#I’m kind of all over the place lately but things should get simpler after spring break

[breezycheezyart]

Hi, I’m still alive. Life has been…[gestures vaguely]. But I’m still drawing, just busy. Hopefully things will start slowing down this and/or next week 😭.

I miss you guys, I wanna draw more and post more but I wanna make it worth the wait. I know I said “Soon” a while back but the Life™️ happened and I hit a roadblock with the composition of the piece that I’m still tryna fix, so I apologize for the delay but I swear I’ll get it done; if nothing else than for my own damn sanity lmaooo

ANYWAYS! Love y’all, stay safe, and I’ll see y’all in a little while 💜💜💜

[what-even-is-thiss]

Persephone

Every year she arrives at the start of Autumn with new seeds for the garden and Hades helpfully holds the basket for her as she gets her hands dirty.

He appreciates the kind of filth she brings with her. It's active, proactive, helpful. Not stagnant and rotting. Not the kind of filth that sits and develops with death that needs to be removed for the sake of the still living. A kind of filth with its own merit, but not why she’s here. The kind that comes with her is getting dirt on your pants and dust in your hair. The kind of filth that comes from burning yourself on a pan or mowing the lawn or climbing a tree. Active, alive, dirt that gathers under your nails and nourishes as well as hurts.

Every year as she gets him to put on clothes a bit more practical for gardening and gets to sowing her seeds, and she tells him stories as they work. He is quiet and not one for this particular kind of hard work, but he’s a good listener with a warm laugh, and that’s good enough for her.

Every year they have done this since before humans could write and every year as they do this she tells him what the humans think of them this time, and every year he gets a good laugh.

“Who’s the primary suspect now?” he asks as he puts on his boots.

“You, I think.” she says with a smile. “Mother/daughter relations theory.”

“Again?“ he asked. “Don’t they have anything new?”

“I’m sure they will by the time I get back.” she said, adjusting her sunhat. There is no sunlight in the underworld but she wears a sunhat anyways.

After what needs to be replaced in the garden has been replaced she puts on something a little more formal. Something a little less farm girl, which she is fine with and he likes much more. Hermes, who knows everything and everyone, may or may not come by with a letter from her mother and his sister, addressed to both of them, which they may or may not read right now.

They sleep in separate rooms except for when they don’t, and they talk together late into the night except for when they don’t. Despite being gods they cook together, except for when they don’t, a lot of their time spent with her talking and him talking sometimes and a lot of their time spent in complete silence. Sometimes in the evenings she sits on his lap and they read. Sometimes he sits on her lap and they watch a movie and play with each others’ hair. Sometimes they sit in different rooms thinking about everything they are worried about. Sometimes they speak to other people. Together or apart.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Demeter speak of snow. Persephone rarely sees snow. She never liked it anyways.

In the spring she sees it melting and that is that. She stands on her toes and leaves Hades a kiss on his jaw, getting a facefull of scratchy black hair before putting on her farm girl clothes and running into her mother’s arms.

Every year her mother visits all corners of the northern hemisphere, taking her daughter in tow. They bless fields or lay them bare. In her spare time she leaves her mother and visits corners of the wild to speak with gods that still hate agriculture but love the goddess of spring. They speak with her and tell her to tell her mother that she should do better. She rarely does.

Demeter is organized and opinionated. She’s loud and stubborn. She carries a long scythe that she uses on plants, humans, and animals alike. Around her Persephone is the quiet one. Something that is also fine. Demeter just likes it when her daughter is there. Warm and ready to be a steady hand. She’s gentle with a little wrath. She’s smart and carries the hopes of the dead with her. The sort of hope that turns corpses into good soil and manure into carrot stew. That turns death into life for other things. A sort of complicated darkness that follows her around as tightly as air and gives a deep, refreshing rest.

Some nights they sleep on Olympus, some nights they don’t. Some nights they fight, some nights they don’t. Both kinds of nights have their merits. Both are ones that they go to sleep knowing that they will see each other in the morning.

There isn’t much to say between them. They know everything that the other wants to say. They talk business, mostly. When Hermes comes they gossip about family. Sometimes he brings a letter from Hades. Sometimes he brings business or a gift from Hera that clearly illustrates that she doesn’t know them. Sometimes Hermes just comes to ask how she is doing. She always answers him honestly.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Hades speak of danger and organization and how much he hates his brothers. Persephone understands. She hates them too, whether that is earned or not.

It has been like this for a long time. All sides feeling just fine. Love from all directions, but not love that is full of a passion. It is barely there, but comfortably so.

Demeter used to be disorganized, Hades used to be louder, and Persephone... she wasn’t quite sure yet. She had gotten to the age where she should know what kind of flaw she had but she didn’t. She didn’t love anyone or anything, except for maybe the feeling of living dirt beneath her feet.

She knew very well what was inside the cave. What brought her downwards wasn’t love or curiosity, but a need for change. And change things did. He wouldn’t let her go once he had her. She was a ticket out of questions. Something to keep the rest of the family away. She realized too late the consequences of her impulsivity.

After the initial shock and hunger strike she actually started looking around and got to talking. If not with him, then with the dead and the spirits of the rivers. They said that he was weird and needed someone to teach him patience. She said that was something he had in common with her mother.

He was very clear with her about what would happen if she ate that specific fruit. She ate it, very clear with him what her intentions were.

After a thousand years the plants could no longer survive without the cold and Demeter saw this. Slowly, slowly, she began speaking to her siblings again, and stopped holding her daughter’s hand. Winter still came. She never told them that this time it was for the good of the plants and not out of spite. Only Dionysus seemed to understand why. Thankfully, he could keep a secret.

After centuries passed Persephone transformed the underworld, little by little it became just a little less dark. He let her come to him on her own time. The first time she touched him, she asked, and almost every time after that she asked, until enough time had passed that she just knew from a glance. Once that time had come he began to ask as well and they both had slightly bigger beds placed in their rooms. Who did it first, they don’t remember.

The mortals always wanted to make this simpler than it was. Say that it was his fault or her fault or her mother’s fault. Really though, it had just happened. Then over and over again it just happened, falling into place over a thousand years.

She didn’t know when she started loving her mother again, or her husband, or even how much she loved them, but that part didn’t matter. Neither the earth, nor mount Olympus, nor the underworld was perfect, and neither was she, and neither were they. Sometimes a set of unusual circumstances leads to another set of unusual circumstances and sometimes a young goddess gets caught in the middle of it. And maybe in the beginning the young goddess was confused by it all.

And maybe now she’s just... content.

[lilacbombs]

First Love, Late spring

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Lupin III Rating: General audiences Summary:

Jigen and Goemon drive back from Vegas, and feelings are stirred. (takes place after the tv special “tokyo crisis: memories of flames”

Goemon took deep inhales and made that sweet smoke waft out the window and back into the car. His eyes seemed sad, softened in contemplation– but he had a fond smile on his face.

Jigen thought that if he connected this smell with this memory, he’d smoke these more often. He might even learn to like that dingy peach smell.

For some strange reason, Jigen and Goemon decided to drive to Vegas. The “drive” part was only half of it– they would have to take a plane from Tokyo to Los Angeles and then ride for four hours. The method wasn’t the weird part– it was the fact that Goemon had even agreed on this trip at all.

Jigen had brought it up jokingly as they were running away from the gunfire. “After this is over, why don’t we go to Vegas?” Goemon agreed so long as it was after he  “got that cavity looked at.”

Several lupin-adjacent catastrophes later, things were business as usual. Doing heists and running from the law. Jigen still wasn’t sure what really happened at Aquapolis, but he knew he wanted to make good on that promise. But shortly after a chase or two with Zenigata, Goemon seemed to disappear.

It wasn’t until late next spring that they saw each other again. By the next business day, they were getting a southwest flight.

And everything had gone off without a cinch. Goemon used his zen-like reflexes to land them some serious jackpots, and some generous “bonuses” from their boss meant the most lavish room in the city. Sure, they’d lost a hand or two (or ten) at blackjack– and Jigen was so hungover that Monday after that they didn’t end up leaving until Tuesday– but it didn’t matter. They were able to forget about running with the dogs for a while, as just two weirdos in Vegas.

On the drive back, however, the mood had died down. Goemon wasn’t that much different in vegas– a little sake and a long walk made him pretty exuberant. But that was all gone now. There was an odd melancholy between them that blew about in the rental mustang like Jigen’s smokes.

It must’ve been 9 o’clock now, with not a soul on the old highway aside from a few coyotes. The sky was still lit softly by the setting sun, but the stars were beginning to come out, lighting up the sky into a deep blue. After a long day of driving, the cold air felt good. Within an hour or two, they’d reach L.A. Being behind schedule meant they might need to sleep in the car, but that was nothing new for them. The only thing Jigen dreaded was being in closer proximity to Goemon than he already was– what he dreaded more was that he wanted to.

He lit up another cigarette. He’d already smoked the last of his pack an hour or so ago, so he pulled out the backup box. Blush pink, curly writing– smelling of peaches. Pianissimo Peche. It tasted like pure shit, but Jigen hadn’t planned on buying it in the first place. He bought the pack at the airport in a rush, because they arrived nearly ten minutes before take-off, and he always ran out on car trips like this.

 The smell was tolerable, at least. Enough to make Goemon break the silence.

“Can I have one?”

Jigen looked over and felt a flare in his cheeks. The speed of the car blew Goemon’s hair about, leaving strands disheveled around his eyes. He was relaxed, with one of his arms out the window and a tranquil smile on his face. It made Jigen feel a way he couldn’t explain.

“Sure.”

Jigen handed him one and struck the lighter for him, with Goemon leaning over to help his reach. Goemon didn’t smoke except around him, so Jigen felt an odd delight at being the “only person” that got him to. As he first struck the flame, He tried not to look down the territory the kimono created whenever goemon bent over. The more Goemon indulged, the wider it seemed to grow.

...What was wrong with him? This wasn’t exactly new; Jigen’s interest in men and disinterest in women was something he knowingly hid for years now. It wasn’t like he was in denial of it– some guys were hot, and he’d almost been to bed with one. He was sure Lupin figured it out by now, but they rarely referred to it directly. What Goemon knew was anyone’s guess. But every time he thought about opening that proverbial closet door, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe he didn’t want to be known as “that kind of guy.” Maybe he was scared of change...

More than that, he was scared of rejection. Goemon probably hadn’t opened up everything about himself either, so why should he? It’d be simpler this way. This way, things wouldn’t grow slightly bitter, although still affectionate, as they did with lupin. He wouldn’t lose a friend.

...Another beautiful, perfect friend he couldn’t look away from. 

Goemon took deep inhales and made that sweet smoke waft out the window and back into the car. His eyes seemed sad, softened in contemplation– but he had a fond smile on his face. 

Jigen thought that if he connected this smell with this memory, he’d smoke these more often. He might even learn to like that dingy peach smell.

…

He turned his eyes back to the road.

notes:  I might make more of these if people like it. I’m very new to writing lol... btw, pianissimo peche is the name of the cigarette brand. yes this is loosely referencing/drawing on the mitski song of the same name I’m a home of sexual. I’m posting this here and not on AO3 because a.) I’m too lazy to make an account, and b.) I don’t want to give money to that site.

[nelllraiser]

garlic dread | milo & nell

TIMING: the middle of spring, before the portals opened. PARTIES: @wickedmilo & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: milo just wants to help nell with her plants, but nell has other plans.

With spring coming into its prime, Nell’s garden had been thriving in addition to her greenhouse. During the time she’d been struggling to pay off her hospital debt, watching the numbers of new flowers in her garden dwindle had been one of the hardest cutbacks, the blooms and otherwise being one of her simpler joys in life. But now that her father had paid off the hospital without the witch’s permission, it meant that she was able to spend a little more money than usual on some new little plants and the like. Which was how she found herself walking home with a plethora of green and leafy friends in her arms, barely able to see over the lot of them as she made her way out of the plant nursery. She was nearly out of eyeshot from the other townies— which meant she was only steps away from being able to freely use her magic when another person caught the corner of her eye. Where the hell had he come from? She was instantly annoyed despite the fact that the young man couldn’t have any inkling of his unintentional meddling. Hopefully with any luck he’d disappear soon enough of his own accord, and then she’d be able to hover her new plants home with minimal effort. Another look towards the guy had her brow scrunching up in thought. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place why.

Milo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to smelling people before he saw them. It was a strange, and uncomfortable instinct. Usually he discovered he wasn’t alone through sight, or through sound. The regular ways. But when the fresh scent of vegetation and potted soil managed to reach him on the evening breeze, he glanced upwards, curious to see where it was coming from. There was a woman on the other side of the road, walking towards him with her arms full. He could only assume she was an avid gardener, nobody else would buy quite so much when they knew they needed to carry it home. For a while, he was too distracted by her plants to pay any real attention to her face, but as she grew closer he began to recognise her from high school. What was her name? Was it Penelope? He felt sure it was, but he also had a feeling nobody ever actually called her that. Jeez, it was so difficult remembering back on a time where he had barely been present. Always high, or on the verge of inebriation. If somebody wasn’t his friend, they faded away almost immediately after graduation. Regardless, it felt rude not to offer his help. He had been meeting so many people from his past, as of late. This could be an opportunity to make a new friend, somebody who didn’t know what a mess he was. “Hey!” He called from where he was standing across the road, there were no cars, so he knew she would have no trouble hearing him. “Any chance you want some help?” 

Highschool maybe? Was it highschool that she knew him from? Nell didn’t really want to ask, not when she was trying to hurry home, and get this guy out of her hair so that she could get her magic up and going. “Yeah- no thanks,” she dropped her reply quickly, taking on a fairly dismissive tone, hoping he’d catch the hint and leave her alone. Still...it was nagging her that she couldn’t place his face. It was definitely from highschool, but she’d had barely a handful of friends back then, and everyone else knew well enough to just leave her alone. Even though the normies couldn’t have known she was actually a witch, that didn’t stop the age-old fear of things they didn’t understand from settling in when it came to Nell Vural.

At first, they’d been taught it by their parents at the hands of a disastrous childhood birthday party where a kindergarten aged Nell had accidentally summoned a swarm of Wolpertingers out of her birthday cake. From then on, all it’d taken for her schoolmates to avoid her was a couple of violent altercations born of shitty people and her temper, and a few more mystic incidents for them to steer clear and whisper behind her back. But they’d had no problems coming to her when they wanted something more salacious, hook-ups underneath and bleachers and in empty classrooms. Apparently it had been fine enough to screw the creepy magic girl, just not get on her nerves or be her friend.

Milo faltered as Penelope turned down his offer, both surprised and irritated by the way she casually brushed him off. He was trying to be friendly, not to mention the fact that he recognised her from high school. She had every right to say no, of course. But he felt like he had decent grounds to be annoyed. If anything, it was an opportunity for good company, a mutual opportunity. Crossing the road without looking, confident he would hear any cars if they got too close, he raised his eyebrows at her. “I’m going to assume you have no idea who I am.” He half teased. “But I swear I’m not a creeper about to follow you home. Come on, let me help.” He gestured to the plants in her arms, knowing he didn’t need to point out how overwhelmed she was by her load. “I’m trying this new thing where I’m not an asshole, you know? This would really help my credibility.” 

Nell. The name came back to him suddenly, along with the reputation she had once managed to build for herself. He had stayed largely out of her way, watching her arguments in the corridor from afar, listening when people whispered about her while making no move to acknowledge the rumours. Honestly, anybody willing to say ‘fuck you’ to societal standards and enjoy sex for what it was had his respect. But it made him wonder why he had never gotten to know her back then. Given what was so often said, she seemed very much like his kind of person. Had she changed since? He definitely had, in more ways than one. “Nell, right?” He asked, unable to help himself. “It’s Milo… Summers. I used to hang around with Kyle.” He had no idea whether she even knew who Kyle was, but given they had both spent most of their days filling the boy’s bathroom with smoke, he figured she had probably heard of him.

To be honest, Nell didn’t entirely mind if some random guy from highschool got caught in the crossfire of her impatience— especially when she was over eager to get home, and get her plants all settled in. Was it rude? Probably. Would she ever see the guy again, and did she really care when she hadn’t even known him well enough to properly attach a name to face? Probably not. She simply raised a brow as he confirmed that no- she couldn’t quite place him within the confines of her highschool memories. “I’m not worried about you following me home.” It most likely wouldn’t turn out great for someone anyway if they decided to follow a girl back to the house where three witches, a reanimated corpse, and a literal demon dog lived. He was trying not to be an asshole? Why did she have to be a part of that when she just wanted to get home as fast as possible? 

Popping her mouth open to give him another denying reply bordering on rude, surprise flit over her face when he managed to remember her name— which quickly turned to intrigue as he mentioned the name Milo in conjunction with Kyle. Oh shit, this was Milo. The same Milo that had been hanging around the werewolf during the time he’d been turned. Along with his name came a few more vague memories from her school days, finally recalling him to be someone along the lines of a stoner who was often in detention. “Oh- Milo, right,” her expression instantly shifted into one that was much more open now that she realized he was actually someone she wanted to talk to. “That’s funny- I was actually just talking to Kyle the other day, and he mentioned you.” Milo didn’t need to know that it had been in the middle of Nell’s moonsitting. Ugh, she supposed this meant she should let him carry a couple things. “Sorry- I was just excited to get home.” She could be perfectly amiable when she wanted something, and she definitely wanted to know more about Kyle during his days around being bitten.

Milo could pinpoint the exact moment Nell began to realise who he was. He had no doubt in his mind her memories were vague, or based primarily on hearsay, but it would be hypocritical of that to bother him when his memories of her were the very same. “That’s me.” He agreed. “If you ever caught me in any compromising positions, now is the time to forget- you know, for the sake of my dignity.” He teased, laughing at his own joke. “I’d rather be judged on my new mistakes, of which I’m sure there will be many.” Her expression was far more open now, almost warm as she observed him, he wondered what she was thinking. It didn’t take her long to sate his curiosity. “Oh, you were?” He asked, his smile growing at the mention of his friend. He had only recently learned of Kyle’s lycanthropy, but strangely he found the knowledge comforting. He felt closer to him now than he had when they were at school together, despite seeing him then on a near daily basis. “What did he say? Good things, I hope?” Grinning easily, he glanced down at the plants still balanced in her arms. “Excited to get home because of this? Isn’t it a little late to be buying vegetation?” Holding out his arms, insisting she pass over some of her items, he caught her eye again, hoping she could see that he was trustworthy, and being sincere in his offer. “Here, come on… I swear I really do just want to help.”

