt was—is—beneath the layers and layers of training and mutations. He knew Geralt didn’t regret what he went through to become a Witcher. At least… not exactly. Can you regret something that wasn’t your choice to begin with? Had been his rhetorical response when Jaskier had been brave enough to ask him one evening. But the bard knew that no amount of trials and training could erase the parts of Geralt that was still—sometimes painfully—human. Geralt held within himself a carefully balanced dichotomy that seemed, at least to Jaskier, to be a storm built on regret and guilt and (in his darker moments) self-loathing.

But watching Geralt meditate—the steady breath, the perfect stillness—makes the bard wonder if the storm metaphor isn’t quite accurate. Because really, when Jaskier thinks about it, Geralt’s humanity is perhaps more like the coastal waves. Relentlessly returning to the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

Jaskier watches Geralt meditate and feels something tighten in his chest. He’d follow that tide to the end of the earth, he realizes. He’d call the waves back to shore for as long as Geralt would let him.

Geralt’s eyes blink open and Jaskier unapologetically meets his gaze.

He arcs his eyebrow. “Composing, Bard?”

Jaskier offers a small, sincere smile. “Something like that.”

 III.

“I’d rethink that move.”

If he’s being honest, Jaskier is almost as surprised as the patron when Geralt seems to materialize out of the crowd and grab the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip. The man’s other hand is still fisted possessively in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers, uncomfortably close to his crotch.

“What,” the patron spits with a sneer full of rotting teeth, “unwilling to share your whore, Butcher?”

Jaskier grimaces. Butcher made his skin crawl, and he knows that Geralt didn’t take kindly to that term either. The bard had learned that very early, and very quickly.

Geralt growls low in his throat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Call him that again and I’ll slit your throat.”

The threat makes Jaskier freeze instinctively. Call him that again… Him.

As in Jaskier.

The patron roughly lets go of the bard, who stumbles a step from the suddenness of the motion but still hasn’t taken his eyes off Geralt. In truth, Jaskier really hadn’t been particularly bothered by the term itself. He’d been called it before, and been called much worse than that several hundred times over. But Geralt took issue with it, evidently.

Geralt was defending him. He’d never had someone who’d done that before. Not even his own family.

“Not worth it,” the patron says gruffly. Geralt releases him with a shove to send him stumbling away from Jaskier. He staggers a few steps, muttering something under his breath. Jaskier doesn’t hear it clearly—something about his voice and screaming as pretty as he sings—but Geralt evidently does hear it, quite clearly. Something bright and furious ignites in his gold eyes.

“Geralt,” he says quickly but quietly. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

For a moment, the Witcher looks torn. Jaskier places a hand on his forearm, and Geralt levels a withering gaze on the other man. He rushes through the crowd and out the tavern. It’s not until the door closes behind him that Geralt turns his attention back to the bard. The hot anger in his eyes evaporates slowly into something that Jaskier almost wants to call… soft. His gaze flickers—quick and calculating—over Jaskier’s form. Looking for signs of injury.

Geralt’s gaze meets his again in a silent question. Jaskier offers a reassuring smile and slight nod in answer. I’m okay.

Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier doesn’t think he’s imagining the tinge of relief under the veil of exasperation. “You really ought to learn some self-defense, Jaskier.”

Jaskier offers an affronted scoff. “I can defend myself perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.”

“I can! I’ll have you know, he is hardly the first over-enthusiastic fan I’ve dealt with.” Jaskier tries not to wince at the way Geralt’s expression darkens, and rushes of add, “And I’ve fended off unwanted advances just fine. He just happened to be particularly, ah, insistent.”

“Hm. And what happens when you can no longer talk your way out of such situations?”

Jaskier’s flippant smile wavers, then stays in place. “Are you offering to teach me, Geralt?” He’s mostly joking.

“Yes.” Geralt’s answer is immediate and unflinching. Jaskier tries not to think too long about why that sends a flutter through his stomach.

 IV.

The kitchen of the small house on the outskirts of the town has barely enough room for the three of them. Geralt, beside him, reeks of death and decay and monster guts. In front of them, the young boy—who couldn’t be older than 16 by Jaskier’s best guess—hoists his baby sister up further onto his hip.

“Truly, Witch—ah, Geralt?” At Geralt’s slight nod, the teen smiles. “Truly, Geralt. Thank you. I, um…” he trails off, turning to rifle through a drawer behind him. The middle sibling, a young boy of about six, runs around the corner and nearly barrels straights into the two of them in the entryway.

“Oi!” the teen snaps. “Slow down, will ya?”

“Sorry,” the younger boy mumbles, and then is off like a flash the moment Geralt takes a step to the left to let him through.

His brother watches him with a certain fond exasperation, even as embarrassment colors his cheeks. “Too much energy for his own good,” he says. Jaskier realizes then that he has a small pouch in the hand that isn’t supporting his baby sister’s weight. He extends it out to the Witcher. “It’s not much. Certainly not nearly enough for disposing of the monster that took our parents, but...”

Geralt shakes his head, making no move to take it. “No payment necessary.”

Jaskier glances at him and feels something unexpectedly soft warming in his chest.

“Please,” the teen says. “I insist.”

“Keep it.”

“My father taught me to never accept charity.”

Jaskier thinks of the empty cupboards around them in the kitchen and feels a small tug in his gut. He remembers all too well singing for literal scraps. Barely surviving. He knew desperate times. And he also knew that some people still ranked their pride higher. The bard figures he can’t really fault him for it, and besides, the poor kid had just lost the very father he’d spoken of. Grief did funny things to people.

Geralt stares at the boy for a long moment. Jaskier sees the tension work in his jaw before he holds a hand out and lets him deposit the coins into the outstretched palm. Twenty ducats fall from the piece of cloth.

“It’s all I have—” he begins apologetically.

“It’s plenty,” Geralt interrupts, folding his fingers over the paltry sum. It does not escape Jaskier’s attention that he doesn’t slip the coins into his own pouch.

The infant in the teen’s arms shifts and makes a distressed noise. “I… I should put her down for a nap, I think.”

Jaskier can hear the uncertainty in the boy’s voice and offers an encouraging smile. “We’ll see ourselves out. I’m sure a bit of rest is exactly what she needs. As a matter of fact, I could use a nap myself.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but Jaskier sees the relieved smile pull at the boy’s mouth. “Right. Well… Thank you. Again. I… thank you.”

He disappears up the rickety wood stairs. On their way out, Jaskier sees Geralt discretely drop the ducats into a partially-opened drawer by the entrance to the kitchen.

That soft, warm feeling in Jaskier gives an aching, happy tug.

 V.

Jaskier watches, fascinated, as Geralt’s eye twitches. The music that fills the tavern is not coming from Jaskier, and while the other bard is clearly less experienced, Jaskier seems less bothered by the amateur display than the Witcher. Which is odd—really odd—to Jaskier. Because he had been certain that Geralt really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about music.

Jaskier looks at the Witcher over the top of his wine glass as he takes another sip. “What’s troubling you, Geralt?”

Geralt settles an irritated golden gaze onto Jaskier as the bard (the other one) starts another song. It takes only a few seconds for Jaskier to realize it’s the same simple, mundane chord progression and structure as the last song played. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s gaze flickers lightning quick to the lute beside him.

Jaskier stifles a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re already missing my serenades.”

Geralt isn’t looking back at him, instead watching the other bard parade around the room with a look that is very nearly a glare. “At least your songs have some… complexity.”

That sends a very unexpected surge of warmth through Jaskier’s chest. He sits up a bit more, leaning forward. “Musically or lyrically?”

“Music,” Geralt replies, almost absently. “The… chords?” The Witcher’s gaze flickers uncertainly to Jaskier, who can’t help but feel like he’s clinging to every word. He gives Geralt a slight, encouraging nod. Geralt shifts. “They’re better than this shit.”

Jaskier stares at him. Sure, the Witcher didn’t have the same musically-inclined vocabulary, but even that couldn’t hide the fact that Geralt listens to his music. Really listens.

Geralt tears his gaze away from Jaskier’s after a moment, taking a long pull of ale from the tankard in front of him. “Your lyrics,” he continues, “are little more than inaccurate stories.”

“Ah, my dear Witcher, ordinarily I would balk at such a baseless accusation—”

“It’s not baseless.”

“—but you cannot hide the fact any longer.” Jaskier cannot contain the grin that pulls at his lips any more than he can contain the surge of a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. He points a finger at Geralt. “You listen to me.”

Geralt looks back at him and—though he knows Geralt would deny it—Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Impossible not to,” Geralt replies dryly, “what with you filling every damn second with song.” He takes another swallow.

The thinly veiled deflection does nothing to diminish Jaskier’s smile. “And you like it.”

This time, Geralt can’t quite contain the tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Jaskier knows it’s a hum of agreement.

 VI.

Jaskier’s heart still hasn’t stopped pounding, even though they’d finished the treacherous part of the shortcut around an hour ago. The image of Borch, Téa, and Véa plummeting—their bodies disappearing into the mountain mist below—still leaves Jaskier with a slight roll to his stomach and an ache in his bones that had nothing to do with the long day of foot travel.

It’s close to dusk. The chill of evening mountain air begins to stiffen the bard’s fingers as he sets his lute down beside his bedroll. The dwarves busy themselves with setting up camp and starting to prepare a meal, but Jaskier can’t help the way he keeps watching Geralt.

Geralt, who hadn’t said a thing since Borch let go of the chain.

Jaskier kneels by his bedroll and pretends to adjust it, but he watches the Witcher sitting on a boulder a few yards away. He gazes out over the jagged terrain off the cliffside. He is still. But Jaskier feels his chest knot with concern.

Geralt was perhaps the single most selfless person that Jaskier had met in his 40 years of living. But that came with its pitfalls too—especially as it related to how Geralt tended to view himself. There had always been splintered shards in Geralt’s soul that Jaskier didn’t know how to begin to dig out. But he can still picture the way Geralt had stayed kneeling for a moment on those wooden planks, his head bowed like the weight of the world had—for just a moment—dropped on top of him.

Jaskier fears he knows that body language, and the weighted silence that had followed that moment. He fears that his 22 years of traveling with the Witcher means that he really does know Geralt. And that Geralt feels that he has let them down somehow, despite all he did to try to save them. Even at great risk to himself, Jaskier remembers with a bit of a wince, hearing the creak of those boards under Geralt’s feet.

The Witcher could never catch a break, it seemed.

With a sigh, Jaskier stands and crosses to him. Geralt makes no move to acknowledge his presence, not really, but his stillness is a sign of recognition in and of itself. The bard sets himself carefully, gingerly, on the boulder beside him.

“You did your best,” Jaskier tells him softly, the words managing to push through his slightly tight throat. “There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt as he says it. The Witcher had spent more years constructing a mask of passivity and stoicism than Jaskier had been alive, but the bard knows him. And when he sees Geralt’s gaze drop by a few degrees, he knows he’d been right about where Geralt’s thoughts had been.

Something in Jaskier’s chest pulses with an ache that he cannot name. Geralt has carried too much for too long and Jaskier desires fervently to ease that burden. To find a way to let Geralt breathe and be and exist without quite so much heaviness.

“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?” he offers, his fingers fidgeting in his lap against the sudden desire to take Geralt’s hand. “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion.”

It’s a weak, flimsy attempt for a smile. Geralt doesn’t, but there’s just the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth when he hums in response. Geralt glances at him briefly, and though Jaskier doesn’t meet his gaze, that aching in his chest gives a sharp lurch with hope.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while,” he adds softly. He’d never said the words aloud before, but they resonate with a certain familiarity. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? ‘Life’s too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.’”

Jaskier swallows, setting his hands on his thighs because they are only getting more fidgety with each pulse of that sharp warmth in his chest—more insistent now. Harder to ignore.

“Composing your next song?” Geralt rumbles quietly.

Jaskier looks down at his hands. “No, I’m just, ah—” I love you, he thinks without daring to look at him. “Just trying to work out what pleases me.”

 VII.

They’re half a mile out of town when it starts to rain. The starting sprinkle lasts just long enough for Jaskier to think he’s glad he invested in a case for the lute before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. Then he’s also glad he bought some decent boots at the last town they were in.

“Fuck.” Jaskier knows that tone. Geralt is annoyed. The bard glances at the Witcher beside him, a faintly amused smile pulling at his lips and a teasing quip on his tongue, but… it dies on his tongue .

Because Geralt meets his gaze, and for a moment, Jaskier forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t know why, really. The rain soaks Geralt’s white hair, causing some of it to fall into the man’s face in damp, loose strings. His dark shirt is quickly becoming plastered to his broad shoulders from the downpour, having left his armor to be cleaned during their quick trip to the woods to collect some medicinal herbs. Jaskier thinks it’s something about the Witcher’s eyes. Maybe it’s something to do with the way water droplets cling to his lashes. Or the way his golden eyes seem so much brighter in the downpour. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Jaskier is a man of many words and many metaphors. But he finds words failing him entirely now, and he can’t explain why. Except that he’s left with the sudden, clear sense that looking at Geralt feels a lot like being called home.

Geralt tilts his head slightly, the way he usually did when he was about to ask a question, but Jaskier blinks and jumps in before he can.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt? We still have half a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” Jaskier shakes his head. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looks away from Jaskier then, squinting briefly up at the sky. Not squinting, Jaskier realizes after a beat. Glaring.

“Not a fan of the rain?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. Geralt rarely vocally complained—usually Jaskier did it enough for the both of them—but the slight crease between his brows is a familiar look of displeasure. Jaskier pulls the lute case off his shoulders and shrugs out of his doublet.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he slings the lute case back around his shoulder. “You left your cloak back at the inn, and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He hands the purple doublet out to him, looking very pointedly down the road where they can just barely make out the silhouette of the edge of the town.

“Jaskier…” A hesitation. A surprisingly heavy one.

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier looks back at the Witcher then to flash him a smile.

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, then takes the garment. As he does so, Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

The bard quickly spins around and rushes a few steps in front of him, arms outstretched to welcome the rainfall, feeling a little breathless again.

 VIII.

Jaskier jolts to awareness with a desperate, strangled gasp. Bile surges up his throat and he barely has the wherewithal to roll away from the person beside him—whose presence is more sensed than seen. Jaskier groans and shuts his eyes against the rolling nausea and the oddly briny taste it leaves in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels a hand rest between his shoulder-blades, so gently it almost seems hesitant.

When Jaskier takes a breath, it trembles. More bile—salty and acrid—rushes up his throat. When the second round of nausea abates and the coughing that wracks his lungs eases, Jaskier feels something cool and smooth pushed against his lips. He instinctively jerks away.

“Damn it, Jaskier,” snaps a rumbling voice. It’s weirdly familiar, even if the strain in it sounds foreign to the bard’s ears. “There’s not—”

Whatever the voice was saying is drowned out by a beautiful, echoing melody. It whispers promises of safety and warmth and love, and something in Jaskier’s chest gives a near painful lurch towards the sound. It’s also not until then that Jaskier gets a sense of his surroundings: the lake in front of him, the grainy sand sticking to his sopping wet clothes, the slate gray overcast sky above him. There are ripples in the lake and that song is calling to him from the water.

Overcome, Jaskier scrambles towards it.

“Fuck—”

Something thick and heavy grabs around Jaskier’s torso and pulls him back. The bard’s back hits something solid and firm but Jaskier’s chest is still pulling, pulling, pulling towards the water, towards the song.

The cool, smooth thing is pressed to his lips again. Jaskier wrenches his head away. But then he can hear something, barely, rumbling like distant thunder beneath the lilting song.

“Drink it, Jaskier. Please.”

The “please” sounds… odd to him. Strained and choked.

Jaskier lets his lips part in response, and a cool liquid floods into his mouth. It tastes of honey and cotton, washing away the briny taste that had been lingering in his mouth. He swallows it down.

A second later, the song fades away. So does the sound of the lake and the dusk breeze brushing past his ears. Just… silence. Jaskier feels the pulling in his chest release and the bard nearly goes boneless from the sudden relief.

He blinks a few times as clarity starts to trickle back into his thoughts. He’d been… traveling. Tracking a siren, or a mutation of one anyway. Yes, that was right. But he’d been with someone. Specifically…

“Geralt?” he asks, his own voice sounding odd in his head with the rest of the world muted. He realizes as soon as the name leaves his lips that Geralt is the thing that’s holding him in place. Jaskier cranes his neck to look at the Witcher, who still hasn’t relaxed his grip. Bright gold eyes meet his blue ones, then flickers over his form with panicked speed.

The stoic, collected look the Witcher usually wore has splintered, just a bit, and Jaskier thinks he can see a glimpse through the cracks that Geralt is frantically trying to piece back together.

He’s… afraid, Jaskier thinks. Or he had been, a moment ago.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier tells him, if only because he has the feeling that maybe Geralt needs to hear it.

The Witcher doesn’t reply, instead swallowing thickly and sinking his head to where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. And if Jaskier traces Geralt’s arm around him to find his hand and lace their fingers together, well. Geralt doesn’t seem to protest.

 IX.

Jaskier is about halfway through the song about the vampiress when the door to the tavern ricochets open with a loud crack. Geralt staggers a step into the room—and it’s the fact that he staggers that makes Jaskier stop mid-song. The Witcher’s entrance is less than graceful, but Jaskier watches closely as Geralt grits his teeth, straighten his spine, and step fully through the threshold. Geralt’s eyes flicker over the room like he’s looking for something, or someone—perhaps the woman who had hired him—when they settle on Jaskier.

Oh.

The bard gracefully, if quickly, jumps to his feet and slings the lute in his hands around his back. Geralt is hiding it now behind sharp eyes and a rigid posture, but something is wrong. Jaskier can tell.

“I hate to cut a performance short,” he says to the crowd as he maneuvers through them towards the Witcher, mostly in an effort to break the sudden silence in the room, “but alas, I must bid you all adieu for the evening. Geralt, shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hum. But he follows Jaskier as the bard carves a path through the crowd towards the stairs. Jaskier flashes patrons reassuring smiles despite the way his own throat is tightening with concern.

They make it to the room—barely—before Geralt’s steps falter again. Jaskier steadies him by grabbing his arm and bracing a hand against Geralt’s chest.

“Easy,” he says softly.

“Fuck.”

“Here. Let’s get you sitting before you end up face-first on the floor, because if that happens then we’re both out of luck because—Melitele’s tits—” Jaskier yelps  when he staggers for a second under Geralt’s sudden weight. “Okay. I’ve got you. Here we go.”

Jaskier is rambling as they cross the small room to the bed. He helps Geralt sit, kneeling in front of him as the Witcher sinks to the edge of the mattress. Geralt grimaces tightly and pitches forward into the bard, his head landing on Jaskier’s shoulder. His weight sinks a bit more, as if too weary to pull away. This close, Jaskier can feel the echoes of faint tremors wracking through his body.

Jaskier swallows the rising panic down. “Potions?” he asks in as level of a voice as he can manage.

“Out,” Geralt answers. “The venom isn’t lethal just—” Another shudder and a tight grunt. “—hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Jaskier releases a faint breath. He supposes he should feel relieved that it’s not lethal, but he can’t help that the tightness in his throat doesn’t quite ease. “What can I do?” he asks, because of all the things Geralt could have done and all the places he could have gone, he chose to find Jaskier when in immense pain. He wants to live up to that display of open trust.

He feels Geralt fist a hand in his shirt. “Just… stay.”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier says thickly, and if his voice breaks just a little, at least Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 X.

Jaskier doesn’t think about it. He sees the mage thrust a hand out in Geralt’s direction when the Witcher’s back is turned and Jaskier lunges on nothing but instinct and the acrid taste of fear on his tongue.

A bolt of sharp green slams into his chest. Something cracks when Jaskier hits the forest floor, something that the bard doesn’t think is magic. His head snaps against the ground, his vision swimming. Heat and sharpness tears through his chest.

Someone screams. Maybe it’s Jaskier. He thinks he hears his name shouted, but it sounds far away.

He is drowning. Can you drown without water?

The bard gasps, desperately, searching for air that he can’t seem to drag into his burning, burning, burning lungs.

His eyes sting. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

There’s a hand on his shoulder—and Jaskier tries very hard to let that tug him from his haze of thoughts. When the hand pulls at him, rolling him onto his back, Jaskier can’t quite contain the choked whimper that releases in the back of his throat. He grimaces, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Jaskier.”

He definitely knows that voice. Jaskier blinks his eyes open, setting squarely on Geralt above him. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Geralt’s eyes quite so wide.

“Fuck,” Jaskier wheezes. He grimaces again. Is he dying? He doesn’t know.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Geralt’s voice very nearly breaks. Jaskier voice is tight with pain—his lungs are throbbing—but soft. Unapologetic. “You’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

He’d never said those words aloud before—I love you—but he means them. He thinks perhaps he’s meant them for quite a long time. Long before even the thought had occurred to him on that mountain all those years ago.

And he thinks Geralt knows this, from the way his eyes widen, and then his whole expression crumples.

“Jask,” he says, a hand cupping the bard’s jaw, his thumb skimming Jaskier’s cheekbone. “You can’t—you… fuck.”

Jaskier takes a breath to reply but cuts off with a wince at the sharp jolt it sends spiking up through his ribs. But he realizes then that the burning in his lungs is easing—gradually, but quickly—and the bard’s next exhale trembles with relief, even as his vision blurs with tears. Whatever spell the mage had sent at Geralt, it seems like one meant to briefly incapacitate and not kill outright. With a quiet grunt of effort, Jaskier presses a hand against the wet leaves beneath him and pushes to sit up.

Geralt looks startled, but he helps nonetheless. The hand on Jaskier’s jaw slips back to cup the back of his neck and the other grabs his free hand to ease him up. The bard sees Geralt’s gaze flicker over his form.

Jaskier tosses him a shaky, wan smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

“You didn’t know that,” Geralt snaps, like that should have made a difference in Jaskier’s decision to jump in front of it.

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

Something bright and pained flickers through Geralt’s gaze. He takes a breath as if to reply, then stops. A crease appears between his brows a second later. “You’re still hurt.”

“Some broken ribs,” Jaskier replies dismissively. The fact that Geralt is still gripping him like he’s afraid Jaskier might just dissolve into smoke in front of him doesn’t escape the bard’s attention.

“Hmm.” He sees Geralt swallow. Watches the way his pupils flicker over the bard’s chest and refuses to meet his eyes.

“Geralt.” The gaze snaps to his own, wide and splintering. Jaskier takes a shallow breath, his gaze as steady as the words that leave his lips. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Though Jaskier can’t be sure—his ears are still ringing a bit—he thinks he hears Geralt’s breath catch.

“Jaskier,” he says, and the bard doesn’t know why his name sounds choked in Geralt’s throat. The Witcher leans forward until his forehead rests against Jaskier’s, and he’s clutching the bard’s hand to his chest like it’s a lifeline. “I… fuck. Fuck.”

And then Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips brush against his own—soft and careful, warm and asking. And Jaskier kisses him back with answers and promises on the edge of his lips.

It feels like coming home.

[tenspontaneite]

Cat’s Cradle (Chapter 2/?)

In which Hikaru's life undergoes some rapid adjustments due to the unceremonious entry of a particularly weird cat therein. 

(Chapter length: 8.5k. Ao3 link)

---

 Hikaru wasn’t entirely sure what he did for the next few minutes. Either way, they concluded with him absolutely blubbering, the rims of his eyes swollen with tears and his cheeks salt-burned and stinging. At some point, the cat – Sai – migrated to his side, and patted at his leg with a white paw. Hikaru looked at the blurry white shape and, caught between at least four different intense emotions, started laughing. It was sort of sobbing at the same time, but the point was, he was laughing. A little hysterically.

“You’re a fucking cat.” He gasped, between uneven bursts of tears and laughter. He had no idea what was going on. What had happened to his life? What had happened to this week? It was going to kill him, honestly.

Sai huffed at him, ears very slightly slanted backwards, and that just set Hikaru’s laugh-crying off even worse. It looked like Sai, was the thing, with that vaguely sulky expression he got when Hikaru was being particularly unreasonable, just…translated to a fuzzy cat face. It was stupid. So stupid.

“A fucking cat.” He said again, utterly unable to get over it. He laughed, and gasped, and caught something approaching a measure of breath. He shuddered, and breathed, and giggled, then breathed again. “Okay.” He muttered, a little more calmly. “…You’re a fucking cat. You’re…” He swallowed back a fresh burst of hysterical tears, then matter-of-factly reached out and pulled Sai-the-cat to his chest. The cat in question made a surprised chirping sound at it, and he was fluffy, and small, and that was so weird when it was Sai. Whenever he’d hugged Sai before, he’d been bigger, and shrouded in so many robes that he was twice the size he should be. “You’re so little.” Hikaru blurted, stupidly, and received a vaguely disgruntled noise for his troubles. He held Sai up to look at him, utterly uncertain what to make of this situation. “You’re a cat.” He said again, for approximately the hundredth time.

Sai made a grumbling murmur that was definitely approaching a growl, and glowered at him. I did notice that, Hikaru, he might have said, if he’d been capable of it. And that was a thing, wasn’t it, Sai was here, and actually alive, though in a thoroughly unexpected form, but he couldn’t even talk now. And…

“I can’t believe you got yourself reincarnated or whatever and you still can’t play your own Go stones.” Hikaru said, and Sai hissed at him, thoroughly displeased. He was probably feeling very salty about the situation as well. But…he had got those first hands onto the goban somehow, hadn’t he? “How did you get the first bit of the game onto the board, anyway?”

Sai’s ears flickered, and then he squirmed easily out of Hikaru’s hands. It was kind of weird, actually – his grip had been pretty firm, but…Sai was unusually strong. Maybe that was how he’d managed to jump nearly to a second-floor window.

The cat padded neatly over to the stack of textbooks Hikaru had noticed earlier, and then moved up to sit on it. Then, very very carefully, he demonstrated how he could very clumsily lodge a stone between two of his toes, holding it in place with the other paw, before putting it back down where it had been. He had to pat it into place once it was on the board, as it had skidded away a little, but…well, he could sort of place stones. He looked up at Hikaru, the expression on his face saying, clear as day, see? I absolutely can place stones, Hikaru, you take that back.

“Consider me told.” He said, giggling again, and for a moment thought it was going to bubble back up into hysterics, but…he sighed, put a hand to his face, and collapsed backwards onto the floor. Sai made an alarmed mow sound, and quickly padded over, staring anxiously down at him from fairly close proximity, given he wasn’t all that tall.

“Maow?” He asked, looking a little worried.

“I can’t believe this.” He said, conversationally. “This is just…fucking nuts. I’d literally just started accepting that you were gone, and now you’re here and you’re a cat.”

Sai offered a thin purr that seemed like it was meant to be comforting, but given he still looked hilariously worried, it was mostly just…funny, and a bit endearing.

“Why did you have to be a cat?” He asked, suddenly a little exasperated. “My mum is allergic to cats.”

The cat meowed sadly, and looked down at him with wide pleading eyes. It was a much more effective expression now that he was a cat.

Hikaru sat up, shaking his head. “I mean, obviously I have to keep you.” He said, and received a happy trill in response. “What? It’s the only option. If I don’t then you either get sold to someone or put in a shelter, or you have to live wild. We’re not letting that happen. Duh.” He said, and Sai’s fur went a bit bristly at the thought. Maybe he’d been worried about that? If he hadn’t been able to get Hikaru to realise who he was…

Hikaru shivered. Yeah, it didn’t really bear thinking about.

“I guess if my mum won’t be okay with you, I’ll have to move out.” He thought, out loud. “It’s not easy to find cheap apartments that allow animals….but I guess I could always just not tell them. You’re not a normal cat, it’s not like you’re going to pee on the walls and scratch the furniture.”

Sai produced a very insulted mrow! At that, which neatly conveyed his thoughts on the matter.

“And yeah, that’s another thing.” Hikaru said, pensively. “You’re not a normal cat. But are you just like that because you’re Sai, or because you’re actually…a bakeneko, or nekomata, or something? Like…I don’t really know much about what those are meant to be able to do. Set things on fire, maybe? Have you noticed any weird powers? I mean, you can jump way higher than normal cats, but…anything else?”

The cat shrugged at him, helplessly. It was a really weird gesture to see on a cat. After a moment, he stood and walked over to the minifridge that Hikaru had in his room but didn’t actually use for the purpose. It was never plugged in so he just used it as storage. It was metal, though, and when Sai held up a paw and extended his claws, Hikaru was definitely watching.

Then, with a horrible screeching sound, Sai proceeded to score several long lines through metal. He retracted the claws and padded back again. “Mow.” He said, a little smugly.

“…Yeah.” Hikaru said, for lack of anything else to say. “Okay.” And this just after Hikaru said that Sai wouldn’t scratch any furniture.

He sat silently for several minutes, mind working furiously over all of the implications. So far Sai could jump stupidly high and scratch metal, but he was still pretty young. Would he gain any other weird abilities? Would Shimura be weird about letting Hikaru have him? Would his mother be weird about letting Hikaru have him? How would he and Sai communicate, when he couldn’t talk? How would Hikaru have to care for him? What did Sai even eat, anyway? Cat food? That seemed…demeaning.

In the end, Hikaru leant to the side and fished around in his backpack for a pen, and then tore off a bit of notepaper from one of his notebooks. He scrawled a quick note on it – ‘Figured out what’s up with this cat, I need to talk to you about him tomorrow.’ He figured there wasn’t any need to sign it. He set it aside, and gestured at it. “I’ll want you to take that to Shimura tonight when you go back, and then…I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

He could have done it today, but…frankly, he was feeling pretty emotionally exhausted right now.

He shook his head and sighed. “You’re a pain in the backside, Sai.” He said, finally, and the cat grumbled at him. “But, you know what…let’s just finish this game. We’ll figure everything out later.”

And so Hikaru sat down with a cat to play Go. It was absolutely fucking ridiculous. He also had to stop several times throughout to weep into his arm a little, usually corresponding to the most archetypal Sai-like moves, but he thought he could be excused for that. Predictably, Hikaru lost.

He’d never in his life been so overjoyed at such a crushing defeat.

 ----

 “Hi, kid.” Shimura greeted him at the door, and waved him in. “I got your note. You said you figured out what’s up with the demon cat?”

“Yeah, I did. Where is he?”

“Just in the next room. There’s no point trying to keep him cooped up when he’s that smart.” Just then, Sai apparently heard his voice, because there was a loud and excited string of chirruping cat-sounds, and then he was practically sprinting through the doorway to weave around Hikaru’s feet, feathery white tail held high. He was bright-eyed and seemed exceptionally cheerful. The neighbour raised an eyebrow at the sight, which meant it was apparently unusual.

Hikaru stared at him for a second, the surreality of it being Sai occurring to him once again. “Hi, Sai.” He said, grinning reflexively just at being able to say that. “You alright?”

The cat nodded happily, then skipped away into the next room, stopping to look behind him to make sure Hikaru was following. Obediently, Hikaru moved forwards, Shimura trailing after him.

“Sai?” The man asked, curiously.

“That’s his name. It’s part of what I’ve got to talk to you about, anyway.” Hikaru nodded, and went to sit beside Sai on the part of the sofa he’d migrated to.

Shimura made a token attempt at offering refreshments, but his hospitality instincts clearly weren’t very strong, and he readily accepted Hikaru’s hand-wave without any fuss. He settled on the armchair and eyed Sai curiously. “Weird to see you so cheerful.” He said, to the cat, who deliberately turned his nose up in the air as he curled into Hikaru’s side. Shimura snorted and looked up at his first. “Well then, out with it. What’s up with this unholy thing my cats produced?” Sai did not seem to appreciate that wording, ears flicking back and eyes narrowing with distaste.