Had she caught him in compromising positions? Maybe once or twice when they’d shared a detention, but highschool seemed so far away by now that sometimes it felt like an entirely different lifetime all together. “Sure- the sake of your dignity,” Nell echoed, biting off a teasing remark about how she wasn’t sure she could spare something he didn’t have. But she was going to be nice, she reminded herself. People didn’t talk to women about their werewolf friends if they thought they were an asshole. “But yeah- I just saw him right around the full moon,” she dropped casually, wondering if the phrase would trigger anything in Milo. Did he know about Kyle and his wolfy tendencies? “Honestly, it was so late when we were talking I barely even remember what we were saying,” she lied easily, not missing a beat. “But I doubt it was anything good if you’re that concerned,” she teased, testing the waters of what she could get away with. While he held out his arms, she let out an internal sigh, knowing she’d have to let him help if she wanted to get information from him. “I have a greenhouse,” she explained while carefully handing him a few of the plants, already feeling rather overprotective about letting him carry them. “It’s not too far from here.”

Milo grinned, glad Nell was willing to play along with his joke. “Much appreciated.” He replied, nodding his head with mock sincerity. But his smile quickly faltered as the conversation circled back around to Kyle. The full moon. It was such a specific thing to say. It jumped out at him, almost startling him out of his lighthearted demeanour. Did she know? He couldn’t see any other reason for her to mention the lunar cycle. So was she testing him? Trying to figure out whether he had also been trusted with the information? Hurrying to compose himself, he could only hope she hadn’t noticed his expression slip. “That’s a weird fucking way to measure time.” He teased, doing everything he could to sound casual. “Do you not own a calendar? Like a normal one, without moons on it?” Forcing a quiet laugh, he actually wouldn’t be surprised if Kyle had nothing decent to say about him. He wasn’t particularly worried, the reason they got along so well was due to that very fact. 

Feeling a strange sense of triumph when his company finally handed over some of her plants, despite not knowing much about her, he could see how much she cared for them. He made an effort to be gentle, holding them as though they were delicate, and breakable so that he wouldn’t cause any damage. Despite genuinely wanting to be of assistance, it would also help to earn her trust, and for some unknown reason, he found he really wanted to. “Define not too far?” He prompted. “Did I accidentally volunteer to walk miles with this stuff?” 

The hesitation in his smile was caught by Nell’s sharp eyes. She might not have noticed it if she hadn’t been looking for any hitch in Milo’s demeanor, but the falter was more than enough for Nell to continue her digging. “You know how White Crest is-” she began, careful to keep the levity in her words. “-always obsessed with the moon and her cycles along with ten million other weird things that wouldn’t fly in other towns. So what if my calendar has moons on it?” She didn’t need to get into the fact that Milo would be hard pressed to find a person that adored the moon more than a werewolf or spellcaster did. The two were generally unified in their waxing poetic of the big, powerful, and glowing lady in the sky. “Kyle didn’t think it was weird that I like the full moon.” Perhaps she was coming on a little too strongly, but if Milo didn’t know what she was referring to, it wouldn’t matter. Normies didn’t generally assume that any mention of the full moon and a person meant the guy in question was a werewolf. 

The greenhouse was Nell’s haven, a place that only a select group of people were allowed to enter, and she already had plans to leave Milo at the door of it once they arrived on property. “Are you gonna complain after you did this to yourself?” she teased back, her steps taking them further into the dense trees of the nearby woods. The Vural home was a part of the Outskirts and the forest that made up the less populated area. “It’s just through the woods a bit.”

Milo wanted to counter Nell’s point, to tell her she was being ridiculous, and laugh at how pretentious she sounded, like he might have once upon a time. But now he knew she was right, now he knew far too much about what happened below the surface of his sleepy, unassuming hometown, and he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “Said you and every other tumblr girl obsessed with astrology.” He muttered, figuring that would have to be enough. If he abruptly dropped his teasing then she would notice, he knew she would. “Maybe Kyle is also a tumblr girl obsessed with astrology.” He countered, his mind still working to process the strange words leaving Nell’s mouth. It all felt calculated somehow, as though she was carefully choosing them to elicit some form of reaction. But what did she want from him? What was she expecting him to say?

“Oh, I complain no matter what.” He insisted. “Did Kyle not tell you? It’s one of my more favourable traits.” He followed her as she led him into the forest, wondering where her house was located. He only knew the houses in town, and maybe a few of the buildings on the outskirts. He felt stupid for not realising some people needed to walk through wooded areas to get to their homes. “It’s just through the woods a bit sounds like the last thing somebody hears before they’re murdered.” He pointed out, offering her a smile over the plants in his arms so that she would know he wasn’t being serious. Besides, he had already been murdered once. Surely that lowered his chances of being murdered for a second time. That or he had the worst luck in the history of mankind. “You aren’t luring me out here to kill me, are you?” 

Nell’s eyes rolled seemingly without command, all too used to being compared to the cottagecore girls that love to emulate spellcaster culture and teachings. The humans loved to play pretend until a real witch was staring them in the face, and they realized their fear of the unknown outweighed their desire for crystal and starry aesthetics. Subtly was not her aim while she continued on, wondering if she could simply pressure Milo into revealing whether he knew Kyle’s secret or not. “That’s why you think Kyle has a glowing moon lamp on his wall? He’s a tumblr girl? I wouldn’t be surprised if I caught him howling at it one day,” she finished with a laugh, still waiting to see whether Milo would connect the dots. 

“Kyle told me lots of things,” Nell answered cryptically, having quickly abandoned her ‘nice girl’ act. Not that she wasn’t being nice anymore, just that she was letting more of her edge shine through. After all, fear could be a decent motivator as well. Of course she wasn’t actually here to murder the young man. She just wanted to know more about the time Kyle had been turned. With a laugh she shot Milo a coy look over her shoulder before answering his next question. “Oh no, I’m out of the human sacrifice phase right now.” It’d only been once that she’d spilled a human’s blood for magic, and she’d do it again if the situation was as dire, but for the most part she had no interest in taking human lives in exchange for magical power. 

Milo laughed, unable to help himself. “I’ve never been to Kyle’s place so I have zero knowledge of moon lamps. I have, however, seen them advertised on Instagram, so it still fits with the aesthetic.” Keeping his expression neutral at the mention of howling, it was becoming very obvious to him that Nell knew Kyle was a werewolf. He almost wanted to ask her how she knew, but if he admitted to also knowing then he would come very close to outing himself as a part of the supernatural world. Nell wasn’t his friend, this was the most they had ever spoken, so he refused to willingly make himself vulnerable. Raising his eyebrows in a show of polite interest, despite attempting to seem casual, his gaze was sharp, watching Nell for any sign or tell that might imply she was aware of his ‘undead’ status.

“He did?” He asked, almost daring her to tell him what was said. Surely Kyle wouldn’t have confided in her like that. There seemed to be an unspoken rule among the people he had met so far; you never told somebody else what a person was if you didn’t have permission to do so. Maybe there were exceptions to the rule, things he didn’t understand just yet, but he trusted Kyle not to out him. In the same way he hoped Kyle knew he could be trusted not to tell people he was a werewolf. “Hm, good to know.” He muttered in response to the joke on human sacrifice. He was glad they were able to move back into familiar territory. He enjoyed teasing, he was good at teasing. And it carried them further away from both Kyle’s predicament, and his own. “Because I’m sure I’d be a pretty useless sacrifice. Whatever demon you worship would probably send me back and ask for a working replacement.” 

“Really? It sounded like you were good friends the way he told it,” Nell commented smoothly, not actually having all that much interest in the closeness of their friendship at the moment, but figuring she should at least pretend. But her patience was wearing thin, and either Milo knew what she was speaking of or he didn’t. So with a huff and turn of her heel, she would have folded her arms over her chest if she hadn’t been holding the plants. Fixing Milo with her hardest stare, she carried on nonetheless. “Look- you either know what I’m talking about or you don’t. So just tell me if you know or not, and then we can move on.” If he thought her weird and demanding he wouldn't be the first, and most certainly not the last, but she didn’t really care about the opinion a random person from highschool might form from this interaction as long as she got to ask the questions she wanted answers to. 

“He sure did,” Nell replied with the beginnings of a smirk, giving Milo nothing when he seemed determined to do the same. Let him wonder at what Kyle had shared. Maybe he’d reveal too much by asking his own questions. “Why? Were you worried he said something about you?” It was a stab in the dark, and she had no real reason to think Milo might be worried about things he’d rather keep private. But she knew most people had something they wanted to hide. Milo most likely wouldn’t be an exception. She let him laugh at what he perceived to be a joke, waiting with a natural face until he was done, making no effort to join in. “I’m glad you thought it was funny. Demons don’t work like that, though.” Still, she was somewhat amused that he'd managed to stumble onto the demon portion of her magic. Not that he knew that.

They were close to the Vural property now, and the moonlight could be seen glittering on the glass of her greenhouse in the backyard of the house as the woods began to open up. 

“We were.” Milo clarified. “Way back when we were at school. I ran into him the other day but… that was the first time in years.” He couldn’t understand why Nell was taking such an interest, but every word out of her mouth seemed to set him more on edge. There had to be an ulterior motive here, only he couldn’t understand what it might be. His eyes widening as she suddenly decided to take a direct approach, one he definitely hadn’t been expecting, his step faltered. He wasn’t able to hide his surprise, but he did everything he could to compose himself quickly. A few beats of silence passed before he managed to find his words again, and he knew it was essentially too late. But if he admitted he knew what Kyle was, he admitted to knowing about the supernatural. That was one step too close to her realising he was a part of that world too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped. “And you’re being really fucking weird.” He gripped at her plants, angry at himself for offering to carry them. If his hands were free he would be able to walk away from this, remove himself from the situation. 

Glaring at his company, his chest tightening at her words, he wondered whether Kyle really had told her what he was. For all he knew, she hated vampires. Maybe she really did intend to kill him out here in the middle of nowhere. Who knew of his location? Nobody, and he didn’t have time to shoot anyone a text. If he disappeared now, he disappeared forever. Only Nell would ever know what happened to him. The thought caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably. “Why should I be worried?” He demanded, kicking at brush, and brambles as he passed through them. “Forgive me for not knowing how demons work.” He added, more convinced than ever that this might actually be the end for him. Surely she wouldn’t risk hurting her plants though. At least he had that. She needed to wait until he put them down, and then he could reevaluate the situation. Maybe even make a break for it. 

“Really? Why’d you guys lose touch?” Did it have to do with the whole werewolf thing? Nell continued to pry, her nosiness knowing now bounds as she tried to learn more about Kyle around the time he was bitten. If she understood him and his control then, maybe it would help with teaching him control now. The second show of surprise on his face only made the witch feel even more confident about her choice to confront him, even if he wasn’t giving anything specific away. She supposed if there was one thing to be said about Milo— it was that he was loyal. Which was unfortunate for her in this situation. Still, it was good that Kyle had friends who wouldn’t easily out him. Not that she should care about Kyle and whether his friends were suitable. His snappy response had her lips pursing, her temper flaring for a moment even though she knew she’d been the cause of Milo’s new shortness. “And you’re being really fucking rude.”  She was used to being called weird, and though she’d set herself up for it, the word still held the gravity of all the times she’d been ostracized for being ‘weird’ while growing up— especially when coming from the mouth of an old classmate. “But if you wanna be a little shit about it, be my guest.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment about demons, no longer interested in curbing her words or being overtly nice now that it seemed he wasn’t going to give her any information. Nell hadn’t meant the words in a correctional way. They’d been more along the lines of informational. “Maybe you should be worried cause you’re acting exactly how people who have secrets would act.” Finally they’d arrived at her greenhouse, and she set her own plants on the ground so she could raise a charmed key to the door. If Milo hadn’t been here she would have used her magic to undo the lock that would respond only to her magical signature, but it’s be difficult to explain such a thing away. “You can put the plants down now,” she commented dryly, suddenly eager to get rid of the guy.

“We used to smoke in the bathrooms at school together. That’s not exactly something you keep doing after you graduate.” Milo pointed out. Not every friendship had a foundation strong enough to last. He knew Kyle because they shared a passion for breaking trivial school rules, and often wound up in the same detentions. Spending time together because you were essentially running on a schedule wasn’t quite the same as actively arranging to stay in contact. He was incredibly glad he had run into Kyle outside of the university, more than grateful considering Kyle was a part of his terrifying new world. But had they not crossed paths again, reaching out probably wouldn’t ever have crossed his mind. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that. “I’m being rude for pointing out you’re being weird?” He asked. “That’s bullshit.” Maybe he should feel guilty for being so cold, it was very possible Nell had good intentions. But until he knew for sure, he wasn’t giving in. And if he genuinely didn’t know about Kyle then this defensive anger would be coming very naturally to him. “I’m not being a little shit about anything, you’re the one demanding information I don’t fucking have.” 

Narrowing his eyes as Nell came to a halt in front of the door to a greenhouse, he couldn’t exactly tell her she was wrong. He did have secrets. But then again, so did everybody. He definitely wasn’t alone in that fact. “Or maybe you’re projecting.” He countered, though he had no reason to believe she was. Watching as she opened the door, it suddenly struck him that a greenhouse might count as a part of her private dwelling. There was little chance of him being able to set the plants down inside if she didn’t first invite him in. He wasn’t sure whether she would be content with him putting them down on the floor, so he hovered awkwardly in the doorway, realising after a few moments had passed that she really wasn’t about to invite him inside. Despite him carrying her plants for her, despite him trying to make polite conversation. He had only been met with a confrontational attitude, and apparently now a distinct lack of thanks. Finally putting down the plants in his arms, lining them up beside the doorway he was trapped in, when he straightened up again, he was more than ready to shoot his company a glare. “What?” He demanded, unable to help himself. “You really aren’t going to invite me in?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking rude,” Nell shot back, her own temper stoked by the appearance of Milo’s. “You think you can just go around calling people weird?” It was more the principle of the matter than anything, the fact that Milo seemingly thought he had a right to call her names and get away with it. She snorted at his claim of ignorance, still not entirely sold when it came to him knowing nothing. “I’m asking, you’re the one getting all offended about it. Which makes you a little shit,” she replied snarkily, a smugness entering her voice. 

A roll of Nell’s eyes, and she was fixing him with a withering glare from inside her greenhouse. “I don’t give a shit about people knowing stuff about me.” Or at least she specifically didn’t really mind if someone knew she was a witch. In honesty she thought it beneficial that people knew of her power. If people knew she and her sisters had power, they’d be less likely to mess with them. As for the more personal feelings in her life- those were the things she was bad at sharing, and letting people in on. She might have thanked him if she’d wanted his help in the first place, but now she wasn’t all that keen on giving him the satisfaction. At first she was pleased, and now surprised that he hadn’t walked into her greenhouse of his own accord. Had the guy finally decided to show some manners? The choice of his words were rather specific, and had her head cocking to the side with intrigue. He wanted her to invite him in? Arranging her new plants on a nearby worktable, a bulb of garlic caught her eye, and a flicker of connection fired in her brain. Well...there was only one way to find out if her newest suspicion was anything of substance. With a quick and easy flick of her wrist, she launched the garlic towards Milo without warning, savoring the flash of satisfaction she felt from the childish move. “No- I don’t think I will.”

“I mean, if they’re being weird then I don’t see an issue with it.” Milo countered, an edge to his voice to match the edge in Nell’s voice. He wasn’t exactly sure how they had ended up where they were but as far as he was concerned, she was entirely to blame. Maybe if she hadn’t pushed him, maybe if she wasn’t so desperate to talk about Kyle. “I’m not getting offended.” He added, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to wait in the doorway. “I’m getting annoyed, there’s a distinct fucking difference.” Letting out a huff of breath, he didn’t care how she felt about people knowing her information. Even if she was projecting, he was hardly interested in learning her secrets. They were probably more akin to which manure makes the best fertilizer, anyway. Something he would be more than happy to tell her. 

In fact, he was in the process of opening his mouth to do so when he was distracted by her suddenly, and very pointedly throwing an object at him. Instinctively, he reached up to cover his face. But it wasn’t until the object hit him that he was able to discern what it was. If his body’s reaction to the plant wasn’t enough to give it away, the scent was very nearly overwhelming. It was a bulb of garlic. An actual bulb of garlic. Who even grew their own? He couldn’t understand why Nell would go to the effort when you could literally buy it pre-crushed in jars. Immediately feeling a jolt of disorientation, he scrambled to bat it away, fangs protruding, eyes flashing red as the skin it made contact with began to sting. “What the fuck?” He demanded, righting himself to stare at Nell with open disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether she had chosen the garlic on purpose, or accidentally stumbled upon what he was, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was no point in trying to hide from her. Not now. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He raised his voice, his indignation only growing as he was given time to fully process what had happened. “Did you just- you just threw garlic at me!” 

You really aren’t going to invite me in? Milo’s words were thrown into clarity as she watched the flash of his fangs appear, and his apparent aversion for the plant became clear. “You’re a vampire.” Nell’s words weren’t so much a question as a means of telling him she’d seen the changes, and put the earlier and smaller hints together that she hadn’t thought to put as much stock in. Her stance took on an even more guarded pose, not knowing Milo well enough to feel confident in making a judgment on whether he was a vampire more along the lines of someone like Harsh, or someone more murderous or bloodthirsty. Either way she certainly wasn’t going to be inviting him into her greenhouse now. The witch’s arms folded across her chest, cocking her hip to the side as she gave the young man a thorough up and down, sizing him up in that same way she used to measure threats in the Ring. “So that’s why you were being so squirrely?” Did Milo being a vampire mean he was more likely to know of Kyle’s werewolf status?

“No shit. What gave it away?” Milo bit out, brushing himself down as he retracted his fangs, making a point of continuing to glare at Nell. He watched her as she shifted to take a more guarded stance, one that made it clear she was now actively scrutinizing him. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but he felt himself shrink a little under her gaze regardless. It was impossible to know what she was capable of, it was impossible to know what anybody in White Crest was capable of. Though he wasn’t exactly holding a torch for self preservation, if she decided to attack, his only real option would be to run. So he opted to stay where he was for now, awkwardly rubbing at his wrist where it had come into contact with the garlic. All he could do was stay silent, and hope she wasn’t trying to figure out where best to plunge a wooden stake. His skin was no longer stinging but the ghost of the feeling was there, he tried not to let it distract him. “I wasn’t being squirrely. Fuck you. You’re the one asking weirdly specific questions about somebody who isn’t even here!” He pointed out, indignant in the face of the accusation. “I know why, by the way. You’re not being subtle.” 