“Okay.” Hikaru took a breath. “So, it turns out this cat is actually someone I know, reincarnated. That’s why he’s been following me around.”

Shimura stared. And stared. He looked between Hikaru and the cat. “Are you fucking with me?” He asked, eventually. “That seems very damn unlikely.”

“I’m not fucking with you.” He assured. “I’d actually been, you know, mourning him. Because a few months ago he just…disappeared. But it’s definitely him.”

Shimura looked at Sai. Sai nodded. “…Well, damn.” He said, finally. “I guess it’s not any more unlikely than his impossible genetics. You know I had him tested? A few weeks in it was damn obvious he was growing too fast, so I sent off some samples.”

Hikaru looked at Sai curiously, as though he’d expected the cat to tell him about it. “Really? That’s cool. Was there anything weird?”

“Ha.” Shimura barked, and leaned back in his chair. “That cat, according to his DNA, is meant to be short-tailed, short-furred, with a blue blotched tabby pattern and white marks, and amber eyes. I thought I’d somehow sampled the wrong cat at first, but nope. Instead of how he’s meant to look, he’s…that.” He gestured at Sai, who remained long-tailed, long-furred, and utterly white all over. “I’m pretty sure he’s got extra vertebrae in his tail, too. He won’t sit still long enough for me to count them, but that tail is too fucking long to be normal.”

“Is it?” Hikaru asked, looking at Sai. The tail in question swished to the side. “I wonder if you’re going to grow another one, Sai.” The cat looked distinctly uncomfortable at the thought, and curled his single extant tail tightly around himself.

“I think nekomata tails sort of start splitting at the end until they’re two tails.” Shimura interjected. “He could just be a bakeneko, though.”

“I don’t really know the difference.” Hikaru admitted, and Sai looked up inquisitively, as if he was curious as well.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve got a cat like that, you research cat demons.” Shimura said, shrugging. “Both of those types have been mentioned with weird abilities, like standing upright, and talking-“ Sai looked very excited at that- “-and sometimes even shapeshifting-“ Sai actually trilled. “-but nekomata are a bit different. They're the ones with two tails, they’re meant to have fire and necromancy powers, and they’re pretty much always evil.”

Sai produced a very displeased hiss. Shimura ignored him.

Hikaru snorted. “Sai doesn’t have it in him to be evil. And if he did all you'd need to do is show him a frog and he'd give up right there.” The cat looked tremendously wounded at that.

Shimura grinned. “What, he doesn’t like frogs?”

“He hates them,” Hikaru assured, ignoring the betrayed meow at his side. “Anything that even looks a bit like a frog turns him into a complete mess, it’s hilarious.”

Sai hissed at him, just slightly, but on account of him being so small and fuzzy it wasn’t particularly threatening. Even though he could scratch through metal.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, if he acts up.” Shimura's amused grin flattened somewhat, becoming a wry and slanted half-smile. “So the cat's supposedly your dead friend. How do you know he’s not just...brainwashing you, or something, to make you think that?”

Hikaru stared, and actually thought about it. He didn’t have any doubts, of course, not since the game. But someone who didn’t play Go wouldn’t get that, really. He tried anyway. “We played a game of Go. There’s no one else in the world that plays like he does.” He shrugged, leaning back.

Shimura cast him a sceptical look.

“Trust me, anyone who’s really good at Go would agree. This cat is the best player in Japan.” He gestured at Sai, who sort of drew himself up in a very regal manner. His body language was somehow even more expressive now that he was a cat.

“...Well, if you say so.” Shimura said, finally. “It doesn’t matter that much to me. You’re going to be taking him off my hands, right?”

Hikaru, who had sort of been biding his time and waiting for the right moment to bring that up, blinked. He nodded warily. “Sai’s important.” He said, uneasy, and automatically settled a hand onto white fur as though to shield it from view. “I...can't really let him go anywhere except with me. And...I know that’s kind of awkward, because...”

“Because he’s a cat I bred and therefore legally own?” Shimura suggested, voice mild.

Sai's ears flattened straight back, and he hissed. Not quietly, or hesitantly. His fur rose just enough to bristle at Hikaru’s skin.

He winced, and said “He's a person, not an animal, and just because – look, I’ll...buy him, or whatever, if I have to. I don’t know how much fancy cats are meant to cost,” he paused, long enough for Shimura to name a somewhat hair raising figure. “...and yeah, I could afford that, especially now I’m working again, but...” He looked at Sai, still sitting angry at the implication of ownership. “It’s not right. I’ll pay if I have to, I’m not letting him end up...somewhere else...but.” He stopped, at a loss for words.

Shimura sighed, and raised a hand as though to forestall any more words. “Yeah, kid, I get you.” He said, wearily. “Feels a bit too much like being a slave owner to ask for money for him. Besides, even if I were a shittier person, holding a demon hostage for money sounds like a great way to get myself in deep supernatural shit.”

Sai settled a bit, ears outwards rather than flattened back, but his eyes were narrow and resentful. Hikaru glanced at him, and then back at Shimura, feeling reluctantly optimistic. “...So....?” He ventured.

“So, you can take the bloody cat.” He said, and Hikaru’s breath came out almost explosively. “I’ll give you his fucking pedigree and everything, not that it’ll be much good to you. Don’t you have to check with your parents before you take a cat home, though?”

“I already decided that I’ll just move out if my mum doesn’t let Sai stay.” Hikaru said, hoping desperately that that wouldn’t come to pass. “I might have to, but if I do I can afford it.” Provided he kept winning games, at least.

Shimura eyed him dubiously. “Well, that’s dedication, which I always like to see.” He said, finally. “But aren’t you a bit young to be moving out? How old even are you, twelve?”

“Fourteen.” Hikaru corrected, a little balefully, and received a dismissive noise in response. “And it’s not too weird for young pros. A friend of mine moved out a good while ago. If I need to I’ll do it.”

“Hmph. If you say so.” He sat back. “Your family not like cats or something?”

“It’s mostly that my mum’s allergic.” He shrugged uneasily, and Sai pressed against his side.

“...Well, in all likelihood, you could call him hypoallergenic.”

Hikaru looked up, startled. “What does that mean?”

“Means he might set off allergies less than normal. Even if his body works the same as a normal cat for allergenic purposes, he doesn’t wash himself like a normal cat does, and the thing people are usually allergic to in cats is a protein in the saliva.”

“Er.” Hikaru looked down at Sai, whose ears flattened very slightly. He looked away as if embarrassed. “So what, people get allergic to cats because cats lick the thing all over their fur?”

“Pretty much. It’s produced in the skin as well, but the main source is the saliva, which is groomed into the fur. And he doesn’t do that, which makes more sense if he used to be human, I suppose. So you’ll have to brush his fur daily and maybe bathe him sometimes to keep him clean.” Shimura snorted. “He doesn’t seem to mind warm water too much, at least, but he was not happy with me washing him. Maybe he’ll tolerate you better.”

Hikaru stared, a thread of insistent hilarity trying to squirm out of him at that knowledge. He kept quiet for a few seconds as he tried desperately not to laugh, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll tell my mum he’s...hypoallergenic? Hypoallergenic.” He glanced sideways at Sai and tried desperately not to giggle. Sai eyed him back, clearly disgruntled.

Shimura shrugged. “Well, good luck, kid.” He said, leaning back. “I can host him for you till you sort out your situation or whatever. Hope the talk goes well.”

Hikaru could get behind that sentiment.

But, unfortunately, the talk did not go well.

 ---

 Mitsuko listened long enough to hear ‘hypoallergenic' and was not especially impressed, and she listened long enough to hear ‘I'll pay for feeding him myself’ which she could at least vaguely approve of, but when Hikaru started on ‘Shimura-san said I can have him ' and ‘if it's a big problem I can just move out ' she had decidedly had enough.

“Hikaru.” She said, firmly and decisively enough that his jaw clicked shut automatically. “You stay here. I'm going to talk to Shimura-san about this.”

His eyes went wide and he tried to protest “Wait no, you don’t need to-“

She shot him a look, and he fell mutinously silent. She wasn’t certain he wouldn’t just follow her the instant she shut the door, but she could live with that. “I’ll be back in a while.” She said, and left with the contents of her usual handbag to commence the journey to the neighbour.

Generally speaking, Mitsuko was the very picture of a polite and demure Japanese housewife, just as in her youth she had generally been the picture of a demure and obedient daughter. One would not think her the sort to harbour any sort of temper. One would be wrong. One would be very, very wrong.

Mitsuko held the reins of that well-hidden, well-contained, and utterly vindictive temper very carefully indeed as she knocked on the neighbour's door. When it opened, and she recognised Shimura-san, she smiled politely. She thought that, from his sudden wariness, her ire was exactly as close to the surface as she wished it to be.

“Shimura-san,” she said, pleasantly, without a trace of antipathy, and yet still somehow making the man warier. “I would be interested in discussing why my son has just told me that you offered him a cat, and I would be especially interested in hearing why he seems to think that moving out is a perfectly acceptable option for being able to keep that cat.”

He stared at her for several long seconds, expression turning distinctly weary and satisfyingly resigned. She waited patiently. Finally, he said “I’ll happily invite you in to talk, Shimura-san. But please be aware the house might not be good for your allergies.”

Mitsuko nodded curtly, noting that Hikaru had apparently informed the man of her cat allergy. “I should be perfectly fine, but thank you for your concern.” She answered, and allowed herself to be invited in, and accepted an offer of tea from her host as she settled in the sitting room. She inspected her surroundings while she waited, noting that there were traces of cat hair everywhere and that she could already feel the tickle of it in her throat, the itchiness around her eyes. She would cope.

Movement flickered in the corner of her eye. She turned, and saw just the hint of a wide-eyed and familiar feline face disappearing around the corner of a doorway. She watched to see if it would reappear, but it didn’t. In the end Shimura-san returned with her green tea and she accepted it graciously, sipping politely as he took a seat in the armchair.

“...So.” the man said, when she had been regarding him with a heavy and expectant gaze for several seconds. “I get the impression your son didn’t tell you everything.”

Mitsuko blinked, and found herself off-balance. “...Why do you say so?” she questioned, faltering from her steady ground of maternal indignation.

“I get the impression you'd have started on a different topic if he had, is all.” The man answered, and she eyed him a little disapprovingly.

“Hikaru certainly isn’t the most open child. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had failed to mention something.” She agreed after a moment. “But I have difficulty seeing what could change the fact of the matter, which is your offering an animal to my son, who knows full well he isn’t allowed it.”

“The cat isn’t just a cat.” Shimura-san said, frankly and without hesitation. “Forgive me for how ridiculous this sounds, but he’s a fully intelligent supernatural creature that has befriended your son.”

Mitsuko sat, utterly still, and felt so incredulous that it bubbled up into a simmering anger, hissing as though water in a kettle. “Shimura-san, I have never heard anything less believable in my life, and I wonder that you think it acceptable to say such things.” She said, voice utterly icy. Was this what he had been saying to Hikaru? Her eyes narrowed into visible distaste and she didn’t try to stop them.

“I have proof.” The man said, and...he didn’t sound bothered at all. She stared at him, noting how he still looked tired, still looked resigned, but somehow perfectly confident regardless. She would have expected at least an ounce of contrition from him, at least some trace, but there was none. He spouted such ridiculous words and was utterly shameless as they passed his lips. It was almost outrageous. “Plenty of it.”

She eyed him silently, wishing very strongly to put aside the stupidity of humouring him. “Oh?” she asked instead, very unimpressed, and waited to see what he would say.

“The cat himself is a physical impossibility. I can explain the reasons why, if you want. There’s quite a few.”

“Please, by all means.” Mitsuko prompted coldly.

Shimura-san nodded, and sat back. “You’ve seen him around, I think? He's a white cat with blue eyes, large ears, a long tail, and a wholly different body type and face to either of his parents or ancestors for at least five generations. Some of that could have been random chance, like the long tail. The coat and eye colour though are actually not possible, genetically.” He seemed to consider his words for a moment, apparently disregarding her disapproving stare. “It's not possible, considering his parents, for him to be a completely white cat and have blue eyes. That just is plain impossible, it’s not something that can happen naturally, because of how white coats work with cats.”

He paused, as if to give her an opening to speak, and she accepted it. “I don’t claim to know much about genetics, Shimura-san. But I understand it’s possible for random mutations to happen sometimes. Surely this cat could simply be a unique case.” She suggested, not convinced in the least.

His lips quirked upwards at the edges, as though amused. “I wondered the same thing, at first.” He said, and shrugged. “Which is one of the reasons I sent off his blood to be tested in a lab.” He met her suddenly uncertain eyes with the same tired confidence, even nonchalance, he’d been maintaining the whole time. “It was expensive, but – Shindou-san, please understand this: that cat looks nothing like his DNA says he should, which is completely and utterly impossible. If he were just a random mutation we would see that in the blood. Instead, he’s running around looking like he is despite the tests suggesting he should be just like his siblings. Which, by the way, he is now about three times the size of.”

Her brow furrowed, and she blinked. “...What?” she said, dubiously. “He didn’t seem very large when I saw him.”

“I mean he’s growing more quickly than a cat should.” The man elaborated. “He looks like he’s over twice his actual age. And rapid ageing of that kind is another completely impossible and unheard of thing.”

She stared for a long moment, and sighed. “Look, Shimura-san, you have to understand how ridiculous this sounds.” She did not outright say ‘I think you’re possibly insane and I don’t trust any evidence you care to show me’, but she thought the implication was in the words regardless.

He hummed, still unbothered, and glanced briefly to the doorway. “Well, it’s true, me telling you this stuff isn’t going to be all that convincing. If you want proper proof, you should just talk to him.”

Mitsuko eyed him dubiously. “Talk...to the cat.”

The man smiled wryly at her. “He can’t talk properly, but he can nod and shake his head and all. I’ll let him convince you.” She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped, seeing a white shape appear around the doorframe in that very moment, as though summoned. It was the same white cat, young and graceful, with startling blue eyes. It lingered in the doorway nervously, ears held outwards and tail lashing slowly. Following her gaze, Shimura-san looked over and saw it. “Hah. You were listening in, were you? He asked, and it was very plain that he was asking the cat.

The cat straightened, almost haughtily, and then stepped carefully into the room. It looked up at her, and approached at a slow and sedate pace until it was a bare metre from her legs. Then, in a motion too deliberate to be mistaken, it bowed. Bowed. Mitsuko stared, and suppressed the impulse to bow back.

She looked up at the neighbour, who only gestured expectantly at the cat. She couldn’t shake the odd suspicion that he was playing some ridiculous joke, that he was waiting for her to talk to the cat and then laugh at how he'd fooled her. But surely there was no reason for him to do such a thing, even if he was insane.

Finally, she swallowed the self- consciousness, and conceded to the attempt. “Cat-san,” she said, very dubiously. “I am told you are intelligent.”

The cat...nodded. suddenly she felt a little light-headed. She reminded herself that nodding was well within the scope of behaviours an animal could be trained into.

“You’ll forgive me if I need to confirm that. I’d like to test this.” She told the cat, as if she believed it were possible for a cat to fully understand the speech of a human. The cat nodded again, and she decided that she absolutely would not be relying on a cat's head movements for something like this. “Please tap your left paw four times on the floor.” She requested, and waited.

She expected the cat to nod, or to do nothing, or perhaps even to shake its head, as Shimura-san had indicated it knew how to do that. She did not for a moment believe the ridiculous concept of a random housecat being a supernatural and highly intelligent creature. She expected everything except that which actually happened: the cat raised its left paw, tapped it on the flooring, and then did it thrice more.

Mitsuko went utterly still. Shimura-san, for his part, didn't comment, or move. He only watched with interest.

The cat watched her, too. Its blue eyes were utterly uncanny. Too intelligent. Too aware. Too focused.

But that was ridiculous. She inhaled quickly, and huffed her breath out again. “Your fur is black,” she said abruptly, and the cat and neighbour blinked at her with confusion. “If that is true, nod your head. If false, shake your head.”

The cat shook its head. Her pulse quickened, shocked again, but she couldn’t believe it. Surely, surely, it was a fluke. Somehow, it wasn’t significant. It wasn’t true.

“The weather today is very cloudy. Stand up if true, or tap your paw three times if false.” She instructed, and couldn’t help but inhale at how the cat craned its neck to the window as if to make sure. The cat tapped a paw three times, and indeed, the sky outside was perfectly clear.

It couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be true. She gave the cat instruction after instruction, even had it jump up onto a chair to make sure it was a real animal with a proper range of natural motion, and got more and more desperate to find some way to deny what was right in front of her. She did not believe in such fantastical things. She didn’t.

“Tell me, Cat-san, do you know basic mathematics?” she questioned, and looking startled, the cat nodded. So she presented fingers on her hand and had the cat tap out the number, had the cat tap its paw for the solutions to basic addition and subtraction and finally there just wasn’t any denying it any longer.

Mitsuko sat back in the chair and rubbed at her itching eyes, and didn't say anything for at least a minute. Finally, Shimura-san ventured to speak.

“Has he convinced you yet?” The man asked, and the cat looked up at her expectantly, as if asking the same thing. Well? Its face seemed to ask. Are you convinced?

She looked back at the cat, her emotions rendered quiescent and muffled by what felt like a thick blanket of shock. She wasn’t certain what to think. “God help me, I think he has.” She admitted, exhaling carefully, and noted the way the cat and man both seemed to relax. What a preposterous situation. Surely she was dreaming. She sighed again and glanced up to meet the neighbour’s eyes. “I still don’t understand, though, why the cat being a supernatural intelligent creature is reason for you to offer him to Hikaru.”

“Oh, right.” Shimura-san said in tones of sudden comprehension, as though he had forgotten to mention something critical, which might well be the case. “Yeah, sorry. So it turns out this cat was so obsessed with your son because he’s actually a friend of his reincarnated, or something.”

The words hit Mitsuko like a blow to the stomach. Her eyes widened and her hand rose to her mouth, shocked far more by that than even the undeniable intelligence of the cat. Said cat, now looking decidedly anxious, crouched down a little as if he wanted to hide. “A-“ She started, faintly, and looked at the cat. “A friend of his – but – surely that means-“ She stopped, aghast, the unfinished sentence playing out behind her teeth: surely that means a friend of his must have died.

“He told me he’d been in mourning recently. Don’t know if you knew anything about that.” Shimura-san looked sympathetic now, for all the good it did her. She couldn’t quite come to terms with the words, but – it made sense. It made so much sense.

It had been so sudden. Hikaru had run off to visit some place or the other and when he came back…he’d been so different. So subdued, as though all the life had drained out of him. He’d stopped playing Go, stopped going to his matches, stopped meeting his friends…as though someone had reached out and switched off the vivacity and passion and enthusiasm he’d once held. She hadn’t known what to think. He wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t talk to her, or even Akari-chan. He wouldn’t talk, but-

“He was grieving.” She murmured to herself, utterly stricken, and felt pain well up in her chest at the thought of what he’d been suffering, alone, without even a word to her about what he was going through. She wondered who it was that had died. Not Isumi-san, of course, but what of his other Go friends? Was it someone she had met, or heard of? Was it someone she hadn’t? She looked down at the cat, and wondered who it was sitting there.

It should have taken more thought, to accept that an apparently unnatural cat bore the reincarnated soul of one of her son’s friends. She had doubted the concept of the cat himself so much, so why not this? But…

Hikaru had been grieving. Of course he had. Of course that was what she’d been missing.

“I think I need to speak with my son.” She said, quietly, and rose from the chair. She suppressed a sneeze as the motion disturbed the air, bringing who-knew how many allergens into her system as she breathed. “Please excuse me.”

“Seems like he’s kept a lot from you.” The man nodded, and he did seem very understanding. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Mitsuko allowed herself to be shown out to the door, head reeling and heart aching, and swept her eyes quickly over the street. By some small mercy, Hikaru hadn’t followed to eavesdrop, or if he had he’d already abandoned the effort. She strode quickly across the road to the not-so-distant door of her home, turned the key in the door-

Hikaru rose from his chair the instant she entered, faltering half-standing as he looked at her. There was something heartbreakingly uncertain in his expression, something anxious and afraid. She wasn’t sure when she’d last seen him looking so vulnerable. He hid so much from her.

Before he could say anything, she crossed the space between them in a few steps and pulled him into her arms. He was so tall now. But he tensed as she embraced him, then trembled oddly, air escaping him in what felt like a failed attempt at speaking. “I wish you’d told me,” She whispered, every word hurting. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it. You were grieving and I didn’t see it.”

He shook in her arms. “He…” His voice broke off at the first word. He swallowed and tried again. “What did he – what did he tell you?”

“A lot of things that we’ll have to discuss.” She said, as gently as she could. “But the most important thing to me is what he said about you. You lost someone, Hikaru? That’s why you’ve been so withdrawn these past months?”

Her son sniffed, like he was trying not to cry. He always had been an emotional boy, even when he grew older and started trying to pretend he was untouchable. He felt things so strongly. “…Yeah.” He said, in a very small voice.

Mitsuko exhaled, her heart breaking for him all over again. She raised a hand to stroke carefully over his hair. “I’m so very sorry for you, Hikaru. There’s nothing worse than losing someone you love.” She carefully did not think of her own losses, long since buried and mourned.

He didn’t answer. But the trembling was response enough.

She drew back from him enough to look at his face, at the green eyes held averted as if he were afraid of meeting her gaze. He’d not said anything about what he’d been going through, and had just…suffered, alone, with her helpless to understand him and not knowing what to do. Part of her wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him for that, demand to know why he hadn’t just trusted her, but…

She exhaled, closed her eyes briefly, and tried to distance herself from her own hurt. Yes, she was upset that he’d not trusted her. But she knew what her son was like – if she confronted him about it, that would more or less guarantee he’d never come to her about his emotional issues ever again. He was already far too secretive and evasive, he didn’t need her exacerbating the problem.

…he’d confided in a stranger about something he’d not told her, his own mother, for god’s sake – but no, no, it wouldn’t do her any good to get angry or upset about it…

Instead of speaking any of the hundred hurt or indignant things that wanted to pass her lips, Mitsuko breathed, and then asked “What’s his name?”

Her son peered at her, in a sort of quick there-then-not flick of his eyes to hers. “…Huh?” He expressed, apparently stupefied by the circumstances or the question or both.

“Your friend.” She clarified. “That you lost. Who is…a cat now, apparently. What is his name?”

“Oh.” Hikaru blinked, looking vulnerable and almost shy. “Um.” He cleared his throat, with a sort of daunted expression that implied he wasn’t quite keeping up with the conversational turns, and would need to sit down and do a lot of processing later. “…Sai.” he said, in the end, and – that wasn’t the name of any of the friends she’d met, was it? So why did it sound so familiar? “He’s called Sai.”

“…Sai.” Mitsuko repeated, as if tasting the name, and wondered where she’d heard it. “No family name?” Did the reincarnated cat have a bereaved family out there? Should she be trying to convey him to them? Although…if the cat had been ‘talking’ with her son, and he wanted to return to his family, surely he would have been able to communicate that?

But if the cat had no bereaved family, then what did that mean? Had Hikaru befriended an orphaned child without telling her about it? Had he befriended some sort of street child, or young criminal? That would certainly account for her having never been told about him before…

“…Fujiwara.” Her son admitted, breaking through her runaway thoughts, and she blinked at him. Processed the name, and nodded. It was a standard enough family name, so why did Hikaru look almost guilty? Like he was getting away with something?

Perhaps the street child theory had some credence to it after all.

“How did you meet him?” She asked him, in the end, as politely and non-intrusively as possible. “I don’t believe I ever met him while he was…ah…alive, did I?”

Hikaru looked positively constipated at that. “Er….no, you didn’t. I, um….” He appeared to be gathering his wits, or his words, or something for several seconds. He squared his shoulders, not meeting her eyes, and eventually admitted “I met him a couple years ago. He’s…actually why I started playing Go.”

…Oh.

Mitsuko absorbed that, mentally downgrading the likelihood of her street child theory, and said “I see. Is he good at Go, then?”

“…Way better than I am.” Her son agreed, still looking shifty, like he was hiding something. And wasn’t that something, that her son the professional Go player willingly admitted to such a disparity in skill between him and his friend? This ‘Sai’ must truly be a talented player. In that case, it seemed unlikely he’d have been a street child, or some other variety of unfortunate or wastrel. She couldn’t imagine it being likely for someone in such diminished circumstances to have the opportunity to learn so much. “That’s actually how I figured out the cat was him. We…played a game, and I recognised his Go.”

She somehow hadn’t thought to wonder about that. “Oh my. I see.” She said in the end, uncertain how else to respond. She didn’t know the first thing about the game, but she supposed…modes of playing must be somewhat recognisable, then? Like an art style? “Honestly, Hikaru, I’m just barely managing to convince myself that this isn’t all a dream.” She admitted after a moment, recalling the intensely surreal experience of proving the cat’s sapience.

Hikaru actually choked out a laugh at that, and shook his head. “Me too.” He confided, and she met his eyes, and they shared a moment of utter bemusement at the circumstances of their lives.

The moment could only last so long, though. And then the problems of reality were pressing at her, and her mind went off again, wondering, wondering… “Where do you imagine this going from here, Hikaru?” She asked eventually, because the way this had started had been her son trying to negotiate for the entrance of this decidedly supernatural cat into their household.

He blinked at her, startled, and shifted uneasily. “Well…I was thinking Sai could just…move in with us?” he said, in the tones of a question. “I mean – he’s a cat, it’s not like he can be a Japanese citizen and get a job and his own house, and – yeah.”

Mitsuko eyed her son, and tentatively asked what she’d been dying to for half of the conversation. “And…he doesn’t have family he could go to? No other Fujiwara-san who are mourning him?”

Hikaru’s shoulders hunched. He carefully avoided her eyes. “…No.” he said, and despite the fact that he was obviously hiding something, that sounded truthful. “I’m pretty much the only person he has.”

If anything set off alarm bells in her mind, it was that. Though she wasn’t sure if the alarm was on behalf of her son or his obviously tragic friend. Or perhaps both.

But what to do about this? If the cat were genuinely a person, which evidence seemed to point to, consigning him to live the life of a regular cat – as property, with no dignity or autonomy – would be an appalling thing to do. He needed to live with someone who recognised his sapience and wouldn’t abuse their legal authority over him. And if the cat – Sai – had this evident personal connection to her son…then wouldn’t that make him the best choice to assume that responsibility?

But Hikaru was only a child. Responsibility for an entire not-quite-human being seemed a heavy thing to allow him to put on his shoulders. But…oh…wouldn’t that still be better than the depression he’d endured these last months, in the midst of his grief?

…Couldn’t they find someone else to host the cat? Someone close enough that Hikaru could visit with him, as he must have done when Sai was alive? The idea of what was essentially adopting another child into her household was not a very comfortable one. Even if the child was cat-shaped, and wouldn’t require schooling or clothing or whatever else. Would he complain about his bedtime? Would he be picky with his food? Would he track mud through the house? The more she thought about it, the more aghast she was at the idea.

“…It would be one thing if he was actually a cat,” Mitsuko said, eventually, deeply uncertain. “But this is a person, Hikaru. You’re asking me to take another person into the household. That’s…quite a thing to ask.”

“He won’t get in the way.” Hikaru assured her hopefully. “He won’t need much. You can just pretend he’s not there, he won’t mind.”

….she hoped that was just her son trying to convince her any way he could think of, rather than something indicative of how his friend had experienced life as a human. She tried desperately not to label this cat as an abused child, because that would make her feel protective and far too sympathetic, and then all her reservations would crumble in a second flat. “It doesn’t work that way, Hikaru.” She told her son, in the end. “If I accept him into the house, knowing that he is a person, I have a responsibility to treat him like a person. To care for him and his upkeep. His medical bills, such as they might be – we’d need to find a vet.” She shook her head, daunted at the thought. Animal medical costs would not be covered by her insurance, that was for certain.

“Then let me handle that stuff.” Hikaru returned, stubbornly, arms crossing. She eyed the set of his jaw and the line of his shoulders and acknowledged with an internal sigh that her son had well and truly dug his heels in. She lifted her hand to her head, rubbing briefly at her temples. She didn’t speak for a moment, which Hikaru took as a cue to keep talking. “If he needs a vet, I’ll find one, and pay for him. I’ll pay for his food and stuff too, if that’s a problem. I’m not really doing anything with my income, so I can.”

Mitsuko lifted her head, and regarded him silently. He was…extremely resolved about this. He’d sink his wages into caring for this cat who’d once been a human friend, and not even hesitate about it. How much of an impact must that death have had? Certainly, enough to amputate him from all joy and passion for months on end… “It’s very commendable of you to go that far, Hikaru.” She said, eventually. “But is it really your job to care for him?”

Hikaru looked at her with his brow furrowed. “Who else is supposed to do it?” He asked, as if he were genuinely curious.

No parents. No family. “Shimura-san?” She suggested, half-heartedly.

He made a face, but didn’t immediately dismiss it out of hand, as if he were actually trying to think about a good reason to refuse. That was another extremely potent sign of how much he cared about this. “He’d probably do it.” He admitted, reluctantly, after a while. “But I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be happy about it, and Sai…” He trailed off.

Mitsuko’s lips pursed. No, she had to admit, it could do no child good to live in a home where he was unwanted. Even if that child did happen to be a cat now.

Hikaru had already shaken his head and kept talking. “Anyway, I kind of don’t see the point. I’ll just move out and take him with me eventually anyway. You could stop me from doing that now, you know, because you’re my parent and everything.” He sounded sullen at the admission. “But you couldn’t stop me once I turned eighteen.”

Despite herself, she was almost a little fascinated at this display from her son. Being obstinate was normal for him, true, but…the forethought? The steely resolve? He wasn’t afraid to tell her that, with or without her permission, he’d be taking his friend in eventually. “That’s true.” She said, mildly.

He eyed her suspiciously, as though not sure what to think of that agreement. “So, the only reason you can really have for not wanting to take him in is if you don’t want the…responsibility, or whatever, of having an extra guy around.” He told her, almost challengingly. “And if it’s just that, then you let me move out with him, and it’s fine.”

“What if I wanted my son to live with me while he’s still a child, but didn’t want to take in another child?” She wondered, almost curious now. Hikaru twitched at that, and stared at her with a sort of narrow-eyed confusion that didn’t seem to match what she’d said, but rapidly rallied himself.

“Then you’d suck, because you’d be making Sai live somewhere he doesn’t want to be for years for no reason.” He informed her.

Involuntarily, she smiled. It seemed to perplex her son greatly.

“What?” he demanded, wary.

“You’re being a very caring and protective friend to this Sai of yours, Hikaru.” She said, and he stared at her, nonplussed. “While it’s a little inconvenient for me, under the present circumstances, I can’t help but be proud of you for it.”

He reddened, shoulders hunching, and didn’t quite seem to know what to do with the praise. She patted him on one of those shoulders, and sighed.

Just to be sure, she took a few moments to stare off to the side, thinking it all over again. But, inconvenient as it might be, her conclusions didn’t change. She sighed again, and felt the weight of stress settling into her bones. There was nothing to be done.

Ultimately, the only choice which didn’t involve accepting the cat-friend into her house involved standing in her son’s way, and obstructing him for years, and in the process putting an innocent person into a potentially very unpleasant situation. Knowing her son, she didn’t expect him to meekly accept her ruling, either. Three years under those circumstances could breed an untold amount of resentment between them, and he certainly wouldn’t make it easy for her. As a mother, and as a person, she only really had the one option.

“I have little idea how much of an issue my allergies might be,” she started, and watched Hikaru’s head jerk up, a cautious light in his eyes. “And little idea how the needs of a supernatural cat might differ from a normal one. If there are any problems…or he proves very expensive to house…I might have to reassess. But for the time being-“

“You’re going to let me keep him?” Her son blurted, incredulous, looking utterly stunned about the whole thing. Almost insultingly so, actually. Of course she won’t listen, that expression seemed to say. Of course she won’t understand. It troubled her, more than a little, that Hikaru apparently thought so little of…her willingness to compromise? Her receptiveness? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it.