Nell didn’t hesitate to return Milo’s glare, still not even entirely certain how they’d gotten to this point in the first place. Maybe she’d pushed too hard, but that wasn’t anything new for her. It was another one of the many reasons people in highschool had avoided the witch. There weren’t many people who took kindly to her abrasive personality, and it had been even more extreme back in those days. “Well most vampires walk like they have a stick up their ass so that was probably it.” Sorry Harsh. She made the mental apology to her friend, not actually believing the words, but wanting some childish way to retort Milo’s snark. Nell didn’t actually have anything against vampires so long as they weren’t witch hunters like Miriam, or lacked control in a way that made them a constant and active threat to others. “You were being squirrely. Basically dancing around my questions and shit, and getting all uppity.” Her eyes rolled again. “I gave up trying to be subtle about fifteen minutes ago, I’m not stupid enough to come on that strongly without being aware of it.” She’d learned that well enough through her time as a monster catcher and bounty hunter. “So you know Kyle’s a werewolf, then.” At least they’d gotten it out in the open. “Did you know when he was changed?” Now she could ask her questions point-blank.

Milo let out a huff of breath. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever thought maybe that’s just the vampires having to deal with you?” He countered. He wasn’t sure how they had managed to go from a genuine conversation to what could almost be considered an argument. But he wasn’t about to back down, it wasn’t in his nature. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure she wanted him to. “Because you were trying to get me to out a friend!” He explained, wondering whether she might be able to understand his reasoning, maybe even appreciate it. She had made it relatively clear she knew what Kyle was, but she could have been using him to get confirmation, to go behind his back. He would never forgive himself if he gave information to the wrong person, especially information that wasn’t his to give. “Without knowing what you know, did you honestly expect me to just come out and just say it? We aren’t friends, Nell. We said like two words together throughout the whole of high school.” 

Narrowing his eyes when she brushed off his comment, insisting she hadn’t been aiming for subtlety, he waited, wondering whether she was going to say the words out loud. Say what they both knew, what he was continuing to carefully dance around. And then she did, and it was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Yes.” He said finally. “Did he tell you that?” It still felt strange, talking about it with a stranger. The least he could do was find out whether Kyle had confided in her, or if she had somehow pried the information out of him. If he had willingly been honest with her then he would begrudgingly accept the fact that she could be trusted. “Why?” He asked, some of his anger beginning to fade away. He was curious now, more so than anything else. “Do you mean did he tell me when it first happened? Or just… do I know when it happened in like, the timeline of our lives?” 

“No it’s definitely a you problem,” Nell quipped back, unwilling to take any responsibility. “And I wasn’t trying to get you to out a friend. I was seeing if you already knew. It should have been obvious that I knew by the way I was asking- so you wouldn’t have been ‘outing’. Unless you’re too clueless to connect the dots between me talking about the moon and Kyle. You literally just said I wasn’t being subtle, though.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of them not being friends. As if she cared about something like that when it came to the random guy from highschool. 

“Yeah, we talked about it.” That’s all Milo needed to know when it came to what she and Kyle had spoken of, the deeper conversation they’d gotten into with sleep still tugging at their eyes and the sun barely glinting over the horizon on Kyle’s patio. Her stubbornness made her balk at Milo’s request for why she wanted to know, but she doubted he’d answer her questions if she wholly refused to reply to his. “I’m trying to help him,” she supplied vaguely. “And I mean the second one- do you know when it happened in his life and stuff.”

Milo narrowed his eyes, but stayed quiet, allowing Nell to answer him despite her attitude making him want to interrupt. It would be so easy to cut her off, to argue, but he held his tongue. Resisting the urge so that he could hear what she had to say to him. It didn’t take long for his patience to falter, though. For his frustration to grow exponentially. Could she really be so oblivious? “You weren’t being subtle.” He bit out. “But for all I knew you only suspected Kyle. Isn’t that the oldest fucking trick in the book? Pretending someone confided in you so that you can get information on them from the people they actually trust?” Letting out a huff of breath when his company rolled her eyes, it was everything he could do not to turn around and leave. He only had two reasons to stay. He wanted to know more about Kyle, more about Nell, about the friendship they apparently shared. And he was also incredibly confident his continued presence would annoy her. If he left now he would only be giving her what she wanted, and he was petty. Undeniably so. 

“That’s all you’re giving me?” He asked. “You talked about it?” Coming to realise she was never going to give him the information he wanted solely because she knew he wanted it, he decided to focus on what she was telling him. Or more accurately what she was asking him. “Do you think he needs help?” He hadn’t considered the fact that maybe his friend wasn’t coping. His version of support usually consisted of sharing a drink, and talking until the sun began to rise. What if Kyle needed more than that? Mechanisms that were actually considered healthy by society. He wasn’t any good with those. “Yeah, I know when it happened. I mean, obviously I didn’t at the time. I knew something was up, but it was only after seeing him again that he told me why he started acting so shady way back...” 

“Oh my god, I know I wasn’t being subtle. I literally just said that was the point- that was I was doing it on purpose.” It was becoming rather apparent that something just wasn’t aligning all that properly between Nell and Milo, and the witch was starting to wonder if perhaps they were two people who simply tended to get along like water and oil. Or maybe it was just the conversation they’d chosen. Either way, she was annoyed. She mirrored Milo’s huff, while her eyes gave yet another roll. Nell had lost count of how many times she’d done it since their conversation had begun. “You’re the one who came up to me, remember? If I was actively trying to find out if Kyle was a werewolf, I would have orchestrated some way for us to meet. Not some stupid chance thing.” She’d done it countless times while she looked for bounties. 

“I’m not telling you what we talked about,” Nell replied haughtily. It wasn’t any of Milo’s business, and it wasn’t as if she was going to tell a guy who’d only annoyed the shit out her thus far about the traumas she and Kyle had shared. “It’d be shitty when it was just for Kyle and me.” As for Kyle needing help...that was a question Nell was more willing to answer. Even though Milo was unbearable, he was Kyle’s friend. Someone that might care to help. And Kyle needed all the help he could get. But she didn’t want to outrightly expose Kyle, and she remembered how he’d wanted to set the boundary of requesting help from others. But still...she worried. “It’s...not easy adjusting to being a werewolf on your own.” That was the most specific she could get without outrightly saying he suffered with control. “He hasn’t had anyone to teach him.” She was disappointed that Milo hadn’t known at the time, but intrigued by the mention of Kyle having acted differently. “He started acting shady, how?”

Milo set his jaw. He was over Nell’s attitude, much like he suspected she was over his own. And his desire to hear what she had left to say was infuriating. Why couldn’t he just turn and leave? It should be easy to abandon their ridiculous conversation. “Yeah, I was trying to be nice. That might be a foriegn concept to you.” He snapped. It wasn’t fair that he was being blamed for how their interaction had played out. He had approached her with good intentions, it was utterly undeniable. “How am I supposed to know what he’s told you and what he hasn’t? Jeez.” He ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to expel his agitated energy. “I don’t need to know what you talked about. I think I just need to get out of here.” The longer they spoke, the more apparent it was becoming that they weren’t going to find a common ground. Maybe in another situation, under a different circumstance. But certainly not here, and certainly not right now. 

He actually turned to leave, finally finding the motivation, before Nell hesitated. He noticed it, noticed the way she faltered at his question, and it made him wonder just how much he had yet to learn about Kyle. “No shit.” He muttered, stopping in his tracks. “It isn’t easy adjusting to being a vampire either.” His heart ached at the thought of Kyle, so young and scared. But there was nothing he could do to change the past. All he could do now was focus on the future, on being there for Kyle in any way he was able. “I know how that feels.” Pushing his glasses further up his nose, his expression momentarily softening, he caught Nell’s eye. Sharing in her concern, in her obvious affection for the werewolf. “It doesn’t matter.” He brushed off her request for him to elaborate, knowing the information wasn’t important. It wouldn’t help anybody now. “Just- I don’t know, be there for him, I guess. And I’ll do the same. We don’t have to like each other.” 

Nell didn’t bother even considering that he’d claimed to be making an attempt at being nice, past the point of caring either way. And if he wanted to leave she certainly wouldn’t stop him. But then again...she hasn’t quite gotten to ask everything she’d wanted to. And though she was more than willing to try and bully the answers from him, she tried to think of Kyle— how upset he might be if he heard that she’d done her best to force answers from his friend. So she bit her tongue— quite literally digging her teeth into it in an attempt to exercise the very limited restraint she held. “Then go,” she replied, trying her best not to reignite the animosity in their conversation. 

But then Milo had to go and insinuate that...perhaps he related a little more to Kyle than not. A reluctant prickle of sympathy flickered in her gut, and she did her best to squash it down for the time being. She was already barely treading water when it came to helping Kyle, and she shouldn’t add a vampire who had proven annoying as hell to her plate. Still...maybe she’d message him later, and try and figure out just how much Milo was like Kyle. But being there for Kyle was something she could do. And despite her argument with Milo— she was glad to hear it was something he was planning on as well. “Great. Then we’ll...watch out for Kyle.” Her stubbornness and petty nature made it hard to agree with the vampire who’d been a frustration. Still...in the end Kyle was more important. With a still angry shake of her head, she watched Milo as he left the property, and waited until he was out of sight to turn back to her greenhouse. She’d bother Milo later.

[fascination-street-writing]

To Discard and Discover | Trish Una x F!Reader

She smells of roses and lemongrass - of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

100 Follower Giveaway 1st Place Piece

Content Warnings: P-TSD & Math Class

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to finish your degree?”

Fugo lifts the saucer of tea to his lips, careful to blow on the scalding steam before taking a sip.  He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Trish, who sits across from him at the dining table, awaiting his response. Sighing, he speaks: “Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt any reputable university would take me in after what I did.”

Trish murmurs to herself. She chases a sliced cherry tomato with her fork. Il Pranzo has become a shared pastime between her and the strawberry-blonde boy. “I’m sure Giorno could pull some strings,” she insists. “You could probably go anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s not honest that way. Besides, I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s no degree requirement to work for the Don of Passione . . . But, what about you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He sets his tea down. “The new schoolyear starts in a month. Haven’t you thought about returning?”

Trish stiffens. “Do you think I should?” she asks.

“That’s not for me to say,” Fugo tells her. “Bruno will encourage you to, and the schools near where you live are good. Well, as good as any school in Napoli can be. Above all else, it might be a decent distraction – a chance to gain back a little normalcy in your life.”

It is a difficult subject, and one that weighs on her like a vice. She has struggled to acclimate to the new normal after everything that transpired in the early spring of this year. Returning to school had simply not been a possibility for her, though not for a lack of trying.

She has found trauma to be a tantalizing friend indeed – and one that never quite seems to leave her side.

The sound of your laced shoes slapping against the waxed floors is lost to the rush of bodies that swarm the corridor. The faces of your peers are unnamed to you, because in your sixteen years of life, you never cared to commit them to memory.  Your first session of the day is classe di matematica. It is a grueling subject to most, but you find it easy enough.

An unfamiliar pink-haired girl stands before your teacher at his desk. You cannot help but to notice her rigid posture; she stands as though she has been frozen in place by the scrutiny of his eyes as he takes in her appearance. It is obvious that she is a transfer student, and a nervous one at that. To you, she is nothing more than another face with a name, and you will not care to remember it.

Filing past clusters of your fellow classmates, you make your way to the back of the room and secure your territory. While the table creaks under the weight of your bookbag and leud pencil carvings mar its surface, you find solace in its position beneath the window overlooking the courtyard.

Students continue to file through the door. You look to the clock: class will not begin for another five minutes. Impatient, you sigh and turn your attention to a flock of pigeons gathering on the cobblestone pathway of the courtyard. Watching the scuffle of five birds, all for a discarded heel of bread, is far more enticing than pretending not to eavesdrop on any of the conversations filling the space of the room.

The clocktower chimes and the pigeons scatter, no doubt startled by the deep vibrato of the prerecorded bell-sound echoing throughout campus. You open your notebook and click your used pen. Your classmates take their seats, all the while avoiding the second chair at your table. You do not mind it, for you know it is not repulsion that keeps your peers at bay. The truth is much simpler: every student has at least one friend within the class whom they would much rather sit with than yourself.

Head hung low, you wait for the selection process to end whilst avoiding wandering gazes. When you hear the tapping of a pencil against the table, you are shocked to see the pink-haired girl standing before you.

“Can I sit here?”

Your mouth turns dry, as if you have swallowed the very same stale bread the pigeons quarreled for. You do not mean to, but your eyes trace the delicate lines of her face, from her piercing green eyes framed by thick lashes to the soft pout of her pink, glossy lips. You wring your hands together. She’s pretty, you think to yourself. She’s unfairly pretty.

“Hello?”

You clear your throat. “O-Oh, uh . . .” You stumble over your words, suddenly conscious of the light red hue dusting across her cheekbones. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wait for her to laugh, to wallow in your self-inflicted humiliation. Instead, she smiles, revealing two rows of straight, white teeth, and sits beside you. She smells of roses and lemongrass – of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Unconsciously, you bring a finger to your hair and touch it, as if in disbelief that she would compliment your appearance, let alone your hair. “Sorry, that probably came across as creepy, didn’t it?”

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insist. Heat rushes to your face. Her flattery burns you, and yet, you gladly kneel before its flames. “Uh . . . Thank you.”

She hums and turns to face your chattering teacher. You clutch your pen. It hovers over the blank page of your notebook. The hour flies by; class draws to an end, and you have retained nothing. How could you, when the smell of her perfume alone has bequeathed to you the insatiable desire to be wherever it is that roses and lemongrass might coexist – perhaps in the garden of a cottage overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

You notice how she has begun backing her bag. It is your cue to gather your own belongings. The bell rings. You hurry to stand, eager to be away from the girl who garners your attention.

“I’m Trish, by the way,” she tells you. You are still. “Thanks for letting me sit here. It was nice meeting you.”

Trish. Just like the model from America; it suits her, plenty. The corners of your mouth turn upwards into a grin. Her kindness is infectious, and it leaves you longing, gasping for more. As you watch her leave, her form engulfed by the sea of taller students, you are left with nothing more than a contemplation: perhaps there is one name you will remember.

“I don’t understand – what does any of this have to do with math?” Trish sighs, dropping her pencil in frustration. A manicured finger hooks into a pink curl and twirls it with such vigor; you fear she will tear out her own hair. “None of this makes sense.”

“Well, it has more to do with logic than math,” you try to explain. You offer your workbook to her. “It’s actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it.”

She rolls her brilliant green eyes. “Maybe for someone like you. Not everyone can be as smart as you, you know.”

“I-I’m really not that smart,” you deflect. You tap the unfished equation scribbled in her notes. “Let’s just go back to the beginning . . . Un cavaliere always tells the truth, so they can never lie. But un fante always lies, so they can never tell the truth. You meet Persona A and Persona B . . .”

You guide her through the problem. The sound of shuffling papers signifies that everyone else in the class has finished their work; your teacher waits for Trish, and Trish alone, who grips her pencil tightly. You know she feels it – the unspoken ridicule from your peers. To them, she is the incompetent new student from Calabria who cannot comprehend un cavalieri e furfanti puzzle.

“Dannazione, sono un idiota,” she hisses. “Nothing makes sense.”

You frown. “You’re not an idiot just because a silly math problem stumped you.” The insistence falls from your lips. Her silence sends a frigid chill down your spine. “Please, don’t say that about yourself. Let me help you work through it. We assume Persona A is un fante.”

Your teacher clears his throat. He peers over the rim of his half-moon glasses, observing the way you coax Trish to complete the problem. He sets aside the book that had been clasped in his hand, and he stands to approach her, to offer his aid at the behest of a struggling student with such unique circumstances. At the sight of the pencil falling from her fingers and the smile upon her face, he stops.

“I’ve got it. Persona B is un cavaliere, which means both Persona A and Persona B are.” She pauses for a moment to contemplate her words. “That’s a contradiction! Our assumption was wrong, so if Persona A is un cavaliere, he’s telling the truth, so Persona B must be un fante.”

Your confirmation is something sacred to her, not unlike the Rosary given to her on the day of her mother’s funeral. Even when shakily spoken Hail Marys fall from her lips and her fingers tremble over the amber counting beads, there is little room in Trish’s mind for meditation when her thoughts, as of late, are always of you.

She blushes as you meet her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she begins. “You are smart.”

You bite your lip and look away, though her eyes follow. “That’s not true,” you say. “You don’t have to butter me up so much.”

She clasps your hand gently beneath the table. Her palm is soft, and you want to turn your wrist to enlace your fingers with hers. You stop yourself. “If I’m not allowed to call myself an idiot, then you’re not allowed to say you’re not intelligent.” You open your mouth to rebuke her words, but she cuts you off. “Despite what I said, I know I’m smart; just not at all things, like math.”

Her thumb brushes against the back of your knuckles as she pulls away. An incidental touch, you ponder. She turns her attention to your teacher, who stands before the chalkboard writing out the correct steps of the puzzle. You feel hot – unbearably so. A sudden bulge in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You ask to be excused to the bathroom. You did not need to hear the rest of the lesson, anyways.

It has been nearly two months since that day in classe di matematica. Indeed, the air outside has turned crisp and rain showers frequent the weather patterns: the season nears wintertime. Trish’s acclimation to life in Napoli has been far easier than her guardian Bruno had anticipated – dinnertime conversations about daydreams and schooldays have made him grateful for your involvement in the pink-haired girl’s life. Weekends spent with you, consisting of coffees, shopping trips, and stops at gelato parlors, remind her that she is safe.

Because of you, she can be a teenager again.

As you enter the classroom, you find her seat empty. Class carries on, but you cannot focus, for you are reminded of the loneliness that came before meeting Trish. You decide a sip of cool water might help to clear the haze unsettling you so.

You bring the uncapped water bottle to your lips, only to cry out in shock as the metal flask contorts in your grip like puddy. Its contents billow over the mouth of the bottle and saturate your skirt. The bottle does not make a sound as it fumbles to the vinyl floor; you are too bothered by the sloshing of your clothes to notice the way in which the metal frame slowly bends back into its shape – or the laughter of your fellow classmates.

Your teacher ushers you to the bathroom. Your wet loafers squeal as you hurry down the hallway. Prayer cards and posters promoting abstinence adorn the walls. The door latches behind you. Hiccups and choked sobs echo throughout the tight chamber of the communal space. It smells of roses and lemongrass – it smells of her.

You reach for the paper towel dispenser and blot at your skirt. It does little good to salvage the pleated fabric and it leaves an incriminating stain. Though you hesitate, you rapt your hand against the closed stall door and call out to her: “Trish? Are you okay?”

Her wails diminish. Her shadow peaks out from the crack between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. She sniffles before revealing herself. The hue upon her cheeks is unlike the bashful blush of infatuation that frequents her skin. Her distress pains you.

"I missed you in class,” you say, unsure of what to do for the girl you have come to endear. You chide yourself immediately, wanting nothing more than to cast yourself out of her presence for your insensitive comment. Spoken words are never quite simple.

Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears again. You fear you have upset her. And yet, her arms extend towards your body. Suddenly, you are embracing; she holds you in a grip akin to a vice. Your fingers trace shapes against her clothed back. It is something you might have done to soothe a weeping infant. In the privacy of the bathroom, you pretend she is your lover – that every sojourn for velveteen dresses and freshly churned gelato on Sabato pomeriggio meant something more to her.

But she is not your lover – and you are not hers.

Reluctantly, you pull away. Her breath fans your face, and it is only now that you notice the dainty freckles of her cheeks for the first time. You step backwards until your thighs hit the sink. For a moment, you think she had frowned upon your separation. It is another of many illusions that your mind has weaved as of late, no doubt.

“Thank you,” Trish says, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Smudges of black mascara coat her skin.

You fiddle with the hem of your damp skirt. You realize, as you glance over the girl’s uniform, that her skirt is wet as well – from her own tears or the second-hand spillage from your water bottle, you know not. “I didn’t really do anything,” you insist.

"You’re here. That means everything to me.”

Paying no heed to the nagging sensation within you that wants to pry into the cause of her anguish, you offer her a clean paper towel. She accepts it with a faint smile. You settle for ignorance, because you know she will confess to you someday – beyond her passing comments of a deceased mother and a toxic, absent father.

Prepared to return to class, she laces her arm with yours and takes a deep breath. You decide that you will wait as long as she needs.

The brown paper-bag filled with paint bottles feels heavy in your grasp. It weighs on your shoulder, slipping down with every step taken towards the direction of your home. The figurines of your mother’s nativity set have begun to peel and crack, and you have promised to aid her in restoring the heirlooms. It is only right; religious preferences aside, the ivory statuettes will one day be your inheritance. And it will make a fond memory for you of your mother.

Shielded by the umbrella of a patio table, Trish sits before that which you recognize as a café you have frequented several times together: Caffè Anami. You long to be one of the glossed pages of the magazine she thumbs through – to feel her touch and to be adored the same way you adore her. Outside of her usual school uniform, she wears a floral-patterned dress. You do not question its monetary value; she comes from strange wealth, and her choice in civilian attire is only one of many indicators.

You begin to approach her, a practiced greeting wrought of cordiality ready on your tongue. But kindness turns to bitterness as the front door to the café opens and a boy with messily-styled black hair and wild violet eyes pushes past new customers and struggles to balance two to-go cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

"They didn’t even offer me a cupholder,” you hear him grumble aloud. You stop. “How am I supposed to carry all this? Does it look like a have a third arm?”

Trish rises and reaches for the bag of pastries. “There,” she tells the boy. “Crisis averted.”

Free of burden, they both take their seats at the table. As Trish divides the baked goods amongst two napkins, the boy watches her careful movements with what you describe as pure reverence, for she is the personification of grace and beauty, and he knows this. They converse with each other, and you cannot help but to observe how Trish has made a habit of touching the boy’s arm nearly every time she speaks to him.

Your stomach churns at the unpleasantry before you. In all your time pining after the pink-haired girl, you had never considered that she may have had a partner of her own. But you see it now: how could you have been so blind? She had not mentioned the scraggily haired boy before. Talks of saccharine kisses, gentle touches, and of course a boyfriend never came from her rosy-colored lips. She hid this from you. Perhaps, this whole time, she truly knew of your affections. At the risk of losing a friend (for you assume you were nothing more to her), she forbade herself to speak of the boy, lest she drive you away – there could be no other explanation.

It hurts, so much in fact that a knife to your heart would be preferable to the pain swallowing you whole. Gauging his appearance, you decide he does not deserve someone as elegant as she . . . Though, considering your tattered jeans and hand-me-down blouse, neither do you. You swipe at the tears threatening to spill and you choke down the lump in your throat. Readjusting the shopping bag over the perch of your shoulder, you leave, broken and unwell.

Behind you, Trish’s melodious laughter – a wicked song indeed – resonates. You could not block out her sweet chorus even if, deep down, you truly wanted to.

Your knees sink into the plush mass of the faux-fur rug beneath you. Your saucer of hot tea rests atop the coffee table, untouched; the steam rises and coils into the air. Trish’s guardian – Bruno, she called him – sets a tray filled with biscotti before you. You might have found him intimidating if not for the warmth laced within his sapphire-blue eyes. He closes the double-doors to the study, leaving you and the pink-haired girl alone.

The silence in the room is cut by the scratching of pencils to paper and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, tucked between a lounger and a houseplant. You scan over your completed portion of the study guide. Earlier that day, your insegnante di matematica had formally announced an exam slotted to be proctored at the end of the week. After he distributed the studyguides, Trish turned to you with an unassuming smile and asked if you would like to come to her house and study together. If not for the existence of her boyfriend, you would have looked for a deeper implication. Instead, you agreed with a curt nod, and accompanied her home at the end of the day.

“[Y/N]?” You look up from your work to meet Trish’s gaze. “Are you upset at me about something? You’ve been acting like you want nothing to do with me lately.”

You hesitate to respond. It would be better to lie, to hide your feelings and come up with an excuse: it’s not you, I’m just stressed about school, that’s all. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” you ask instead, blunter than you probably should have been. Her brows furrow, as if she misunderstood you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should be honest with each other?”

“Boyfriend? Who told you I had a boyfriend?”

“No one. I saw you two together. I-I wasn’t stalking you, honest – I was walking home from the store the other day and I saw you at Caffè Anami with him . . . I can’t understand why you’d hide something like that from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

The corners of her lips turn into a grin and she shakes her head. “His name’s Narancia,” she tells you. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s practically a brother to me.”

You are not sure whether to feel relief or mortification – relief, for your chances with the girl have not been thwarted; mortification, for your accusation has backfired, leaving you utterly and completely embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry,” you spit out. “I just – I didn’t think – I –”

She places her hand over yours, just like the day when you had helped her through the cavalieri e furfanti puzzle. “It’s all good. Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

She takes her hand away and scribbles something down in her study guide. Her top row of teeth juts out to graze her bottom lip, and it is only then you notice something different about her appearance: she is wearing a darker shade of lipstick. Trish catches you staring.

“What’re you looking at?” She is luring you, and you have already fallen into her snare.

“Uh, I like your lipstick,” you confess. “That’s all.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You set your pencil aside. You feel as though you might burst, that it might kill you if you do not tell her how you feel. But words do not come to mind – nothing more than silly quips or dull compliments; and so, you settle for the former.

“Can I try it?”

Trish pauses. You fear you have overstepped unspoken boundaries. After all, only moments ago, you had accused her of keeping secrets. Yet, you too have kept one secret to yourself: that you love her, as much as one sixteen-year-old girl might love another. To your delight, she nods and smiles, casting her schoolwork aside to meet you halfway over the coffee table separating your bodies.

She tastes of the biscotti – almond, you think – and earl grey tea. She blossoms at your touch, as if you are the sun and she a posy in a garden somewhere. You forget the ticking of the grandfather clock, for the shared beating of your hearts is deafening. You think to pull away, but she chases your lips and captures them again. She cups your face, caging you in place – not that you mind.  

You separate only when you have both grown desperate for air. The sight of her flushed face leaves you in awe. Your belly flutters. She raises a finger to her smudged lips and beams. You long to ask her if she too dreams of roses and lemongrass, of a cottage overlooking the sea in the countryside far away from the bustle of Napoli. But you know better than to overwhelm yourselves with adolescent thoughts of the future – her, especially.

As for Trish, she reminds herself to thank Fugo for convincing her to return to school. Though her past haunts her still, she is indebted to her new life. For, without suffering first, she never would have the girl from classe di matematica who stole her heart on the very first day.

She turns to her schoolwork. “We should get back to it,” she insists. You cock your eyebrow and giggle, bashful and appeased.

“You’re right: we should.”

| 3964 Words |

* Please note that the woman in the photograph is meant to resemble Trish - this is not an assumption of the reader’s appearance.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 15--Child

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo's pregnancy progresses.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Six months later

“Behind you,” Demyx spat. Ienzo ducked, just barely feeling the droplets of Demyx’s spell against the Heartless.

“Thanks.” Ienzo gathered more magic under his hands. It was easier--more volatile--than ever. “A few more, baby.”

“Are you enjoying this?”

“...I have to cope somehow.” He slashed through the remaining ones in the clearing and brushed the dust off of his hands. “That’s the last of them.” Ienzo’s heart was still racing. He placed a hand on his belly. “What can I say? She’s bloodthirsty.”

Demyx laughed a little. His hand joined Ienzo’s. “She’s really pummeling you.”

“I think it’s the adrenaline. Must feel good.” He gave him a kiss. “Come on. We have to go get ready. You’re going to be late.”

Demyx’s smile faltered. “Does it matter?”

“It’s your college graduation. Of course it matters. I’m so proud of you. Summa cum laude, Demyx, it’s a big deal.”

“...That’s only ‘cause you helped me.”

“Adding a few commas and semicolons into your papers isn’t much.” He took both his hands. “Come on.”

It wasn’t a long walk home from the woods. It had rained earlier that morning, a spring rain that made everything fresh… and muddy. They’d both need a shower before they headed over to the university.

The last few months had made things both more complicated and simpler. It was easier to be pregnant than Ienzo thought, especially once the morning sickness subsided. He had more energy and, yes, more power . He was still able to go to class, simply covering his belly with an illusion; as long as nobody got too close, they wouldn’t be able to know.

While being more powerful attracted more Heartless, it also made his work with Cid easier. They were cracking small parts of Xehanort’s OS, which had allowed them to fell tiny pockets of his in the country, taking back a few small bastions. At least it was progress, and after so much stalemate, it was welcome.

His contact with Ansem, limited as it was, tapered off entirely. Ienzo did not even know if his father knew of his pregnancy, what had happened. All he knew was that one meeting everyone was frantically asking one another where he’d gone. They all had their theories; that he’d been killed, kidnapped, that he was running his own reconnaissance missions. But why would he leave? Why now? It was a question that kept Ienzo up at night.

Ienzo actually had to move his bedroom into the basement, an extra layer of defense against his magic. On top of that… while Demyx still received mail at his old apartment, he stayed over so frequently that he did essentially live there. Once his lease was up in June, it would be permanent. Even just grit his teeth and bore it; it wasn’t as though Ienzo could get doubly pregnant.

It was still odd, to see himself in mirrors, to see his belly and to feel the baby move. He swore he felt  her aura growing. Thinking about her… gave him hope.

Though with the hope was anxiety.

While they seemed to be gaining a little ground against Xehanort, it didn’t seem to be happening quickly enough to offset the harm. On top of this was the stress of oncoming parenthood; he was only barely an adult himself. They didn’t have the things she’d need , and there was only about two more months before she would be born--

Ienzo showered quickly, pulled on a sweater. Demyx was putting on a tie, smoothing the strands of hair out of his face. “You clean up nicely,” he said.

Demyx exhaled. “Not that anyone’s going to see it under that thing.” He gestured to the black robe.

Ienzo touched his arm. “Hey,” he said. “Relax, will you?”

“There are just going to be a lot of people around you.”

“We’ll manage,” he said. “Now get dressed. Come on.”

Ienzo felt as though he were standing in two lives. Aeleus so indulgently let them take a photo or two at Ienzo’s insistence; Demyx’s shock at this (Ienzo hated being in photos, especially pregnant) distracted him enough to comply.

One life was watching his soulmate cross the stage to earn his degree while their child moved gently inside of him.

The other was the fact that he was an extraordinarily powerful prince pregnant with an even more powerful heir, and there were potentially eyes everywhere.

The ceremony ended. The university was offering a lunch for the graduates and their guests, and Ienzo was going to be sure Demyx went and enjoyed every bit of it, especially with his friends. Lea, Riku, and Yuffie had graduated as well in their various fields. And then he was going to make Demyx go to a graduation party, even if it exhausted him, even if he could only drink soda. He deserved at least a little more fun. Finally, Ienzo saw him relax a little, taking selfies and chatting happily with friends.

“How are you feeling?” Kairi asked him, whisper close. Ienzo didn’t look pregnant at this moment in time, but all their friends knew.

“Good. We ran into some Heartless this morning on our walk. She loved every minute of that fight.” He sighed. “Good for her. I have a feeling there will be a whole lot more fighting.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad to see you, though.”

“I wasn’t going to miss this. He deserves it.”

“Yeah. He does.” She hummed happily and led him back over to the table. “So I’ve been working with Aqua, and we’re wondering if there might be a way to help restore Heartless to their previous selves with my power.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s--”

“I know. Could be a game changer. We just… gotta find a safe place to capture some, that’s all.”

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

“I will--if anything happens.”

The day eddied on happily, uneventfully. Quietly. For this, Ienzo was glad. Demyx finally seemed to be feeling some of the pride and excitement he should’ve had all day. Dinner nearly over, Ienzo had to excuse himself to find a restroom. The corridor was markedly silent when he left, almost uncomfortably so; he tensed. He almost thought he saw something moving, but nothing came of it; swallowing this fear, he returned to the table and his friends.

---

Demyx started looking for work in earnest. He’d had to take a test to be a fully certified teacher; Ienzo had helped him study, getting… creative, with the rewards. (He was infinitely glad Demyx was not uncomfortable having sex with him while he was pregnant.) He was able to tutor some students in their homes. It felt almost like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop, even as they bought some things for their baby.

As much as Cid would let him, Ienzo worked with Tron. The work was not physically draining, but still the man was worried about him being unconscious so long with the baby. It felt as though they were making more small gains. Cid unencrypted whatever they were able to pull and passed it to Even, who studied voraciously.

More time passed… Ienzo felt himself getting heavier and heavier, his power more unstable. Once he was doing dishes, and the baby kicked him, and everything breakable in the sink shattered. Aeleus just rested a gentle hand on his back and began to pick the broken bits out of the sink.

Heartless hunted him more mercilessly now, even with Demyx around. Aerith and Aqua reinforced the wards on the townhouse. It only helped so much. The baby was growing only stronger as the pregnancy progressed.

Ienzo knew he would not be giving birth in a hospital. It was simply too much risk.

“Shouldn’t we get me out of the city entirely?” Ienzo asked. “Away from… people?”

Even nodded. “Quite. Aerith was kind enough to lend us her cottage again. She’s also a skilled healer, so you’ll be in good hands. I know your work with Cid is important… but as soon as is safe to do so, we should leave.”

Demyx squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

One of these days in early summer, Even took him aside. “Have you… done any reading, into what the birth will be like?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I know how children are born, Even.” Ienzo sighed; he was feeling breathless, the baby pressing against his lungs. “I… I’m afraid I haven’t had much time, between my work, and the Heartless.”

He shook his head. “It’ll be different for you,” he said. “Not just the… intense release of magic when she’s born, but the labor will be…” He thought a moment. “Historically, very short.”

“Isn’t that good?” He’d tried not to think about the actual process too much, but it was getting to be time.

“Very brief, but… incredibly painful.”

He scoffed. “Of course.”

“Moreso than for most humans. Her aura has to separate from yours.”

“Would anesthetics help?”

“I’ve been looking into it. I’m hoping that I can make something which will make it easier for you.”

“...Yet, not an answer to my question.”

Even scowled. “I can ease physical pain. I’m not sure what can be done about the magical pain.” A sigh, then his expression grew wistful. “In another world this would be a time of joy, of celebration, of ritual. Your mother would be by your side… or your father. You’d labor in a warm bath with flowers and herbs… and not have to worry about monsters striking you at your most vulnerable.”

“...And I would be ten or fifteen years older, and ready for such a thing.” Ienzo rested his hand on his belly. “Part of me wonders… if he found out, and then… fled. I know this is merely… my hormonal brain, doing the talking. But…”

“You have doubts. He hasn’t been part of your life in a while. That’s natural.” He offered a small smile. “It will be difficult, I won’t lie. But we’ll help you.” Ienzo ran his fingers along the bump, feeling the baby press against it. “Well. Too late to back out now.”

“...Quite.”

---

But nothing went as expected.

He was thirty-eight weeks into this pregnancy now, the magic so volatile he can barely do anything without unanticipated consequences. They were gathering their things to leave for the seaside and had just sat for a late lunch. Ienzo had been unusually hungry all day; he’d eaten two grilled cheese sandwiches and was considering asking for a third.

“I’ll be glad, to get away,” he murmured, tracing his finger through the crumbs. The baby kicked him restlessly, and he stroked her.

“I’m excited to meet her,” Demyx said, taking his hand. “Though I already know what she looks like.”

“Yes… unfortunately, she was always predetermined to look more like me. You’d have better luck with the second one.”

He snorted. “Second one? We have to survive this one first.”

Ienzo smiled. “Well. If the Forecast is true… then there will be time for that in the future.”

Demyx kissed his palm. “More? You demolished that last one.”

He exhaled. “Yes. Thank you.”

Demyx took his plate back over to the counter, pulled out the bread and cheese.

And Ienzo felt a cramp.

It wasn’t intense, insofar as these things go, but it was most definitely not one of the practice cramps he’d had. A cramp, and then a warm trickling between his legs, pattering softly on the floor.

Demyx’s eyes were wide, terrified, his skin pale. “ Please tell me that’s pee.”

Panic made it hard to breathe. “I wish it were.”

Demyx grabbed the roll of paper towels and began wiping it up. Ienzo could hear him breathing heavily. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll get Even.”

The accused breezed into the kitchen. “What do you need me for?” He saw their terrified expressions, Ienzo’s wet clothing. Then he, too, went pale for a moment. “Oh. Oh, child.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t suppose… we can get there in time.”

Even just shook his head. “Not unless you want to give birth in the backseat of the car.”

“What do we do?” Demyx asked.

He thought a moment. “We get Ienzo clean and comfortable. We call however many magic users are willing to come. And then we… manage. I’m a doctor; I’ve delivered babies. I think I can handle delivering yours.”

Another cramp, more painful than the last, had him gasping. Ienzo could feel her shifting inside of him, down. “We’re not ready ,” he hissed through his teeth. “We don’t have any… any diapers, or bottles, or… storybooks.”

Demyx knelt next to him and took his hand, not so much as flinching when Ienzo squeezed it hard. “We’ll be okay.” He helped him gently to his feet. The two of them brought him downstairs into the basement. Shakily, Ienzo took off his wet clothing, slid on his thin white cotton robe. A third contraction had him gasping and clinging to Demyx.