Instead of saying any of that, Mitsuko sighed at him again. And said “We’ll certainly give it a try, Hikaru. I…don’t think I can be a parent to this friend of yours. But it would be very unkind of me to deny him shelter in his unusual situation.”

Hikaru had made a very weird face at the word ‘parent’, but didn’t address it. Instead, he held mute and stunned for several moments more, watching her face as though scanning for any sign of duplicity. When at last he was satisfied-

He seemed almost as surprised as she did when he darted forwards and hugged her, arms tight around her middle. He seemed almost embarrassed at it, but- “Thank you,” he mumbled, shaken and indistinct into her shirt, and she couldn’t regret the upheaval that her decision would surely bring.

Gently, she settled her hands around her son’s shoulders. I hope you’ll trust me a little more from now on, she thought to him, but did not say.

Barely a half hour later, the two of them went to collect the newest member of their household.

---

End chapter.

Notes: so I had the vast majority of this written and sitting around for the last x knows how long, and then a few weeks ago or something I wrote a random 1k in it and finished it, and then yesterday I realised that today was Hikaru’s birthday and it would be a good chance to post the bugger. Hope you enjoyed it.

Declined to read over and edit this today because I decided I wasn’t in the mood for it. Therefore, chapter is presented mostly unedited.

Author’s thoughts: though it's been a fair while since I was in Paper Cranes brain, there are two main things that stand out as bizarre to me when writing/thinking about this fic. The first: compared to Paper Cranes Hikaru, this Hikaru is astoundingly well-adjusted, and it's very weird. The second: Paper Cranes Hikaru would probably rather saw off his own foot with barbed wire than come even slightly clean to his mother about what's going on in his life, so it was very very weird for things to go this way here. I work off a baseline of Paper Cranes Hikaru when writing in this fandom, ok, so this is just plain mcfucking strange.

My current writing status: still writing in Dragon Prince, which is basically my permafandom for the foreseeable future, and am unlikely to stray hikagowards for aeons. Sorry y’all.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Black Cloth and Star Systems- Fusion AU

Ao3,   MasterPost,  More of This AU

Legally speaking this is the second installment in my fusion au, and u should definitely read the first one!! but it is not necessary to understand this one.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, (briefly) mentioned romantic Royality

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, minor insecurity (it is Logan after all), one (1) kiss, excessive cuddling, Virgil and the Logan/Virgil fusion both have monster-like traits (big teef, pointy ears, nocturnal eyes, etc.), the fusion is also agender because I said so, and seriously lots of flowery descriptions cuz I was really having a good time with this one. Oh, and lack of sleep/unhealthy sleep schedules, brief mention of paranoia (very very minor), and I think I accidentally implied that Virgil has ADHD but that’s par for the course. 

Word Count: 3,797

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room, tired eyes tracing over the patterns etched into it. They were irregular, scrawls and lines that bumped up from the plaster and stretched on and on. If he squinted, they could almost look like maps- charting and directing the reader across a very foreign land, and in addition the reader might not be good with following maps, which would explain why this one seemed so vague. Or maybe it wasn’t showing a place at all. Nowhere real, at the very least. 

Oh, what the fuck was he talking about. The ceiling was a goddamn ceiling, and Logan was exhausted.

Sleeping would be the ideal solution, and it was something he definitely wasn’t opposed to, but by this point it was borderline impossible. Logan could shut his eyes, but he knew all he’d see would be that blinding flash of pink light. He could try and try to relax beneath his blanket, but still he would see double-set of eyes, swirling between emerald green and cinnamon brown, set behind big cutesy-framed glasses. He’d picture those two pairs of arms, that staggering display of height, and the body that was decorated with gold and crimson and sky-blue. 

What he was seeing was beyond understanding, and it was all that he could think about. His friends had fused. Patton and Roman, out of pretty much nowhere, had become one being right before everyone’s eyes. One burly, talkative, and endlessly fascinating being.

Like any person who persistently sought knowledge, Logan had taken to investigating the new creature at once. He’d had questions, burning questions, but Patron- as he’d named himself- had requested some alone time in his new form. It was a perfectly reasonable ask, so Logan resolved to postpone his interviewing until Patron was ready. But then, just as he was looking forward to finding out more about him that next morning, he was back to being two sides. Two sickeningly sweet sides who were way too caught up in their new relationship to answer any of Logan’s questions copacetically (All their answers had been full of purple prose, talking about how fusing was just the most amazing thing, and providing no real insight into it at all). 

Logan, presented with bizarre occurrences and offered no explanation, was understandably restless, abuzz with curiosity, and frustrated. And, if he was being honest, he was interested in the topic beyond what could be considered objective study, as well.

Very interested, in fact. He found himself wondering that… perhaps… Was he also capable of fusion?

Yes, the best way to learn about it would be to experience first-hand, so that would solve that problem. But that was hardly Logan’s entire reason for wanting to try it; Patton had soundly reported that forming Patron helped his and Roman’s communication by miles. Specifically vis a vis their more affectionate emotions, which really ended up being the thesis of the whole ordeal. It was, fundamentally, a very affectionate thing. 

Logan sat up abruptly, shooting a glare at his door from across the room. This was getting ridiculous; it would be a horrible idea to try something as significant as fusing with so little information on it. Just because it seemed self-explanatory didn’t mean that it was, and the results could be unstable and catastrophic!

But. 

But it wouldn’t be. There was the side he knew- the side he trusted- well enough to believe that it wouldn’t really go so awry.

Logan was making excuses.

What was there to be explained verbally that wouldn’t be much easier to just experience? Patron had proved two things: 1, fusing could happen, and 2, fusing could un-happen without issue. Any of the specifics would be figured out best by firsthand experience, that was pretty evident.

So Logan was making a few excuses, and maybe he was a bit scared about the whole thing, but so what? It was a moot point anyway, because Virgil would never want to participate in it, anyway. The idea of fusion would only upset the anxious side, maybe send him spiraling, and that was the last thing Logan wanted. 

With a groan, Logan flopped back down onto his bed, resuming his studious observation of the popcorn-patterned ceiling.

… 

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

Logan dragged himself up yet again, flinging the covers off of his legs harshly. He sat, immobile, glaring down just past the foot of his bed for an uncertain amount of time. He then heaved a very over dramatic sigh, kicked his legs over the side of his mattress, and stood. He set his feet down as though the carpet had personally wronged him, trodding across the room and throwing his door open with the same temperament. 

 The hallway was pitch dark, but Logan barely noticed it. He made his way down the stairs, the map of the Mindpalace splaying out in his head and directing him as well as light would. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, his (moody) stomping ceased, for the time being. He tipped his head to one side, confused, as he listened out. 

There was a perfect silence.

An abrupt perfect silence. The very specific type of quiet that was too clearly manufactured. Such a- a tense hush could only be brought about by someone deliberately holding their breath. 

Logan shuffled his feet, peering into the blackness. Something shifted over by the couch, and the gleam of two reflectively-paneled eyes made themselves apparent. Logan yelped in fright, stumbling over his legs and bumping his back into the wall. 

There was a thump from across the room, a curse of ‘oh, shit’, and another shimmer from those eyes, animalistic and narrow. 

“Logan?” A gravelly voice asked, “Is that you?”

Logan blinked, staring at the dark silhouette that had come to stand before him. Animalistic, perhaps, but very very tall, and very very person-shaped. 

“Virgil?”

A lamp clicked on, washing the room in low and orange light, revealing that the creature was indeed Virgil. He looked considerably more human, now that he could be seen past his imposing outline- and he also looked more tired. 

Somehow, despite all of the other oddities in their situation, Logan found himself preoccupied by the smallest detail.

“Your eyes, Dear,” he drew forward for a closer look,  “How haven’t I noticed? They’re reflective!”

Virgil shrugged impassively, leaning down to let Logan hold his head and examine the unusual feature. 

“You can’t really tell unless it’s very dark out, or if you know what you’re looking for. I guess it just never came up.”

“But you can see in the dark, then?” Logan asked, perfectly aware that he sounded more than a little awed. Virgil just snorted, looking endeared. 

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’, “Is it that big of a surprise?”

Logan turned the question over in his mind, but after a moment he shook his head, no. Virgil already had a multitude of unique attributes- his fangs, his claws, and a few more distinct things that only appeared when he got particularly stressed. (All of the sides had traits like those, actually. Of them, Logan was certainly the most average- the only discrepancy had to be his slightly exaggerated proportions, and even that couldn’t compare to some of the others’.)

Virgil hummed vacantly, shifting his weight a few times over. He kneaded his shoulder, glancing down at Logan with sudden interest. 

“So, what’s up with you? It’s like, three in the morning.” 

Logan stiffened, but tried to disguise the worry. 

“I could ask you the same question,” he deflected, ineffectively. Virgil only smirked in response. 

“I mean, I guess you could: paranoia, pent up energy, general inability to focus- you know, the stuff that keeps me up every night. You, though,” Virgil hovered over him, making him tilt his head back to keep eye-contact with their height difference. Logan felt his face flush, though it was only partially due to embarrassment. “You don’t stay up late, L, like ever.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he once more evaded. 

“You’re always thinking,” Virgil responded with a laugh, but he stood up straighter and gave Logan his space. Logan glanced up, confused, only to get a shrug by way of reply. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, babe. I’m not gonna, like, interrogate you. I just… wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Virgil gestured to the couch, returning the smile.

“Wanna stay up with me? Might help you get your mind off whatever it’s on.”

Logan relaxed at that, nodding a bit sleepily as he followed his partner to the sofa. 

Virgil’s arm was twined around Logan’s waist, holding him into the taller trait’s side as they sat comfortably on the couch. In the near pitch dark, Virgil’s laptop was propped up against the coffee table, the screen lit up by slightly unnerving YouTube animations. 

Truth be told, though, Logan had paid attention to exactly none of them. He had a few reasons for this: one, he was very sleepy. Two, Virgil was warm- much warmer than himself, as Logan had always had strangely cold skin, and the heat was calming. And three, he was still caught up in his own thoughts, albeit less frantic and frightened versions of them by this point.

He knew that Virgil could easily sense his anxiety, but still, Anxiety did not pry. Add that to the many-paged list of reasons why Logan appreciated him as much as he did. 

Appreciate him he did, yes, and he also- he trusted him. Completely. To such a degree that, in the serene partial-silence between the couple, Logan found himself wondering what would happen if he just… told Virgil? If he explained what was on his mind, would it really upset him as much as he feared? The idea of fusing, well, just talking about it couldn’t be too much of a disaster. They were too strong, too stable for that.

“Virge?” Logan didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. The name was really just a murmur on his lips, uttered noncommittally and with the hope that it might just go unheard.

With a soft click, the video paused, and Virgil shifted. 

“Yeah?”

Oh. He was really doing this.

“Could I ask you about something?” Logan would’ve left it at that, but feeling Virgil tense up beside him, he hurried to elaborate: “It’s nothing bad, my love, I just- it’s what’s been worrying me, this evening.”

“Uh- ask away, I guess..”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate increase concerningly. He was thankful for the lack of light in the room; if the embarrassed heat spreading across his face was any indication, he likely looked just as nervous as he felt.

He exhaled, trying to focus on Virgil’s arm around him instead of the worries. Everything would be alright.

“You remember when Patton and Roman fused, I trust?”

There was an almost subtle intake of breath from Virgil. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to forget something like that, L.”

“Right, of course,” Logan found Virgil’s hand and wound their fingers together, fiddling with them. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on the situation.”

There was a beat.

“Um. I’m just relieved that they could get back to normal, I guess. I was sorta worried they’d get stuck- which doesn’t make a lot of sense in hindsight, but with how clingy they both are, I mean…” 

Logan hummed, encouraging him to go on, despite the intelligent side’s swiftly fading hope.

“But, like, now that I know they’re okay, I guess it’s not really any of my business?” Hesitation laced Virgil’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to say. “Other than that, though, I just think it’s kind of weird. Like, the whole idea of it. Fusion.”

“‘Weird’ in a negative sense?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil huffed, “I mean, I’m not a big fan of cartoons but- it’s weird like it’s interesting, weird like I wanna know more. If that makes any sense.”

Oh. That was promising.

“It does make sense,” Logan whispered, desperately emphatic. The glow of Virgil’s eyes turned to him, wide enough that they looked like little full moons.

“Did you-” he stopped short. Inhaled sharply. Then asked it all in a rush: “Are you asking because you wanted to try it? With me?”

Logan stayed silent, gripping too-tight to his boyfriend’s hand. He sounded… surprised? But maybe not upset? 

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d never been able to read tones, really, and it was too dark to try and figure out Virgil’s body language. He’d just have to go blind on this one.

“Yes,” Logan blurted, immediately holding his breath for a response.

Virgil was as stiff as a board. His hand was frozen in place, his gaze boring into Logan. 

“Are you sure?” 

His tone was soft, sweet, and so so careful. Logic blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Virgil, but he knew that it wasn’t something so… gentle.

“I- maybe? It’s not necessary, if you don’t think you’d be comfortable with-”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Virgil interjected, “I wanna know if you’re sure that you want this, not how you think I feel.”

Logan mumbled an apology, feeling oddly chastised. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I- I trust you, Virgil.”

Virgil relaxed considerably, his head dropping to rest in Logan’s hair. 

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he went quiet again. The show was not unpaused, though. Logan wondered if he was meant to say something, and if so he wondered what it was. But in the end he couldn’t make any sound at all.

Virgil’s hand slipped out of his, instead moving to the back of his neck. Logan instinctively leaned forward with its direction, letting himself be held close. In turn, he wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, turning sideways into him. He was close enough now to hear the beat of the anxious side’s heart, which was always rather quicker than anyone else's. This time, though, it was like a hummingbird’s, hammering loud and excited.

Logan tilted his head (as much as he could) in confusion. Had the conversation somehow affected Virgil more than it first seemed? Was something about the situation that spiked his anxiety? But that didn’t add up, either, because his breathing was completely even, and he wouldn’t let anyone be this close to him if he really was panicking.

Before Logan could ask what- if anything- was wrong, Virgil nestled his face in his hair, holding him impossibly tighter. And at that point, they were pressed flush together head-to-toe. And that was what made it click. 

Oh, they were doing this now. This- this was Virgil’s way of attempting- 

Logan hooked his ankle around Virgil’s, clumsily attempting to reciprocate the- erm, the Thing That They Were Trying. Heat rose in his cheeks at even the thought of it. 

What was he supposed to do? Was there some way to activate it? Was it enough to simply touch, or was movement required to fuse? What if they couldn’t get it to work at all? That would make plenty of sense, Logan was logic and what was the possibility that he’d follow the same rules as, say, Roman-

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up, his neck straining at the angle. Virgil was gazing down at him, pupils expanded with fondness, his fingers easing through the hairs at the back of Logan’s neck.

“Calm down, okay?” 

Logan might have commented on the irony of that, but Virgil was leaning forward and pressing their lips together oh-so gently, and all his thoughts flew out of the proverbial window as he kissed back. 

It was soft, light, maybe a little clumsy. The touch was barely-there, really, just ghosting. And then it wasn’t there, at all. The feeling faded, as did so many others, but neither of them were moving apart- or at least, they didn’t think that they were. If anything, they seemed to be getting closer, and closer, but-

Closer to what, exactly?

They opened their eyes. Wait, no, they blinked a couple of times- ah, there, they opened all- five?- of their eyes. Not only was it no longer pitch black, but it seemed that lights had been conjured above them, dozens of tiny purple and blue tea lights that cast the living room in a pleasant glow.

Had- had they caused that? Somehow?

Conjuring on accident- how did they manage that? And what else could they do? What couldn’t they do, though, in this new form? Something like them was bound to have limitations.

They stood up sharply, and immediately cracked their head against the ceiling. They yelped in pain, silently amending that standing up straight while indoors was the first limitation to note. They hunched over, managing to keep upright if they just bent their knees and tilted their neck. And that brought on a much more important investigation into themself: their new physical form.

They were obviously very tall, but also sort of- long in general? Their limbs, their fingers, their face, every feature was very narrow, almost spider-like. And, on the topic of spider-like limbs, they had two sets of arms; one in the usual place, but another placed behind that, curving around from just under their shoulder blades. In addition, their fingers, lithe and spindly, were six on each hand. Despite the unordinary length to many of their appendages, though, they were still noticeably muscular. Wide shoulders, a defined abdomen, and sturdy legs.

With a sharp wave of their hand, they conjured a full-body mirror to hang in front of them, promptly leaning over to examine themself.

Their face was made of edges; sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, and blocky glasses that covered all of their eyes but the middle one. They ran their fingers through their shaggy, curled up hair- a good deal of which fluffed forwards past their forehead and into their face. It was mixed colors, swirls of purple and blue blending together in soft, bouncy locks. 

They had interesting features aplenty, but one thing stood out dramatically. One thing that drew their attention at once. 

The mouth.

Their lips were dark- almost black, with hints of color toned under it. They dragged a finger along it, but it didn’t wipe away like makeup. They opened their mouth, revealing long needles of teeth, dozens and dozens of them top and bottom- all except for the upper canines. Those were thick, overly large, and tinted with purple. They ended in dangerous looking points, shoving out past the new side’s lips even when they closed their mouth, appearing much like an arachnid's venomous mandibles. 

They took a step back from the mirror, experimentally poking their big fangs. To their surprise, the teeth moved; just a wiggle, but enough to show that they were mobile, that they could be flexed and retracted. Well, that was...

That was sick as hell.

Now, to investigate their outfit: they were a little monstrous, sure, but also very smartly dressed. They wore a navy blue plaid waistcoat, laid overtop of a pastel purple sweater, which in turn was beneath a plain, black, short-sleeved button-up shirt. Their tie was a simple white with subdued flecks of violet and sapphire, dotted to look intentionally asymmetrical. 

Their lower half also bore a layered aesthetic: sheer lavender leggings beneath strategically ripped black jeans. They also wore a short, tight skirt over it, the color and pattern matching that of their waistcoat. A few chains dangled from the belt loops on their hips, clinking a little as they moved. They had sleek black shoes with small platforms, something vaguely Demonia-style. Altogether, the look was a strange blend of elegant and alternative. Strange, but very, very, very… becoming, to say the least. 

They couldn’t help staring at themself. Actually, ogling might be the more accurate word. They were hot, was that vain to say? If it was, they didn’t particularly care, because it was true. Of all the things they could have been together, confident wasn’t expected, but it was more than welcome. Because- damn.

Five minutes of gawking at their own reflection wound up being enough, in the end, and they forced themself to wave the mirror back out of existence. There were so many more things to consider about themself, after all, and that just couldn’t wait any longer. There were infinite things to know, God, they were a new creature entirely.

It was… it was overwhelming. They had so many questions. They had so many concerns, millions of them, and millions of thoughts that didn’t fit into either of the aforementioned categories, thoughts that existed just to fill up space in a head that suddenly felt overpacked. Too many minds in such a reduced space.

It’s okay, they thought, sucking in a deep, slow breath, One at a time, Dear.

There’s too much. I can’t see it all. I can’t explain all of it.

Which half of them was that? Was it… both? Both of them, comforting and receiving comfort? What an impossible creation they’d become! Wait, no, they had to focus on calming down before they gave that any thought. 

We can’t get to all of it, they agreed with themself, Some of it, though, certainly.

Like what?

They thought for a moment.

We could start with a name?

Oh. That’s probably important.

Yes, just a bit. 

They let their breath out in a laugh, pulling their sleeves past their hands and curling their fingers in the fabric. It took only a second of contemplation before, quite promptly, they knew what they were going to be called from now on. They knew their name, and everything else began to click into place from there.

Livril.

They sighed, contented, and sat back into the corner of the sectional. They didn’t exactly fit, curling up on the couch as they had before, but they were easily flexible enough to find a way. Now that they knew their name, they could really start learning who exactly Livril was.

There was so much they could learn from this, so many things they could enjoy this way. What music did they like? (Probably sad. Most certainly folk punk.) How did they speak? (sharply, they would guess.) How did they move? (Quick, startling, definitely fidgety.)

And that was hardly all, though it was a good start. There was so much more to get to, and they intended to answer all of it as soon as possible.

...But that ‘as soon as possible’ would probably be in the morning, because Livril fell asleep exactly two minutes after their head hit the couch cushion.

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[redslilstories]

Woozy Words

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary: Set in 5x09. While trying to mend her nose, could a new colleague help her mend her heart? Pairing: Callie/Arizona Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended! All mistakes are mine.

"So, this is the last area on this floor," Richard Webber, Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace hospital, pointed out the newest addition to his surgical staff, as they walked through the outpatient area of the hospital. "The post-anesthesia recovery. Adults. Um, children are one floor below. I guess that is where you will be more likely to find," he smiled at the woman with his arms contently in front of his chest.

He was happy – one could easily say relieved - to have found a surgeon for his pediatrics department, which had been fairly understaffed in the last months.

And this one wasn't just any surgeon.

Trained at Johns Hopkins' and even holding the position of Chief Resident during her last year of residency, the woman had been praised all over for the skills she had acquired within her specialty.

And what was also important – she was good with the kids. There were rumors of her even putting on some roller skate shoes to amuse her patients. He was not yet sure if he approved of this or not. He hadn't seen anything like that on her yet, since, including today, she had always worn street clothes.

But this would only be a tiny problem, if this rumor really were true.

The surgeon in question – Arizona Robbins by name - worked hard to memorize everything the chief was telling her, keep track of her surroundings and draw a map of the hospital in her mind. Luckily she had always worked in large hospitals, so she figured she would only need a few days to really find her way around here.

"How many outpatient surgeries do you have per year?" she inquired, wanting to get an idea of the figures. She was already impressed by the 1600 beds the hospital could provide in total. Out of which 140 were in Peds.

"Hm, all in all about 60.000, including 2.000 in Pediatrics," Webber gave her the average of the last years.

"Impressive," she smiled at him, as they came to a halt at the area's nurses station.

"Thank you," he nodded, proud of his hospital baby. "Um, now we could...," he began, thinking of something else to show her, but was interrupted, when...

"Oh, Chief, good. Can I have a minute?" Miranda Bailey, who Arizona already knew was the surgical Chief Resident at this hospital, came walking up towards them.

"Um, sure," he wavered for a moment, pulled out of his original thought. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" he directed his question at Dr. Robbins and followed Dr. Bailey out into the hall.

Arizona was unsure of what to do while the chief was gone. Since he likely wouldn't be long and she being new would likely lose her way wandering about, she figured she should just stay put.

Maybe she could chat up the residents and nurses here, getting to know her colleagues.

But then again... the lone resident that was present was currently busy with checking the vital signs on some of the patients. She figured it better not to disturb him.

So she just waited near the station.

Until a soft and initially indistinct sound reached her ears.

Soon she noticed that it was someone talking, or rather mumbling something.

Her eyes searched around and quickly found the probably source of the sound.

A brunette with a bandage on her nose.

And even though it was not her responsibility – she wasn't even officially working yet – the blonde was in doctor mode immediately, needing to make sure the woman was alright.

She walked up to the patient, who had her eyes closed and her brows furrowed. "Um, hi," she inquired in a low voice – trying not to startle the woman - and put a soft hand on her arm, "are you okay?"

But to no avail. The eyes – gorgeous deep brown eyes, Arizona noticed – shot open and the humming ended abruptly. Only to be followed by an uncertain gurgle.

"Sorry," the blonde apologized, "I just heard noises and was wondering..."

Callie Torres, the woman with the gorgeous eyes, for a moment wondered if she was hallucinating. If the nice pain killers she had been given made her see thing that weren't actually there. Like total strangers by her bed in the hospital's PACU. A doctor or nurse would be the norm, but this woman wore street clothes, so most likely didn't even work here.

But despite the mystery of how this woman even got in here unauthorized...she seemed trustworthy enough. Certainly looked it.

So, without thinking too much of it, Callie finally responded, "Oh, um, sure," the questioning look telling her that she must have taken quite some time to actually do so. "I was just... testing out my nose," she explained and felt a little embarrassed at having been caught. "It's new. Or, um, good as new?" she frowned, now even more embarrassed by the puzzling way she explained things. "A patient of mine broke it in the E.R. today".

"Oh!" Arizona's eyes shot up at this information, "you're a doctor?" she asked intrigued.

"Yes, I'm an ortho surgeon here. I'm actually here to fix bones, not get mine broken," she pouted and felt excited when the woman's lips formed a sympathetic expression.

"I hope it was an accident, and you don't have violent patients here beating doctors for no reason," Arizona joked... with a tiny bit of worry on her mind.

"No," Callie waved it aside, "it was an accident. I happened to stand in the wrong spot at the wrong time."

"Oh, good! Well, not good, because, well... ouch". Now it was Arizona's turn to frown. "What I meant to say is, I hope you'll get better soon," she said sincerely, and finally took a step back, realizing that as a doctor – and a total stranger – she was standing just a little too close to the bed.

"Thanks," Callie smiled, and couldn't help notice the attractiveness of the other woman. The little blush she was sporting now only highlighted this perfect face. From the sweet lips to the bright blue eyes and the light blush lingering on her face. This woman was nice to look at. And nice to talk to as well. She was easily someone Callie could imagine...

No!

She shouldn't go there. Not after the fiasco with the last blue-eyed blonde was barely two weeks in the past.

But then again, this seemed to be a very different blonde... On the cute side with a natural sparkle emanating from her...

No! Callie desperately needed to think of something else.

Luckily the other woman helped out, hopefully unaware of her thoughts. "So, um, what are the test results?" she inquired, as Callie didn't speak for several moments, obviously again in her own little world.

"Huh?" the brunette asked in confusion, but realized what Arizona meant when this one tapped her own nose as a hint. "Oh! Uh, no final results yet. Hard to say from the inside, I guess. I mean, do I sound funny?"

"Well, just a little," the other woman replied with a little shrug and a lot of dimples. "Then again, I have no idea how you normally sound. Maybe you really sound like Kermit the Frog trying to talk under water," she joked, before adding a little, "Sorry".

Callie snorted wholeheartedly at the comparison. An action she regretted as a sharp pain shot through her mending nose. "Hah... Ouch!" she squeaked, almost bringing her hand to touch her olfactory organ.

Arizona winced in sympathy, "Oh, my, God. I didn't mean...," she apologized. Something told her she should have known better than to make a broken nose laugh.

"It's okay," Callie played it down. "I don't mind the laugh. Maybe the painkillers are wearing off," she wondered.

The offhand comment did not go unnoticed by the blonde, who without second thought made a move to check Callie's chart. See what dose of medication she was on.

Callie saw this and immediately remembered that this woman likely was not authorized to do any kind of medical work around here. And certainly not inspect her patient information. "Um, I don't think you're supposed to do that," she pointed out with raised eyebrows, indicating the chart the woman was holding.

"Hm?" Arizona hummed distractedly, getting a read on the chart's figures. "Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly realizing that her non-patient didn't even know who she was. "I'm so sorry, you're kind of right," she admitted, reaching into her pocket to produce her company ID, stating her name and soon position at this hospital. "But I'm a doctor too. Actually starting to work her in few days," she calmed her and handed the item off to the brunette. "And as a doctor, I have to make sure the patients are okay. Even if they're not mine," she smiled.

Callie felt somewhat relieved. So this stranger was legit after all. And even better would be a colleague of hers. In Peds, as the ID with the ridiculously good picture of the woman pointed out.

And...

"Yeah, okay," Callie lay her head back down on her pillow. "But I guess I'm still a little woozy. I could swear I just read your name as 'Arizona'...?" she wondered with raises eyebrows. Or maybe HR wrongly put her home state as her name...?

Said Arizona gave her a challenging yet amused look. "That's my name".

"Really," Callie more stated than asked, still incredulous as she handed the ID back to its owner. It was a pretty unusual name. But, then again, it could be worse. Her name could be Delaware or... Wyoming. Dr. Delaware Wyoming Robbins... Huh...

"Really, 'Calliope'...," the blonde returned to the woman, who seemed to entertain amusing thoughts. Arizona couldn't help but hint at the fact that she was not the only one with a fairly unusual name in this room.

The implication dawned on Callie and she mumbled, "Touché".

The blonde eyed the expression on Calliope's face. A beautiful face, which had a very beautiful name attached to it, if she was allowed to say so. And it suited what she had seen of the woman so far.

Not even the miffed expression at being called out could change that. And she couldn't help but release a wholehearted laugh at this.

Being brought out of her sulking state by this, Callie's eyes traces over Arizona's face again. Now there were even dimples to boot. Sparkling blue eyes, shiny blonde hair, sweet voice and now entrancing dimples. "You're really pretty," she said mesmerized.

Only seconds later noticing that she had actually said that out loud. "Oh, I didn't mean. I mean, I didn't..."

Being drawn to someone – which she by now helplessly and hopelessly was – was one thing. Admitting to it out loud by accident within minutes after meeting said someone was another.

And hitting on this person – a future colleague – could be problematic and could make working together very awkward from the start.

But then the other woman surprised her. Again blushing a little, but this time at this unexpected compliment. Before she sweetly returned. "You're really pretty too".

Callie perked up in relief. So, no awkwardness. Judging by the flirty smile, quite the opposite. "Wait till you see me without the bandage," she therefore dared to speak.

"I can't wait," the blonde returned, as they heard footsteps approaching them, belonging to the long forgotten Bailey and Webber. "Oh, Dr. Bailey, great. Could you or Dr. Sloan check if Dr. Torres is on sufficient pain medication? I see he is the surgeon on this case. Dr. Torres is having some discomfort," she said in a professional tone. While casually stroking Callie's arm, a move that did not go unnoticed by the other three people.

"Uh, sure," Bailey responded, a little surprised by the situation and closeness of the two women.

"Thanks!" Arizona returned and handed over the chart to the chief resident. "I'll see you two around?" she smiled, catching the dreamy look Calliope's eyes sent her one last time, before heading over to Dr. Webber to continue their hospital tour.

Bailey looked after the newcomer for a moment, before she turned her attention to Callie. "Is everything alright?"

"Kinda," Callie returned, not really answering to the matter Bailey was hinting at. But rather the more obvious one. "I seem to have a thing for blondes," she smirked, enjoying this fluttery feeling the blonde gave her. This feeling better than any painkiller.

END

[connorssock]

Beloved Monster

Growing up, Gavin had all the typical fears of a child. That there was something in his closet, a monster under his bed, haunted attic. Wherever he went, he never felt alone. As a child, it was terrifying but as he grew older, he got used to it and to an extent took comfort in it. It was why he never got worried about living alone, some people hated it, Gavin didn’t mind.

It was only when he stumbled home from a double shift in the early hours of the morning that he began to question his sanity. He’d missed dinner but was too tired do much more than pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the ham from the fridge. In line with his usual luck, a piece of ham slipped from between his fingers and fell to the floor with a splat. Immediately, his cat was prowling towards it and Gavin’s sleepy mind panicked. Not thinking, he kicked the ham under the fridge and out of reach.

“Thanks,” a soft hiss came and Gavin blinked.

“Did you just speak?” he asked the cat.

“No, it was me.” The voice was grating, like metal scraped over rusty metal. There was nothing Gavin could say to that other than “huh” and ump when the toast popped out.

“Want me to make you one too?” he offered, mind addled and half asleep.

“Please.”

Obediently, Gavin assembled another ham and cheese on toast and slid it under the fridge.

“Thanks.”

“Cool, I’m going to hit the sack. Have a good night,” Gavin turned the kitchen light off and stumbled into bed.

In the morning he almost laughed at himself and his sleep addled mind. Of all the things to hallucinate from exhaustion, a voice under his fridge which asked for some food was a new one. He basked in bed for a few more minutes, delaying the inevitable of having to fish out the ham and cheese on toast from under the fridge, now probably coated in age old dust.

Still, it had to be done and once he was finally up, cat food sorted, he knelt down by the fridge and peered under it. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. A torch revealed nothing unusual either, not even a greasy stain where the toast had been. Scratching his head, Gavin tutted to himself, perhaps he’d dreamt the whole thing.

It was only a few days later that he was in the kitchen again that the fridge let out its usual groan as he moved to bin some gone off yoghurt. His hand stilled and he looked at the appliance.

“Was that you?” He felt so silly asking out loud whether his fridge had groaned. But it didn’t compare to his fright when the voice from before gurgled out a “maybe”.

“Cool,” he stalled for time, uncertain what to say. “You hungry?”

“Yes.”

As far as conversations went, it was a pretty stilted one. Whatever lived under his fridge didn’t seem capable of more than one word answers. Which was fair enough, Gavin wondered if he was an entity that lived in cramped, dark places, he too might struggle with words.

“Got a name?” It only seemed polite to ask. The response was a garbling hiss of consonants that should not have been possible to pronounce.

“Is that your name? Or is that you having a breakdown? Shit, you didn’t touch the electricity outlet, did you?”

“No. Name.” The voice repeated what could have been the same sounds as before, or something utterly different but Gavin’s ears caught on a bit.

“That’s getting a little too long for me to pronounce. But part of it sounded like Nines. So I’m going to call you Nines, okay?”

“Okay. Nines. Good. Like.”

If Gavin didn’t know any better, the voice sounded pleased.

From then on, Gavin’s waste took a serious nosedive. Anything on the turn or gone off could be shoved under the fridge and Nines happily chomped away on it. Sometimes, especially if it was something he very much enjoyed, the odd gurgling slurp accompanied it.

Gavin also made changes to his home. Nines was fond of dark, small crevices to hide in. The fridge was his favourite but he also liked to hang out under the washing machine in the bathroom while Gavin brushed his teeth. In the living room, Gavin sold his old coffee table and replaced it with one that sat low on the ground and was wider than his previous one. An additional benefit was that he could put his feet up much more comfortably while they watched TV. His wardrobe was a comforting nook for Nines to hide out in. More often than not, some of Gavin’s jumpers would migrate into the back corner of it, pulled from their hangers. In the end, Gavin just bought a couple more and let Nines rotate them as he pleased.

They had a bit of a game going on too. Some days, Gavin would sneak up on whatever furniture Nines was chilling under and suddenly peer under it with a torch. It was always met by a wry chuckle from somewhere else. How Nines knew Gavin was trying to catch a glimpse of him was a mystery. No matter how silent or abrupt Gavin was, Nines always evaded him.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“Ugly. Scary.”

“Well, you put up with my ugly and scarred ass, can’t be much worse than me,” Gavin tried to make a joke but the alarming growl he got in response had him backing up.

“Not ugly.”

It wasn’t something Gavin was willing to argue over, Nines sounded cross enough and Gavin had seen the things he’d eaten. He really didn’t want to be next on the menu.

“Got any family?” he tried to change tact.

“Brother. Happy.” Another string of garble followed that Gavin guessed was a name. Much like with Nines’ own name, he tried to find something that a human could pronounce.

“Let’s call him Connor, sounds close enough.” Then something struck him. “You say happy. Is that you happy or him happy?”

“Him.” Nines sounded as gentle as he ever could.

“What about you? Are you happy?” It was a heavy question and only when Gavin asked it did he realised how much he wanted the answer to be a yes.

“Almost.”

It crushed Gavin’s heart more than he thought it would. He nodded and made a little noise of acknowledgement, uncertain how to ask what he could do to make Nines happy.

In the end, he didn’t ask. But he made sure to take note of all the things Nines enjoyed more. He bought cherry yoghurt and left it in the sun for a few days before spooning it under the fridge. If sometimes he dipped a pickle in it just he hear Nines’ happy little hums, that was pure coincidence.

He also invested in blackout curtains and some evenings, he sat on the sofa in pitch black as he and Nines talked. Over time, Nines had started to string words together into sentences. Occasionally, Gavin could have sworn Nines’ voice came from the far end of the sofa, along with waves of warmth that definitely didn’t emanate from the radiators.

“Do you ever get bored just lounging in the house?” Gavin asked one night. Nines was either in the wardrobe or, since Gavin had changed to a bed with small legs, under that.

“Too bright. Too scary. Nobody want to see Nines.”

“Oh buddy, don’t put yourself down. Anyway, I think I have an idea. Would you fit in the hood of a jacket? Or a bag?” Gavin’s mind was whirling a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure how big Nines actually was. But if he fit in small dark crannies, perhaps he could curl up small.

“Fall out hood. Too heavy for bag.”

“I want to try the bag idea anyway. It would be nice to have you tag along whenever you fancied,” Gavin pressed the idea even as another one cropped up. “Hey Nines?”

“Yes?”

“You know I like you, right?” There was a soft tremor in his voice. He didn’t want to mess things up but he wanted as much as Nines was willing to offer.

“Yes?”

“Want to get on the bed? You always feel so warm and it’s a bit chilly.”

The refusal was not unexpected and Gavin didn’t take it to heart. If anything, he’d learnt that Nines was tremendously shy. Just getting him to sit on the couch had been a feat which took weeks of asking. So Gavin settled in to do the same with the bed. Each night, he asked Nines if he’d like to join him for a cuddle. And each night Nines refused. But his voice became less firm over time.

Things changed one night when Gavin had stumbled home from another late shift. He was tired, the case was dragging and there was something missing from the picture. Nobody could pinpoint it, but they were so close. Gavin never noticed that he was being followed home.

He opened his door but before he had a chance to flick the lights on, someone was barrelling into him from behind. They tumbled into the house, a hand pressed over Gavin’s mouth to keep him quiet. He struggled, kicked and scratched to no avail. There was the sound of a knife being pulled free and Gavin froze. He knew what was coming, the inevitable pain of a knife burying itself into his flesh. Bracing for it never helped but he tensed in anticipation all the same.

A slurping sound accompanied the sudden loss of tension in the body behind him. Almost in slow motion, it peeled away from him with more crunches and gulps. A soft burp sounded and Gavin tried to make sense of it all.

“You okay?” Nines’ familiar voice snapped him out of it.

“Fuck. Did you just eat him?”

“Yes.”

Gavin swore again and let out a laugh. He couldn’t very well report the incident now. There was no way to explain that the creature that had always lived under his bed since childhood had eaten his assailant. The absurdity of it all had Gavin laughing.

“Close the door, will you? It’s getting cold.”

He heard the door shut and even the faint glimmer of street lights was gone. Not bothering to turn a light on, Gavin picked his way through his home towards the bedroom, trusting Nines to help him stop falling over things.

Once in bed, he patted the space beside him.

“You going to come up for that cuddle then?”

“Yes.”

So it was, that at 1am on an unremarkable Thursday night, the mattress dipped and Gavin smiled.

[waterchestnut123]

CH 9 | To Catch A Turtle Dove

Fandom: One Piece Setting: Victorian AU Genre: Action, Adventure, Humor, Friendship, Romance. Pairings: Law/Nami Rating: M - Mature (for language, drinking and alcohol, death and some moderate gore, other adult themes)

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Chapter 9: The Earring

Panic rose like a tide in her breast, her flight response kicking in—hard. The muscles of her legs screamed at her to flee, but she forced herself to remain composed—and unmoving.

The flood of Adrenalin had her brain working overtime to piece together the situation as fast as possible—all of the risks, and all of the variables. If she ran at the first sight of him, she would not only give herself away but she risked implicating Robin—or at the least putting her in a difficult situation. She couldn’t do that to her closest friend, not after the older woman had finally found peace and stability in Flevance after fleeing Alabasta.

More than that—she didn’t know whether or not he’d brought the authorities with him on this impromptu “visit”. If she ran blindly, she may well end up caught anyway. And, though infinitesimally slim, there was a chance he wasn’t here because of her thefts at all; or at least, that he wasn’t certain of her guilt. Running would only cement existing suspicions.

Ultimately, whether she ran, played it cool, or talked her way out of this—she needed more information. She would have to feel out the situation first before taking action.

Her eyes darted quickly, subtly, towards Robin. She sat in her usual kitchen chair, leaning back, hands resting comfortably in her lap and looking for all the world utterly at ease; but upon closer inspection, Nami could see her cool exterior was little more than a convincing ruse. There was a coiled tension in her shoulders, her gaze unusually sharp and analytical, and her expression just that little bit too controlled. She was on edge—wary and uncertain; and Nami now felt like the biggest damned fool for not realizing the sign on the shop front door had been Robin’s subtle attempt at a warning:

 Stay away, at all costs.

“Yes,” Robin interrupted her racing thoughts, tone mild and expression pleasant. “You had an unexpected visitor, and since you weren’t due to return for some time, it seemed rather improper of me to keep him waiting in the shop.”

It took her a moment to remember the question she’d asked upon entering the apartment. Slowly and with growing dread she turned to face the Lord and offer him a forced smile, fingers twitching with the restrained desire to wipe her sweating palms on her skirt. Sharp golden eyes met her browns, expression pleasantly neutral, and yet there was an undercurrent of cold, analytic scrutiny. As a small, pleased smile grew on his face, she knew without a shadow of a doubt he recognized her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

As if he could sense her rising panic, his unnerving smile grew ever so slightly before he turned a friendly eye to Robin.

“I apologize for keeping you from work; thank you for your hospitality. Please feel free to return—your friend and I can chat up here.”

Nami was distinctly reminded of his sister that night at the ball—for though his words were friendly and his tone light, there was something sinister underlying his pleasantry; it was not a suggestion, it was a honeyed command.

Robin hesitated a moment, and a part of Nami wondered if the Lord saw how his host’s smile faltered, brief as it was. But then she rose from her seat, inclining her head politely with all the grace and ease in the world.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed the tea, My Lord,” she said with a smile. “Good evening.”

She crossed the room quietly, almost regretfully, gently bumping into Nami on her way through the hall. Her fingertips brushed hers as she passed, offering what little reassurance she could before she entered into the living room. And soon, with a light click of the door, she exited the apartment and descended the stairs to the street.

Silence, and the faint sound of the crackling log filled the room. Nami returned her gaze to the Lord whose eyes had, if possible, darkened with a sinister sort of pleasure—like a hawk who had cornered its prey. She didn’t know how in blazes he managed to find her—track her to the bookstore no less, but it was clear now that he was, in fact, here for her; and it seemed all but certain he knew who she was and what she had done.

Despite the panicked fog that was her mind, she couldn’t help but find it odd he had taken such a polite and unusually personal approach to apprehend her, instead of simply sending the authorities to drag her off to jail. She didn’t know why and couldn’t begin to guess; it was possible he wanted to confirm her identity, or perhaps he simply wanted to hear her side of the story before clapping her in cuffs. Either way, she could use this to her advantage. There were too many unknown variables for anything she did now to have a chance at working. She needed to buy herself time to come up with an escape plan—to find a way to make him show his hand.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to merit a personal visit from the Lord, but I am honored by your presence,” she demured quietly, modulating her voice carefully to hide her breathless anxiety. She grabbed two fistfuls of her dress to offer him a curtsy and polite tilt of her head, but jerked her head up in surprise when she heard him laugh quietly in response.

“There’s no need for theatrics. You’ve done quite enough of that already.”

She slowly straightened, watching him carefully, heart beating hard. He gestured to the seat opposite his own that Robin had only minutes ago vacated.

”Please, sit.”

Another command. She did not question it, and doubted she could. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she walked into the small dining area and crossed the space to the empty chair, noticing for the first time the items arrayed across the table.

Robin had offered the Lord a proper afternoon tea. Their best ceramic teapot was steaming on a trivet, beside which sat their pathetically modest jar of honey and a petite pitcher of milk. Apple slices and blueberries filled a small bowl, and a section of baguette sat sliced atop a bread board next to several large slices of cheddar and a small, pointed cheese knife.

She felt hope blossom weakly in her chest. Oh, she could kiss Robin.

Her attention was pulled abruptly from the table when she heard the Lord shift in his seat, sliding a hand smoothly into his coat’s breast pocket.

“Miss Bellemére—or should I say, Miss Nami—I believe… you asked me to let you know if I found your earring,” he said, tone low and smooth and all together too self-assured as he dangled the sparkling item from between gloved fingers. A smirk rose to his lips—that same devilish smirk he had given from the balcony that had caused all the ladies to swoon. But this time, it was very far from charming.

She stared, dumbfounded, at the glittering item hanging from his hand. She didn’t speak—couldn’t think of what to say. Any hope of talking her way out of this immediately dissipated like steam floating up from the teapot’s spout.

He carefully raised his hand to hold the earring within a shaft of sunlight coming from the window, causing it to glitter and sparkle brilliantly in the amber light. Glancing at it thoughtfully a moment, he returned his gaze to her, looking wholly satisfied as he took in her expression.

“I found it in the most unexpected of places,” he commented breezily, bright eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit room.

“Inside of my study.”

Her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. God, how could she be so careless? By the time she had gotten back to Sanji’s she’d completely forgotten about her missing earring. How could she forget such an important detail?!

Too tongue tied and too overwhelmed with the gravity of her mistake, she was unable to think of anything to say to rebuke him.

“Now…” he continued, lowering his arm to rest his elbow on the table. “I distinctly remember locking my study before the gala began—and I remember it being locked when I returned to it later that evening. Except something was missing—from my hidden safe, which was also locked. Given that I found your earring so close by, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He leaned forward and she felt her heart skip a beat, breathing growing increasingly labored as her flight response kicked up again, screaming at her to run; but he had asked her a direct question, and she needed to come up with an answer before she truly dug her own grave.

“I—I’m terribly sorry,” she stuttered, “But I… I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

Denial; she would just… deny everything, and hope it forced him to give something, anything, away…

He laughed, leaning back in his chair as he returned the earring to his breast pocket.

“Somehow, I expected more.”

“Truly, my Lord,” she insisted, desperation fueling her act, “I am sorry if you lost something of value, but I was not at your gala. As you can see,” she said, gesturing to the shabby room, “I am hardly a woman of means or title.”

He eyed her hard, humor fading; and she briefly debated if that was the wrong thing to say.

“Do you know what the penalty for theft of the magnitude you committed is?” he inquired, tone steely.

She remained silent, hands fisting her skirt in her lap in a desperate attempt to stay a whimper. When she didn’t answer, his lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Death. By. Hanging.”

Her heart skipped several beats.

“And do you know who it is that holds ultimate authority over all criminal proceedings in the Province?”

Again, she remained silent. His eyes positively glimmered with sadistic glee.

“Me.”

Despite herself, a choking sound escaped. His lips briefly lifted into a smirk and he leaned back, looking utterly satisfied.

“Stationed outside your friend’s bookstore I have five of my best men,” he said smoothly. “Tell me—If I bring them up to search this apartment, will I find the the match to this earring? Or the items you stole from my guests?”

Her mouth went dry, but that weak hope in her chest flared brighter. He had unwittingly given her a crucial piece of information; he had brought men with him—and now she knew where they were: out front, on the street. Few except residents and city service workers knew these buildings had a narrow alley behind them—and residential windows which looked out onto them. Her mind began racing as an escape plan slowly formed.

“Deny all you like,” he said lowly, the glint of victory already in his eyes, “But the only person you need to convince of your innocence is me, and I am quite certain of your guilt.”

Though his words threatened to overturn her tenuous calm, she forced herself steady with her last dregs of self-possession. She had a plan now, and she was ready to execute it. Clenching her fists in her lap beneath the table, she willed her heart to slow and her limbs to still their trembling. She took a breath, rising slowly from her seat and smiling coyly at him as she sauntered slowly around the table, hips noticeably swaying.

“Surely, a man of your… discerning quality and immense power could find it in his heart to look the other way?” she crooned, voice low and sultry, batting her lashes over half-lidded eyes. Stopping before him, she leaned forward languidly, affording him an excellent view of her cleavage as she tossed her hair over one shoulder. She set one hand on the table, the other gently resting a fingertip upon his sternum and slowly, teasingly, trailing it down his vest, weaving in between buttons. His eyes, she noted with relief, were wholly distracted from the table, gazing at her with disdain and impatience.

“You will find I am not a man easily swayed by such cheap tactics,” he commented with irritation, eyes never once lowering to her ample bosom. A man of restraint too, apparently.

Her fingers were inching across the table—she could feel the handle at her fingertips. She lifted her other hand on his torso, trailing it back up to his collar where her fingers splayed gently, teasingly across his neck, pushing his jacket collar away.

“Oh, but surely we could work something out,” she insisted smoothly, lowering her lips to his ear and blocking his view of the table all together. Her fingers finally wrapped around the handle and she firmed her grip, her other spreading the collar of his jacket further away from his neck. “You seem like a… reasonable man,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He leaned back in an attempt to put distance between them, and she seized the opportunity. As quickly and suddenly as she could, she struck, driving the cheese knife through his jacket collar and into the back of the chair, pinning him in place and knocking him backward onto the floor with the force of her thrust.

She didn’t wait around to watch him flail. With every ounce of strength and speed she possessed she turned and ran down the short hall, yanking open her bedroom door and slamming it shut on the sound of his furious cursing echoing from the kitchen floor. With trembling hands she shoved her low dresser against the door, bolting for the small window behind her bed which looked out onto the back alley below.

He had said his men were stationed out in the street—which meant if she really ran for it, she might have a chance to escape through the winding back alleys before they could catch up.

She yanked the window open and began wriggling through as a thud came at her bedroom door. A startled scream tore from her throat, but she didn’t stop, pulling and ripping at her skirts to get them through the window’s small confines. After several seconds of frantic effort and violent banging—was he trying to knock down the door?!—she managed to fit through, the toes of her boots balancing precariously on the uneven brickwork of the building’s exterior. She glanced down, noting fretfully nothing with which to cushion her fall; but as she heard the door finally slam open inside her room, dresser toppling, she took a breath and forced herself to jump anyway.

Vertigo and the sensation of falling struck her at once, and as she braced her legs to absorb the hard impact of the sodden ground, she suddenly saw a strange blue light expand around her—and then, far before she should have, she hit the ground with a tremendous thump, back-first, winded and wheezing. Though breathless and disoriented, one thought rang like a warning bell through her panic-addled mind: hadn’t she been falling feet-first? And the ground hadn’t hit hard as it should have—it was soft, and the ceiling of her room was above her instead of the overcast sky. She—was she was back in her room? But that wasn’t possible—!

Suddenly she was being hauled up and thrown against the wall, an arm across her neck pinning her to the wooden panels. She wheezed, still gasping for breath, blinking rapidly as her vision filled with stars from the force of the impact. It took a moment, but as her vision resolved clearly before her eyes, she was met with the Lord’s feral grin inches from her face, his jacket now long gone.

“I underestimated you,” he growled, an undertone of genuine applaud in his words. “That’s twice now you’ve fooled me.”

She blinked in confusion, heart racing and breathing labored, struggling to piece together the past thirty seconds. How the hell did she end up back in her room?! She was quite sure of her sanity, and she had most certainly been falling from her third floor window, when—

Suddenly, it hit her like a sack of bricks. She’d seen the impossible before.

“You’re—you’re a power user—!” she choked out in stunned surprise between gasping breaths.

His grin grew, but he did not respond. His lack of answer was answer enough.

“I’ve been playing nice, but I can see now that was a mistake.”

“Just take your stupid rings back and leave me the hell alone!” she bit out, struggling desperately against his grip, hands clawing uselessly at his arm. He pressed harder against her windpipe and she stilled.

“Oh, but I’m here for much more than just the rings. What I’m really here for… is you,” he said lowly, that gleeful glint returning to his eyes. “You see, Nami-ya, you’re quite right—I am a reasonable man, and I’d be very willing to commute your sentence. But in exchange for clemency, I will need… something in return.”

This did not sound good.

She stopped her struggling all together and fell still, eying him with no small amount of suspicion. Deals like this were always too good to be true—and the catch usually too high to pay. But currently she was pinned to a wall by a very, very strong devil fruit user, on the third floor of a building surrounded by his goons. She didn’t exactly have a lot of cards to play.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she let out a wheezing breath.

“…What—what exactly is it you want?”

His lips curled into an unsettling smile, golden eyes bright on hers.

“Your services.”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

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[theonyxpath]

Although it’s April 1st as I write this, we’re not joking around about The Contagion Chronicle‘s Kickstarter. (As for other jokes, check out the Reason To Celebrate at the end of this blog for our thoughts on this here Fool’s Day).

As Matthew Dawkins, developer of the project and the in-famous Gentleman Gamer, said in our Monday Meeting today, he’s thrilled and proud of the response The Contagion Chronicle is getting, and I think he’s speaking for all of us.

I know it sounds strange after having done something like 35 Kickstarters, but I’m always uncertain that a project will fund – at least until the pledges start coming in at a pace I can start to judge.

So when you have an unusual project that is about all of the Chronicles of Darkness gamelines (even ones not out yet), but isn’t solely about any of them, it’s hard to guess which way folks will react.

Book of Oblivion art by Drew Tucker

What we’re seeing with this Contagion Chronicle Kickstarter is that a lot of folks are cautious. The sections of the text are coming out through the entirety of the KS, and so nobody has the full picture in their heads yet as to the whole project – well, except Matthew, I guess. So that’s a reason to be a bit cautious.

Another reason is that some of our audience aren’t sure that the approach we decided to go with is the way they want a crossover project to deliver the info they are looking for.

As I’ve mentioned in the last two MMN blogs, we have gone with the Chronicle format of providing a whole setting that holds together as a demonstration of how a total CofD crossover could work, and is there for folks to pick and choose from as they “look under the hood” at what Matthew and his awesome writing team have accomplished.

Which leads to some prospective backers holding off or just backing for the PDF, or whatever, as they see exactly what kind of “crunch” is getting delivered.

Now what is cool is that we’re seeing a lot of conversations about these aspects of the text as it is being delivered, and how this is a month-long process that’s gonna give folks, the hesitant and early adopters alike, a chance to read through everything and modify their pledges as they see fit.

Of course, we’d prefer that folks like what they see so much that they up their pledges to at least the physical book level – remember: the more physical books pledged for, the more we print for the backers and thus, the more we print additional for stores to sell.

But, if the unfortunate occurs and folks minimize or drop their pledges..that’s OK too! Part of releasing the full text is the ongoing conversations that develop when we release the text over the course of the KS (as opposed to one big file), but the other part is that we want folks to have the info so that they can pledge in a way that makes them glad that they did.

Fewer pledged books being printed might mean fewer available to go into stores, but DTRPG is always there so the project will definitely be available in PDF and PoD versions, at least.

The Realm art by Gong Studios

So please, come check out the Contagion Chronicle KS! Whatever amount you pledge for, you’ll be able to read the text as it is delivered and judge for yourself. Over 1,000 backers are already able to, and there’s a lot of great commentary up already.

Another thing came up in the meeting today, which was telling the whole crew why we held off on putting the Exalted 3rd‘s Dragon-Blooded PDF and PoDs up for sale last Wednesday.

(For those of you disappointed when we did that, my sincere apologies. As you’ll see, there was a reason).

We discovered early last week that a section of the book had dropped its text formatting, so that section did not have a header and had stacked info instead of the format the rest of the sections were in.

Was it something that would have made the book unusable? No, but it was an error that happened at the last stage of the process that slipped through and we knew about it before releasing the final PDF and the PoD versions.

I thought it better to fix it, and to delay putting things on sale (and making them available to backers), than to leave an error we knew was in there. There are plenty of errors that we frustratingly just can’t fix after a certain stage – a printed book is printed that way forever, after all – but this was not one of those.

Geist 2e art by Luis Sanz

Hopefully, not a call that will be necessary to make very often.

While nobody is perfect, nor any piece of art, as Bernie Harmon used to say, we do try and give our community as tight a final project as possible. It doesn’t always work, but we keep trying anyway. That way you know that we’re looking out for you, as you travel to our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

The Contagion Chronicle Kickstarter has funded, and rolls forward infecting all in its path with more and more Stretch Goals!

Matthew Dawkins has also started running the Contagion Chronicle for some of the members of his Discord, via Google Hangouts! Follow along to get some sneak peeks of the content coming up in the Contagion Chronicle Kickstarter: https://youtu.be/dFMjit-YTwQ

He also asks for your Contagion Chronicle-related questions here: https://youtu.be/axvrFeQOvEg

ONYX PATH MEDIA

Illustration by Charles Bates

On this Friday’s Onyx Pathcast, our team interviews Chris Spivey, award winning author, game designer, and developer of Harlem Unbound, and our own upcoming Masks of the Mythos for Scion! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

And Here’s More Media About Our Worlds:

Matthew Dawkins returns with the Onyx Path News to discuss the Contagion Chronicle and new releases here: https://youtu.be/_GBzk0pR-D4

And he’s not done, because he asks for your Contagion Chronicle-related questions here: https://youtu.be/axvrFeQOvEg

If YOU have a podcast, YouTube or Twitch channel, or talk about games on a blog or other website, and want to perform actual plays or make reviews of our games, please reach out to the Gentleman Gamer on the Onyx Path forum. From there we’ll share emails and get you started, so when you do start producing content we’ll be able to promote it on our blog and YouTube channel!

We’ve just uploaded the finale to Red Moon Roleplaying‘s long actual play of They Came from Beneath the Sea!, so if you want to watch every part of this ten-part series, please check it out on our channel or via Red Moon Roleplaying: https://youtu.be/EdJYtTEhymE

The Story Told Podcast just commenced their Dragon-Blooded actual play, which by the sounds of it is great fun! This is just part one, with more episodes to follow: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/

Devil’s Luck Gaming continue with their fantastic Scarred Lands actual play, which continues to blow the competition out of the water: https://www.twitch.tv/DEVILSLUCKGAMING

Caffeinated Conquests recently uploaded their review of Scion and we’d love for you to check it out: https://youtu.be/gC-RSdGLC_A

And here’s a different one! If you’re on the lookout for White Wolf and Onyx Path actual plays and reviews and are a Facebook user, give this group a look: https://www.facebook.com/groups/862703457198327/

Please check any of these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games!

ELECTRONIC GAMING:

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

Here’s an update from the App devs:

Onyx Dice!  We’ve recently released the Changeling: The Lost, Trinity Continuum: Aeon dice, and now the Geist dice.  Next up on our radar is: Demon: The Fallen,  Mummy: The Resurrection,  Kindred of the East, Vampire Dark Ages, and Mummy: The Curse.

We have a serious issue on the Pixel and Motorola phones that prevent the user from using the app correctly.  A fix is coming shortly.  A temporary workaround is to minimize the app without shutting it down, and then restore it.

ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these fiction books:

OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can now order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

And available this week! Deluxe Changeling: The Dreaming and Deluxe Beckett’s Jyhad Diary! The additional books we have after the Kickstarter ship-outs are done are now at IPR!

DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

On Sale This Week!

This Wednesday, we’re really going to put up Dragon-Blooded: What Fire Has Wrought, in PDF and physical book PoD versions on DTRPG!

CONVENTIONS

UK Games Expo: May 31st – June 2nd From the US comes Eddy Webb, Matt McElroy, and Rich Thomas to join with Matthew Dawkins, Steffie de Vann, John Burke, Chris Allen, and Klara Herbol! Gen Con: August 1st – August 4th Save Against Fear: Oct 12-14 GameHoleCon: October 31st – November 3rd We’ll also be back at PAX Unplugged later this year.

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

Geist2e Fiction Anthology (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum Core)

TC: Aeon Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Wraith20 Fiction Anthology (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Blood Sea Guides for 5e (Scarred Lands)

DR:E Jumpstart (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

DR:E Threat Guide (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

Redlines

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

TC: Aeon Ready Made Characters (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Heroic Land Dwellers (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Second Draft

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)

Creatures of the World Bestiary (Scion 2nd Edition)

Let The Streets Run Red (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Chicago Folio/Dossier (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Development

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Oak, Ash, and Thorn: Changeling: The Lost 2nd Companion (Changeling: The Lost 2nd)

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Memento Mori: the GtSE 2e Companion (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Pirates of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)

Distant Worlds (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Scion Ready Made Characters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Manuscript Approval:

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Editing:

V5 Chicago By Night (Vampire: The Masquerade)

V5 Chicago By Night Screen (Vampire: The Masquerade)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Witch-Queen of the Shadowed Citadel (Cavaliers of Mars)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

Post-Editing Development:

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Tales of Excellent Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

C20 Novel: Cup of Dreams (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Scion Jumpstart (Scion 2nd Edition)

Indexing:

Trinity Core

ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Ex3 Monthly Stuff  

Chicago By Night – Gaydos getting finals in.

Aeon Aexpansion

They Came From Beneath the Sea! – Art coming in.

EX3 Lunars

Hunter: The Vigil 2

Contagion Chronicle – AD’d for KS- starting this week.

Scion Jumpstart

VtR Spilled Blood – Hiring artists.

M20 Book of the Fallen – Pinging artists.

Dark Eras 2 – Getting artnotes in from devs.

Marketing Stuff

In Layout

Dystopia Rising: Evolution

Signs of Sorcery

Shunned By the Moon

Proofing

M20: Gods and Monsters – PoD proof on the way.

Adventures for Curious Cats – Waiting on maps.

Trinity Aeon – Page XXing.

Geist 2e – To WW for approval.

C20 Player’s Guide – Almost ready for WW approval.

In Media Res – Page XXing.

The Realm – Proof comments in, need inputting.

Book of Oblivion

At Press

Scion Hero – Shipping from printer to fulfillment shipper this week.

Scion Origin – Shipping from printer to fulfillment shipper this week.

Scion Dice – At Studio2.

Scion Screen – At Studio2.

Fetch Quest – Shipping to backers.

Ex3 Dragon Blooded – PDF and PoD versions on sale Wednesday on DTRPG. Backer PoD coupons before that and the Deluxe files are going to press. No seriously, it’s happening this week!

TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: 

We’re being bought by a fundamentalist church! We’re combining Scion and the Trinity Continuum! DUDES OF LEGEND! We have Paths of Storytelling Vampire you can follow but not achieve the good ending! We’re a happy, happy, Path! SeXXXalted! Frost Giant Butt Warriors! Bax Masterson! Shadows Over Iceland! We didn’t do an April 1st thing this year, as we just didn’t want to blind-side anybody considering the tumultuous last couple years…but let’s hear it for the “wacky” gags from years past!

[chloes-yellow-cup]

Nowish - Part 2

Bechloe. Staubrey. Bellas Squared/Stechlobree.

A story in which I convinced myself by accident that this could work. Let me try and convince you too.

Nowish Master Post  - Everything on one page.

A Shared Lifetime  - All my fics

Recommended Mood Music on Spotify. Artistic license taken with song release years.

Note on the links: The ones about music lead to YouTube vids for fun. Rest are GIFs or links to whatever gift idea I have.

Some reflection and a flashback.

~C~

Saturday, March 11th, 2017

Chloe was up first the next morning and she eased gently out of bed to avoid waking Beca. She took a quick shower and pulled on her robe to go downstairs to start breakfast. As she tried to decide between making something or just cereal with some fruit, she replayed the end of the evening over in her mind while starting a pot of coffee.

It wasn’t really anything unusual; there had always been sexual innuendos and jokes between the four of them. But normally it was anyone but Beca making them. Aubrey was far more inclined to play along, mostly because she loved to fluster the living hell out of Beca. Which Chloe always found amusing because Beca was far dirtier than the rest of them knew, she was just uncomfortable letting it out in front of anyone but Chloe. Well, at least until now.