“I knew it would be fast,” he gasped. “But that couldn’t have been more than… five minutes…”

Even came up and down the stairs with pillows, towels, plastic sheeting to protect the mattress. Medical supplies. The things they’d intended to take to the cottage. Demyx lit a few candles, sang softly to him. This seemed to be the only thing that eased the pain at all.

“She must like that,” Ienzo said dazedly. Time was moving weirdly; all of a sudden there was a basin of water on his dresser, and Demyx was dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth. He was vaguely aware of people poking their heads in, Aeleus saying that so-and-so had arrived and was reinforcing the wards at the property line. The rest of him was focused on the gristle knot of pain that threatened to tear him in two.

“Can’t we give him something?” Demyx asked.

“I don’t have anything body safe that will help.”

He was eased back gently onto the pillows. “How long has it been?” He barely sounded like himself.

“A little under four hours,” Even said.

“Really? Already?” And yet it felt like an eternity. “I’m so… thirsty.”

“You can have some ice.”

Demyx handed him a cup of ice chips one of them must have made. He didn’t think it was possible to feel this much pain. “She’s coming,” Ienzo said.

“I know.”

“I’m having our baby.”

“I know. And you’re handling it like a champ.” Then, in a lower voice, “is he supposed to be this out of it?”

“Considering he’s currently in more pain than a person can physically perceive? He’s much more lucid than his mother was.”

The next cramp was so intense he nearly screamed. Demyx rubbed his shoulders, brushed the sweaty hair out of his face. “Where am I?” Ienzo asked.

“In your bedroom.”

“No, I mean…” He grit his teeth, choking on another contraction. “The dilation, where is it?”

Even checked. “Nine centimeters. Nearly time to push.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, love. But we’ve got you. Demyx, help me turn him onto his side.”

“His… side?”

Even made an exasperated noise. “Poor thing’s in enough pain without forcing him to give birth on his back. Goes completely against the shape of the birth canal.”

Ienzo could barely move on his own. He felt so dreadfully exposed.

“Can you support his left leg?”

Feeling the calluses of Demyx’s hands on his skin was a cold comfort. The cramping, if anything, grew more violent; he felt his mouth open in a small O of pain. He heard the snap of gloves as Even put on a clean pair, and then more intense than the pain was the pressure , moving downwards. “I feel--”

“Do you want to push, Ienzo?”

The soft candlelight made everything hazy. “I… I think so…”

“Go ahead. Go on, love.”

Ienzo looked at Demyx, and for just a moment everything was perfectly clear. Demyx touched his sweaty face. “You can do this.”

“I can do this. Right.” He took a deep breath. When the next pain seized him, the next wave of pressure, instead of being pummeled by it, he tried to ride it, what it was telling him. He could feel more acutely the magical fracturing, his daughter’s energy beginning to rip from his, to tear.

“Good, Ienzo. Keep going.”

It was exhausting, the agony threatening to reach a fever pitch; he thought he might faint--

“Remember to breathe.”

He realized he hadn’t been, and the blackness retreated--

“It’s okay, Ienzo. Again. It’ll be over soon.”

The rest of his body felt limp, strange. The pain gutted him, rose and burrowed and rose--

“She’s crowning, Ienzo, she’s almost here--”

“Whoa, I can see her head.”

The agony swallowed him whole, pulling against his whole being , his magic shredding--

No, wait, don’t go--

And he felt her pull free.

The pain eased so suddenly he wasn’t sure if it had ever been there, replaced by a strange… almost pleasure , a warmth soothing his stomach, his vagina. He flopped onto his back and sagged weakly against Demyx, breathing hard. The magic was loud, was everywhere--

“She’s here, Ienzo. She’s here.” He thought he saw Even smiling.

His daughter was placed against his chest and he grasped at her, cradling her bloody head. Demyx kissed his cheek, her head. She gasped and cried-- “Oh, god. Oh, my god. Hi. Hello.”

A snip of scissors against the umbilical cord. The snip brought him fully back to his senses, to the baby in his arms. “Welcome back,” Even said softly.

“The magic--” It was all around them, making things almost purplish, faint flickers of light popping around the room.

“Don’t worry about that. You’re not quite done here. Demyx, take the baby, please.”

Demyx wrapped her gently in a towel and took her into his own arms. Ienzo saw his eyes and knew he had fallen in love.

Compared to the rest of it, delivering the placenta was easy; almost, in fact, pleasant, though Ienzo had heard stories that this was the most painful part. Even disposed of it quickly. “You’re already healing,” he said softly. “You’ll be alright in a few days, I’m sure of it.”

He let his legs ease down and lay back more fully against the pillows. Demyx was cradling her, singing softly in a language Ienzo did not recognize.

“Let me tell the others the good news,” Even said. He took off his gloves. Ienzo could see the pride in his eyes. He kissed Ienzo’s sweaty forehead. “You rest a moment. I’ll get you some water.”

Demyx perched next to him on the bed. He’d wiped the fluids off her. Sure enough, Ienzo could see the soft tuft of violet-silver hair. “You did awesome ,” he said.

“It seems my body has some kind of natural… painkiller. It no longer hurts at all.” In fact, even the sweat-soaked sheets felt good against his skin. “Could I--” Demyx eased her gently into his arms. Ienzo kissed her. He felt tears rush to his eyes, hot. “Oh,” he said softly.

Demyx took one of her tiny fists into his hand. “I know. I… can’t believe it. We made this. You made this.”

“I hope we made the right decision.”

“...I think we did.”

[incandescent-eden]

Tithonia

Desc: An old princess sleeps through her days after her youth has passed until a kind stranger wakes her.

Word Count: 3669

TW/CW: mentions of blood, low opinion of men, apathy

----

Tithonia watched the sun fade beyond the horizon. The fading light edged the rim of the pink sky like neat lace on a fine dress. The sky turned, an ugly bruise’s recovery in reverse, first yellow then violet then blue, and deepest black. The stars would soon come out, but it would be far too dark to really see anything in her tower, surrounded by brambles and weeds. The tiny oak tree she had passed had been barely at the knee of her horse when she first arrived, but it now was so tall she was mere inches from the branches. She might have tried to shimmy down, but the height was dizzying, the squirrels far more courageous than she. The trees, once light and merry, now grew tall and gnarled and thick, obscuring her thorny, ivy covered tower for miles around.

She would have once despaired to be alone, would have said affirmations perhaps, that someone was coming, but now she merely sighed. It didn’t do to count the days or even the years anymore. They all blurred into each other like the colors of the sky after sunset, day in and day out.

She wearily pushed herself up from her chair by the window. Her joints were not as limber as they had once been. Still, what was she to do with joints unstiffened? She had nowhere to go, no one with whom to visit.

Shuffling to her bed, she lay down and was promptly asleep through the night, just as she had every night before in the past few decades, for she had not counted the years, but still, her hair was graying, and her eyes grew blurry, so it must have been decades.

Tithonia did not dream as she once had. That is to say, she dreamt, but no longer of the adventures and dances and stolen kisses of youth, but of simpler things. Of spring coming early and the first robin to land at her window, of the first tiny crocuses pushing up through the thin layer of snow, their yellow petals growing blurrier in her eyes each year, but still merrily announcing their presence, of the first wind that smelled of winter, like sharpness and unrelenting cold. Of anything to break up the monotony of her days, so she might know time truly was passing, after all.

              Most days, it didn’t matter. She had read and reread and reread again all the books she brought with her, and how childish they now seemed! Stories of handsome princes slaying dragons and riding away into the sunset, priests who were good and kind and raised the sun each morning, animals who talked and espoused silly morals that any child could have guessed. Once, she thought herself enlightened, felt her heart soar to read those words. It was a comfort, all alone in the forest, to have something familiar, but familiarity soon bred hatred. Now she simply sat or stood or paced in her tiny chamber, staring out the window. She slept.

Time passed. She slept more. Sometimes, she was content, but sometimes, she grew bitter and resented the world around her: the trees for growing, the squirrels and birds and flowers for dying, the universe for moving on without her. And she slept again.

There had been princes, once. A family, a prophecy, fairies who decreed she should not live past sixteen, lest she sleep for eternity. The last fairy to bless her had been kind: she would be awoken, but only by a noble heart who truly loved the princess.

There were no noble men left.

Oh, there were always men. Young men whose beards had not yet grown in, who stumbled over their own feet and who were too easily frightened by bandits. Older men who time had weathered, who feared worse things than bandits: starvation, a child’s death, a wife’s infidelity. And older men, still, who had all of the years but none of the wisdom with which came age, their dark hair streaked with gray, fat fingers bumbling, out on one last great adventure, reaching for legacy while a wife waited at home despairing he should turn away from her toward younger and younger serving girls and boys. But none of these men were noble of heart, and none loved her, she learned time and time again.

Once upon a time, Tithonia had welcomed these men. She warmly sang to them, calling them into her briarwood tower. Please, she implored, kind sir, won’t you come up? Won’t you rescue me? I’ve been waiting for a prince for so long. There is a prophecy, you see.

And those princes and kings and lords of their land, swaggering and boasting, would try to climb up to meet her. Inevitably, they would get cut by all the thorns, and, trailing ribbons of blood on their soft hands that had never known callouses, they would sit back on their horses and shake their heads sadly. I’m sorry, Princess, it cannot be done. Perhaps the next fellow will be better than I. They would ride off into the forest leaving her alone again, because they would never tell the next prince over. Who wanted to admit he was the prince who failed, after all?

Years passed, and princes and knights still came, but they began to wane. They balked at Tithonia’s voice, cracked and low from years of solitude, at her skin that no longer sat taut and pale on high cheekbones, but that revealed small wrinkles and furrows, darkened by years of staring out the same window. They stopped calling her ‘Princess.’ Eventually, so did she. Princess of what? Of nothing but her small room in a tall tower, of winds that lost her voice among them and birds that never stayed longer than to briefly perch at her windowsill. Princess of nothing at all.

She began turning them away. No, no, don’t bother, she would tell the travelers who came. It will do you no good. It was always the same. They wanted to take home a sweet young princess, wanted the glory of having saved her, but they were tens and tens of years too late.

She would sleep and sleep and sleep for eternity and wake up at the edge of the stars if need be, but she did not need these men to save her, not with soft hands and softer wills. Besides, she told herself, she was not waiting for a savior. She was content to live a simple life. It had been so long, she could not remember what it was to be a princess.

It was deep in the night when the trespasser came. The moon slipped silently into the room, her pale light streaming in as if to lay with her as a lover might.

“Ah,” escaped the soft sigh from the trespasser’s mouth when a floorboard creaked. A woman’s voice.

Tithonia shot up, leaping to the corner of the room. She grabbed her chair, holding it in front of her. Years of stiff joints and brambles keeping out men made her slow and soft, but the fear remained always in her mind, remembered from ages ago.

To her surprise, the trespasser stopped, right in the middle of a column of moonlight. In the white light, Tithonia could make out wide, surprised eyes, thin lips open in an ‘o’ shape, short curls that shimmered silver. The sound of a woman’s voice suddenly made sense.

“How did you get up here?” Tithonia demanded.                                

The woman paused. “I just –“ she pointed at the door. “I was looking for shelter. Out of nowhere, a rose popped up, and another behind it. Imagine! A rose, this late in the autumn. I decided I simply had to follow the trail, and it led me to the back of your tower.” She smiled wryly. “Lovely place you have here.”

Slowly, Tithonia lowered the chair. “It is rude to enter a maiden’s chamber without permission.” Although, she could hardly call herself a maiden anymore.

The trespasser beamed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, lady! Seeing as I’m here already, do you mind if I stay? It’s grown so cold nowadays, my fingers get stiff in the night air.” She rubbed her gnarled, calloused hands together, drawing her cloak closer to her.

Sinking into her bed, Tithonia nodded. “Yes, I don’t see why not. What are you doing out in the woods at this time of year so late at night, anyway? Surely a woman like yourself has a family to whom to return at night?”

Laughing, the trespasser shook her head. “No husband, I’m afraid, if that’s what you mean, my lady. Never was one for, well, men. And no children, either. Had a few lost children come live with me in my cottage out in the woods some time ago, but they’ve all grown up now. They don’t look back when they reach that age. And I can’t blame them,” she chuckled. Her lined face looked sad in the pale light. “Who would want to return to the woods when there are villages and towns and cities beyond?”

“I always wanted to experience a cottage in the woods when I was little,” Tithonia mused. The memories were thick and gummy in her mind after years of disuse.

“It’s the loveliest thing, among the bears and the wildflowers and the fairies.” The stranger smiled, wringing her hands. “The fairies can be tricky, but they’re quite lovely if you don’t promise them anything.”

“Yes, fairies are rather capricious figures, aren’t they?” said Tithonia, surprised by the words that bubbled so easily to her lips.

“How refreshing to find someone who still remembers the fairies! The children don’t believe in them anymore.” The stranger sighed. “It’s a different world out there now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it might be,” Tithonia yawned. Truthfully, she never considered how the world might have changed while she remained stuck in her tower. What did it matter, after all? She would never see it for herself.

“I’m sorry for waking you, and keeping you up so late, lady,” the stranger said. “I will just make myself comfortable on your chair here, if that is alright with you. By the way,” she bowed, “my name is Evanne. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”

“Nonsense,” Tithonia tutted. “It is hardly proper to let you sleep in a chair. Come, sleep in my bed instead. I have a pallet and a cloak, they will do for me.”

“Why, I could never –“

“Do not dispute your hostess,” Tithonia replied simply. “I can sleep on most anything these days. There isn’t much else to do. You’ve come so far, you might as well sleep in a real bed.”

Evanne hesitated, but she nodded after some consideration. “May I know the name of my most gracious hostess?”

“Tithonia.” No titles, no frills. This was as she was now. She was too old to be called ‘Princess,’ but she had never become queen, and even then, what would she be queen of? No, she decided, just Tithonia suited her most. She quite liked the sound of it, unburdened by clumsy titles.

“Tithonia,” Evanne repeated, the word soft on her lips. Her eyelids flickered, as if she recognized it, but she was soon asleep, snuggled up in Tithonia’s blankets, before she could say anything.

When the sun rose the next morning, Tithonia was wide awake. She had never seen the sky so early, when the edge of the world beyond the trees was not searing blue, but still pale. What did sunrises matter to her? Each day was the same anyhow.

Until now.

She stretched slowly, letting herself sit up, her disheveled hair pooling over one shoulder. Evanne was still asleep. In the daylight, Tithonia saw that she was no young woman, either. Her hair, silver in the moonlight, was instead a dulled reddish brown mixed with gray. The lines around her face were more pronounced, even with her relaxed, dreaming visage. Her chest rose slowly, not the graceful rise of a maiden glowing with youth, but the deliberate rise and fall of a woman who had long since learned brashness could lead only to trouble.

A warm feeling stirred in Tithonia’s own chest. She could not remember the last time such a feeling struck her.

When Evanne awoke at last, the sky was the blazing blue to which Tithonia was accustomed. She yawned happily before sitting up.

“I hope you slept well, dear hostess,” Evanne said with a smile.

“I did, thank you,” Tithonia replied from her place at the window, turning to face Evanne. The leaves outside were stark in their reds and oranges against the blue sky. When was the last time she noticed the color of the leaves as she had now, shining as they were?

“If I may be frank,” Evanne started after a pause.

“Be frank.”

“Well, pardon me, Tithonia. I must be mistaken, and it’s such a silly concept, really…”

“What is it?”

“Tithonia is such a lovely name.” Evanne paused, rubbing her hands together slowly, as if forming the words between her palms. “It’s quite unique. I recall… a story from my youth. A princess had that name, too.”

“Is that so?” Tithonia said, staring out the window. “I didn’t think anyone in the last ten years has thought of that story. I certainly have let it go.”

“It must have been difficult growing up, sharing a name with a princess,” Evanne said sympathetically.

“Believe me, it was harder being a princess,” Tithonia said. “I had once thought court to be terribly boring. I can’t say I don’t miss the company. Although perhaps solitude is better than the company of idiots.”

“You? Truly?” Evanne gasped. Her hands fluttered excitedly together in a soundless clap.

Tithonia nodded, struck by the pure awe and glee in Evanne’s eyes.

“Oh, where are my manners! Your Highness!” Evanne leapt up in a clumsy cross between a courtesy and a bow. Tithonia waved her off.

“I have no need of formalities. The courts and I have long since become strangers with each other.” She blushed. Once upon a time, she enjoyed it, but now her heart beat fast. When Evanne straightened up, hair disheveled, and a big grin on her face, Tithonia’s heart beat even faster, a river that cracked and unfroze when spring arrived.

“I’m so sorry, ahhh, well, is calling you Tithonia alright? You’re quite sure?” Tithonia nodded. “Well, I apologize, Tithonia. You see, I always loved the story of the princess… of you! I…” and at this, Evanne reddened. “I always wanted to ride out to the woods and save you,” she finished sheepishly, rubbing her already messy red and gray streaked hair.

“Would that you had come before the first five hundred kings who tried their lot and failed. ‘Tis a shame you should only have found me after everything faded. Some great prophecy,” Tithonia seethed. “When the frozen river break, so then shall the princess wake. The solitude its leave shall take, and from her tower high depart, when found by they of noble heart, who has loved her from the start,” she quoted.

Evanne looked at her curiously. “That prophecy is from our youth. Have you been up here… alone? All this time?”

Tithonia shrugged. “If you define alone as without other humans around, then yes, and no. In my tower, I have been alone.”

“That sounds terribly sad.” There was a dip in her words. Not sympathy, nothing so heavy as that, but compassion, perhaps.

Still, Tithonia had to turn away, unable to look her in the eye. “I suppose one becomes accustomed to solitude. I’m not too sad. The spring always keeps me company when the winter becomes unpleasant.” She shrugged. “Besides, I must have waited some forty springs, heard the river crack and splinter every time, and I have yet to find someone of noble heart come to rescue me. Nor have I been asleep the entire time.” She laughed. “Perhaps I’m the wrong princess for the prophecy.”

“Or perhaps the prophecy is just wrong,” said Evanne. “Or perhaps we interpreted the prophecy wrong. You never know with fairy prophecies,” she said in response to Tithonia’s pointed look.

“Well, either way, no one has been able to get in. The food replenishes itself, new clothes magically appear every year. At least the fairies were kind enough to give me this luxury.”

“But then… I was able to get in,” Evanne said softly.

“Perhaps they decided my torment was over,” Tithonia said. “Perhaps they wanted to torment me more with the hope that I might have a companion. I don’t know. The prophecy remains to be fulfilled.”

At this, Evanne grew quiet. She pulled her cloak closer to herself. “What if…” she said in a small voice. “Well, what if… you just left?”

“The tower is enchanted. I cannot leave.”

“But have you ever tried?”