But last night… It had sounded like Beca had propositioned Stacie. In a quasi-serious way. And Chloe was extremely intrigued by that, especially since Beca knew it was a package deal, no matter who the words were actually spoken to.

Chloe settled on cereal and fruit, pulling out a bowl and a box of Special K. Setting them on the counter, she retrieved the milk from the fridge and grabbed a banana from the dish on the center island. She hummed idly as prepped her cereal and sliced the banana over it. Finally she added the milk and put it away.  Looking out the window she decided to eat by the pool because it was such a lovely morning. She poured herself a large mug of coffee and grabbed a spoon from the drawer before taking everything outside. Settling at one of unshaded tables they had set up, she took the first sip from her mug before starting on her cereal to the sound of birds in the trees around her.

Chloe had always been an open person. She had by no means been easy, despite her lack of boundaries when it came to the personal space of a certain brunette college freshman. She was always very careful with whom she was intimate and she thoroughly enjoyed her time with them. And while she’d never actually had sex with more than one person at a time, it wasn’t something she’d have turned her nose up at with the right people involved. So her first instinct was not jealousy at the thought that Beca may have been serious last night.

It wasn’t as if Chloe hadn’t briefly thought of it back when they had first moved to LA and Stacie had joked about sleeping together. Though ‘joke’ wasn’t really the right word, as if all parties had actually agreed, she was sure they’d have been in bed two minutes later. So of course Chloe had thought about it. It may also have circled her brain whenever she realized it was about time for one of Stacie’s quarterly nudges, and it may have gotten a bit more detailed as the four of them had become closer than she’d have thought possible prior to the move. But she’d never actually, really, sat down and thought about it before.

She knew that she and Beca were secure in their relationship after all they’d been through the last five years. Their time at Barden had created a very solid and deep foundation, despite their occasional rocky moments. The time in LA plus the almost full year as a married couple made for a sturdy and safe space.

While she also felt almost as close to Aubrey and Stacie, they would never be quite as important to her as Beca. But sitting in the morning sun in their might-as-well-be-shared back yards, she let herself consciously think of all of them in a bed together. Living with all of them at one time or another, she knew all too well what the other couple looked like naked, making it easy to envision when she opened that closed door in her mind. Still, the quickness of the wash of heat that prickled her skin took her a bit by surprise.  She quickly shut the door again, but not before half a dozen images pushed past and rolled around behind her eyes.

‘Alright, mission accomplished. I guess I know how I feel about the idea at a purely physical level.’

She forced herself to concentrate on her breathing until she was able to push the visuals away. For a minute she’d been afraid she’d have to jump in the pool to cool down. But, gradually, the peace of the morning helped her determination to look at it from a logical perspective. She finished her cereal and leaned back to sip her coffee, staring into the clear waters of their pool.

If she were willing to let anyone into their bed, it most definitely wouldn’t be some stranger. It couldn’t be anyone that Chloe and Beca didn’t trust implicitly. It also had to be someone that wouldn’t try to come between them – not that any of their friends and acquaintances would or a stranger could. ‘Bloe is real’ as Amy had said at their wedding.

And, to Chloe, it made sense to have it be another couple. Someone who would also be in it just for the fun and experience. Someone as devoted to their partner as much as Beca and Chloe were to each other. And, if that’s the ‘rule’ she was setting, that really did leave only Aubrey and Stacie.

Chloe smiled to herself, glad her friends had found each other, though it had been difficult for the longest time. Stacie was actually a year younger than the rest of the Bellas, having graduated from high school a year early. While Aubrey had been intrigued by the confident, yet gropey, girl in auditions, she’d shut down when she’d realized that Stacie was only 17. Chloe would bring up, every chance she got, that Stacie was obviously very smart and extremely mature for her age, more so than most of the freshmen on campus.

It was a conversation they’d had almost as much as the one they’d had every time Aubrey threatened to kick Beca out of the Bellas. Chloe had never been so happy to have someone’s birthday so soon after Christmas, because then Aubrey no longer had the ‘But she’s underage, Chloe!’ argument to use once January 9th rolled around. But, Aubrey’s own insecurities stacked with Stacie’s admittedly adamant desire to refer to her vagina as the Hunter and let ‘him’ roam free across campus. So Aubrey graduated and left without ever actually saying anything to Stacie about her feelings. Feelings that Stacie was not immune to, just not entirely prepared for.

Then they had reconnected at the retreat.

  After the rest of the girls had left the campfire, Chloe had promised Beca she’d be right in, but she needed to talk to Aubrey for a second. Once all the girls were out of sight, she’d turned back to Aubrey. “Sooooooooooooo…” Aubrey narrowed her eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Are you ever going to date someone seriously?”

Aubrey’s response was instant. “I date!”

“I said seriously.” Chloe held up her hand when Aubrey opened her mouth. “You literally ran away to hide in the woods so you don’t have to really date anyone serious because you can’t, or won’t, date Stacie.” She hated using a drunken confession to make her point, but she just wanted Aubrey to be happier than Chloe knew she was.

“You don’t play fair.” Aubrey stared into the fire, a faint blush covering her cheeks. “Ok. I don’t date.” She sighed. “And now… it’s too late.”

A voice out of the darkness made them both jump. “I wouldn’t say that.” Stacie walked back out of shadows. “Maybe it’s time we talk, yeah?”

Chloe reined in her natural desire to clap with joy and stood up. “I’ll just…” and she pointed toward the direction of the tent before she patted Aubrey on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

She didn’t know what they’d talked about for the longest time and it had killed Chloe to not share it with Beca, but it wasn’t her story to tell. And it wasn’t until Aubrey had come to visit them just before Worlds that Chloe found out they’d been texting. Often. She felt silly about it later, as while she’d noticed that Stacie was staying in and not going on her dates, she hadn’t put together what it meant. She found out later that Beca had also given Aubrey a kick while the rest of the Bellas were getting ready at Worlds.

Beca had found Aubrey staring after Stacie as the brunette helped everyone with their makeup. Beca had nudged her former captain and told her to go get the girl. “Emily just kissed Benji, you should totally just go lay one on her while she’s got her makeup handy to fix whatever you muss up.”

“I… I don’t know, Beca. What if being with me isn’t enough?” Aubrey was characteristically anxious and uncertain. Beca had told Chloe it had made her sad that Aubrey didn’t see herself the way the rest of them did.

Beca captured her gaze. “Posen. Get your head out of your ass. It’s not a hat.” She grinned cheekily when Aubrey actually growled at her, and then grew serious again. “Seriously, Bree. Don’t fuck this up. Make it real already. We need you both.”

When they’d run off the stage as World freaking Champions, Aubrey had been waiting. And ready. She’d swept Stacie into her arms and kissed her. The rest of the girls had gone crazy, their already loud cheers hitting decibels that would leave them a bit hoarse the next day.

  Chloe smiled to herself, the echoes of “Staubrey Lives” floating through her mind. So, yes – the two women living behind them were closer to her than anyone but her wife and she loved them both very much. They were literally the only people that she would accept if she and Beca decided to try this adventure. She just wasn’t fully certain how to broach the subject with her sometimes still prickly wife, but knew she’d have to find the right time.

“What are you smiling about?”

Chloe looked up as the voice interrupted her train of thought. “Morning, Bree.” She pushed the chair next to her a little bit with her foot, her robe riding high up her thigh, but still keeping things modest. “Nothing, just enjoying the morning.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Aubrey settled into the chair with her own coffee.

“Maybe because it’s a lie.” But Chloe wasn’t ready to talk about this with anyone but Beca yet. “I was just remembering Worlds. And the events right after.” Her lips twisted in a teasing smile.

Aubrey smiled back. “I’m so glad you guys both kicked my ass into gear. Best decision of my life.”

“You mean, after joining the Bellas.” Chloe corrected. Aubrey nodded and raised her Bella mug slightly in agreement. “I forget, did you guys have any plans for the weekend?”

The two friends fell into easy conversation until their wives stumbled out groggily to join them, almost in sync, having woken up lonely in bed.

   ~B~

Saturday, August 5th, 2016

Ever since the ‘couple time’ rule had gone into effect, Stacie had casually, here and there, tried to work Aubrey up to the point where Aubrey, of all people, forgot to put up the equivalent of a sock on the door. Beca was almost positive it was more to see if Stacie could instead of just trying to ‘give Bloe a show’ as Cynthia Rose had once said.

The Bellas had all come to visit a few weeks before the Posen-Conrad wedding and had spread across both houses. They’d almost emptied the local liquor store by the time they left, but they had greatly enjoyed themselves and spent the days wandering between kitchens, pool and hot tub. Where they slept depended on how drunk they were at the end of the day and if they could walk from one house to the other without falling in the pool.

One night, Ashley had leaned over the edge of the pool chair and asked, “Ok, but how often do you guys walk in on each other because you never lock the door?”

“Oh, it gets locked when… that… happens.” Aubrey took another drink of her beer.

“Yeah, now.” Stacie replied. When Ashley twirled her finger for more information, she continued. “Aubrey almost walked in on Bloe getting wild in their living room a few weeks after we moved in.” The rest of the girls hooted, holding up their drinks in salute. Beca just bowed her head and waved her hand regally through the air. “So Bree declared the rule.”

Beca snorted. “Besides, if Stacie’s super determined, she’d just pick the lock.”

Stacie shrugged. “Eh.”

Flo asked, “But do you always remember?”

“Aubrey does.” Chloe looked over at her friend. “But, I admit, Beca and I may forget once or twice.”

“Chloe!” Aubrey looked scandalized.

“Sorry Bree, but sometimes things go a little fast and the next thing I know, I’m completely naked on the stairs.” Chloe shrugged helplessly.

“Oh my god.” Aubrey covered her eyes as laughter surrounded them. “Why would you try and put that in my head.”

“Well, shit. I can’t let Beca outsex me. That’s like a direct challenge to the Hunter.” Stacie looked over at Aubrey, considering. “I may have to step up my game.” And though Aubrey tried to look displeased, it’s not like the thought of more sex with her fiancé was ever going to be a bad thing.

“Yeah, sure, you just wanna give Bloe a show.” Cynthia Rose looked slyly at Stacie. “We heard about all them orgy jokes you make, girl.”

“Hey, in all fairness, they’re totally hot and Beca ordered The Expanse.” Stacie ignored Aubrey’s swatting hand. “What else am I supposed to think about?”

“What’s ‘The Expanse?’”  It took several tries before they heard what Lilly was asking.

“Oh, that’s what I call Beca’s GIANT fucking bed.” Stacie’s eyes widened dramatically as her arms stretched out their full length. “You’ve seen it. It’s fucking huge.”

Beca interrupted. “Hey, I didn’t get the biggest size they had... Just the second. It’s only 9 feet across and like, two and a halfish high.”

Chloe shook her head. “Don’t let her fool you, it wouldn’t fit in the bedroom or we’d totes have a 12 foot bed.”

Beca shrugged. “Got me there.”

“Damn it, now that’s going to show up in my mind when I least expect it.” Jessica shook her head. “Not that I’m really complaining.” When the others all stared at her, she got defensive. “What? It’s kinda hot! You can’t tell me it isn’t!”

Ashley nodded from beside her, smiling. “You’re not wrong.” She winked at Chloe who returned it. “They’re totally hot.”

Beca chimed in for the first time. “Can we talk about something other than my sex life?”

“Oh, so wait – now it’s actually part of your sex life? I thought you guys hadn’t done the dirty yet?” Amy made a show of widening her eyes. “Shawshank, I thought you told me everything!”

Beca stuttered out, “That’s not… we haven’t…”

Chloe’s teasing voice came from behind her. “Why, Beca. What does Amy mean she thought we hadn’t ‘yet’? What are you telling her that I don’t know?”

Beca blushed furiously. “I… that’s… no. I… I’m getting a beer.” She made her way to her kitchen instead of the cooler on the patio, smiling to herself at how much she missed these girls even when they made her crazy. 

[thosewhoruleegypt]

What Followed the High Priest Home (Chapter 2)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!   Characters/Ships: Puzzleshipping/Blindshipping (Atem/Yugi); Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou Bakura); Puppyshipping/Revertshipping (Priest Seto Kaiba/Jounochi); Atem, Yugi, Thief King Bakura, Ryou Bakura, Priest Seto Kaiba, Jounochi Katsuya Rating: M (WARNINGS for steamy fade-to-black moments, banter of a sexual nature, and some abuse of lotus wine) Length: Chapter 2 / 7; 3300 words

Summary:

Upon his homecoming, Priest Seto Kaiba certainly didn’t expect to find a statue of the Thief King in the middle of the palace courtyard, right where the Pharaoh’s statue ought to be. He also didn’t expect the stray puppy he picked up on his travels to follow him all the way home.

In the meantime, the Great Royal Husband, Yugi Mutou, makes a new friend, one Jounochi Katsuya, and Pharaoh Atem wonders when the power dynamics around his palace got so difficult to navigate.

Sequel to “For Love of Pharaoh and King;” “The Pharaoh’s Lotus Garden—Part I” accounts for the time between the two works. Can be read separately, but will make more sense with context.

Full Story Begins Here! Read on AO3 Previous Chapter – Next Chapter 

Chapter Two: Priest vs King 

Jounochi ate, noisily and enthusiastically, the food that Yugi had ordered brought up to the room. Yugi rustled around in his wardrobe for something suitably inconspicuous for the newcomer to borrow. 

"If that bastard eats like this every day, no wonder he's such a spoiled jerk!" Jounochi exclaimed, leaning back once he'd cleaned the plates. Yugi held out some fresh white linens, and Jounochi changed obediently into them. 

"I think Priest Seto was meeting with the Pharaoh, earlier. I can ask Pharaoh to set up a meeting for you, if you'd like. Or we can work out something a little more discrete, if you'd prefer." 

"Oh man, I can't wait to see the look on that jerk's face!" Jounochi said, snickering. "This is gonna be great!" 

"So you... and Priest Seto are...?" Yugi prompted gently, sitting down across from the visitor. Jounochi shook his head. 

"Not quite sure, y'know? I mean, I'm the one who does the chasing, I guess, obviously, but it's not like he's ever kicked me out of his bed. Well, not at night, anyhow. In the morning he's always back to being a stuck-up jerk." 

Jounochi had gone about his work as usual and, as the morning wore on, he tried to convince himself that the stranger from the night before wasn't worth his effort. He tried to convince himself that the pledge he'd made—that the stranger hadn't seen the last of him—was both unrealistic and pointless. It wasn't in his nature to give up, but he also couldn't afford to disrupt his family's peaceful life. A sudden flurry of activity at the temple's entrance made Jounochi look up from his cleaning, though, and he was surprised to see a series of white-clad royal priests file in. 

"They're back!" one of the local priests gasped. 

Jounochi glanced over. "Back? Who are they?" 

"They were here yesterday—the Pharaoh's priests," the man said, and Jounochi remembered the unusual business of the day before. 

Jounochi leaned up, peering toward the activity. He was hoping for some distraction from his thoughts about the night before, but what he saw was a very familiar form near the center of the crowd, standing with head bent and hands jammed into the pockets of his expensive blue and golden clothes. Jounochi pushed forward, startling several of the lesser priests as he more or less changed into their cluster. 

"Great Set! It's you!" 

The man glanced up; looked away, pointedly. "Me? I don't know you. Guards?" 

"Hey!" Jounochi shouted, even as several guards appeared on either side of him. He kicked out as he was picked up; struggled against them, as they began to haul him backwards. "Hey! Jerk! Deal with me yourself, you stupid, high-class bastard! Don't think you can just tell your goons to make me disappear!" 

"Get him out of my sight!" the Royal High Priest spat, and the guards obeyed. Though Jounochi fought for all he was worth, even managing to struggle free and strike back several times, numbers overwhelmed him. 

"Not only did he kick me out of my own damn temple," Jounochi told Yugi, hand forming a fist on the table, "but I lost my job. I found out from one of the local priests that Seto wasn’t supposed to come back, that second day. When he told me he was leaving town, he really thought he was. But something about his mission for the Pharaoh took him back to my temple, so..." 

"You lost your job?" Yugi asked softly. "What about your family?" 

"That's just the thing," Jounochi said, shaking his head. "When I went home, Mom told me that some priest had come by and given her a whole bunch of gold. They said it was because of a favor I'd done for their High Priest." 

Yugi thought for a moment, then said, "Were you insulted, by that?" 

"Of course!" Jounochi snapped. "I'm not some cheap whore! ...Or an expensive whore, I guess, because it was one hell of a lot of gold." He cleared his throat. "But anyway, it gave me the freedom to follow him. To leave Mom and my sister, because they were gonna be fine, with all that gold. So I followed him—High Priest Seto." 

"You followed him?" 

Jounochi nodded. "He was visiting all these different temples, for some reason. And I followed him. I even caught up with him that same night." 

"You..." 

Jounochi nodded—out of breath, dusty from travel, and triumphant. "I told you you hadn't seen the last of Jounochi Katsuya." 

The High Priest was sitting outside a temple in the next city over, sipping wine. Jounochi leaned in; relieved him of the glass, and took a long drink. 

"How in Set did you find me?" 

"I followed you," Jounochi said, wiping his mouth. "I needed to tell you to your face that I wasn't a damn whore. So I appreciate the gold, for my mom and my sister, but make sure you don't think I'm some whore that you can just pay and be done with." 

"I didn't think that..." the High Priest murmured, then stood. Jounochi took an uncertain step backwards, when the man caught his wrist. "I don't pay whores so generously, fool. And I did lose you your job, at the temple." 

"Yeah, that was sorta your fault." 

Then the High Priest leaned in; kissed Jounochi, as passionately as he had the night previous. Jounochi let the wineglass fall, wrapping his arms around the other's broad shoulders. 

"What is it about you, pup...?" the priest breathed, and Jounochi bit the other's lip lightly. 

"At least call me by name, you jerk..." 

"Very well. Then you will call me Seto. Seto Kaiba." 

"I'll call you 'jerk' if you're being a damn jerk, Seto." 

The High Priest laughed softly. "This is the last time, pup... Joey..." 

"Yeah, whatever. You can say that all you want. Won't make it true." 

"So I followed him," Jounochi told Yugi, once again. "All over Egypt, for almost a year. Every morning he'd leave, and every night I'd find him. And now his mission is finally over, so I followed him all the way back to the palace. I know it's the end this time, really, but he owes me one more night, for all the trouble—one last kiss, and a proper goodbye, you know?"

"Why are you so determined, to follow him?" Yugi asked gently.

Jounochi gave that considerable thought; scratched the back of his head. "Because the sex is great?" he asked, with a chuckle. Then he sobered; said, "Because being with him is way more exciting than the day-to-day back at the temple. And it's more meaningful, too. I think... I mean, it's meaningful for me, but I think Seto, too..." He trailed off; smiled tenderly.

Yugi nodded. "I see." He was preparing to say more when a tremendous explosion rocked the palace. Yugi stood; Jounochi bounded to his feet. Moments later, the door flew open.

"Lord Yugi!" Ryou's face was flushed and his hair disheveled. He spared the stranger a glance—Jounochi waved slightly, in response—but then turned back to Yugi. "There's a duel—you need to come see this!"

"A duel? What's happening?" Yugi asked, trotting to meet his friend.

"It's Obelisk, isn't it?" Jounochi asked. Ryou looked up sharply. "Obelisk the Tormentor?"

Ryou nodded, then turned back to Yugi. "I don't know what got it started, but Pharaoh is supposed to duel the winner!"

"The Pharaoh will duel the winner?!" Jounochi demanded, grabbing Ryou's arm. Ryou flinched, and Yugi got gently between the two of them.

"Come on. Let's go down to the duel ring. All three of us."

... ... ...

Thief King Bakura hit the ground hard, blown backwards by the force of the summon. The walls of the castle shook, and even Atem brought his arms up to shield his face.

"So you see your folly now, thief?!" Priest Seto called. "You cannot stand before the force of a god!"

Bakura laughed; grunted in pain, struggling to see the massive monster through the cloud of dust. A crack burst across the ceiling as Obelisk the Tormentor came to raging life on the duel field.

"The power of gods, ay?" the Thief King called out, shielding his eyes with one forearm as a stinging wave of sand buffeted him.

"Seto, you... succeeded..." Atem breathed, and his High Priest grinned over at him.

"You see, Pharaoh?" Seto called. "I've done it! And when we duel, after I finish this vermin, you too will bow before the power of the gods! I will reclaim my pride!"

"Don't think you've won yet!" Bakura called, struggling back to his feet. "You have to beat me to face the Pharaoh, don't forget!"

"It's over, cur!" Seto shouted. "Obelisk! Destroy his Diabound!" 

"I activate my set cards, Spirit Shield and Soul Absorption!" Bakura yelled, struggling to make himself heard over the roar of the god Obelisk. "I banish Souls of the Forgotten to activate Spirit Shield—your battle phase ends, and I gain 500 Life thanks to Soul Absorption!" 

Obelisk's roar petered out to a low rumble, and Seto folded his arms. "Tch. All you've done is buy yourself a turn or two, cur. As soon as you're out of fiend monsters to banish, Spirit Shield will vanish." 

"Oh, and I suppose you've kept count of how many fiend-types are in my graveyard, hmm?" Bakura sneered. "They'll hold your god at bay long enough for me to figure out a way to defeat it properly, and in the meantime I'll just keep gaining life points." 

"It's only a matter of time, thief," the High Priest said again, with a self-assured smirk. 

Bakura drew a card—not the card he wanted. "I end my turn," he said, and glanced briefly at Atem. The Pharaoh was watching the whole affair with keen eyes. 

Footsteps on the stairs made all three men look up; Yugi appeared first, then Ryou, and finally a strange young man with blonde hair. Priest Seto nearly dropped his hand, and Bakura began to laugh. 

"Now that my Ryou is here, watching, I won't lose!" the Thief King declared, as the three newcomers halted beside the duel field. "Gods have never frightened me—I've beaten my share of them, over the years, and I'll do it again now!"

Seto grit his teeth, unused to people responding to Obelisk in such a way. Then another voice sounded, and he looked up sharply.

"You can do it, Kaiba! Obelisk's on the field! You've got 'im runnin' scared! And then you'll get to fight the Pharaoh! Then you'll get your revenge, for sure!"

Seto's eyes flashed over to the young man who'd spoken, and he straightened his shoulders. "Prepare yourself, filthy cur!" he called to Bakura, and drew a card; grimaced slightly.

"Nothing that'll stop my Spirit Shield?" Bakura purred. "Pity."

"You're only delaying your fate!" Seto shouted. "Obelisk! Attack!"

"I banish Abaki, from my graveyard! Spirit Shield, activate!"

"Pharaoh, what's happening?" Yugi asked silently, his mind pressing close to Atem's. Atem shuddered with the touch.

"I can't believe I'm rooting for the thief..."

"?"

"If Bakura wins this, I swear to Ra, I'll throw him a feast so splendid that his greedy head will spin."

"You don't want to fight Priest Seto?"

"I've been denying Priest Seto a rematch for years," Atem admitted, reluctantly. "A Pharaoh and his High Priest shouldn't fight. He's an ambitious and ruthless man, too, which makes matters worse. But he's only grown stronger, and now he has at least one of the god cards in his deck... I fear what should happen, if he's able to best me."

Bakura drew a card; smiled. "Sorry, Necrofear..." he breathed, to the monster in his hand. "Gotta bet on Diabound, this time." He held up the card he'd drawn. "My card is the spell Card Destruction!"

"Fine by me," Seto muttered, discarding his hand. He drew three new cards, his face impassive.

Bakura, too, discarded his hand, Dark Necrofear included, and drew five cards. He examined them, searching for a strategy: Portrait's Secret, Souls of the Forgotten, Snake of White Shadow, Dark Artist, and Dark Necklace. Plus my face-down on the field... and Diabound, Spirit Shield, and Soul Absorption face-up... Thoth must be smiling on me, today...

"First, I activate the magic card Dark Necklace and equip it to Diabound, raising his attack to 2300! Then I summon Snake of White Shadow, to attack!" Bakura grinned, pointing. "When Diabound is on the field, it can attack your Life directly! Prepare yourself! Snake of White Shadow, attack the priest!"

Seto cringed as the pale little serpent struck out at him; cursed under his breath. The 500 point injury knocked his life points down to 2900. With his banishment of Abaki, Bakura's Life had risen to 2200. Jounochi, beside Yugi, shouted encouragement.

"Fight and flail as much as you want, thief!" the High Priest spat. "As long as you can't get Obelisk off the field, it's only a matter of time!"

"You keep saying that," Bakura said, crossing his arms. "So finish me, already, if you can!"

"I've never seen someone stand up to Obelisk like this..." Jounochi breathed, and Yugi glanced up. "Usually, they just..."

"The Thief King isn't afraid of some bulky, clumsy god!" Ryou snapped, startling Jounochi. 

Yugi glanced up at Atem; saw the Pharaoh's teeth worrying lightly at his bottom lip. "Pharaoh? Do you not think that Bakura can win...?"

"If anyone has a chance, it's him," was Atem's evasive reply. "But even now, he's managed to hold off Seto's seemingly unstoppable offense. That's something—and it proves that it can be done, at the very least."

Despite Atem's apparent anxiety, Yugi could feel the vibrations of excitement thrumming through him. Pharaoh... it's been a long time since we've faced a worthy opponent, hasn't it...? Despite what you say, I can tell... you want to fight High Priest Seto.

Priest Seto drew a card; declared, "I end my turn!"

"He's not letting Bakura banish to activate Spirit Shield..." Yugi murmured, for Atem only to hear. "He can't regain any more life points, then...!"

"It's a true standoff..." Atem agreed. "Soul Absorption makes things unpleasant for Seto, certainly... but if he doesn't burn through the fiends in Bakura's graveyard, it'll stretch on forever... or at least until one of them draws a card that can change things..."

"I'll just take mine, then," Bakura said, drawing a card and revealing it a beat later. "The Moon is smiling on me today, priest! My card is The Cheerful Coffin, and with it I send the three fiends in my hand to the graveyard!"

Seto's irritation permitted the air like a heavy, cloying incense. Atem had to hide a snigger behind his hand as Bakura dropped the cards with a dramatic flutter; they dissolved, vanishing into his graveyard.

"You're very unpleasant," Seto stated, and Bakura grinned wickedly.

"My specialty, honorable priest, is being unpleasant. Snake of White Shadow attacks, and then I end my turn." Bakura's Life Points remained at 2200; Seto's, as the little snake withdrew, dropped to 2400.

"Bakura's safe for at least four more turns, unless Seto can get rid of Spirit Shield..." Yugi said, amazed. "And with Snake of White Shadow, he can knock 2000 points off Seto's Life, in four turns. In five turns, he'll actually win!"

"He also has no cards in his hand," Atem pointed out, unsettled. "Five turns is a long time. He has no strategy right now, beyond surviving."

"I'm not so sure..." Yugi gave a mental nod toward the set card behind Diabound. "I think he's got something planned."

Bakura sneered. "Make your next move, priesty."

Seto didn't respond, drawing a card. From his expression, it clearly wasn't the card he was looking for.

"Pity!" Bakura called over, and Seto glared at him. The Thief King stuck his tongue out.

"Obelisk! Attack!" Priest Seto snapped, and Bakura waved one hand.

"I banish Dark Necrofear! Spirit Shield activates, and your battle phase is over!"

Seto folded his arms; inclined his head. "Your turn, thief."

Bakura drew a card; held it, and shouted, "Go, White Snake of Shadow! Attack him directly!"

Seto yelped as the snake sunk it's fangs into his ankle; cursed as shook it off, his Life Points dropping to 1900. Bakura's stood at 2700, after the banishment of Dark Necrofear.

"If your pretty little god can't attack before I chip your Life down to zero, I don't even need to fight it," Bakura jeered.

"That's the most ludicrous strategy I've ever heard!" Priest Seto snapped back.

“I end my turn," Bakura purred, folding his arms. "Go on—let me banish another monster. Just try to attack me and my Diabound."

The huge white serpent shrieked to echo him; the smaller Snake of White Shadow added it's own hiss to the taunting.

Priest Seto scowled; drew a card. His expression eased, then split into a manic grin.

"It's over, Thief King!" he yelled, raising the card high. "You've mocked me one turn too many—my card is Cosmic Cyclone! I pay 1000 Life Points to banish your Spirit Shield!"

"Pharaoh!" Yugi exclaimed, and felt Atem flinch as Spirit Shield was shattered amidst Cosmic Cyclone's whirlwind. Bakura threw up his arms to protect himself from the gust, and Ryou cried out in alarm.

"Yeah, Kaiba!" Jounochi cheered. "'Bout time!"

"Are you ready, Thief King?" Seto demanded. "Prepare to taste true defeat! First, I summon Luster Dragon, to attack! It destroys your Snake of White Shadow!"

The draconian monster surged forward; slashed through the little snake effortlessly. Bakura muttered a coarse apology to his monster as 1400 points of battle damage buffeted him.

"And now, face the wrath of the god you dared to mock!" Priest Seto called. "On your knees, Thief King! Bow, as Obelisk the Tormentor obliterates your Diabound and your pride! Obelisk, attack!"

The god-monster gave an earth-shaking roar that made the palace, above the duel field, groan traitorously. There was a tremendous explosion as Diabound and Obelisk clashed, and Bakura was completely obscured in the resulting cloud of sand and debris. Ryou cried out in alarm, and Priest Seto's laughter rose above the sounds of the battle.

The dust began to settle, though, and Bakura still stood on his feet. Ryou gave a relieved exclamation.

Priest Seto's eyes narrowed sharply. "What in Set...?!"

"Partner...!" Atem exclaimed.

Yugi, almost simultaneously, gasped, "Pharaoh, Bakura's set card...!"

"My set card is Prideful Roar!" the Thief King declared, extending one hand. "I pay the difference in our monsters' attacks points out of my Life, and Diabound gains the balance plus 300 attack! I gained 500 Life when you banished my Spirit Shield, thanks to Soul Absorption, then lost 1400 when Snake of White Shadow was destroyed—Diabound's attack, plus what he gains from Dark Pendant, is 2300—1700 less than Obelisk, so I now pay 1700 of my own Life so that he can stand against your god! Go, Diabound! Counterattack!"

The snake gave a fearsome hiss; charged Obelisk, and tore through the great god-monster. Seto's jaws stretched wide in a soundless scream, and Bakura staggered as his own Life was all but drained. Priest Seto could only stare as the mighty Obelisk the Tormentor dissolved, then vanished entirely.

"That makes 300 battle damage for you..." Bakura breathed, with a faint chuckle, and pointed at Seto. "600 Life left for you, High Priest. Think you can take away my mere hundred before I finish you off?"

"Bakura!" Ryou cheered, and the Pharaoh gave an approving nod; Yugi felt the relief and pride that Atem would never admit to, and shared it. Priest Seto, mouth agape, stood speechless.

"Well, I'm not going to let you," the Thief King continued, and then sat down heavily on the ground. "I've defeated your god, Priest Seto—I've won my pride, and wounded yours. So I won't play spoiler to your duel with Horus any longer. I forfeit."

[iketodiet]

cats

Cats can't be trained - Training is entirely possible and we have probably all seen on television performance cats trained to walk a rope, roll a ball and even swim underwater. We attribute this to some sort of showmanship business and think our own cats are not trainable. Depending on the breed and the particular cat, they are probably all trainable to some degree and they are certainly able to train us!

Particia Moyes, in her book How To Talk To Your Cat, relates how one of her cats and she have a game, the object of which is to remove from some precarious perch - the top of a chair, say, an object, without disturbing anything around and without knocking the item to the floor. The one cat does this with care and great attention, and success. Her other cat, she tells us, takes the game simply to mean, 'get the thing regardless' and will also retrieve the item but in the clumsiest fashion, knocking it to the floor.