“Once. When I was still young. There was a handsome prince I thought might… but it turned out he was betrothed already, and the door of the tower would not open.”

“It will open now,” said Evanne, getting up and taking Tithonia’s hand in her own. Her hands were rough and warm.

The stairs were dark even in the daylight, and spiraling besides. Tithonia followed Evanne, dazed, as Evanne guided her down each step with quick feet and encouraging words. The last time she climbed down these steps, she was still a fair youth.

Tithonia’s heart leaped, always two stair steps ahead of her as she stumbled downward, until at last they reached the bottom of the stairs. The door, once grand and oaken, now looked weak and rotted, its hinges rusted. The lock remained brass. A small window in the door cast a patch of sunlight on the floor where Evanne stood.

“Go on, then,” said Evanne. Tithonia’s heart continued racing, as if it had not yet recovered from her perilous trip down the stairs.

She held her hand over the lock. Its brass was warm and inviting, like the hand of an old friend. Slowly, she unlocked it, watching it turn rusted and black as the hinges. Inch by inch, the old oak door opened.

It was a sunny day. Beyond the door, the trees had grown in, their roots twisting and overlapping. Sunlight filtered in through the tree branches and leaves above, forming a path with stepping stones made of pure sun where the light hit the ground. The leaves had begun falling, and the ground blazed in reds, oranges, yellows, and violets, soon to turn brown and then white when winter came and the snow covered the forest. At that moment, however, the forest was still a burst of a thousand different colors. A crisp wind blew by Tithonia. She could smell the hint of apples and earth and dying things.

With a cry, she collapsed to the floor. Evanne was by her side in an instant.

“What’s the matter, Tithonia?” she said, rubbing her back, holding her. Tithonia clung to her shoulders. The woods, as crowded by trees as they were, were far too large, far too open.

That wasn’t true she realized. It was the world that had grown too wide for her.

“I can’t go,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?” Evanne urged.

“Why, I don’t know where I’d go,” Tithonia said. She held in the sob she felt in her chest. “Where could I possibly go after all these years in a land that’s all but forgotten me?”

Evanne hummed in contemplation. Finally, she said, “Come home with me.”

Tithonia paused, letting her heart beat onward, but steadying her breathing. “With you?”

“Why not? We will go together. I get lonely in my home, and you’ve always wanted to live in a cottage away from everyone, right? So why not?”

Slowly, Tithonia got up. She took a shaky breath. “I would hate to intrude.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Evanne beamed, letting go of Tithonia ever so slowly. “I would be honored to have you! And besides,” she strode to the door. “Isn’t it time you left this tower?”

Tithonia looked out the door, at the sunbeam path. Like the fairies had laid it out for her and Evanne to take home. “I’m not the princess that you loved when you were a child. I can’t promise you land or riches or even glory.”

At this, Evanne took Tithonia’s hand. “I neither need nor want land nor riches nor glory. Just your company would be enough. You won’t need to be a princess or anything else, just be as you please.” She gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

Tithonia thought of all she had left behind, upstairs in the top of the tower. A few books. Some spare dresses. Wine and cheese and bread that would surely continue to replenish forever and never rot should someone find the tower after her.

In short, nothing much. All she had truly left behind, she had left long ago, without ever realizing it. She blinked, rubbing her eyes as she might after a long period of sleep.

Evanne was watching her expectantly. She gripped Evanne’s hand, nodding.

“Take me away to your little cottage, to the bears and the wildflowers and the fairies.” And together, they set out stumbling through the woods, the crisp autumn air guiding their way.

When they reached the clearing on the top of a little hill, Tithonia could not be sure, but she thought she could hear faint laughter coming from behind them as they moved, the tinkling laughter fairies are said to have. She turned for only a moment, but she could see no fairies, and no tower, although they had just left a little while back, only the road they had taken here.

When Evanne asked her what the matter was, she turned back, shaking her head and smiling wryly, to the road she would take forward, instead.

[worddevdealswithml]

Side Effects Include: Empathy

Chapter 19:

Saturday felt inordinately long, possibly due to the fact that he’d almost died.  That said, for all it was hard to really maintain Kagami’s advice, the fact that he was at least moving towards something meant that he could leave behind the ennui he’d felt in the morning.

Moving towards something, in this case, meant that he’d contacted Nino, who had asked why he wanted to talk to Alya in person, and given the verbal equivalent of a shrug when Adrien had said he had some important questions she might have the answer to

Adrien got the impression that Nino was pretty sure he’d hear about it anyway.

In fairness, he probably would.

By Sunday, Adrien had already realized that it would have been simpler just to ask Alya to talk in person directly.  Of course, it was too late for that now, since Nino had already conveyed his request.

And simpler wasn’t the whole of it; Alya had sent a few questioning texts, which he frankly should have expected.

No, he couldn’t explain things now.  Yes, she’d have to wait until Monday.  Yes, he’d definitely be able to explain things in more detail then.  No, seriously, not yet.  Also, please don’t mention this to anyone until I’ve actually gotten the chance to talk to you.

Of course, the other issue he’d run up against…

The same one as ever.

He knew about Marinette’s crush on him.

He knew about his on her.

The only question he didn’t know was whether Alya knew about Marinette’s crush on him.

Of course, she probably did, but… The problem was, if Alya knew, she might conceal that she knew just so that if he didn’t know…

Alya definitely shouldn’t have known that he knew about Marinette liking him, which meant that because she didn’t know that he liked Marinette, she might hide that she knew that Marinette liked him, to avoid making things weird, except he did know that Marinette liked him, which meant that what he was really asking was whether she knew about Marinette’s crush on him, which meant that if he did use his empathy powers, the only question he’d be probing for an answer to was one that, if Alya had the whole story, she would want him to know the answer to.

Right?

So… He should use the empathy powers?

That was… That was what that meant, right?

He needed a diagram.

--

It was Monday, and Alya was filled with the low-level electric current she always got when she was following a lead.

Adrien Agreste, coming to talk to her, about something secret.

Now… If she was a suspicious girl, and she was, she’d say this might have something to do with the crush she was pretty sure Adrien had recently acquired on Marinette.

The problem, of course, was that, on the one hand, Marinette had been pining after Adrien for over a year, now, and it didn’t quite seem fair that he got to waltz in and get a free pass to be with her favorite girl in the city.

On the other hand, she didn’t exactly want to leave Marinette hanging any longer than she’d already been.

On the first hand again, if she pulled Adrien back a bit, he’d probably spring forward like a slingshot, directly into Marinette…  Metaphorically.

Actually, considering how often Marinette had tripped around him, maybe not metaphorically.

Ah, decisions.

She was faintly wobbling back and forth between the options, unclear on which of them she wanted to go with, when she arrived at school.

She leaned up against the wall outside the main entrance, and pulled out her phone.  She probably wouldn’t have much chance to work on it, but she had been planning a new article for the Ladyblog; a mostly joking article rating the odds of different people being Paris’ resident superheroes.

Adrien had a 7/10 to be Queen Bee.  The blond hair should have given it away instantly.

--

As Adrien stepped out of the car, he took a deep breath; he was going to have to be careful, but not so careful it crossed the line into cowardly.

Had it not been for the fact that he’d be asking for help with something that he knew was actively painful for her, he’d have wished that Kagami had been here to slap some of her trademark sense into him.

This was easy.  Alya was his friend, and she was Marinette’s friend.  Surely she’d be happy to help once she understood what was going on.

For a second, he wanted to just tell Alya that something had happened, and he didn’t need to talk to her anymore…

Except without Alya’s help, he didn’t know if he’d be able to talk to Marinette privately for a month, at best.

A second past, as the idea seeped into his head.

He felt his breathing speed up slightly.

He stepped forward.

“Alya.”

She froze, finger on her screen, seemingly typing, and looked up.

“Adrien?” she said, innocently.

“I…” he said.

“Mhm…?” she said, smiling.

He closed his eyes, putting a hand up to his face.

Why was this so difficult?  He wasn’t even talking to Marinette, yet.

“You had a question?”

His eyes flicked open, and his hand caught on her shoulder.

//

“It’s about Marinette.”

There was a certain satisfaction when he first made contact.  And now…

If satisfaction was a liquid, Alya is a rag that was just dropped into a bucket of it.

“Oh?”

Her expression is mild, but her mind is leaning luxuriantly back in an armchair, saying ‘go on?’

It’s all the information he needs.

//

He pulled his hand away, running his fingers through his hair.

“She likes me, doesn’t she?”

Alya’s smile seemed to split just a little wider.

“And what if she does… Agreste?”

She knew, and she was happy about it.  That meant… She knew… About Marinette.

“Good question…”  He said, and gritted his teeth.  “What about…  What if I like her?”

“Tossing around a lot of hypotheticals there, aren’t you?  I mean… If both of those were to be true, you’d just want to ask her out, wouldn’t you.  After all, if she, by some chance, liked you, she’d say yes.”

And that’s why needed the empathy powers, because…  That’s only a yes in context.

“And… Hypothetically, what if I almost never get the chance to talk to her alone?”

“Well… Have you considered getting locked in a cage at the zoo together?”

“And how exactly do you plan to have that happen?”

“Well, you can always text her.”

“Maybe…  That’s always a bit risky, though.”

Alya opened her mouth… And shut it.  “Your father monitors your texts?”

Adrien shrugged.  “Maybe?”

Alya let out a disdainful huff, and then shook her head.  “So…  You seem to be…  Excuse me, in that scenario, you would seem to be in a bit of a tricky situation.”

“Which is when I’d ask the person who knows her best for help.”

Alya raised her eyebrows, and the smile cracked wider.

“I’m listening.”

--

When both Adrien had come in simultaneously to first period, Marinette hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a coincidence.

When Alya had suggested they go eat in the park for lunch, Marinette had frankly thought it an excellent idea, and a fine change of pace.

When Alya had suggested they go again tomorrow, Marinette had readily agreed.

When tomorrow, which was to say, Tuesday, rolled around…

--

Some days, nothing seemed to go right.

--

As the hours of class before lunch went by, Marinette, when she wasn’t paying attention to class, was mostly idly contemplating the fact that Chat Noir hadn’t even come to visit. They went to the same school, but… Was he trying to make her forget about him, in the hope that it would keep her from connecting the identities if he introduced himself?  Or… Maybe he just hadn’t been up to it.

That was a sad thought. Of course, it was probably for the best that he didn’t visit too often, if for no other reason than that it was bad for her sleep schedule.

--

She wasn’t there, again.  It was a bad day when… She seemed to have a point.

--

Near the end of second period, her train of thought was derailed, when Nino had turned around.

“Hey, dudes, you mind if Adrien came along for lunch today?”

Alya had shrugged, but Marinette…

“Yes!”  She blinked.  “Ah- sorry, no.  I mean, no, I don’t mind.”

“Sick,” said Nino, turning back to Adrien, who had, of course, heard her.

“I guess my bodyguard doesn’t really mind me going places as long as I’m in a group,” said Adrien.  He sighed.  “Unfortunately, Nathalie and my father don’t share his trust in you.”

Adrien had turned back to the front, but he must have noticed Marinette blushing.

--

There was nothing to talk about.  Of course there was nothing to talk about; there was never anything to talk about with her.  No matter what she did, there was nothing to talk about.

All she wanted was for her to acknowledge it.  That would be enough.

--

Marinette laughed.  “Seriously, Alya?  A picnic blanket?”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“I mean… It sure is.”

Marinette gathered up her supplies.

The day was looking good.

She was going for what was basically just a picnic with her friends.  Adrien would be there.  Realistically, she didn’t know that she could hope for a better day.

“Is it new?”

Alya laughed.  “Not quite.  My mom’s been saying we should do a picnic one of these weekends, but this time of year there’s always a lot of stuff to do, so we haven’t gotten the chance.  We managed it last year, though.”

They made it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Maybe we should make this a regular thing.  I only came up with the idea because…” Alya laughed.  “Never mind.”

“No, no, I’m curious.”

Alya laughed.  “Well, I’ll put it this way; I’m doing a favor for a friend, and it got me thinking about picnics.”

“What kind of favor involves picnics?”

“Hey!” said Alya, by way of greeting Nino and Adrien.

Oh, of course, he was wearing the hat again, and now there were sunglasses.

Adrien waved, smiling.

Marinette… Couldn’t see his eyes, but for a second, she thought he was looking at her with that smile.

They made it to the front door.

The sun was shining, the air was fresh.

Marinette took a deep breath.

Lovely.

As they crossed the street, Alya was already preparing to unfurl the blanket.  “Now…  I’m thinking somewhere in the shade…” Her eyes darted around, before catching on… “There…”

It was a bit farther, but, Marinette had to admit, it was extremely scenic.

If she was honest, it put her in mind of…

She stifled the impulse to think about romantic dates.  She had already reacted a bit too hard when Adrien had been asking to come along, and if she kept that up…

It was like she’d been thinking, back home; she needed to keep her expectations low, both so that she didn’t get disappointed, and so that she could talk properly.

The blanket was laid out, and Marinette and Adrien were already sitting down, when Alya froze.

“Hold on.”

They stopped.

“Ah, no, not you two. Hey, Nino?”

“Yeah?”

“We were planning to study science earlier, right?”

“Uh…  Yeah, maybe?  I think I remember what you’re talking about, yeah.”

“I’m thinking… if we don’t go and do that now, we probably won’t get to before class…”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And we probably won’t be able to do any studying out here…”

Nino seemed to be getting the gist of things, and started standing up.

Marinette was giving Alya a suspicious look.

Alya just flashed her a grin, and winked.

“You two can pack up the blanket when you’re done, right?”

“I… I’m not used to folding things, but I’ll try?” said Adrien.

“Oh, trust me, Marinette can show you how.”

“And you’d better be able to make it against next time we do one of these, dude,” said Nino.  “I haven’t gotten to do anything with you in way too long.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And…

“Did they just… Leave, us, here?”

Adrien nodded, slowly. “I think they did.”

“Alya…” muttered Marinette.  On the one hand, she was flattered that Alya was trying to do this for her, but on the other hand, she had to know by now that Marinette was so much better at talking to Adrien in a group.

Wait.  ‘A favor for a friend.’  Had Alya been planning this from the start?

She leaned back.

--

“Wouldn’t you like to wake up, and find out that all of this was nothing but a bad dream?  Wouldn’t you-

--

It hadn’t quite hit her that it was just her and Adrien here, yet, but when it hit…

“So, Marinette,” said Adrien-

There it was.

She managed to stifle the gasp as her brain caught up fully with her surroundings.

She was on a picnic blanket, alone, with Adrien Agreste.

She’d had dreams like this, but reality had never cooperated until-

“It’s been, what, just over two years since we met?”

“Ah…  Y-yeah.  Yeah it has.”

He laughed, pulling the glasses away.  “It’s… Kind of strange, you know?  I feel like I should have known you for way longer…  And, at the same time, like the past two years have gone by so quickly.”

She let out a nervous chuckle.  “W- Well, I’m sure that villains attacking Paris could make everything a bit… surreal.”

“That’s true.  And, of course, I’ve never gone to school before, which has been a lot of new stuff.”

“Yeah…”  Marinette needed to contribute to this conversation somewhere. That was how conversations worked, after all.

“You’ve… You’ve made a lot of friends,” she supplied, “that must be nice, right?”

“Yeah…” he said, staring off into the distance.  “it’s… It’s a funny thing about friends though.”  He pulled the hat away.  “Sometimes, when you call someone a friend, you’re missing something important. Something that you need to realize.”

Marinette blinked.

Adrien turned to her.

“Marinette?”

“Y—” She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

He opened his mouth to respond, and-

The world seemed to melt, almost.

She groaned.  “What?”

He stood up, and swayed, strangely.  “Something’s wrong.”

“I… Yeah.  Yeah it is.”

Everything was there, but…   Nothing was right.

[lovemesomerafael]

Chapter 20:  The Inevitable

Chapters 1-10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19

Ugh.  Spoiled, entitled prep school jock with a chiseled chin and washboard abs.  Rafael could not wait until he could escape this meet and greet.  He’d heard that Peter Stone had made quite a name for himself as a prosecutor in Chicago, but how hard could it have been for a guy like that to swan his way up the ranks?  He was pretty much the poster child for straight, white, male privilege.  Asshole.  Juries probably didn’t hear a word he said, just sat there fantasizing about bouncing quarters off his perfect ass.  Everything about him rubbed Rafael the wrong way, including the fact that his position at the D.A.’s office had been simply handed to him tied with a ribbon because of who his father was.  Barba shook hands with Stone for appearances’ sake, then spent the remainder of his obligatory ten minutes in the conference room absorbed in his phone trying not to make faces. 

At the end of the day, Barba made his way out the door into the late spring evening, grateful to be leaving the office before midnight.  He did have some work in his briefcase for later, but at least he’d be comfortable at home.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught that new arrogant ass Stone standing on the sidewalk, being greeted with a hug by a woman who reminded him vaguely of someone.  As he turned his head to glance at them, he realized she reminded him of Liv’s new detective.  Because she was Liv’s new detective.  It abruptly struck Rafael that Stone had just come from Chicago, and so had she.

Oh.

It came as a relief to him to learn that Detective Parker was in a relationship.  That meant he could relax and just appreciate the way her clothes hugged her in all the right places.  And he could admit that she made him laugh despite his intentions.  He didn’t even need to worry that he found the way she overpronounced consonants in Spanish uncomfortably cute. 

But it only made Stone more irritating to Rafael.  Of course Stone would be with a woman like her.  As he approached the parking garage, Rafael suddenly caught himself wondering what she’d be like in bed.  He couldn’t help noticing that she had a superb body, and was apparently pretty… physical.  ¡Coño!  Shut up, Barba.

 “You sure this is the one?”  

“You don’t care if I’m sure.  You just don’t want to move a couch.”

“Obviously.  But you dragged me here, so if that’s the one you want, let’s do this.”

Laura looked around for the salesperson who had been hovering annoyingly for the past hour, now ironically nowhere to be found.  In fact, it felt like now that they needed help, she and Peter were suddenly all alone in the furniture store.  

“No one’s looking.  Put it under your coat and let’s bolt.”

“I’d prefer not to get busted in my first week at the D.A.’s office.”

“I got my shield.  I’ll arrest you, and we’ll say the couch is evidence.”

“You just want to flash your shield at people.  You’re like a kid.  Anyway, here he comes…”

The salesman and Peter wrestled Laura’s new couch into the back of Peter’s SUV, with about a third of it hanging out the back flagged with a big red piece of flapping plastic.  Peter got progressively crankier as they reached Laura’s building and borrowed a dolly from the property manager.  By the time they finally had the couch in her living room, he was barely speaking except to complain.  