Ms. Moyes speaks of two other game she and her cats have; fetch and carry and hide and seek. In the first, the person throws a ball of tinfoil (or what-have-you) and the cat returns it, dropping it at the person's feet. The second she says her cat invented. She (the cat) will bring the ball of tinfoil, drop it, then leave the room. Ms. Moyes will hide it, then call her cat who will begin excitedly exploring all the hiding places, find it, drop it and leave the room again. Keep in mind that Ms. Moyes creates and maintains an unusual and unusually close and respectful attitude towards her cats. Very likely, and many pet owners, indeed, parents, have discovered that, the more you anticipate your pet (or child) to be capable, the more capable your pet or child becomes.

My own cat offers a less dramatic, but useful example. A stray taken in at about 8 months he at first caused some alarm with his tendency to 'do his nails' on the furniture. I would bang my foot on the floor and tell him no and he'd stop. Now I just tell him, in no uncertain terms, to stop and he does. He only does this when he wants something and I'm not paying attention.

In fact, this is one way a cat has to get your attention and let you know he needs something - he does what he knows he is not supposed to do. My cat knows he's not allowed on the kitchen table, for example, but if his food bowl stays empty too long, onto the table he leaps and I know right away he wants feeding.

There is an ancient Egyptian papyrus of the twentieth dynasty showing a dog walking on his hind legs, carrying a staff, herding goats. In the same picture there is a cat, walking on his hind legs, carrying a staff, herding ducks. The picture depicts the dog and cat on their hind legs carrying staffs, no doubt, to indicate that they are in control. Were they shown on their fours, one, they could not be shown carrying a staff and two, they would seem to be on the same level as the goats and ducks, not in charge of them. My guess is that one time, before the dark days of cat extermination, cats were trained and used and I expect they themselves were very responsive to this arrangement.

Aloof - When one considers the terrible history the family of cats has endured at the hands of man, repeatedly throughout Europe and even in America, it is no wonder the cat keeps himself aloof. Associated with witches, Satan and evil, as a race, cats have been betrayed, condemned, tortured and exterminated, many times, by the thousands and tens of thousands. Those which survived the pogroms passed on their genes to progeny, along with the survival sense to be wary of man. Yet every cat owner knows how truly attached a cat can become and how genuinely grateful they are for the affection and care given them.

Cats & Music Start playing an instrument, even something gentle, such as folk music on a guitar, and a dog is likely to leave the room. A cat, on the other hand is likely to come near, lay by you, roll around, purr and seem to enjoy the sounds immensely. My previous cat used to be my biggest fan, particularly of my fairly elaborate finger picking.

My current cat loves to hear the guitar but the obvious deep pleasure he gets from that doesn't even compare to when I pick up the Celtic Harp and play on its strings. I can only describe his state as ecstatic, as if each tiny individual sound washes him with almost unendurable pleasure. Many composers throughout history relate the same story.

The famous harpist, Mlle Dubuy, noticed that her cat purred pleasantly when she played a piece on her harp well but cried when she played less so. She used this phenomena to improve her skill. Recognizing how much she owed her success as a harpist to her discerning cat she left him her substantial inheritance and endowed loyal friends likewise to ensure her cat was well cared for.

There is a video on YouTube of a cat playing the piano. She is quite intentionally sounding the notes, utterly absorbed in the phenomena. When his mistress plays Bach on another piano the cat stops and listens with obvious appreciation. It is quite as if this cat, and in fact, all cats, truly do appreciate beautiful music and the one in this particular YouTube video, aspires to musicianship.

Movement - We all know how agile and flexible cats are - owing to a variety of factors. Unlike man, in whom the vertebrae of the spinal column are held together by ligaments, in cat they are bound by muscle, giving the cat great range of movement. Because of the construction of his shoulder joint he can turn his foreleg in almost any direction.

But have you noticed, probably without thinking about it, that there is something funny, something odd in the way a cat runs?

Unlike almost all other mammals who advance by moving the front leg of one side of the body and the back of the opposite, the cat moves front and back legs of the same side. So it's, front, left, let's say, slight pause, back left, right front, pause, right back. The only other mammals said to do this are the camel and the giraffe - and they both have funny gaits too.

Food, water and health - Cats can live just fine on dry food. This is a dubious statement many authorities state as being downright false. Cats need meat. They have not the biological capability of taking various elements from a variety of non-meat foods and constructing the needed proteins, which man and dogs can do. And much of the content of dry food, i.e. Carbohydrates, not only are not natural foods for cats, they are said to be wholly unnecessary and can be harmful. Meat in some form, usually canned food, is a necessity for cats, not only for the proteins but as well for the water.

Cats do not have, as every cat owner has probably verified, a strong drive to drink. Their normal prey is their primary source of water. Deprived of that and not given sufficient wet food a cat can easily, and all too often does develop kidney disease from dehydration.

Regardless of whether your cat eats wet or dry food or both, fresh water should always be available to her. Many cat owners have observed that cats are more likely to drink if their water bowl is not located next to their food bowl, which makes sense, as in nature, animals go in search of water independently of their search for food. Also, being clean animals, it may not 'feel' as hygienic to have food and food smells next to their water source.

It is also advised to avoid plastic dishes for both food and water. Plastic tends to getting scratched and in those nicks and scratches harmful bacteria can grow. Also, some cats are allergic to plastic and develop skin conditions on their chins when fed and watered from plastic bowls.

Still water may run deep - but it still doesn't suit a cat. Almost every cat owner has noticed that their cats love to put their tongues under the tap or even raise their mouths to falling rain. My cat used to put his head under a drip in the bathtub and let the water run to his tongue until we had it fixed - the tub, that is. Many cats will drink from any form of water other than still water.

Some people, including some vets think there is some molecular difference in moving water. Some think it is the sight of the movement of the water, or the sound. Whatever the reason, (and considering what a big subject this is if posts on the internet are any measure it is a bit surprising that the motivations for this are not better known), cats prefer moving water.

This fact has spawned an entire industry of cat fountains, almost all plastic, though there are several sources for ceramic cat fountains and cat bowls. Whether it is one of the plastic fountains or a ceramic cat fountain or cat bowl, all need the same care, which is simply to keep it filled and give it a thorough cleaning regularly.

[avengerofyourheart]

You Are My Heaven Pt 1 (Steve Rogers Fic)

Characters: reader, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Tony (mentioned), Clint (mentioned) Maria Hill

Summary: Falling for a good man, who happened to be her training partner, was unavoidable. Does the reader have the courage to find out if he feels the same way? What if he doesn’t? Life rarely unfolds the way we hope it would. (Events take place after CATWS)

Warnings: lil fluff, lotta angst. Heartbreak. I’m sorry. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Song Inspiration: A Drop in the Ocean by Ron Pope

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: This one hurt. Once again, I drew from my own personal experiences, so it took a lot out of me to write. I hope you enjoy it? Part 2 will be out in a few days, I promise! It’s already written and will be the last, with a possible epilogue. Please let me know your thoughts! Special thanks to @buckyywiththegoodhair for reading this over! You’re a darling! 

Part One   Part Two>>>

Masterlist

_______________________________________________________

Stupid heart.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid brain for putting you in this situation.

Stupid gorgeous, muscled Super Soldier who just had to be working out right in front of you with his God-like physique and sweat glistening on his handsome brow.

At this point, you had no choice in the matter. You were too far gone. Resistance was futile.

“You know, you could just tell him,” muttered the red-headed former assassin beside you.

You scoffed, “Who? About what? I mean, I don’t…what’re you…”

Unimpressed by your less-than-convincing response, Natasha caught your eye and raised an eyebrow. She knew.

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, you conceded. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

A snort of laughter escaped you, “Why? Because he’s Steve Rogers! Captain Freaking America. It’s not gonna happen.”

She shrugged, “You never know unless you try.”

Returning your focus to the man before you, the thought rattled around in your mind. Standing from the mat where you had been stretching, you grabbed your water bottle and took a swig. The idea of putting yourself out there terrified you, but maybe she had a point.

__________

A drop in the ocean A change in the weather I was praying that you and me might end up together…

After SHIELD was dismantled thanks to Captain America, HYDRA’s evil acts were uncovered and you found yourself unemployed. Eventually proven trustworthy and in no way tied with HYDRA, you found a position at Avengers Tower. You weren’t out there saving the world, but you worked closely with the Avengers, being the assistant to Agent Maria Hill. You thoroughly enjoyed your job and even more, you were really good at it. Maria trusted you completely and had full confidence that you could handle things whenever she was called away on business.

Although you spent your time behind the scenes, there was a certain grandeur that came with being around a Centenarian Super Soldier, assassins gone good, genius billionaires and demigods. You were on a first name basis with superheroes. That was pretty awesome. There wasn’t much need for you to be trained to fight in combat, considering you spent most of your time in an office, but some fighting ability was encouraged. Considering the previous attack on New York City by aliens, you quite literally never knew what might happen in the future.

The gym was open to any employees and Maria was supportive of your ambitions, so she let you take an hour midday a few times a week for training. On your first day at the state-of-the-art training facility, you looked around in awe. There were countless weight machines, cushioned floors for sparring, dumbbells, high-tech treadmills, and many more contraptions that you couldn’t even name. Walking up to one, you stood with hands on your hips, head cocked to the side as you tried to decipher it. The machine had pulleys and handles with some sort of weighted plates in the center, but you had no clue how to use it.

“Would you like some help, Y/N?” a confident, deep voice asked behind you.

Whirling around, you found yourself face to face with the Blond Super Soldier you had been crushing on since you started working there almost a year ago, the one and only Steve Rogers.

“Steve, hi,” you greeted him with a smile. “Um…yeah. What does this thing do?”

He flashed that Million Dollar smile and you found actual weakness in your knees upon the sight. Was that really a thing? Oh mercy, you were in trouble.

“Well,” he furrowed his brow, sizing you up a bit. “I haven’t seen you in here before, so I’m guess you’re a bit of a beginner?”

Feeling heat reach your face, you deflected, “I mean, I’ve had a gym membership for a few years. That card is probably somewhere in my apartment gathering dust…”

He chuckled, crossing muscular arms over his massive pectorals which dreams are made of. “This machine is a little more advanced, so maybe something to work up to? I can show you a few simple exercises to start with and see what level you’re on. Sound good?”

Flabbergasted that Captain America himself was offering to help you, how could you say no?

“Uh…sure. That’d be great. I mean, if you have the time. I don’t want to interrupt…”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s always good to get back to basics. I don’t mind at all,” he assured you with that sexy half-grin you loved so much.

Steve was incredibly patient with you; always pushing you to improve but never chastising when you said you’d had enough. He showed you light strength training exercises and good cardio routines, plus other simple stuff you could do on your own when he was away on missions. You also trained with Natasha and Sam on occasion, but obviously preferred your time with Steve.

After a few months of training, you felt stronger, more agile, and had most definitely fallen head over heels for the good Captain. Oops. Stupid brain for agreeing to this. It was supposed to be the first line of defense to keep your heart from getting into trouble, but what a big fat fail that was. You were in over your head and you didn’t even mind the drowning at this point.

You found yourself looking forward to hitting the gym just to see him, sometimes turning down plans with friends just because a certain evening worked better for Steve’s schedule. You were addicted to his smile, always trying to make him laugh. It became your favorite sound and you craved it, even making a fool of yourself just to hear him chuckle. Indeed, you were in deep with no desire to come up for air. _________

It’s like wishing for rain As I stand in the desert But I’m holding you closer than most Cause you are my heaven.

A few days after your conversation with Natasha, you were lightly sparring with Steve as he gave you pointers. You had spent hours weighing your options. Do you risk your friendship and training partner by rocking the boat on the chance that he felt the same way? Or do you stay silent and keep things the same, possibly missing out on a good thing? What if he said no? Could you handle the disappointment, should that be the case? What if he said yes? What then? It was Schroedinger’s Cat. You had to open the box first, though, to find out.

In the end, you decided that not knowing was worse than either outcome, so you devised a plan. You would ask Steve to accompany you to a casual dinner. He had never experienced authentic Indian food, which you two had discussed in the past, so you would bring up the subject and lay down the groundwork for dinner plans. You were still uncertain of his feelings. Steve was kind to everyone, joking around with friends and colleagues alike. There was hardly a person in the Tower who wasn’t thoroughly taken with the Captain. It was like he brightened every room he entered, drawing people to him without trying. He was the epitome of charm and charisma. How could you not fall for him?

“Alright, keep your knees bent with your core engaged.  You’re more stable that way and a smaller target.” Adjusting your stance, he nodded, “Just like that.”

Hands taped and raised up by your mouth, you sent a few jabs his way. He quickly dodged, but spoke words of encouragement as you stayed quick on your feet and kept alert. Attempting a kick with full force, your foot nearly connected with Steve’s side, but he caught it just in time. Unfortunately, your momentum continued forward which meant you lost control and collided with the man, sending you both to the mat in a tangled heap. Steve exhaled an ‘oof’ as you landed on him ungracefully.

Finding your face resting on the Captain’s sculpted chest, you reluctantly raised your head with a blush rising. He had just returned from a week-long mission and you’d wanted to show off the latest move you had learned, but apparently it was premature. How embarrassing. Luckily, you heard Steve’s melodic laugh ring out and you followed suit. Soon you were both collapsed on the mat with tears of laughter running down your face.

“Well, you definitely have the power behind it, but you might need to be reined it in a little,” Steve chuckled, sending off more peals of laughter from you both, your heart swelling at the sound.

It took a few minutes for you both to calm down before Steve popped to his feet and offered a hand to you. Accepting its comfortable warmth, you groaned as he helped you stand. If you weren’t already sore from training and your collision with a rock-hard body, your abdominal muscles now hurt from laughing. Catching Steve’s eye, you offered a smile and opened your mouth to breech the subject about dinner, but then someone approached.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Sam spoke, stepping to his friend’s side. “Steve, could you look at this mission file for me? It’s kind of time-sensitive.”

“Sure, pal,” he replied. “I’ll be right back, Y/N.”

“No problem. I’ll just get some water.” You followed the men out the gym door but they turned right while you took the left corridor. Just outside the gym, there was an unusually high-tech water dispensing station with just plain filtered water or you could even add flavoring if you wanted. Of course, this was Tony’s idea. He didn’t really do ‘simple’. Walking back toward gym, you heard the two men’s voices carrying as they finished their conversation.

“…look at the intel tonight and hopefully we’ll have a better idea for the timeline. Thanks, Sam.”

“Sure thing. So, uh… you looked pretty cozy in there with Y/N. What’s going on with you two?” Sam questioned with intrigue in his voice. Hearing your name, you paused to listen. Yes, it was snooping, but apparently it now involved you, so…

“What, you mean…me and Y/N? Together? No. We’re just good friends. Besides, I don’t really see her that way.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet, feeling your frantic heart threatening to escape your chest. There was a whooshing sound in your ears as if all the air had escaped the room, nearly missing their next words.

“Does she know that?”

Steve scoffed, “Of course she does. We’ve been friends for a while.”

Sam clicked his tongue in disagreement, “Are you sure? I’ve seen how she looks at you. Might wanna let her down easy, man.” The sound of a hand clapped against a broad back was heard.

On shaky legs, you made your way into the gym in a daze. Taking a drink of your water just to have something to do, you nearly choked on it in the process. Steve then came up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright there? Wrong pipe?” he joked with a smile.

Finally, the coughing stopped and you nodded that you were okay, avoiding his gaze.

“Ready to get back to it?” he asked with enthusiasm.

Mind hazy, you followed him back onto the mat and raised your fists, body on autopilot. Steve initiated the spar this time, putting you on defense. You knew he was going easy on you, but it was still a challenge, especially in your current state. Attempting to focus, snippets of their conversation floated between your ears, almost as an echo, while you processed it.

…looked pretty cozy…Block….just good friends….Jab…..don’t see her that way….Kick….let her down easy….Left hook…

As your mind caught up and their words sunk in, the tempest of thoughts and emotions became too much, causing you to drop your hands and step away. Pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, you were determined not to lose it here in the gym.

“Hey, you okay, Y/N?” Steve asked, concern coating his words.

Chest heaving with effort and emotion, you knew you couldn’t stay a moment longer. “Yeah…I mean, no. I, uh…I think I heard a pop in my shoulder when we…um, when we collided. Old injury. Probably should rest it. I’m done for today,” you spoke without meeting his eye, heading for your gym bag.

You stuffed your jacket, towel, and water bottle inside, yanking the zipper shut when you realized Steve had followed you.

“Do you want Dr. Cho to take a look at it?”

“No, it’s fine,” you answered, slinging the bag over your shoulder and heading for the door.

“Hey, Y/N, um…”

You paused. “Yeah?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, he hesitated a moment before continuing. “I, uh…just wanted to say that I enjoy spending time with you. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

Friend. That word was a dagger to your heart, pain exploding in your chest as you struggled to breathe. Knowing he awaited a response of some kind, you finally met his bright blue eyes.

“Thanks, Steve. You, too,” you quietly uttered with a hopefully genuine-looking smile before rushing past him and out of the room. Once alone, you broke into a sprint and barely shut your bedroom door before collapsing to the floor, sobs clawing at your throat.

_________________

And still I can't let you be Most nights I hardly sleep Don't take what you don't need from me

You spent the rest of the day in bed cocooned in blankets, tears slipping down your cheeks. Eyes red, you couldn't bring yourself to watch any of your favorite movies or shows for fear of tainting them, so you found yourself watching true crime documentaries on Netflix.

Sleep evaded you and past midnight, your growling stomach forced you out of bed and down the hall toward the kitchen. Blessedly, you didn't run into anyone and you were able to stock up on bottled water and an armful of snacks to last a while. Creeping back to your room, you resumed hiding from the world. Thankfully, it was the weekend so work wasn't a worry.

You received a text from Steve midway through the next morning.

Hey, Y/N. Feeling any better? I've got some time for training later today.

Of course he would be that sweet. Blinking away tears, you set your phone down. What could you say to him? He didn't have a clue. You felt like one look in his eyes and he could see your torn heart and fractured soul. There was no way you could be around him right now.

Opening his text, you stared at the blinking cursor before replying.

Not today. Shoulder’s okay but feel a cold coming on.

Total lie, but necessary.

Oh, I'm sorry. Can I bring you anything?

No. Don't want to risk it. Thanks.

Putting your phone aside, you finally let yourself fall asleep

_________

A few hours later, you startled awake to someone sitting at the end of your bed. After recovering from your near heart attack, you glared at the redhead before you.

“How did you get in---ugh, nevermind. I don’t wanna know,” you groaned, slumping back on your pillows. You had asked JARVIS to not allow anyone into your quarters, but clearly there was no keeping her out. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not sick.”

“You are correct,” you replied, emotionless.

Natasha surveyed the state of your bedroom, empty food wrappers and tissues littering the floor.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk to him, I…”

“Not your fault,” you sniffled. “Besides, I didn’t even have a chance to. Doesn’t matter now, though.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I could kick his a…”

“Don’t you dare!” you shot off the pillows, finger pointed in her face. “He can never know.”

You held her gaze without wavering until she consented with a nod.

“Fine. You can’t hole up in here forever. I’ll hold them off as long as I can, though,” she promised, clutching your ankle affectionately through the blankets.

“Thanks.”

_____________

The next two days were more of the same, wallowing and Netflix. Natasha was kind enough to bring you actual meals, though, which was better than packaged snacks. She kept her word and no one hassled you. You even called in sick for work on Monday and thankfully, Maria was understanding. That evening, Nat came in with a plate of dinner, making herself comfortable on the end of your bed while you ate.

“He’s gone, you know.”

You paused in eating, waiting for explanation.

“He left on a mission with Clint and Sam this afternoon. They’ll probably be away for a week.”

On that note, she grabbed the dirty dishes from lunch off your floor, raised an eyebrow at you and then she was gone. She’d made her point. It was time for you to return to the land of the living.

Easier said than done, you thought, as another sleepless night stretched before you. Hopefully the ‘heartbroken zombie’ look was in style…

_________

Part 2

__________________________________________________

Ouch. Yeah. Sorry about that. Things get a little better in part 2. That unrequited love, though. I’ve been there SO many times. I appreciate you reading and please let me know what you think of this!! I love all your comments and asks and replies and screaming at me, I appreciate it all. :) 

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[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 4/?)

In which two human princes enjoy water, and Rayla is Not Amused.

(Chapter length: 11k. Ao3 link)

 Rayla did not sleep well that night.

She discovered, probably no more than an hour after she had finally managed to fall asleep, that Ezran had been half-right about Prince Callum: he did not kick too badly in his sleep. But he did sprawl, which was almost as bad, and did occasionally lead to its fair share of kicking. Every time one of his legs pushed its way obliviously into her side of the tent, or he ended up on his back with one arm landing on his brother and one on her, she awoke instantly, on-alert and hands going instinctively for weapons she wasn’t wearing. But it wasn’t an attacker in the night. It was just…humans. Humans who didn’t keep their limbs to themselves while they slept. Ugh.

The first few times, she kicked or elfhandled him back into his rightful place, becoming more and more bad-tempered about it as the night went on; especially given he didn’t even have the decency to wake up and be ashamed of commandeering everyone’s space. When it had grown late enough that the pull of the moon on her bones was starting to ebb, she gave serious thought to the idea of just getting up and sleeping outside, where no one was likely to put legs over hers or deposit arms over her side. In the end, she gave a loud and very grumpy sigh to the night air, and just…resolved to ignore it. So what if the human was taking up three times his designated space in the tent? She could just…ignore it. Maybe. With practice.

She did have a moment of somewhat vindictive satisfaction when, not far from dawn, Callum’s arm made the mistake of sprawling not only onto her, but onto her head. Which was facing away from him. And, therefore, was presenting him with the pointy end of her horns. He jolted awake with a yelp, mumbled something surprised and incoherent, and then promptly rolled over and fell back asleep again. Honestly.

Rayla gave up on the whole sleep thing sometime after dawn came, peeling herself quietly from the tent and extracting smooshed daisies from her hair as she went.

At the very least, a full night of disturbed sleep had served her better than a two-hour power nap. She felt tired, and ill-tempered, but slightly more like a functional elf than she had the day before.

She sat quietly in front of the extinguished campfire, watching the dawn colours spreading in the sky, trees rustling in what was shaping up to be quite a breezy day. She took the time to, very carefully, stretch and rotate the wrist and fingers of her bound hand, which was starting to swell unhappily, and was going a purplish colour around the bind. It hurt when she pressed her fingers against it, sore like a bruise, and went white and pale under the pressure of her fingertips. When she took the fingers away, the purplish colour swiftly returned. Uncertain whether it would help or not, she tried to massage some feeling into it, but it didn’t really seem to do anything except momentarily blanche its colour.

Rayla stared down at her hand, and wondered how long it would still be there.

She wondered how long she could hide it from the boys. It would probably be hard to avoid noticing if your travelling companion’s hand went purple and stopped working, right? The hand falling off – that would be impossible to conceal. She should…probably talk about it. That would be a sensible thing to do. They had a long journey ahead of them and she likely shouldn’t expect to have two hands for more than a couple weeks of it, if this kept up. They should know about that. They should know she had a limited time left to be fully effective.

But…

She’d have to tell them what the binding was for. She’d have to tell them that she remained, even now, bound by oath and magic to kill Ezran. And while she knew full well she’d much rather lose a hand than kill him…would they know that? Ezran had an unusual amount of faith in her, maybe, but Callum was less trusting. Would he doubt her?

…Would he ask about the second bind?

If he remembered that she’d had two ribbons, when they met – if Ezran remembered – she shivered, dread curling in her throat at that, more than anything else. Callum very obviously had an excellent memory for things he saw; expecting him to overlook the second one was foolish at absolute best.

How could she possibly tell them that their father was dead? That he was dead, and her people had been responsible for it? She’d hardly known them a few days, but even so – how was she supposed to find the words for something like this? It would hurt them so badly. She knew it would. Stars, but she didn’t want to do it.

She exhaled, heavily, and allowed herself a minute or so more to wallow in dread and uncertainty. But no more than that. There was work to be done, after all.

  Callum woke up before Ezran did, about an hour after Rayla had got herself up. It was good timing on his part, as she’d been considering going to wake them up soon, since she’d finished dismantling the campfire and clearing up after their dinner, and pretty much all that was left to do in the camp either involved her leaving to find food or waking the princes up so the tent could be packed.

She listened, half-attentive, to the sounds of shifting inside the tent, the elder prince yawning and muttering something that she couldn’t hear from this range. She wondered if he’d wake up his brother. In the end, all he did was stumble out of the tent, half tripping over the bags he’d apparently forgotten were there.

He had also fallen asleep in his flower crown, and had bits of it streaked through his hair. She huffed at him in amusement, and he finally seemed to notice her, half-way through pulling his boots on.

“Oh, morning, Rayla.” He greeted cheerfully, if a little awkwardly, and walked up to where she’d been sitting, settling onto the grass beside her. “Didn’t see you there for a second.”

She refrained from making a comment on his situational awareness and nodded back to him in greeting. “I’ve been up a while.” She said, in sort-of explanation, and then side-eyed him a little narrowly. “…Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, actually, being in a tent really helped.” He answered, apparently entirely oblivious to his own night-time restlessness, and didn’t seem to notice her half-glare at all. “How about you?”

She snorted. “Oh, yeah, I slept great.”

“So…you didn’t sleep well?” he squinted at her.

Rayla crossed her arms. “Whatever would give you that impression, Callum?” She wasn’t actually annoyed with him, really, just a bit…grumpy. Just a wee bit ornery. She felt it was only right that he be aware of it.

He huffed, half-amused, half-concerned. “You realise that I speak Sarcasm, right?”

“How wonderful for you!” She said, clasping her hands as if duly impressed.

“Yes, actually, it is. So?” He prodded, raising his eyebrows at her. “Did something wake you up?”

“You could say that.” Rayla agreed, and he just waited, staring her down expectantly, until she elaborated: “You move a lot in your sleep.” It was satisfying to watch his composure immediately vanish, a light flush rising in his cheeks, a stammer blooming in his voice.

“O-oh really?” He squeaked, suddenly looking every part the teenage boy who’d been reminded he’d been sleeping next to a teenage…elf. “Er. Sorry?”

His reaction easily alleviated the prickle of her temper, and Rayla felt her good humour returning to her. He was funny to fluster and surprise, this one. She snickered, and reached out to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure you hit yourself on my horns at one point, so I think I probably got even.”

Callum’s brows furrowed, and he raised a hand to press thoughtfully at two points on his arm, close to the elbow, one on the upper arm and one on the forearm. “I did wonder where these bruises came from.” He said ruefully, still a little pink. “Uh, we can try putting Ez in the middle tonight, maybe? Maybe he’s not as bad a kicker as he used to be.”

“You two are such stupidly heavy sleepers.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see how I get on tonight, and then consider changing things up. For now, we need to work on getting going for the day. I was going to go find some food, but wanted to wait for one of you to wake up first.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Callum looked glad enough to leave the uncomfortable subject of his sleeper’s conduct behind, and chuckled nervously. “I am pretty hungry. Er, should I wake Ez?”

She considered him for a second. Considered talking to him. Considered talking about…difficult things. Things she really didn’t want to talk about. In the end, she couldn’t even think of making the words pass her lips, so she sighed, and looked away.

But there was something else to talk about. Something that had been nagging at her. Something that was easier than life and death and the binds that tied her to their taking. “I wanted to talk to you about food.” She announced, abruptly, because they were days into this journey now and the closest thing to a varied diet they’d had was a bit of greenery.

He blinked, startled. “Oh. Okay?”

She turned more fully to face him, leaning back on one hand. The non-swelling, non-bound one, of course. “Look. We’ve been eating nothing but fruit for days – and a couple of leaves last night, I guess. I don’t know much about humans. Are you meant to only eat fruit? Is that….healthy for you? I got the impression – from what you said – that it’s not, but….what do I know?” Her face settled into something that felt like a confused frown, which was an accurate enough picture of her feelings on the matter.

“Uh….no. No, we’re definitely meant to eat more than fruit.” Callum admitted, after a few more seconds of being surprised at the subject. His shoulders settled a little as he, almost visibly, got himself into thinking-mode. “Normally, at the castle? We eat – bread. Vegetables. Fruit, too. Sweet things.” He sat for a second, clearly thinking through a list. “Eggs? Yeah, eggs. Milk and cheese. Meat, for most of us. Ez doesn’t eat meat a lot.”

Rayla nodded slowly at him, a little concerned. “And…do you need all of that? Or just some of it? Because that sounds pretty much like the things elves eat, but for us, some of it’s more important than other parts.”

“I’m pretty sure some of it’s more important for humans too, but I don’t know a lot about that.” Callum admitted, and leaned forwards, concentrating. “Uh…parents always tell their kids to eat their vegetables? So that’s probably important. Bread is filling? And people always seem to say you should be eating meat when you’re exercising?”

Rayla, who had been raised on fairly strict dietary regimens to accompany her training, thought this sounded quite elf-like, on the whole, although they naturally didn’t have such a fixation with bread. “Meat is good if you’re building muscle or just being active.” She informed him, feeling a little better about the conversation now she’d been reassured that meat was a regular and normal thing that humans ate, and she wouldn’t get accused of being unusually bloodthirsty for endorsing it. She considered how to continue, and in the end just went for it. “I can hunt, and prepare meat. I’m used to it – I’ve been helping with it for months – so it’s easy. We can forage for berries and edible plants, but I’d feel a lot better about things if we were eating meat as well.”

Callum watched her for several seconds, brows lowering into a troubled frown. “Honestly, so would I. And not just because it tastes better than random forest green-stuff.” he said, after a second. “But – I mean, he doesn’t completely refuse it, especially if it’s a special occasion…but Ezran prefers not to eat meat. He…gets along well with animals, I guess. Doesn’t want to eat them.” He fidgeted with the tail of his scarf. “I think he’d be alright with you hunting for us, and eating meat, but I’m not sure. He’s never had to eat it if he doesn’t want to.”

She hummed, pensive. “Well, I’m not going to force him either, duh. But it would be better for him. There’s things you can replace meat with, but not much we can forage from random wilderness as we go.” She shrugged, and raised her hands outwards, in a sort of helpless what can you do sort of gesture. “Maybe you can talk to him over the next couple days? Living on a berry-and-leaves diet is okay if it’s only for a week or two, but we’ve got a lot longer than that to go. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

He rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf, as if it itched. “Yeah, I definitely can’t let my little brother get all…malnourished. Aunt Amaya would kill me. Dad would kill me.”

Rayla winced a little at that. “…Yeah, let’s avoid that.” She agreed, and stood, stretching out her shoulders. “On that note, I’d best go looking for some breakfast. Maybe you should wake up Ez.” She picked up the food jars and the cooking pot, painstakingly rinsed in the detestable water of the river, and waited for Callum to get up.

“Should we try putting away the tent while you’re gone?” he asked, coming to a stand next to her. He still had squished daisies in his hair.

She considered him for a second, and shook her head. “Not the first time. You’d probably make a mess of it alone. Wait for me to get back and I’ll walk you through it.” After brief hesitation, she reached out and plucked one of the flowers from his hair, presenting it to him. “You should maybe use the hairbrush while I’m gone, though.” She offered a teasing smile.

He returned it, charmingly sheepish, but only for a second. Then he frowned. “Rayla, why is your hand going purple?”

She snatched it back in a hurry, posture going stiff. “….Slept on it funny,” She lied, badly, shuffling some of the jars over to it to help conceal its condition. “Don’t you worry, it’s – normal.” She turned tail and strode for the tent, heart beating with mild panic at the idea he might call her on her highly transparent excuse.