Fortunately, Laura had known Peter a long time.  While he returned the dolly, she answered a knock on her door to a guy waiting impatiently with bags of aromatic Thai food. Peter was delighted when he came back to the apartment and saw it, immediately opening boxes and eating.  As always, he didn’t bother with dishes.  

“When did you call for take out?”  He asked with his mouth full.

“At the store when you were loading the couch.”  

“You’re a genius.”

“You’re a jerk when you’re hungry.”

He didn’t stop eating, even while he chuckled.  

When dinner was over, Peter sprawled across Laura’s new couch, looking half asleep.  

“I met your D.A. today.”

“Barba?  What did you think?”

“Didn’t have the chance to say more than three words to him. McCoy had all the A.D.A.s stop by so we could meet – I don’t know why they do that.  I won’t remember one of their names.”

“Except Barba.”

“They say he’s good.  If half the stories are true, you should do OK with him.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Apparently he got a guy convicted by letting the guy choke him with a belt in front of the jury.”

“Seriously?  Barba?”

“That’s the story.”  

“I can’t imagine that.  He seems really… I don’t know.  Tightly wound.”  

“You don’t like him?”

“He’s barely spoken to me.  I’m beneath his notice.  Although he has managed to mention about seventeen things I’ve done wrong.  So there’s that.”

“Give him a shot,” Peter said, rolling to a sitting position and leaning over to kiss Laura on the cheek as she sat on the floor in front of the couch.  “I gotta get going.  I’m dead on my feet.”

“Thanks for helping me with the couch.  I appreciate it.”

“You only love me for my body.”

“Mmm-hmm.”  

It had been nice for Laura, seeing Peter, if only for a couple of hours.  Or maybe because it had only been for a couple of hours.  Peter was never going to be just a casual friend to her, no matter how much she might want that.  Several times during the process of moving from Chicago to New York, she had thought they’d made a mistake doing it together.  Not because she hadn’t enjoyed spending so much time together again. Just the opposite.  She had enjoyed it too much.  She had enjoyed him too much.

Peter’s forehead was creased with the wrinkles of troubled thoughts as he took the stairs down to the street.  There were no easy answers with him and Laura.  They’d decided to stay in each other’s lives because, having reconnected, they weren’t willing to give up the bond that existed between them. Romance aside, he liked Laura better than anyone else in the world.  But “romance aside” was a whole lot easier said than done, because he was also in love with her.  Trying to maintain a friendship and keep their mutual love out of it was very, very difficult at times.  Like now. He would like nothing better than to be back in her apartment, with her writhing and moaning beneath him on her new couch.  And he knew he could have persuaded her to do it.

But there was no point torturing himself, or her, when they both knew that indulging that want would only lead to the same heartache they’d already survived.  Sooner or later, their past would catch up with them.

As he drove to his own apartment, he thought about their trip from Chicago.  He and Laura had arranged to start their new jobs on the same day, so that they could drive to New York together with everything they owned stuffed into Peter’s SUV pulling a rented trailer.  The problem was, helping each other pack their belongings into the trailer and then spending two days driving together had reminded him of all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her in the first place.  They’d had the opportunity to really talk, to reestablish their friendship and attachment to each other.  They caught fully up with one another’s lives, laughed over old jokes, and created new ones.  They’d listened to all the eclectic old music they both loved and that had been the soundtrack of their life together.

For all sorts of reasons, they’d decided to break the trip into two easy days and spend a night in Cleveland.  In retrospect, things would be simpler now if they’d just driven straight through.  

They’d decided to stay at a nice hotel rather than a roadside cookie cutter place, and had rooms next door to one another.  Once they’d checked in and found the hotel’s restaurant, they enjoyed a laughter-filled dinner that was a little more romantic than he’d wished it was.  Since it was a weeknight, they’d had the restaurant practically to themselves. She had looked so beautiful in the candlelight, with her hair picking up the glow and her eyes sparkling with humor as she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but flirt with her.  She didn’t seem to mind.  He remembered trying not to wish this dinner was the beginning of a long evening of seducing her.  

Peter had suggested that, since the hotel had a great pool and they were both stiff and sore from the drive, they should take a swim and maybe soak in the hot tub.  She had agreed and they’d gone to their separate rooms to change.  

When Laura had arrived at the pool, there had been no one there except Peter, who was already swimming laps.  It had been a very long time since she’d seen him in nothing but swimming trunks, and she couldn’t help but stare.  He was magnificent.  His long, clean strokes showed off the definition of his muscular arms and back, gleaming with water under the lights.  

The water had felt wonderful, relaxing and invigorating as they moved and worked their muscles.  Peter had gotten out of the pool first and, like Laura, took the opportunity to stand with a towel around his neck, watching and appreciating.  

After her last lap, they stepped carefully across the tile of the pool room and slowly eased themselves into the bubbling, steaming water.  They sat side by side, not touching except where one of Peter’s outstretched arms came in contact with the back of Laura’s damp hair.  For a few moments, neither spoke.  

Peter started to stroke Laura’s hair with the back of his fingers. Although he tried to seem unconscious of doing it, in fact, they were both exquisitely aware of what he was doing. Without looking at him, Laura softly tried to object.  

“Peter…”

He simply slid his arm behind her and gently but firmly pulled her next to him.  She melted into his side with a sigh as he rested his cheek against her head.  

“Just be here with me for a minute.”

Laura let herself believe that she could just enjoy his nearness and the feel of his bare skin for a few moments before he would take his arm from her and move away.  That transparent self-delusion allowed her to lose herself in this moment without fear that she would have to be the one to control herself.  

Of course, he didn’t let her go or move away.  Instead, he reached his free arm around to cup her chin and pull her lips to his.  He hadn’t been able to restrain himself and she was absolutely incapable of resisting. On some level, they’d both known when they decided to stop for the night that this would happen.  They’d wanted it to, even though it would complicate things. Their arms were instantly wrapped around one another as he pulled her into his lap and kissed her senseless. They were beyond thinking, able only to feel a vague danger behind a profound need that had them both breathless as they devoured one another’s mouths.  

Laura completely forgot that they were in a hotel, in full view of a security camera and anyone who happened to come in.  She kissed Peter with all the love and passion she felt for him, lust overwhelming her senses as she lifted herself off him long enough to straddle him, never breaking their kiss.  She sat moving her pelvis against his erection in the swirling, steaming water, then began to move one hand from his back across his shoulder, dimly intending to slip it between them to take him into her hand.  She was fully ready to draw him into her, right there in the hot tub.  

In the back of her mind, she laughed at herself. She’d purposely worn a one-piece swimsuit.  Bikinis were too overtly sexy, and their bottoms were too easily removed; she’d told herself that her simple black suit was a much better choice for the chaste friendship she and Peter were trying to have.  But this sultry, hungry grinding had always been more likely, and now she was determined to have him inside her, swimsuit or not.

Peter, however, reluctantly began to slow his kisses. He gradually backed off the pressure with which he was crushing her to him.  She moaned in protest and tried to resist, pulling him closer and kissing him with increased fervor.  But he persisted.  Eventually they sat, foreheads together, panting and trying to gain control of their desire.  

When they had caught their breaths a bit, Peter moved Laura off of him and set her down on the shelf-like bench under the water. He moved away from her.  

“You stay there,” he said, still a bit breathless but grinning apologetically.  

Laura was desperately conflicted.  She wanted him passionately, and knew that he wouldn’t take much convincing to let her do all the things she wanted to do to him. But that would only make it harder for them going forward.  

They gazed at eachother from their separate positions.  Both felt the same way.  Neither wanted to say the words that would mean they couldn’t give in to their desire, but neither wanted the inevitable consequences.  Finally, when their breathing had slowed and their ardor cooled somewhat, Peter spoke.

“Do I owe you an apology?”

Laura made a face.  “No, of course not.  I just wish it wasn’t so hard being around you and not touching you.”

“Is it?”

“You know it is.”

“Sunshine.”  The look on his face was pure proposition.

“Don’t, Peter.  I can’t say no to you.”

“Then say yes.  Just tonight.  This hotel is Vegas.  What happens here stays here.”

“That’s not how it works.  Not for me, with you.”  

She shook her head and began to climb out of the hot tub.  He followed. They used their towels to dry off as well as they could, and put on the t-shirts they’d worn over their swimsuits. Although Laura’s was oversized, Peter noticed that it barely covered the tops of her legs as he followed her from the pool area, down the hallway, and up the stairs to their third-floor rooms.

He kept following her into her room.  Without a word, she stepped aside to let him pass, then closed the door behind him.

“Peter…”  She sighed, trying one last time.

He moved to take her in his arms.  “Take a shower with me.  Let me make love to you.  You know how good we are together.  I want you.  I want this. And so do you.”

“I do want you, but it’s a bad idea,” Laura murmured, surrendering to the truth as she pulled his shirt up his torso.  

“Terrible,” he agreed, yanking it over his head and dropping it.  She lifted her arms while he pulled her T-shirt off, then dropped them as he slid the straps of her swimsuit from her shoulders and pulled it down her body to drop to the floor.  When he kissed her, the kiss was slow, soft, and deep.  The decision made, they could take as much time as their lust would allow. It took them a long time to make it into the shower.

It was a good thing they’d given themselves extra time to get to New York and get settled.  They had stayed an extra two days in Cleveland.

In her fourth week at SVU, Laura was still on a steep learning curve.  Lieutenant Benson was very different from Hank Voight, and the crimes they investigated were, in many ways, much more personal and devastating to the victims than those she’d worked in Intelligence.  She was learning a whole new set of interview skills, and a new way of approaching investigations.  The crimes the Intelligence unit had worked were usually about people protecting their illegal businesses.  In SVU, the crimes had much more complex motives.  

The squad stood or sat in the common area, studying the case board they’d been able to construct with what they knew so far. It was starting to come together. Everyone on the team had suggestions, theories, and insight to contribute, and the meeting was close to breaking up.

“We’ll re-interview the other students in the dorm who heard the fight, see if anyone heard two male voices in that room,” Olivia said to Barba, standing up and collecting her things from the table.  

Barba, sitting on the edge of the table, took the last swallow of his coffee.  “See if you can find the rest of the girl’s study group.  I still think they know more than they’re saying.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure how much that helps, given the timeline,” Laura said.  “We might do better looking for whoever walked her back to the dorm.”

Barba kept looking at Benson as he said to Laura, “Hush.  Adults are talking.”

He continued addressing Olivia with more instructions.

Laura saw red.  She was sure her mouth was hanging open in her humiliated rage, which only intensified as it sunk in what he had just said to her, in front of her Lieutenant and her squad.  Those who had been sitting scooted back their chairs and rose, moving to get to their various assignments.  

Carisi stepped close to her as they crossed the room to their desks.  “Don’t take that too seriously, he’s like that with everyone.  Barba’s… an acquired taste.”

She pretended to shrug it off, appreciating Carisi’s friendly words, but she was too furious to speak.  Had she been alone, she would have burst into hot, angry tears.  She grabbed her jacket, grateful that she and Fin were leaving the squad room before she said or did something she’d regret.  Although no one had seemed to react, which supported what Carisi had said, she was still embarrassed and very, very angry.  I don’t care who the fuck he is, or how much of an asshole he is to everyone else. Nobody gets to speak to me like that.

It was still light outside when Fin and Parker finished their interviews on campus.  Laura was calmer, having had a few hours to think about what Barba had said, but still by no means over it.  It was fairly early.  He would probably still be in his office... 

Hearing her knock, Rafael looked up from some papers he'd picked up from his desktop. "Detective?" Laura took a breath and said, "With all due respect, Mr. Barba, I need to ask you not to do that again." "Do what?" He was only half listening, already beginning to read the papers in his hand. "Speak to me the way you did today.  It’s demeaning to me and, frankly, even more so to you.  I don’t expect you to listen to me, I don’t even need you to acknowledge me. But if you do speak to me, please do it with common courtesy." He looked up in some surprise.  “Really? The newest detective in SVU is standing in my office calling me out.”

“Apparently.”

He briefly considered being offended by the audacity of this new detective.  But he liked audacity.  Besides that, he could see that she was deeply angry.  He didn’t even know what he’d said to piss her off, but he knew himself well enough to know it was entirely possible that, whatever it was, it had been over the line.  He appreciated the effort she must be making to be as respectful and polite as she was, given that he could tell she wanted to throttle him.  He was intrigued.   "And you thought you should come here and set me straight." "Not at all.  Carisi says you talk to everyone like that.  Fine with me. I don’t care how you talk to everyone else.  But I am a woman in what is still very much a man’s world.  I can’t afford to let anyone talk down to me.”

“I see.  In that case, I apologize.  I meant no disrespect.”

“To be honest, it's mostly that it was so dickish. I'd like to think you're not a dick."

He fought a grin. “And now you’re standing in my office calling me a dick.”

“To be precise, I called your behavior dickish.  And I said I think you’re not a dick.”

Rafael looked at her for a long moment, waiting for her to crack a smile.  She didn’t.

“And now, if I don’t do as you ask, I’ll be proving to you that I am a dick.  Well played.”

She didn’t respond.  This woman was genuinely pissed, and not at all charmed by his attempt at a joke.

“I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again,” he said, as sincerely as he could manage under these strange circumstances.

"Thank you." She said, a note of genuine gratitude in her voice and her expression entirely serious. As she walked out, closing the door behind her, she hoped she hadn't just made a big mistake.  But she didn’t think so.  He was having trouble keeping a straight face.  He could have been amused by her, which would piss her off.  But she was very good at reading people, and what she was getting from him was different.  She thought he actually respected that she’d stood up to him.  And she definitely felt better He stared at the door after she was gone, a wide smile on his face.  He shook his head and began to laugh.  He was still laughing when he walked around his desk and sat down. This conversation had actually been pretty unflattering to him.  But he couldn’t stop laughing nonetheless.  Detective Laura Parker had chutzpah. She wasn't the least bit in awe of him.  In fact, she had been perfectly politic as she basically called him a dick to his face.  And since she was safely unavailable, he found himself looking forward to working with her.

[writinginstardust]

After The War | Chapter 2

Pairing: Dorian Havilliard x reader

Warnings: The word bastard literally once

A/N: Part 2 is finally ready and it’s even longer than I anticipated. Also it;s from Dorian’s POV and the chapters are probably gonna alternate between these 2 POV’s every chapter because I like getting inside both their heads. We have flirting guys! Actual flirting! Hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 3401

*

Dinner was a quiet affair, as Dorian had preferred to keep it since returning home last spring, just him, Chaol, Yrene, Hollin, and their visitors from Terrasen. They were more like family than visiting dignitaries and he wanted to treat them as such. He knew many of his advisors and the other Lords would have liked to join them, that it was more proper that way, but he’d decided a while ago that he didn’t much care for a lot of what was considered ‘proper’ anymore. Including falling for a member of another court apparently. One who thought he was ‘pretty’ even if she didn’t remember telling him that.

Gods, she’d only been here a day. A day! And he was already in deeper than he should be. It was hard not to be infatuated though, he was pretty sure half the younger Lords were as well and they’d known her for even less time than he had. Honestly he was beginning to wonder what was going on in the Terrasen bloodlines, it seemed like everyone he knew from the kingdom was stronger, smarter, and more loyal than anyone else he’d met and (Y/N) was no exception. She’d proved that in their meeting today just as she’d proved it defending her home against the might of Morath. She was just as smart, just as brave, just as determined, just as committed to her people as Aelin, as quick-witted too but had a much more calm and sweet disposition than her Queen. Less likely to set you on fire too, though from what he’d heard from the others she might very well try if you pushed her too far.

Currently she was giggling beside him at something Evangeline had just said and Dorian didn’t think he’d ever heard a more beautiful sound. He really needed not to think about her like that. This needed to be professional...well...friendly at least. They could be friends. In fact he thought he’d be more than happy with that, the feelings he thought he had may not even be that serious and he wouldn’t want to risk ruining anything between himself and all his friends in Terrasen by hurting her. But that would have to involve her feeling something for him too he supposed. He doubted that was the case. In any case, no flirting.

“So you really did threaten to kick Darrow’s ass if he didn’t let you fight?” Dorian was broken out of his thoughts at the question Chaol asked her, surprise etched on his face. He’d met the old Lord and he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d take kindly to that sort of thing.

“Certainly did, I would have done it too. He seemed to be under the impression that me being a noble girl meant my place wasn’t on the battlefield. Clearly he forgot who I grew up around and where I spent the last ten years.” (Y/N) grinned and it was clear she’d have taken great pleasure in showing up the old Lord. Dorian thought he’d probably enjoy watching that almost as much.

“I think I’d have liked to see that,” Nox voiced his own thoughts, murmurs of agreement coming from around the table.

“I think a lot of people would have,” Ren agreed, an amused smile on his face, “he’s not so bad anymore though so I don’t think we can come up with a good excuse for it. Shame.” He shrugged and turned back to his dinner.

“If you want to fight a backwards bastard of a Lord, you’re more than welcome to take a shot at my father while you’re here,” Chaol offered, and wasn’t that a delightful thought?

“As tempting as that sounds from what I know of him, I think that would be a bit counter-productive to why I’m here. Maybe after all our business is done I’ll take you up on that.”

“I hope you do,” Dorian finally rejoined the conversation. “If you want to get in a bit of practice first though, you’re welcome to test your skills on someone who’s a bit of a challenge.” He punctuated the offer with a wink. So much for no flirting.

“If you’ve got someone who will be then I’d be happy to.” She looked him dead in the eyes, an eyebrow cocked, as she replied, the teasing clear.

“We’ll have to see about that but I’m sure I’ll suffice for now.” She looked him over as if assessing and his skin was set aflame wherever her eyes roamed. He decided that when his time to die came he’d happily be burned alive by that gaze.

“We’ll see.” She smirked and turned her attention back to the others. Dorian let his eyes linger on her for a while, only half paying attention to the conversation around him. He’d told himself he wouldn’t pursue anything with her but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire her. He’d never been one to deny himself life’s simpler pleasures and he wasn’t going to deny himself this.

It was late by the time they vacated the dining room, their conversations stretching on as they all got to know each other better and entertained each other with stories of the mutual friends in the years before they’d met. (Y/N) in particular had some rather amusing tales to tell about Aelin which Dorian was definitely going to have to ask the Queen about when he finally saw her again. Still smiling about one such story, he and Chaol headed to his office, their work not quite over for the day though neither wanted to do anything but sleep.

“You and (Y/N) really seem to have hit it off, I see.” There was an edge of something teasing in Chaol’s voice as he slid a sidelong glance at Dorian.