He didn’t, in the end, but she could practically feel the scepticism radiating off of him in waves. “…If you say so.” He said, at last, easy-going, and walked over with her.

She bent to shove the cooking pot into her bag, retrieving the hairbrush for Callum while she was at it, while he crawled into the inner tent with his boots held carefully outside, and shook his brother by the foot. Bait grumbled at them as Ezran stirred, and Rayla considered if there was anything else she should take to go foraging. Should she take a bag, just in case she found something bigger that was worth taking, like a patch of mushrooms?

“Morning, Ez.” Callum said, from next to her, a smile in his voice. “You doing okay?”

“Mm, yeah.” She heard a yawn, and a vaguely intelligible murmur. “Slept good.” Well, Rayla was the odd one out, then. What a surprise.

She poked her head in to greet him, wearing a smile of her own. “Morning, Ez.” She echoed his brother, and he smiled sleepily at her.

“Hi, Rayla.” He said, and yawned again. “I had another weird dream.” He expressed, rubbing his eyes. He shifted the dragon egg more solidly into his lap and yawned.

“Was it the hippo with taffy ears again?” Callum asked, grinning a little as Rayla withdrew to prepare to leave.

“No. It was different this time.” He answered, eyes oddly faraway. “I was somewhere....small. And dark. And safe. And there was a voice whispering something to me. My name? Except it wasn’t my name, it was....” he frowned. “I can’t remember.” He raised this hands to rub at his eyes, still squinting, as if trying to uncover the detail of his dream from the edges of the tent.

“I’m off to get breakfast.” Rayla informed them both, and nodded at their farewells as she turned off.

First camps always took a while; both to set up and to take down. But this was really an uncomfortable amount of delay, so she’d have to do her best to be quick.

  Callum was honestly feeling pretty good that morning. He’d slept well – even if, apparently, he’d been a difficult tent-mate in the process – hadn’t walked enough the previous day to be achy, and today was probably going to just be some more easy boat-riding. Sure, Rayla probably wouldn’t enjoy the boat part at all, which was unfortunate, and she was hiding something about her hand – but he felt fairly optimistic as he and Ez packed up their stuff and waited for Rayla to get back. And then got bored waiting for Rayla to get back. And then – well, look, maybe it hadn’t been an entirely smart idea to try using the one half of Claudia’s lightning spell he remembered when he didn’t know how spells worked, but-

The point was, he’d been optimistic enough on waking that it really just figured he’d have a magic mishap before they’d even left the campsite. Because the universe just loved to punish optimism, apparently.

The next few hours didn’t really get any more fortunate. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Having called Rayla back from gathering early with his lightning-related difficulties, breakfast was decidedly light that day, and Rayla herself seemed pretty cranky as she directed he and Ez through the procedure of packing the tent away. It was late morning by the time they were ready to leave, piling their things into the boat, and Rayla staring at the boat like she’d rather swallow a live spider than go anywhere near it.

She did, though. As soon as she noticed him watching, in fact.

He and Ez teamed up to try to distract her from the water. Callum regaled her with the origins of Bait’s name. Ezran cajoled her into a word-association game. She didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about any of it, too occupied with trying not to lose her meagre breakfast, but, well. Any enthusiasm she had mustered was promptly extinguished when Callum put his foot in what had been a perfectly pleasant round of questions…by accidentally bringing up dead parents. So that was awkward. And she was unwilling enough to engage after that that he just sort of…left her to it, and went to paddle a bit at the front of the boat.

A couple hours down the river, Callum realised that, perhaps, the maps he’d partially-memorised in his lessons were not designed for people travelling along them in rowboats. Namely, because the river had transformed into rapids, and looked to be approaching at least one waterfall, and-

Needless to say, the two waterfalls, a capsized boat, a lake monster, a thoroughly terrifying dip in the same water that the lake monster occupied, and a narrow-escape from the lake monster…all added up to a less-than-pleasant experience. Even if it did conclude in a surprisingly illuminating heartfelt conversation about fear, and bravery, and the weight that Rayla’s parents had put on her shoulders when they fled their duty.

By mutual decision, they stopped by the shore of Lake Kalsa for a break after that, as everything they owned had been doused in lakewater. Rayla went off to look for lunch, with Callum and Ezran deputised to help get their stuff a bit less waterlogged. So they pulled the boat over, thankful that they’d stored the bags under the seats where they’d been prevented from falling out, and pulled everything onto shore.

“The tent is completely soaked.” Ezran said, making a face, as he opened the pack they’d meticulously stored just a few hours ago. “No way is this going to be dry in time for tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to sleep out in the open for a night.” Callum shrugged, raising his hand briefly. “At least it’s windy today. Maybe if we hang it all up wherever we camp, it’ll be dry by morning.”

“Yeah, but it being windy means we’ll be cold tonight.” He sighed, putting the tent aside. “Let’s just try to dry off the other stuff. Like the towel. It seems weird for a thing that’s meant to dry things to be full of water.”

“We should at least try to squeeze out the tent a bit. So it’s not completely soaking.” He countered, and waved his brother over. “I’ll work on the tent, okay? You get all the other stuff out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ezran agreed, and they set themselves to work.

Rayla returned probably half an hour later, with jars absolutely packed full of Moonberries and…some other sort of berry he wasn’t completely familiar with. Looked sort of like miniature blackberries. Ezran abandoned his bag immediately to make a beeline for one jar, Bait hopping eagerly at his heels. “How’s it going?” She asked, setting the jars down, and holding a hand – the going-purple one – up to feel at the inner-tent he’d hung on a tree branch. She grimaced. “…Well, that’s not going to dry for a while.”

“We’ve got everything laid out now….though maybe we went a bit overboard.” Callum said, eyeing her hand for a few seconds. She caught his eye, followed his gaze, and quickly snatched her hand back, breaking eye contact in a second. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. He didn’t say anything, but made a face at her. “…It’ll take a while to pack everything up again.” He elaborated, after a second, and went over to investigate the lunch possibilities, sitting down next to Ezran.

“I was thinking about that, actually.” Rayla said, a little too-brightly, as if trying to brush past the issue of whatever it was she was hiding. “You said the lake town sits on a major road, right? How long do you suppose it would take us to get to that road?”

“Er.” Callum stopped, reached for his mercifully-waterproof book, and flipped through the wet pages carefully to the map. “If we try to go along the Lune a bit longer, and then get off the boat and walk…probably around three to six hours ish?” He made an uncertain noise. “I’m not great at judging the distances yet. If we left from here and walked to the road, we could probably get there in…four hours? I think? Maybe?”

“Hmm.” Rayla inspected his map, weird hand tucked somewhat conspicuously behind her back.

“What are you thinking?” Ez asked, words a bit mushy and slurred around his mouthful of mystery berries.

“I’m thinking…” She sat back, thoughtful. “…that if we keep going today, we’ll have to camp close to the road, since we need to cross over that road a safe distance from any towns. And I really don’t want to camp close to that road.”

Ezran blinked curiously at her. “Because Aunt Amaya might be coming through?”

“Or any other humans going close to the roads.” Rayla pointed out. “But…yes. Mostly your Aunt Amaya.” She clearly hadn’t gotten over the General Aunt Amaya thing yet. “I don’t like the delay, but after all that mess with the lake monster – I was thinking we could just stop here for the day. Unless you think there’ll be people here later?”

“Nah, Lake Kalsa is up-river from Kalsanis, and too far to walk to in less than half a day, I think.” Callum put his book aside, left open, to allow it to dry a little. “I guess it’s possible people could show up, but it would be kinda weird.”

Rayla considered it for a good while, eyes narrowed. She considered it for long enough, in fact, that Callum decided to get started on lunch, picking out one of the mystery berries to sniff at it. It did not smell like a blackberry, but smelled good enough.

“What are these called, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh, the fruit. Mulberries.” She answered, half on automatic, and looked up, sighing. “Yeah, I think we’ll risk staying here. See if we can get some stuff done, if we’re going to waste an afternoon.”

Callum, his mouth full of berries, waved at her with a sort of circular motion to continue. For a half-second he wished she knew sign, to make this very brief second of his life easier to communicate in.

She squinted dubiously at him but seemed to pick up his meaning. “We need to get the stuff dry, to start with.” She said, waving her hands at the many things currently hanging on trees. “You could try using your wind breath spell on them, maybe. Get the magic out of your system so you don’t electrocute anything else today.”

He swallowed his mouthful, holding up a finger to maintain a pause, then said “today’s second electrocution went very well, in my opinion. But yes! Magic sounds good!” Any excuse to practice magic was a good one, as far as he was concerned. “Anything else?”

Rayla hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough to make him tilt his head, curious and a little more alert. “…Well, that big lake monster wasn’t the only thing you shocked. Have you looked at the water lately?”

Ez turned to look first, Callum not far behind him. “Uh.”

“Are those fish?” Ezran asked, squinting at the same small floating shapes on the lake’s surface that Callum was staring at. “Callum, did you zap the whole lake?”

“It’s lightning! In water! It kind of – does that!” he defended, crossing his arms. “It was necessary!”

“And, it might have got us dinner.” Rayla pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to try eating the lake monster, maybe, but there’s got to be some dead fish out there worth eating.” She hesitated again, and this time Callum understood why. “…if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to be the one who fetches those dead fish, if you catch my drift.”

“Ohhh, yeah, I guess you probably don’t like water any more than before, after all that.” Ez said wisely, nodding, and turned his head to the lake again, a hint of his planning-things look coming onto his face. Callum watched it warily. Sometimes, when Ezran looked like that, it was something perfectly benign. Other times, it ended with innocent older brothers having to pick crumbs out of their bed and clothing for weeks.

“That would be an understatement.” Rayla said, while Callum was still waiting for Ezran to do something, since he was clearly thinking of something.

“…Good job it’s not too cold today!” Ez declared, after a second, the spark in his eye turned into solid cheer. “Callum, we should go for a swim!”

Oh. Well, that was a whole lot less mischief than Callum had worried about. He’d been half-concerned that Ezran was going to challenge him to a fish-fight, or something. He inspected the water, trying to recall the temperature of it. It had been a shock to fall in after being in the boat for hours, but…it was spring, and these were the Katolis lowlands. The temperature was pretty mild. “Sounds good.” He decided, rising to his feet. “C’mon Ez, we should go now, so we’ll dry off faster.” He pulled off his scarf, still-drying, and laid it out next to the rest of the still-drying things.

Rayla rose up next to him, both hands up as if to forestall his movement, looking suddenly very alarmed. “Wait, you’re going to swim? I just meant – you should go out with the boat!” Had her hand been that purple this morning?

“…That would get us less soaked, true.” Callum allowed, after a moment, feeling vaguely put-out. Rayla’s shoulders relaxed a little with relief, hands dropping.

Ezran, however, was unmoved. “Well, you can take the boat if you want, Callum, but I wanna swim. It’s a nice day and a nice lake.” Rayla’s borderline-panic instantly returned.

“You want to go swimming in a lake that had a giant fish monster in it?” She demanded, incredulous, rearing back as if she thought his brother’s insanity might be contagious. “That seems like a good way to get eaten!”

“No way a lake this small has more than one giant monster in it. Giant monsters like their space, you know.” Ezran told her, not even remotely concerned, and stood, sweeping grass from his pants. “Callum, are you taking the boat? If you are, I can just throw you fish.”

He hesitated. “You can rest if you get tired, too, I guess, if the boat is there.” He allowed, after a second. He, too, didn’t think it was likely they’d find another lake monster in residence. Kalsa wasn’t especially big, after all. “I might like to go for a swim though, if we’re going to be here all day. It’s not like we’ll have much time for that sort of thing once we start walking.”

Rayla stared at them, a little open-mouthed, as if in complete disbelief. She couldn’t seem to find the words to object for several seconds, then finally managed it. “So you’re going to go swimming. Because you think it’s fun. On the off-chance that giant lake monsters don’t come in groups.” She summarised, her eyes wide with apprehension, and voice a little higher than was usual for her.

“Sounds about right.” Callum agreed, after a moment, offering a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine. We’re both decent swimmers, and we’ll have the boat there in case any more monsters show up.”

“And I am very confident that there’s no more lake monsters.” Ezran added.

Callum blinked, but decided to go with it. “See, he’s very confident that there’s no more monsters.”

“And you’re an expert on giant lake monsters now, are you?” Rayla demanded, folding her arms, the initial panic and disbelief now steadily giving way to an expression that…actually looked kind of worried. Aw, he didn’t want to actually worry or scare her, that wasn’t good.

“Pretty much.” Ez said cheerfully, glancing up at a nearby tree. Callum followed his gaze, but all he saw was a squirrel.

Callum hesitated, and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Rayla, if it makes you feel better – how about me and Ezran both go out in the boat to start with? And if nothing attacks us, we’ll swim later.”

She eyed him mulishly. He tried to look as earnest and reasonable as possible, and beside him, Ezran put on his best pleading-face, well-honed by years of sneaking jelly tarts past the town baker. She stared at them for several long seconds, visibly reluctant, then finally relented. “…Alright. But you take your magic cube with you.” She said, begrudgingly, darting to the side to pick up the cube in question from the ground. “And keep a close eye on it. Deal?”

“Deal!” Both of them chorused, sharing a discreet low-five, and Ezran shot off like an arrow towards the boat they’d dragged onto the lakeshore. Callum followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to pull off his gloves and jacket and toss them on the grass. He would rather not get his clothes all fishy, all things considered.

Together, they pushed the boat out and then climbed into it, paddling companionably towards the hulking island of the dead lake monster, surrounded by smaller bobbing fish corpses. After a fair bit of trial-and-error, they discovered that it was actually not all that easy to reach all the way to the water level from the side of the boat, so Ezran went partially over the side while Callum held him by the legs, his brother throwing fish over his shoulder and occasionally hitting him in the face with them. Some of the fish were smaller, some larger, but there were in general quite a lot of them. Apparently, a lightning spell channelled directly into water caused a lot of damage. He should probably keep that in mind. It seemed like the sort of thing that could come back to bite him if he didn’t.

“This is way too many fish.” Ez said, after he finally tired of hanging over the edge and grabbing dinner. “We’ll never eat it all.”

“We can probably eat some tomorrow?” He suggested, stepping carefully around the new floor of fish to return to the oars. “I mean, they shouldn’t go bad overnight, right?”

“I have no idea how fast fish goes bad.” His brother shrugged, and peered over at the shore. “…I think we should go back now. Rayla looks worried.”

Callum looked over and saw that she was, indeed, watching from the shore, shoulders slightly hunched, holding Bait under one arm and her other hand resting within grabbing-range of a weapon. He hummed agreeably, and together they set about returning to shore.

“We have so much dinner,” Ezran announced to her once they hit the silty beach, watching her posture loosen a bit as they arrived back.

She peered warily into the boat. “…I can see that.”

“No lake monsters either, as you may have noticed.”

“…Yes, in fact, I did notice.”

“So, it should be perfectly safe to go swimming, right?”

Rayla stared at them, plainly both unimpressed and uncomfortably, but also very obviously not immune to begging and wheedling. “…Fine, whatever, if you want to go splash about in a lake, be my guest,” She huffed, waving both arms towards the water. “But don’t take too long! There’s a lot to get done today, and if you think I’m doing it all alone, think again.”

“That sounds fair.” Callum said immediately, Ezran nodding rapidly beside him.

“Ugh.” Rayla offered, as her final opinion on the matter, and turned to storm up the shore.

Callum’s attention was pulled away when, abruptly, his brother slapped him on the forearm and declared “last one in the lake has to eat dirt!” and dashed to the water’s edge to start rapidly disrobing.

“Wha- hey!” he protested, and chased after him, shedding clothing as he went. After all, Callum had done worse things as challenge-forfeits with his brother than eating dirt, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and lose. It was the principle of the thing.

They scrambled along the lakeshore, leaving a trail of boots and assorted vestments in their wake.

  Rayla wasn’t sure what she’d done to get stuck with a couple of humans who thought water was fun, but it was really annoying.

She picked through all the drying belongings of the camp until she found the washrag, and took that and one of her weapons back down the lakeshore to the boat, shaking her head at the clothes that the princes had strewn haphazardly all over the place. They were going to be covered in dirt and silt when they tried to put them on again, but did they care? No, they just wanted to go swimming. She could hear them splashing about and cheering at each other and it was just – irritating. Very irritating. That was all, it was just annoying.

She hadn’t been lying when she said there was a lot to do. For one thing – who did they think was going to clean and prepare all those fish? Fish didn’t come magically gutted and ready to cook, and she suspected that was yet another thing that pampered human princes might not have quite realised.

A little vengefully, Rayla resolved to leave enough fish left over to make Callum learn how to clean them. Partially so she wouldn’t have to do it all, partially just to gross him out a bit. If he had time to waste swimming, he had time to spend doing gross necessary things. Like gutting fish.

She stiffened at the sound of some particularly vigorous splashing and a high-pitched shriek. They’re just messing about, she told herself, firmly, eyes on the boat full of fish she was meant to be working on. They’re having fun. They’re fine. She didn’t need to watch them. She didn’t need to supervise them. There weren’t any lake monsters and they knew how to swim and they were fine. They weren’t going to drown. She didn’t need to guard them. She had a job to do.

Teeth gritted, she climbed into the boat and started tossing fish overboard onto the lakeshore, one by one. She tensed and flinched at every water-sound the princes made – every splash, every shriek and yell the two of them made as they did whatever-it-was people who liked water did when they swam. She did not like water and didn’t like them being in it out of her eyesight but they were fine, it was fine, she should just…go deal with fish, somewhere up the shore where she didn’t have to be close to water, or to people messing about in water.

But…there wasn’t really any reason why she couldn’t just clean out the fish next to the boat. That way she didn’t have to carry fish up the shore, and she could wash away the guts easily. It would be more convenient. Supervising the humans could just be…a convenient side effect.

She took a deep breath, easing into a controlled rhythm of inhalation and exhalation like Runaan had tried so hard to teach her. She’d never been much for meditation. But the breathing tricks were handy sometimes. She ignored the way her stomach tightened at the sight of the deep water of the lake, so close by, and settled next to the pile of fish she’d made to start working.

Her blades weren’t exactly filleting knives, but they worked perfectly well if she held them right. She grabbed a lake trout with her bad hand and sliced carefully down its belly with the sword held in the other, excising a blob of gloopy viscera with a deft flick of the sword-tip. She worked at it for a minute, carefully not looking at the lake, and set it aside when it was done. Then, finally, she allowed herself to glance upwards to check on the princes. Just to satisfy the anxiety that the thought of them in the water provoked.

They were having a splash-fight. Of course they were. That would explain all the annoyingly-cheerful yelling.

She sighed, deeply, and reached for a second fish.

Rayla cleaned and set aside ten trout and one toothy pike before she decided enough was enough, and stood to cup her hands around her mouth and yell. “Oi! You lot! You’ve had your fun, now get out of there and dry off!” She watched impatiently as Callum, previously vanished beneath the surface of the water, re-appeared at her call, floating beside Ezran.

The noises she received back sounded like “aww,” but they were sort of cheerful and agreeable-sounding, rather than actually disappointed. Evidently, the crazy blighters had enjoyed their brief stint in the water. They must be mad. Absolutely mad. Completely bonkers. But at least they were swimming up to shore to be crazy on solid land, now. She rolled her eyes and rinsed fish guts from her hands, shaking off the droplets of water as she rose to wait for them to arrive.

Ezran, evidently a more enthusiastic swimmer, came ashore first, stepping gradually out of the shallows with Callum a couple of metres behind him.

“You didn’t exactly leave your clothes in a good place, you know.” She greeted the littlest prince with, hands on her hips as he emerged from the shallows, hair dribbling lakewater down his back.

“What do you – oh.” Ezran, who had stripped down to underpants to go swimming, lifted up the trousers he’d abandoned at the lakeshore, now gratuitously coated in silt. “Um, you might have a point.”

“A point about what?” Callum asked, stepping up beside him in a similar state of undress. Rayla blinked, then jerked her chin in the direction of all the abandoned clothing, a sort of flustered heat prickling insistently at her face.

“You’ve got grit all over your stuff. You might as well go back into the water and rinse it off before you dry off.” She informed him, pointing.

“…Ah. Hah.” Callum’s eyes followed her gesture to where his own clothes were, and he laughed sheepishly. “I guess it’s laundry day, then. C’mon Ez, let’s get this done quickly, alright?” He stepped over to pick up his things, and after a moment, Ezran followed his lead.

“What are we going to wear while this all dries, though?”

“Our slightly less-wet stuff up by the bags, I guess?”

And so they splashed back into the lake less than a few minutes after they’d left it, dragging their clothing through the water. They hadn’t even thought to consider going to look for the bar of soap (which had, in fact, reduced somewhat in size through its immersion in water). They really didn’t have a practical bone in their bodies.

Rayla sighed, shaking her head ruefully. She had a lot to teach these dumb humans.

She headed up the shore to grab the soap and returned to the water’s edge with it, waving it in the air. “You might want to use soap, if you’re doing your laundry.” She called to them, and waited for them to look over. Callum came tromping through the shallows to retrieve it from her, his various pieces of clothing slung over his bare arms and shoulders. “Don’t drop it. Or you’ll never find it again, and then we won’t have any soap all the way to Xadia.”

It nearly slid from his grasp that very second, slippery with the water on his hands, and he giggled nervously. “….I’ll do my best?” He offered, and turned to run back into the water, nearly falling over in the process. Honestly.

It might have been sensible for her to join in with the laundering, but frankly she was so very, very done with water today. If she never had to look at a water source again, it would be too soon. She sighed, gathering the cleaned fish into the washrag, and headed up the shore with a half-hearted hope that the boys wouldn’t lose their only bar of soap. She poked at the inner-tent, on her way past, and found it still really quite damp. Hopefully some sky magic would help it along. She set the fish down on a patch of grass around where she was planning to put the campfire, and then returned to shore again, waiting for the princes to finish.

They had not, she noted, lost the soap. They did speed up, seeing her waiting there watchfully, and shortly were stomping out of the lake with soaking-wet clothes. She rolled her eyes and took the soap back, telling them “Wring out your stuff and set it drying somewhere. We’ve got work to do.” She waved them off to follow her bidding and, five minutes later, they reported for duty. Still dripping from the hair and almost entirely unclothed, but they’d dry off soon enough. “Right then. Ezran, you’re on firewood. Get sticks, fallen branches, leaves – the drier the better. Make a pile nearby, alright? We’ve got lots to cook today.”

He grinned, looking far more excited than menial camp chores should warrant. Clearly the shine hadn’t worn off yet. “Yes, ma’am!” he chirped, and scampered off to inspect the roots of the nearest tree.

“Don’t go too far, alright?” She called after him, then turned to Callum, who was starting to look like he regretted being largely unclothed in the brisk breeze. “And you,” She pronounced, reaching to her side to hand him her other blade, “are going to learn how to clean fish.”

He took it, blinking at it with a singularly befuddled expression for a second, turning it over in his hand. “I am? Great!” He said, distractedly, as if he’d not actually heard her. He inspected her sheathed weapon, turning it this way and that, and looked about two seconds away from cutting his fingers off whenever he figured out how to open it, so she snatched it back to demonstrate, slowly, how it was meant to be done.

“Like this.” She showed him, smirking a little. It was kind of funny, really, how clueless he and his brother were about things she’d pretty much been raised on. Well, they’d learn. She closed the weapon again and handed it back to him to try.

Cautiously, he mimicked her, and successfully unsheathed one of her weapons by himself, albeit clumsily. A delighted grin spread over his face, as if something as small as opening a weapon were enough to please him. “Cool.” He pronounced, now turning the blade every which way to inspect it. “Magic weapons, huh?”

“Yep. And all we have for preparing food with, incidentally.” She said, and reached out to shove him gently by the shoulder towards the pile of fish. His skin was still slippery with lakewater. “Come on, you. It’s about time you learned something useful.”

“What, and my half-a-lightning-spell doesn’t count?” He demanded, still grinning, as he allowed himself to be led over.

“Something useful that’s less likely to electrocute bystanders.” She rolled her eyes, smiling tolerantly back at him, and sat him down by the fish. “Right then. Watch how I do it, alright?” She took a fish and walked him through the process. He made faces at the guts, but didn’t look away or have to take a vomit break, and stayed attentive and interested. She wondered if he’d have the same alacrity the first time he saw a bird or mammal being gutted. She sort of doubted it. That sort of viscera took more getting used to.

“That was somehow simpler than I was expecting.” He said, after she’d finished, holding her blade gingerly in his lap.

“Fish are easy. Much easier than animals.” She said, and tilted her head. “Ready to try? Or do you want to see it again?”

He considered it for a second, inspecting her and then the pile of fish. He reached out to take one and inspected it, fingers of his other hand twitching on the handle of her blade. “I’ll try.” He decided, suddenly determined, and leaned forwards to make his attempt. She sat back on her heels and watched, steadfastly ignoring his state of undress.

Most of his awkwardness seemed to come from not quite knowing how to hold the blade, which was fair enough. But he clearly remembered what to do well enough. His first attempt was a bit messy, and he grimaced at the fish guts, but he did a perfectly serviceable job of it. He glanced up at her. “That okay?”

She offered him a smile. “Not bad at all.” She said, and nodded to the pile. “I’ll stick around to watch you do a couple more, but I think you’ve got this.”

He looked pleased enough at that, just that small praise, that his entire face seemed to brighten. Rayla found herself drawing back a little, as if to put space between them, and wasn’t sure why. They weren’t sitting that close, after all. Callum didn’t seem to notice – he was already reaching for his next fish – but Rayla…she shook herself out of the momentary strangeness and supervised her companion’s progress, as she was meant to.

He was neater on the second attempt, and approaching quick on the third. At that point she nodded approvingly, said “Well, seems you’re doing fine. I’ll leave you to finish the rest, alright?”

He blinked at her, his previous mask of concentration lapsing under his lopsided smile. “Sure. I’ll try not to take too long.”

She reached out and patted him encouragingly on the arm. His skin felt fairly cold, and mostly dry – he should probably look to getting dressed once he was done, or he’d catch a chill. “Take your time. Try not to cut off any fingers.”

Callum laughed, only a little nervously. “I will...try not to do that, yeah.” he agreed, turning after a moment to reach for the next fish. Rayla gathered up the ones he’d done and took them over to where she’d piled the rest. Ezran had, throughout her observation of Callum’s fish-gutting, been doing his job; there was now a modest pile of firewood on the shore, and she could see the kid scampering about the treeline about fifteen metres along the lake, still happily at work.

Both princes seemed perfectly happy to help and learn, at least, even if they had no useful experience whatsoever. It was a hopeful sign.

Rayla gathered up a pile of branches and set about building the fire. There was a lot of fish to cook.

  All things told, Callum’s day seemed to be making a turn for the better, now that they’d stopped to do camp-things. His memory served him well in following Rayla’s tuition, and although he made a misstep here or there with the rest of the fish, all that meant was that some intestines spilled and he had to do a bit more cleaning of gross stuff before he finished.

Rayla was already situated at a cheerful campfire and arranging fish speared on sticks all around it when he carried the rest of the catch over to her. Once he was upright the wind was a lot harder to ignore, and he shivered, crouching to deposit the fish where she’d put the others, and putting her sheathed blade carefully at her side. “That should be all of it.” he said, settling for a moment beside her to observe the cooking. It already smelled good – really good. After days of berries and a couple of leaves, the savoury smell of the cooking fish made his mouth start watering pretty much at the first whiff.

“Thanks.” She said, a little distractedly, as she was currently trying to spear a fish-bearing stick into the ground, but the stick was giving way instead of the ground. She huffed, stabbed the ground with one of her blades, and put the stick into the furrow it left. She looked at him, nodding approvingly as she observed the fish he’d deposited at her side. “Any problems?”

“Eh, I made something nasty spill out a couple of times, but that’s it.” He smiled crookedly. “Managed not to cut off any fingers.” he waggled them at her.

She huffed a laugh, and reached out to take her blade back, hanging it back near the underside of her jacket-thing. “Well done.” She congratulated him, amused, and waggled her own fingers back at him, two fewer than his own. He tried not to frown at the increasingly-purple left hand. “Ready for another job?”

He straightened, as much as he could when half-kneeling next to a campfire. Its warmth was welcome, given the increasing chill of the breeze. “Sure?”

Rayla pointed to the various belongings hanging on trees, swaying in the breeze. “See if you can dry the tent. And try not to blow the camp away while you’re doing it.”

“Oh yeah! He remembered. “Right, I was meant to be doing that. I'll just-” He stood, and had stepped half towards the hanging inner-tent before a fresh gust of wind reminded him that he was still wearing almost nothing. “...Maybe I’ll get dressed first.”

  Somewhat more than an hour later, Callum had increased his number of spells cast by pretty much a factor of twenty, and had only slightly blown the camp away in the process, and only put the campfire out once. His own still-damp clothes became steadily drier in the process, and his hair more profoundly windblown. After a while Ezran finished making his firewood pile and sat nearby to watch his brother blow magic air around, dragon egg in his lap and Bait atop the dragon egg. By the twelfth iteration of the spell he’d started making silly suggestions, like asking Callum to belch out the spell’s air instead of exhaling it. As yet, Callum had declined to try any of these suggestions.

It was, maybe, pretty repetitive, casting aspiro over and over and over again, while standing on or weighing down whatever he was trying to dry, lest he blow their stuff halfway through the forest again. But Callum could not, in the least, ever imagine being bored with it.

He drew the rune over and over again, each time feeling that prickle of energy in his finger just before he tapped his finger forwards to draw magic into the air. He could never grow tired of it – of reaching out and drawing light into the sky, watching it pulse with energy and the first eager trickles of wind before he spoke to release it, feeling his breath taken and amplified by the magic into something so much more powerful. The primal stone tingled against his skin, heavy in his hand, almost as if the brimming energy inside approved of the outlet he was opening for it.

Aspiro. There was something really interesting, about that moment that his finger went from simply moving to drawing, shaping his will into the magic of the air. It was a maddeningly evasive thing – so hard to put words to – like a tiny, transient tickle of sensation. Like when he moved his finger forwards to draw the rune, he touched something. Just the faintest, strangest flicker of something...like the slightest hint of colder air, maybe. Or the feeling of touching metal in the day before a storm, but so much gentler. Or, really, he could compare it in feeling to the second of potential that separated his charcoal from the paper he drew upon. It was similar.

Aspiro. He cast it, again and again, never tiring of it. Never failing to find something else to notice. It was his breath that went into the spell – not his power, maybe, because that all came from the primal stone, but – it was his breath, his air, that he exhaled out into the magic. It needed him to take form. He tried holding that breath in, once, and felt the magic build into a gusty agitation that started spiralling out of the unfulfilled rune, almost like the sparks from the unfinished lightning spell. Even though he’d already said the word that should have finished the spell – it needed his breath. There was something really cool about that. All the power of a storm, and it needed him to take form.

That time, when he exhaled, the air left him almost too-fast, like the spell leapt down his throat to cling to the back of his breath. The windstorm that gusted out of him was more violent, after that, and not quite as neatly funnel-shaped.

He reached out to draw the rune again, and wondered what would happen if he drew it smaller. Would it make any difference? Would drawing it bigger make any difference? If he changed the shape, just a tiny bit, what would it do to the spell?

He drew it smaller, just to test that. The spell came out just as strong as the other dozen or so times. Huh.

He drew it bigger. Still, basically the same. Size didn’t matter, apparently.

He hesitated at trying to change the shape, though. That seemed like something that would have to make a difference, and he probably shouldn’t experiment with that when the camp was at stake if something went wrong. One magical accident was more than enough for one day, thank you very much.

Instead, he set about finding out if the volume he said aspiro at made any difference.

(It didn’t. But it did bring up the very interesting question of whether it was possible to cast a spell without actually saying anything.)

He was down to whispering the spell, which still seemed to be working fine, and raising his hand to draw the rune again for another, quieter try, when-

“Have you actually stopped to feel the cloak for the last five spells?” Rayla said, from directly behind him, and he jumped badly enough that he nearly dropped the primal stone, fumbling with it for several seconds before managing to catch and secure it properly. She didn’t quite manage to hide her tiny smirk before he turned around, armed with a primal stone and a half-hearted glare.

“You do that on purpose.” He complained, Ezran snickering at him from the side. Ezran, who had not warned him that she was sneaking up on him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rayla lied brightly, leaning over to pat at the cloak-bedroll he’d been drying for…possibly more spells than necessary. “And, I think you’ve overdone this one a bit. It’s dry as paper.”

“…Good for you, I guess, since I think that one’s yours.” He said ruefully, and took his boot off the edge of it to allow her to scoop it up. She felt along its length, humming approvingly, and rolled it up while she inspected the rest of the stuff.

She eyed the inner and outer layers of the tent, now dry and folded nearby. “Well, you didn’t lose the tent again, at least.” She commented.

“That was one time.”

“At least the tent is dry now, so we don’t need to sleep outside.” Ezran put in, leaning back. “And the egg likes all this sky magic. Look at it glow!”

They all collectively took a moment to inspect the egg. It was, indeed, glowing more brightly than typical, casting a large portion of Ezran’s clothes in bluish light.

“…Do you suppose sky dragon eggs are supposed to be near sky magic?” Callum wondered, stepping over to linger near his brother, staring down at the enormous egg. “I mean, maybe it always used to be this bright, but then it was locked up in our castle for months.”

Ezran peered at the egg’s shell with sudden concentration. “…I bet his parents gave him all the magic he needed.” He said, with that odd certainty he had sometimes. “And now Callum can give him magic until we get him back to Xadia.”

Rayla muffled a snicker, and patted Callum on the back. “Well, congratulations on becoming a dragon-parent, Callum. “ She told him, and then nodded her head back towards the hanging tent bits. “Anyway. I originally came over here to check on how you were doing, but if the tent is dry – mind coming over to set it up? The sun will be going down soon.”

“What, already?” He looked up, and…yeah, the sky was looking late-afternoon-ish. “Huh.”

“Can I help?” Ezran asked eagerly, standing up at once, Bait falling off the egg as soon as he moved, and landing with a soft thump and a displeased croak.

“The more the merrier.” She answered decisively, and led them all off to help with this vaguely-familiar element of camp-craft.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Asked Ezran, at one point when they were pitching the tent, and…well, Rayla had sort of been waiting for him to notice. Callum had certainly noticed, after all, and had been sending her looks about it all day. He’d not asked again after the first time, though, even though he clearly wanted to. She’d appreciated that, even though every look made her stomach churn – but Ez was bound to notice it eventually, too. Of course he’d ask.

She stilled, half way through feeding the tent poles through, and forced a smile. “…Not important right now.” She prevaricated, eventually, and kept on at her task. Even though the stiffness of her increasingly sore hand made it harder. Everything she’d done with her hand today hurt, really, even if it wasn’t really bad yet. ‘Yet’ being the operative word here.

Ezran didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and Callum was watching interestedly from his position feeding his own tent pole through, waiting to see what she’d say. “Rayla, your hand is purple.” The younger prince pointed out, brow furrowing at her, and the two sets of eyes prickled at her.

Discomfort, with an edge of panic, flared in her chest. She bristled, and ducked her head down, eyes fixed stubbornly on the tent. “Not important right now.” She repeated, with a harder edge to the words. She pushed the pole through perhaps more violently than necessary, and reached for the next one.

“But, Rayla-“

“Leave it, Ezran.” She snapped, and then immediately felt guilty. Still, though, she didn’t raise her head or attempt to capitulate; she hunched her shoulders and kept working. She could almost feel Callum’s unimpressed stare on her.

The sound of rustling from where Ezran sat. “O-kay. Fine.” He said, in the somewhat transparent tones of someone who was a little upset but pretending to be annoyed instead. “…I’m going to go top up the campfire.” He announced, and did exactly that, the sounds of his footsteps stomping away.

The silence when he’d gone felt distinctly accusative. Rayla’s shoulders hunched higher.

After a few more seconds, she couldn’t even keep up the pretence of continuing to work. She chanced a glance upwards, at where Callum sat on the opposite side of the outer-tent, and flinched slightly at the look he was giving her. Not quite properly annoyed, maybe, but definitely miffed.

“…You didn’t have to snap at him, you know.” He said to her, the slightest edge in his voice.

She looked away, feeling worse by the second. “…I know.” She admitted, right hand settling over her left, as if to hide it from view.

“You could just say you don’t want to talk about it. He’d understand that.”

“I know.” She bit back the ire in the words as best she could, not wanting to end up snapping at him too. She exhaled. “I just…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. The bind was tight around her wrist. The skin of her swollen hand prickled and tingled and ached. She looked up again, hesitant, and found him still staring, arms folded, expression somewhat stony. “…I’ll apologise. When he’s back.” She said, eyes returning determinedly to the tent fabric. She set back to the task at hand, half-watching Callum’s reaction from the corners of her vision.

He settled, somewhat, from the mild protective tension she’d unwittingly provoked in him. “Well, good.” He said lamely, as if not knowing quite what else to say, and allowed his arms to loosen. “Let’s just get this tent done, alright?”

“…Yeah.”

The quiet as they finished up the necessarily two-person part of the tent-pitching was not entirely comfortable, but not tense either. He’d apparently taken her promise of apology at face value, and was as agreeable as ever to her directives on what to do with the tent. They had it up in short order, now needing only the inner-tent and the tent pegs to be fully assembled. Ezran, meanwhile, had returned to the campfire with an armful of twigs, and was sullenly tossing them on, one-by-one.

“I’ll try to sort out the inner tent.” Callum suggested, in a fairly transparent effort to get her to go over to his brother. She gave him a look, but didn’t argue, waving him in the direction of the hanging fabric in wordless agreement. She needed to check on the latest batch of fish, anyway.

She crossed the relatively short distance to the fire in five brisk strides, ignoring the temptation to delay it by walking slower. She was not great at apologies. She was not great at difficult conversations, in general. But Ez was a good kid and she didn’t want to upset him.

Ezran, for his part, clearly noticed her approach, but nonchalantly kept poking at his firewood pile as if completely unconcerned. “Hi, Rayla.” He said, almost airily, as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t so much as look her way.

She crouched beside him, and took a deep breath. “Look, Ez, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She said, and his eyes flickered upwards to hers for a second. He held the gaze for a second before looking back at the fire, tossing in another stick.

He was quiet for a few seconds, long enough that Rayla was about to try to elaborate, but then he spoke. “Are you going to say what’s wrong with your hand?”

She winced, and curled it towards her chest in a quick, reflexive attempt to hide it. The speed of the movement pulled a little painfully against the swelling fingers. “…Not yet?” She answered, almost pleadingly. He did turn to look back at her then, eyes fixing seriously on hers. She’d not quite noticed how piercing that shade of blue could be, before now.

“I can tell it’s important.” He told her, plainly. “But it’s your hand. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. Or Callum. It’s not our business.”

Rayla grimaced a little, and reached out to pull one of the fish-on-a-stick from the edge of the fire. “…It sort of is, actually. It’s complicated.” She exhaled a long breath, feeling the first inklings of a stress headache sprouting at the sides of her face. “But…not now? Let’s just…eat fish and relax for a while. After today it’s going to be pretty hard going, after all.” She attempted a smile.

He blinked at her, curious and not trying to hide it, but nodded without making any further moves to ask questions. “Okay. Sounds good.” He said after a moment, and finished putting the last of the sticks onto the fire. “….is there anything left to do on the tent?”

Her smile loosened into something more genuine at the hope in those words. She wondered how long it would be until Ezran no longer found the tent so intriguing. “Callum’s probably sorting out the inside of the tent. I bet you can help him with that if you hurry.”

Predictably, this led to the littler human of the party scurrying across to his brother. She watched him go, and watched him duck into the main tent to investigate, and then smothered a laugh as she heard: “Uh, Callum? Why is the door facing that way?”

There was a pause, then a muttered rude word from the older prince. Evidently, he’d started hanging the inner-tent the wrong way round. Rayla, who had done the exact same thing the first time she’d been left on tent duty alone, found herself feeling sympathetically amused about it.

She shook her head ruefully and eased a smaller river-fish from a stick and onto an increasingly large pile. They’d have plenty to eat tonight, and plenty of leftovers to spare, which was just as well. This interlude by the lake was probably the most rest they’d get for a while. In a day or three, the terrain would get decidedly harsher, and no one would be having fun.

Least of all her, with the hand she didn’t expect she’d be able to keep.

She flexed the stiffening fingers of her left hand, and sighed. Well, in any case…She’d best enjoy the calm while she could.

 End chapter.

 This chapter takes place on 15.05, day 5 since start of canon.

True story: I have put the inner-tent up the wrong way round before, early on in my hiking experience. This leads to the doorway to the inside of the tent being inaccessible, and is not advised.  Generally you don’t make that mistake twice, but it’s an easy one to make the first time.

Medical note: I am treating Rayla’s hand as a limb ischemia. Damage and symptoms will follow ischemic trends, with one notable exception: I am ignoring the worst effects of reperfusion injury. There’s some reasons for this. 1) canon does it. Rayla’s hand returns to normal in about five seconds with no apparent pain or consequence or, indeed, reperfusion. 2) I’m not going to let her off as lightly as canon, but I also don’t want to have to rearrange my plot to make room for fighting Rayla’s major organ failure, so. I’m just plain not going to.

The risk here is to Rayla’s hand and its assorted anatomical constituents, not to Rayla’s kidneys and heart; and there might be some inflammatory damage, but not the horrifying cascades of cell death you often see in reperfusion.

For the purposes of this story, let’s just say elves are, for whatever reason, highly resistant to reperfusion damage. Maybe not completely immune, but very very resistant. Feel free to imagine whatever explanation you like for that.

Afterword: thanks for the support everyone has given with comments and kudos and so on. I actually didn’t have an anxiety crash after last chapter because there was so much nice response, which was a pleasant change. Thanks again to Jelly who keeps offering enthusiasm and encouragement, and to Noip who has followed me through like three fandoms now and is always my best analyst.

I’ve now written about a total of like…83k of piaj? But ch6 is still unfinished because I’ve mainly been writing future scenes, rip. At least when we get to like, chapter 20ish, I’ll have a heck of a lot of content pre-written. Also I have all of the major currently-planned events on a rough timeline now, and it’s Fun. The latest major event currently in the timeline is currently loosely plotted around Day 50, and coincidentally, it’s the event that I (and Jelly) am most desperate to get to. (note: this is not when the story would end.)

I only have one complete chapter left to post, so....wish me luck on finishing 6.

[emerygoat26-blog]

What the Heck is Going on at AnthonyColpo.com?

Ladies and gentlemen,

A month or two ago I locked up most of the articles on this website, in anticipation of turning it into a paid membership-only affair. My original plan was to do this with a minimum of fuss and carry-on, and to simply announce to my newsletter subscribers when the transition was complete. Those who wished to subscribe would be given information on how to do so, and those who didn’t think my content was worth paying for would be duly wished “Good night and good luck!”

However, the transition has taken longer than expected, mainly because a little thing called “life” keeps getting in the way. Bloody hell, life, why must you be so obstinate? Yes, while many readers seem to think I sit at my computer all day, enjoying a leisurely life of smoking cigars, drinking cognac and eating cannolis while some mysterious billionaire benefactor pays me to answer people’s questions and write free articles, the reality is somewhat different.

Actually, it’s a lot different.

Anyway, as a result of the delay, I’m getting an increasing number of emails that read something like this:

“Hi Anthony,

greetings from the Caribbean! I’ve been searching for your awesome article titled “The Night I Partied With a Room Full of Miss Spain Contestants” but I can no longer find it. When I click on the link it now just brings up an empty page. By using the information in that article, particularly the section describing your interaction with Miss Mallorca, I was able to score a date with a stunning Miss Trinidad and Tobago contestant. We hit it off real well, and we are now happily married and my beautiful wife recently gave birth to a healthy baby boy! All thanks to you!

However, I am now in something of a quandary. As I celebrated my son’s birth, smoking cigars, drinking cognac, and eating imported cannolis with my billionaire friends, a thought suddenly hit me: When my son grows up, I want him to have the benefit of the knowledge imparted in your article, so he too can one day marry a beauty queen and have a son who will also marry a beauty queen, who will also have a son who will marry a beauty queen, and so on.

However, the article is now offline, and my dream of pairing up my son, his son, his son’s son, and so on, with stunning beauty queens is now looking decidedly shaky. What happened to this article? Can you please put it back online? PLEASE!

Kindest regards,

Ricky Ricard.”

To all you folks who have sent emails like this, now you know why most of the articles on my website have seemingly vanished (there are about two dozen or so articles that can still be freely accessed).

As to why I am switching up the format of my website to one where paid access will be required to access most of the current and all future content, there are two main reasons:

Main Reason One (1): Writing detailed, thoroughly-researched and fully-referenced articles and freely posting them on the Internet is no longer financially viable. In fact, looking back, it was never financially viable. However, a somewhat naive sense of altruism kept me doing it, despite a little voice in my head often asking me: “What the fuck are you doing? It’s a nice day outside, turn off the computer and go for a ride, for chrissakes!”

Which brings me to the second major reason:

Main Reason Two (2): Posting free content on the Internet, and getting little in return except abuse, hate and whining from butt-hurt low-carbers and vegans, as well as requests for even more free information from people too lazy to follow-up with their own research, just doesn’t do it for me anymore.

I discussed the latter phenomenon in yesterday’s post:

http://anthonycolpo.com/anthony-can-you-please-do-my-thinking-for-me-no/

Seriously, I never cease to be amazed when people write to me, pissing and moaning that they're confused and don't know who to believe. What do they want me to do? Repeat everything I've already said, post another 50 references they won't check for themselves, and then send them some flowers?

One of my closest friends runs a very highly regarded mechanic shop here in Melbourne. It's not at all unusual to walk into his workshop and see a Ferrari on one hoist, a Lamborghini on the other, a race-prepped WRX on another, while a bunch of other similarly potent and exotic vehicles sit in and around the workshop waiting for their dose of TLC. His clients include some of the most famous people in Victoria, everyone from gangland figures to sports stars to some of the state's wealthiest businessmen. They bring their cars to my friend for one reason: He knows his shit, and he's the best at what he does.

I can only imagine the response if someone walked up to him in his workshop, and said:

"G'day mate, I read about you on the FriskyFerraris.com.au forum, and the consensus there is that you are the best. However, I then went to the SlickTreads.com.au chatroom, and they said someone should give you $5 so you can go buy yourself a clue. I'm confused, and I don't know who to believe. What do you have to say in response to the claims at SlickTreads.com.au? Can you write me up, like, a 5,000 word rebuttal or something?"

My friend would look at this person for a moment, to assess just what kind of a nutjob he was dealing with. He would then make it clear he is a very busy man, and suggest in no uncertain terms that this person take his business elsewhere. When this person had extricated himself from the premises, my friend would turn to everyone who had just witnessed this most ridiculous enquiry and remark, "Did you get a load of that lunatic? He read a bunch of bullshit on the Internet and wanted me to comment on it! Like I've got nothing better to do!"

The reasons for my friend's hypothetical actions seem pretty straightforward to me. But others just can't seem to understand why someone would respond like this. Take the following email from “Brendan”, for example. I’ve reprinted it below, along with my reply. Please note I’ve reprinted it in a manner that will not identify Brendan, and I’ve also removed the typos and edited some of the saucier language from my reply (however, the F-Bombs are still there, so if you have an anaphylactic reaction to swear words, close this page now).

Why am I reprinting this correspondence? Because to me it typifies how most consumers of Internet information simply have no idea what goes on behind the scenes for those putting out free info and getting fuck all in return. It’s not just me – I have it on good authority that a number of free content providers in the health, diet and physical training arena are disillusioned with the lack of positive social and financial return, and considering whether or not they should continue.

Anyway, here’s what Brendan had to say, and here’s what I had to say in return, and below that is some more stuff that I had to say after returning from my return. Or something.

Brendan writes:

Hi Anthony, 

I'm a customer of yours, from [a place far, far from Melbourne], and this is my first time writing to you.

Based on your most recent "grow the fuck up" email, I have a suggestion (nay a critique) for you.

First let me say I get it...I get it...I get that people whinge to you and want you to take responsibility for their issue....but I'd like to respectfully suggest (and I mean those words, they are not throw away) that your advice, whilst accurate in itself, is mono-dimensional and thus of limited use to people.  Not that I'm suggesting you are not entitled to deliver it in whatever way you please, but rather that if your true intention is to help people past their 'block' or their cognitive dissonance then surely you realise that the tone is as, if not more, important than the message.

My personal guess is that you know this very well but it doesn't fit your modus operandi, so, like inconvenient data that doesn't fit one's belief, you chose to ignore it.  That's a personal criticism I know, and again...it's not that I'm suggesting you are not entitled to be this way if you choose, you are of course-- but my intention behind it is to share what I learned painfully through what I guess you'd call 'independant thinking', plus to reflect it back to you in the hope it helps you be more effective.  We need people like you to be effective...not just to be there! 

My guess above is based on a few things, one being that you have expressed favouritism for animals instead of people.  It's as if you find people to be a nuisance!  Fair enough, but my point is if you really want to help people and not just indulge your humour, then why not give them something useful for their deeper 'issues'.  Your nutritional information is extremely useful, you've done more than many in that regard, so I suppose it's a bit unfair of me to suggest you should now also turn your attention to addressing the next level of concern in humans...namely the subject of your last email...that people can't seem to think for themselves, but I really do think you are in a good position to do just that.

Would it not be better to either write a book or an article (would probably need to be a long article albeit), or even suggest a resource list, where people can go and learn HOW to think for themselves.  Your tone suggests that people can just cop the fuck on and start to think for themselves...but you know in your heart this is not the case....people (who can't do this) can no more do this than they can start speaking a foreign language they dont know.

Plus the very same people who may come across to you as analytically dumb...may only be that way in a certain field...say health or nutrition, but may be the opposite in other areas...like say finance or relationships or military prowess.  The thing is that giving people tons of information, with links to articles etc, doesn't do it for them.  Some people don't think in the same way papers are written, they can't understand statistical bias, have no knowledge of bench / tissue / cell culture investigations etc etc.

Is it your job to teach this?  No, but you'd probably be able to make a good go of it.  It may not even be to do with paper reading...teaching the very principles of independent thinking may be the way...or explaining how the philosophy of science evolved and why we are where we are might be a good place to start.

Our modern world grew up with the unanalysed idea that people use facts to make decisions...and still for many of us this SHOULD be the case.  But it isn't...we all, you included, make decisions based on emotions and historical pre-programming.  (Although it's hard to swallow at times...the US presidential election is a perfect case in point!)

In some ways you are demonstrating the extent of how 'insane' you are...doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result.  Shouting at people to get them to think for themselves is the perfect way to get 'them' to think like the rest of the herd...the opposite of what you want.  Maybe you don't see these people as your 'tribe' but you certainly do seem to attract a lot of them!

Which I suppose brings me to the last point...what is it that you really want?  If you really want to help then it seems you need to change your tune (literally and figuratively) so that you can reach those you seem to attract but can't seem to change.  If on the other hand what you really want is to maintain your hegemony in the online world of don't-take-shit-hard-talking-say-it-like-it-is gurus...then I suppose you can delete this email and continue as you are, ie very successful in that regard!

Thanks for reading,

Brendan

My reply:

Brendan,

I appreciate the effort that went into your email, but with all due respect, the reality is you are over-analysing and way off the mark.

And the reality is that, until you've been where I have been and experienced what I have experienced with this whole internet escapade, you are wholly incapable of making any informed comment on the matter. The best you can do is offer your subjective opinion as an outsider, one who does not even begin to have the experience and knowledge that comes with traveling along the trajectory I have.

The source of my dismay is quite simple: For years, I posted carefully researched and fully-referenced articles on the internet for FREE, and forced NO-ONE to read them. I did this out of the belief that we the public were not being presented with the full truthful picture on matters pertaining to diet and health, and I figured (very naively, as it turns out) that by posting this information I could make a difference.

And while there are some nice folks who write to simply say thanks and ask for nothing more (i.e. decent people with a bit of gratitude), others write to thank me for the abundance of free info I've posted by virulently abusing me, pissing and moaning, and/or wanting me to explain shit even further because they are too lazy to do an independent appraisal of the evidence themselves.

I wonder what the response from these jokers would be if I responded, "fine, I'll furnish even more information, provided you come and wash my car/mow my lawn/clean my yard/etc"?

Yeah, Brendan, "insane" I know - expecting people to actually show a little gratitude for what they are given and to appreciate that other people's time is also valuable.

And the real cracker is I even get people moaning about my writing style and claiming I'm vitriolic. Meanwhile, cretins like Harley "Durianrider" Johnstone make $5,000 a month posting bullshit on Youtube ... falsely calling people steroid abusers, pedophiles, accusing them of "sucker-punching", and threatening to slash their throats.

Do a web search for a nutter called "RooshV", and check out the size of his following. Among his ‘civil’ literary contributions to the world is a call to make rape legal behind closed doors (!) No, not directly related to the diet arena, but it should give you an indication of what's required to really capture people's attention these days.

And need I mention people like Michael Eades, who belittled female academics while his followers cheered him on, but when I give him a dose of his own medicine all of a sudden I was the one who was out of line?

Or that bombastic grandmaster of hyperbole Robert Lustig, or champion cherry-picker Gary Taubes, who both portray everyone that disagrees with them as feeble-minded, outdated idiots, all the while spouting the most ridiculous bullshit themselves?

Given the celebrity status and financial success of all the above-mentioned, I can only conclude my communication style is far too civil!

But no, I'm the one who's writing style is too hostile for the world's soft-cocks. Interesting how these accusations almost always come only after I've written something the accuser disagrees with.

Sorry Brendan, but being involved in such a fucked-up arena just doesn't work for me anymore. I know it may seem, from the comfort of your armchair in your little "cottage" that maybe I'm just a wee bit excitable or have unrealistic expectations, but the reality is this internet writing gig has exposed me to a darker side of human psychology, one that people are too restrained/embarrassed/cowardly to express in person, and I'm just well and truly tired of it.

And if people want to be told what they want to hear, or need to be spoon-fed info because they are too dumb/lazy to think for themselves, or want to be titillated by scandal and gossip and "controversy", fine, but it is NOT my job to do this.

"Your tone suggests that people can just cop the fuck on and start to think for themselves...but you know in your heart this is not the case....people (who can't do this) can no more do this than they can start speaking a foreign language they dont know."

Actually I don't know this in my heart because what you have just said is BULLSHIT. A big fat, sloppy, odiferous patty of bovine shit.

Firstly, maybe you have found learning a new language insurmountable, but millions of people have been able to successfully learn foreign languages. Shit, I've met people who are fluent in 5-6 foreign languages. Why you think learning just one is an impossible task when people all around the world have done it, and are doing it as we speak, is beyond me.

Secondly, if I was able to learn how to go to a library, pull up studies, and read them, why can't others do it? Nowadays, a trip to the library is often not even necessary - many of these studies are freely available online.

Please tell me what magical quality I was endowed with that allows me to do these simple tasks, but not most other Homo sapiens? I have two arms, two legs, and one fucking brain just like everyone else. No-one taught me how to do this, I was not found in a paddock next to a chunk of Kryptonite and raised from infancy by a group of Mensa members, nor did I receive divine revelation from Librarius, the Greek God of Research. And - I may be going out on a limb here - but I confidently bet everyone else who's been able to successfully check out the literature for themselves wasn't either.

There's nothing magical about it, Brendan - the ability I have to get off my ass and read research for myself instead of relying on other people's questionable relaying of it is probably just the same trait that allows me to jump on a bike and go ride for a couple of hours, or to go in the gym and lift heavy shit up and down for 45 minutes or so - while others sit around, piss and moan about their poor condition, and get sucked in by sleazy diet gurus.

It's called being self-reliant and having a modicum of motivation, instead of being a lazy twat with a sense of self-entitlement who expects everyone else to do everything for him.

"In some ways you are demonstrating the extent of how 'insane' you are...doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result."

This is the only thing you've written that has any basis in reality. Damn straight I must be crazy to keep thinking I can make a difference when what people really want is instant gratification, scandal, gossip, quick-fix gimmicks and so on.

But don't get too self-congratulatory, I came to this realization long before receiving your email. Several weeks back I locked up most of the articles on my site and am in the process of converting it to a paid membership-only site. My content is high quality, I believe it's worth paying for, and if people don't agree then the new barrier of having to make a financial contribution to access this info should help them kindly fuck off.

"It's as if you find people to be a nuisance!"

Fuck, now why would I believe that LOL

A.

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So there it is folks. AnthonyColpo.com will, sometime soon, be a paid membership-only website. It either has to start earning its keep, or it goes offline for good.

Brendan asks what is it that I really want, so I shall tell him. And you. Apart from the usual (you know, cute Spanish/Venezuelan wife, bigger house so Ramone can have a permanent girlfriend, apartment in Barcelona, race-tuned Nissan GTR35 with number plates that read "MANGIA MANGIA", and another set of 180mm Rotor 3D+ cranks) I guess it would have to be this:

That when my time on this crazy blue ball we call Earth is up, and it's time for me to relocate to that big Ballearic Island in the sky, I'd like to be remembered back here on Earth for more than just being able to deadlift 2.5 times my body weight or having nice glutes (ladies, please do not misconstrue what I just said. You should always feel welcome to tell me I have nice glutes. I will never hold that against you, hell no).

Yes, one should leave a legacy that goes beyond grunting like a wounded rhino as he pulls a stubborn barbell from the floor, and he should also be able to leave a legacy that goes beyond walking past a group of girls and hearing them giggle and say something about a "cute butt!" Although both are truly wonderful legacies, in my humble opinion.

But I think it is also most wonderful if one can walk into his heavenly bathroom, look in his heavenly mirror, and say to himself:

"You know, I made life back on Earth just that little bit better for a bunch of people. Right now, there's a guy in Trinidad and Tobago who's married to a beauty queen, with a healthy son who will probably also grow up to marry a beauty queen, who will then also have a son that marries a beauty queen, thanks to me. And there's a guy who kept blowing up on the same damn hill every time he went for a bike ride, until he read my article why Low-Carb Diets are Terrible for Athletes. Now he's competing in A-Grade criterions. And then there's all the non-Italians I introduced to anisette, tiramisu and cannoli. That right there should qualify me for sainthood - no wonder they let me straight in when I rocked up to the pearly gates. Oh, and there's that sizzling hot Lebanese girl in Brunswick who ... wait, that wasn't exactly a selfless act, so probably not relevant here."

Yep, corny as it may sound, I would like to help others. But I only want to help those who are prepared to help themselves. And, call me selfish, but I definitely do not want to help members of that bizarre sub-species that loves nothing more than to profess it's hatred for me but then continues to read everything I write. I mean, what the fuck?

And in the process of helping others, I definitely do not want to go friggin' broke.

The plan at this stage is to charge US $9.99 per month or so via a simple Paypal subscription. And before I get fellow Australians pissing and moaning about the US pricing, that’s where the bulk of my readers come from, so my hands are tied. Ever tried typing with tied hands? It sucks.

In return for this modest monthly sum, subscribers will get access to a monthly newsletter report featuring at least one sizable article and some research updates. And maybe even a picture of Ramone, I know how much some of you like him.

While Brendan seems to think I should waste even more time teaching the critical thinking skills that our modern education system doesn’t … um, no. Of course, I don’t expect everyone to be on the same knowledge level as me (I mean, if you were, you probably wouldn’t need to subscribe to my content, right?), but I do foresee a certain minimum level of intelligence and rationality among future subscribers. Not only that, but I’m guessing those who would be motivated to pay for my content are already largely on board with my approach and my contentions.

As such, I plan to spend less time in future on debunking-type articles, and more on practical how-to articles , with science-backed info that people can put into use pronto to improve their health, body composition, and athletic performance.

Having said that, I know some of you are big fans of my hunky debunkery, so if there is some new bullshit health trend or dodgey diet study making the headlines, then rest assured I will sink my teeth into it, chew it up, and spit it out in the form of a ruthless dissection with more references than you can shake a bottle of Alhambra Especial at.

NOTE: That was just a figure of speech, please do NOT shake a bottle of Alhambra or any other carbonated beverage in real life, if you are at a public gathering the results upon opening will not enhance your social status.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I guess this is the point where some of us will need to say “adios!”

If you:

Don’t like me, my writing style, my hair (or lack of it), my name, my ethnicity, my eyebrows, or whatever other trivial and utterly irrelevant trait you have decided to take offense to;

Don’t think my content is worth paying for because, hey, there’s plenty of free stuff available online from such literary giants as Jimmy Moore and ItsTheWoo;

then it’s been nice knowing you, happy travels!

Also, if you subscribe to the myopic and patently stupid Anglo-Western approach to diet and health, which revolves around the “blaming and shaming” of individual foods and macronutrients, be it fat, carbs, protein, meat, wheat, yadayadayada, then definitely do NOT subscribe to my content. As an Italian-Australian prodigal son who fell victim to this bullshit many moons ago, I nowadays adhere to the Mediterranean/Asian approach, which revolves around moderation and a complete lack of dietary neuroticism. Go ahead and sneer, ye low-carbers and vegans and pimpers of all things gluten-free … but may I point out that Japan, Spain, Italy and France all sit in the top ten of world life expectancy, while the US – ground zero of the totally misguided Blame, Vilify, Avoid approach to nutrition - sits at # 31.

And Japan, Spain, Italy and France all have far lower obesity rates than the US.

Yeah, carb-free/fat-free/cholesterol-free/gluten-free THAT, you dietary racists …

And while you poor nutritional bigots sit there eating your tasteless tofurkey, or labouring your way through your 50th burger patty for the week, with nothing in the way of tasty carbs to follow it up with, I’ve just finished some lovingly roasted chicken, a bowl of oven-roasted crispy fries, and I’m making good progress on this stubbie of Monteith’s Black Beer (bless the Kiwis, they sure know how to brew a good drop).

By the way, for fellow residents of Australia and lovers of beers that do not taste like bland, lifeless, yeasty-tasting piss, Monteith’s Black Beer is currently on special at Dan Murphy’s. Just thought I’d point that out. And no, I do not work for or have shares in Dan Murphy's, I’m just spreading some discount boutique beer love.

Um, anyway, where was I…

Oh yeah, the paid membership site thing. What more can I say folks, except stay tuned for further announcements as to when the new site kicks off in earnest.

Stay safe, and remember, things go better with prosciutto.

Ciao,

Anthony.

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Anthony Colpo is an independent researcher, physical conditioning specialist, and author of the groundbreaking books The Fat Loss Bible, The Great Cholesterol Con and Whole Grains, Empty Promises.

For more information on Anthony's books, click here.

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The Mandatory “I Ain’t Your Mama, So Think For Yourself and Take Responsibility for Your Own Actions” Disclaimer: All content on this web site is provided for information and education purposes only. Individuals wishing to make changes to their dietary, lifestyle, exercise or medication regimens should do so in conjunction with a competent, knowledgeable and empathetic medical professional. Anyone who chooses to apply the information on this web site does so of their own volition and their own risk. The owner and contributors to this site accept no responsibility or liability whatsoever for any harm, real or imagined, from the use or dissemination of information contained on this site. If these conditions are not agreeable to the reader, he/she is advised to leave this site immediately.

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