“I suppose so,” he shrugged in an attempt to seem indifferent, he was not going to admit how much he already liked her to anyone, not even his best friend. There seemed no need anyway, nothing would come of it and they needed to focus on getting through all their negotiations. “She seems to have made a good impression on just about everyone.” He felt more than saw Chaol rolling his eyes in response.

“I think she’s made more than just a good impression on you.”

“Well I definitely like her already if that’s what you’re getting at. She’s smart and brave and kind and I’d like to get to know her better.” He realised he was probably getting a bit too close to making his feelings known. “Besides,” he added in an attempt to dispel that line of thinking from Chaol, “we’ve got to work together for a while and she’s a friend of Aelin’s, it’s only right that I make her feel welcome here.” The excuse wasn’t likely to work for long and Chaol’s face told him that when he looked over, but it was enough to get the subject dropped for the time being.

Dropped for almost a week it turned out. Dorian was surprised it took that long for it to be brought up again though, considering how obvious he felt he was being. He really had tried not to show it but it got harder every day as he spent countless hours in her company, both during meetings and in their spare time. He couldn’t help it really, he was falling further and further with every new thing he uncovered about her and jumping at every opportunity to spend more time together, unbothered by the knowing glances thrown at him by everyone each time he did.

She was truly a wonder to him and the feelings he'd thought could be nothing were growing stronger with each passing moment, blossoming into something beautiful and deadly that he was starting to believe had the power to end him. Her laugh made his heart stutter, her smile made it stop, the light kiss she pressed to his cheek that one time made it beat a thousand times a minute. And gods...the way she practically glowed in the early evening light, as she was then, took his breath away.

They were strolling through the gardens after a particularly arduous meeting with the Lords and advisors about restitutions for all the previous King had done to Terresan and it's people. It was to be the first of many and it hadn't gotten off to the best of starts even with Dorian and (Y/N) already in agreement. Many of them were less than pleased with the amount suggested for the Kingdom to give especially with the state Adarlan was still in. In all honesty Dorian felt they should do far more to make up for everything but Aelin refused to let him pay for the sins of his father any more than necessary.

“They'll come around I'm sure. They're reasonable people...for the most part, they'll see this deal is more than fair.”

“I hope so.” She sighed, stopping in her tracks and gazing off into the distance at the setting sun. “Sooner rather than later would be good, they're exhausting.”

Dorian chuckled at her honesty but had to agree, he almost missed the days when they were all too busy with war to do this kind of stuff. Almost.

“That, they are. You get used to it after a while though.” He smiled down at her. “A tip from someone who's been doing this half their life; stop listening after about a minute, they just repeat everything in new ways after that. Use the rest of your time to figure out what will make them compromise and stop whining. You don't have to actually go through with it but they need to feel like they've won something.” A small smile lit up her features and Dorian couldn't bring himself to look away even with what he knew was a beautiful sunset before them.

“I'll keep that in mind for next time...Gods there's going to be a next time.”

“Unfortunately yes. You did well today though, Lord Westfall didn't complain nearly as much as I expected. I think what you said actually got through to him somehow.”

“I suppose it must have, no idea why though.”

“Maybe he's just finally succumbing to your charm. A pretty face can convince most men to do things they otherwise wouldn't, especially when there's a sharp mind wielding it.” He winked and was most pleased to see a light blush spreading across her cheeks at the compliment.

“Somehow I doubt that but I've got no better ideas...” She continued to stare into the distance, clearly deep in thought, and Dorian simply stood beside her, enjoying the silence and unwilling to interrupt whatever was going on in her head.

“Dorian!” Said man whipped his head around at the sound of his name and spotted Chaol walking towards them, an apologetic, yet still somehow smug, smile on his face. The yell also snapped (Y/N) back to reality and she turned around in surprise.

“Hi Chaol!” She called over and waved as he made his way closer. He nodded and briefly turned his smile to her before addressing Dorian once more.

“There's a...situation with some of the Lords that requires your attention. It shouldn't take long but I think you need to deal with this now.” He was admittedly confused at how vague Chaol was being but shrugged it off. He groaned and looked skywards as if praying for something to save him from what awaited. Dragging a hand down his face, he brought his gaze back down, hoping his exasperation was clear. A badly suppressed laugh sounded beside him and it was the first time he'd heard it and not wanted to join in.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Sorry (Y/N), duty calls. I'll see you at dinner.” He looked over regretfully and found her smirking, clearly amused at his predicament.

“I guess I'll see you later then. Have fun.”

He turned away and followed Chaol back inside, missing the longing gaze trained on him until he was out of sight.

“What's this about then?” Dorian asked as the two men entered the castle.

“Nothing serious,” Chaol quickly reassured. “It's about (Y/N) though so I thought you might want to personally handle it.” The explanation did little to clear things up, in fact it left Dorian with even more questions than before.

“What about her? I thought they were all getting along? Please don't tell me they've decided to act like children because they're not happy about the restitutions?” He would absolutely not hesitate to treat them as such if they were acting that way. He prayed he wouldn't have to though.

“On the contrary, they seem to be getting on a little too well.” That stopped Dorian in his tracks. It was definitely not what he had expected.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, some of them are thinking about her as more than just a foreign emissary...they're thinking about courting her and right now arguing over who gets to try first.”

Dorian felt all the colour drain from his face, his world being turned upside down at Chaol's revelation. Admittedly it came as no great surprise to him, he'd noticed the way some of them had acted around her since they met, had overheard them talking about her more than a few times, he understood why they might feel something for her given he himself did. The thought of (Y/N) with any of them didn't sit right with him but there was no way he was going to admit that. He had no right to decide that for her anyway.

“Why do you think I need to deal with it? Their love lives are none of my business. As long as it doesn't affect our relationship with Terrasen, they can do whatever they like.” He didn't mean a single word, didn’t want to deal with the pain seeing her with one of his Lords, but he’d decided it was a bad idea to pursue her himself so really had no good reason to stop it. Besides, he’d be a terrible friend if he stood in the way of her potential happiness.

“I think you need to deal with it because I know you’ve fallen for her.” It was obvious Chaol was growing tired of his refusal to acknowledge his feelings as an undercurrent of anger crept into his voice. Dorian fixed him with a stern look which his friend had unfortunately grown impervious to and ignored. “Did you really think I was going to believe that line about making her feel welcome for Aelin? Really? Dorian, we’ve been best friends for years, I know you and I know when you’re hiding something. How could you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Chaol…” there was a slight warning in his tone which again went ignored by his friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Chaol to know, but saying it out loud made it real and he didn’t really feel like dealing with that. Not when it would only lead to more pain.

“And you’re not exactly being subtle about it. I don’t think there’s a soul who knows you that can’t tell...except (Y/N), somehow she’s completely oblivious to how you feel.” He sighed and Dorian wasn’t entirely sure if it was directed at him or at the girl in question. “Just...why haven’t you done anything about it yet? You’ve always gone out and got what you wanted, why is this any different? I know she’s what you want so what’s stopping you?”

Dorian snapped.

“I’ve known her a week Chaol! A week! Fine, I’ll admit I’ve developed feelings for her but this is way too soon to start anything serious and I’m not going to risk anything casual and temporary that might mean one of us gets hurt! I can’t do that to her and I can’t do that to myself. Not again.” He deflated slightly, calming himself before continuing. “There’s too much to consider and too many risks with us getting involved. I refuse to let my own feelings become a problem when we already have so much to deal with.”

“Dorian…” Chaol’s voice was noticeably softer but still stern, demanding he pay attention. “Your happiness doesn’t come second to everything. Yes, you have responsibilities to your people and allies as King but you’re allowed to take a chance at your own happiness, it won’t destroy everything if it goes wrong and it won’t affect our relationship with Terrasen.”

“It’s still only been a week Chaol.”

“Maybe so but you already know you feel something so why not take a chance?”

Dorian didn’t have a good answer ready, at least not one he wanted to voice, so he elected to remain silent at Chaol’s question. His friend could read him like no one else could though and saw just what he wanted to keep hidden.

“You need to figure out what’s going to be harder to live with; taking a chance and things not going well, or maybe missing out on something amazing. I’ll tell the Lords it’s inappropriate to pursue anything while we’re in negotiations, it will give you some time to figure it out, but you can’t have forever. She won’t wait forever. Decide. Are you going to let your fear rule you or are you going to rule your fear?”

With that strangely poignant question, Chaol clapped him on the shoulder and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. In the end it all came down to one question: How much was he willing to risk for a shot at happiness?

*

Dear Aelin,

Everything is going incredibly well. We’ve hit a small snag with the restitutions but Dorian seems to think the Lords will agree sooner or later, we just have to give them some time. Honestly these Lords can be almost as temperamental as ours sometimes, I still can’t decide if I’d rather deal with Darrow or Chaol’s father, it’s a tough call.

Ren is going to head back with Evangeline in about a week and a half, apparently he has total faith in me not to mess everything up without him. We’ll see. (I promise I won’t) They were going to leave sooner but we’ve had word from Nesryn and Sartaq that they’ll be here in a weeks time and Evangeline was dying to stay and see them. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been too long since I saw them and honestly it will be nice having someone else in those meetings. They’re not the worst thing I suppose, Dorian agreeing with just about everything is making them much easier, but they’re endless and exhausting and I cannot wait until they're over.

Speaking of Dorian...I’m still surprised you passed up that opportunity back when he liked you. He’s so kind and thoughtful and honestly so much more attractive than I’d ever imagined turning into such a great friend. I have to thank you for sending we to do all this if only because of the friends I’ve made here. (the trust and faith in me is an honour too!)

Anyway, we’re all doing well, Nox, Ren, and Evangeline are enjoying it all for the most part and they’re happy with all that’s been agreed, I hope you will be too. Dorian, Chaol, and Yrene are all hoping to see you soon as well but you may want to put that off, I may have told them a few stories from when we were younger that they want to tease you about but I’ve got stories about them too which should make up for it.

Let me know if anything interesting happens up there, I’m sure with our Court there must be plenty to tell me about and I need to know it all. I’ll keep you updated with everything that’s going on and send word if we need your input. It doesn’t look likely with how smoothly everything has been going but you never know.

Hope you’re all having a rotten time without me, I know I’m the life and soul of our little group so you must be missing me desperately. Give my love to the others if you think they deserve it and I can’t wait to see you again soon.

Love

(Y/N)

[dragonologist-phd]

The Best Parts of Ourselves

First prompt fill of the new year! This one’s for the @pillarspromptsweekly Prompt #61: Making. (it could also fit the bouquet prompt, but I already did that one, so Making it is!) The story is also here on AO3.

“What, you’re going to save the world with rose blossoms?”

“I just might. You never know.”

The soil underneath Desta’s hands was cool and natural, and she smiled at the familiarity of it. Caed Nua was amazing, certainly, but she could only take so many ghosts and memories and magical anomalies before she wanted something simpler. A nice garden was exactly what this place needed.

“What are you doing in this mud pit?”

Desta looked up to see Hiravias watching her with amusement. “Is this some kind of…” he wiggled his fingers at her godlike form, “you know, changeling thing? You have to roll in dirt every now and then? I can’t believe I wasn’t invited!”

In response, Desta flicked a bit of fresh mud in his direction. “I would think a druid of all people would recognize a garden.”

Hiravias wiped the mud from his cheek and looked at the ground appraisingly. “A garden has to have things in it, you know. Things that are actually growing.”

“And it will. I just have to plant them first.”

“Can’t the Steward get it whipped into shape for you? Isn’t that the point of this creepy magic castle?”

“Some things are better done yourself. Without magic,” Desta said firmly. “It will be worth it, you’ll see. Once all the flowers come in-”

“Flowers?” Hiravias cocked his head. “You’re not even going to plant useful things? Medicine? Food?”

“Oh, I’ll plant those, too,” Desta said with a dismissive wave. “But we’re going to need flowers. You’ll see.”

“What, you’re going to save the world with rose blossoms?”

“I just might. You never know.”

“Sure,” Hiravias said, although he didn’t sound convinced. “Well, it should make the place a little less gloomy, at least. Before they all wilt and die when the frost comes. And then you can do it all again in the spring.”

“Aren’t druids supposed to like nature? Didn’t your clan keep gardens?”

“My clan lived in a bog.”

Desta frowned. “Bad example. Just trust me, okay?”

Hiravias shrugged. “Still don’t see the point, but as long as we’re not diving into the cellar of undead horrors, knock yourself out.”

 It was three days after finding Eder’s brother’s helmet that Desta made the first flower crown.

Her little garden was coming along nicely, with a rainbow of blooms sprouting stubbornly through the cold Dyrwood rains. She studied the plants thoughtfully, picking some familiar flowers she’d seen in the Gilded Vale and some new ones she’d acquired through trade.

The result was a clash of colors- pink hyacinths, white calla lilies, bright yellow daffodils- and Eder laughed with incredulous delight when she held it out to him.

“Am I supposed to wear this into battle?” he asked, holding the crown aloft.

Desta shrugged. “Only if you really want to,” she said. “It’s just that… well, the weather’s been a bit dreary lately, hasn’t it? I thought perhaps you could use something bright.”

Eder considered that for a moment. “Huh. Reckon you might have a point there.” He walked over to the shelf where he’d set his brother’s helmet and positioned the crown around the metal base. He smiled, and there was an easiness to it that Desta hadn’t seen since they’d dug the helmet from the dirt.

“Yeah. That’s kinda nice.”

 Kana liked the crowns, and it wasn’t long before he insisted Desta teach him the practice. They sat together in her garden, and she showed him the movements required to weave the stems and leaves and petals into an new creation.

“This is harder than it looks,” he commented, observing the tangled twigs he’d been attempting to ravel together. “I believe my fingers are better suited to turning pages. Perhaps I should stick to songs and history.”

“You just need practice,” Desta assured him. She leaned over and set a small crown on his brow- a simple braided band of green ivy bearing sprigs of purple aster and springberry. “And then you can return to Rautai and teach all of your philosopher and aristocrat friends the dignified craft of weed-weaving.”

“I may have better luck with that than with any of my research,” Kana joked, but Desta could sense the worry weighing down on his shoulders.

“Don’t give up just yet. You may not have found exactly what you wanted, but what you did find is still pretty impressive. And I’m not just talking about the flowers.”

“I suppose that’s true. I’ve learned more in a month here than I did in all my years back home.” Kana smiled, and then laughed in triumph as he at last managed to complete the small loop of vines he’d been working on. He held it up to Desta with a grin. “And perhaps I’m getting the hang of this, as well.”

 Aloth wasn’t an easy person to sneak up on; Desta had to wait until he was completely absorbed in his grimoire.

“Aloth?” she said once she’d crept up behind him, and as he lifted his gaze to answer she plopped the crown on top of his head. The expression on his face was worth the wait.

He blinked in surprise and plucked the crown from his head. He regarded it in silence for a moment- it was a fairly simple crown, decorated with sprigs of lavender and interwoven with small daisies just beginning to bloom. At last, he spoke hesitantly. “Is it my turn now?” He ran his hand over the flowers, still looking baffled. “…thank you?”

“You’re welcome!” Desta said happily. “I thought the colors would look nice on you. I think I was right.”

A small smile crept onto Aloth’s face, and he placed the crown back on his head. “Well, I can’t promise it’s going to become a new staple of my wardrobe, but it is lovely.”

“High praise coming from the fashionable Aedyran wizard,” Desta said, lilting her voice into a poor imitation of Aloth. He smirked at her attempt of his accent, and Desta laughed. “If you think that was bad, you don’t even want to hear my Iselmyr. How are the two of you doing, by the way?”

Aloth tilted his head, considering. “Better, I think. I have to admit, she’s proving to be more cooperative than I first expected.”

“I’m happy to hear. I think it’ll do the two of you some good to work together.” Desta reached over to straighten Aloth’s crown, her lips pursing thoughtfully. “I suppose I should make Iselmyr her own crown. What kind of flowers does she like?”

Aloth’s expression shifted. “Yer  frilly red ’uns are right bonnie!”

Desta was still trying to parse the words as Aloth regained himself. He saw her confused expressions and clarified. “I believe she likes the red chrsyanthemums.”

“Perfect! One chrysanthemum crown, coming up.”

 Three crowns were begun and abandoned before Desta could finally hold on to the memory of the Grieving Mother long enough to complete one. She presented it quickly, before the thought could once again fade away.

The Grieving Mother took it hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the soft white petals as if afraid they would crumble under her touch. “What is this for?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Desta said gently. Ever since she’d refused to cleanse The Grieving Mother of her memories, the woman had been… not cold, really, but distant. Even more distant than usual, which for the ghost-like cipher was an impressive feat.

Desta reached between the snowdrops and sprigs of Berath’s bell to retrieve one of the dandelions she’d delicately placed on the top of the crown. “Here. Make a wish.”

The Grieving Mother blinked at the flower, but after a few long moments leaned forward and blew softly. Her breath was just enough to send the dandelions seeds scattering into the wind above their heads. The Grieving Mother watched the seeds fly away, an unreadable expression on her face.“I hope it comes true.”

“It will,” Desta replied. She didn’t know for sure what the Grieving Mother had wished for, but she had her suspicions. “I’m sure of it.”

 Desta had never known how to talk to Durance. After the disastrous conversation with gods, where he’d engaged in a one-sided rage against Magran, she knew even less what to say to him.

He was horrible. That much Desta couldn’t deny. But seeing him so thoroughly rejected by the god he’d dedicated his life to still sent a pang of sympathy through her heart.

She threaded together a circlet of blooms from her garden, roses in shades of reds and yellows and oranges that she thought he might enjoy. She didn’t say anything about it; conversations with Durance inevitably ended in insults and frustration. Instead, she simply left it in his room at Caed Nua, hoping he would understand the unspoken… support? Peace offering? Desta honestly wasn’t so sure herself.

Days went by with no acknowledgement from Durance. At last, Desta peeked inside his room once more. In the place where she had left the flowers, only a pile of ash remained.

Desta didn’t try again.

 “And what are these called?”

“Zinnia,” Desta answered. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

“And so many colors,” Sagani mused. She was quiet for a moment as she fingered the bright flowers on her crown. “There’s nothing like this back home. I might actually miss it when I go back.”

“You’ll have to take some back with you. Along with some dragon scales, some of those potions we found at Concelhaut’s…”

“Trophies?”

“Mementos. To back up all the amazing stories you’ll be telling,” Desta said. She chewed thoughtfully on her lips as she straightened the row of flowers on Sagani’s head- purple, red, yellow, pink, all bold and bright. The cheerful colors contrasted with the pensive look on Sagani’s face.

“I’ve been gone so long,” she sighed. “Things are going to be different when I return.”

“Maybe. Probably.” Desta wasn’t sure what she could say to comfort Sagani. The nostalgia in her voice whenever she spoke of her home, of her family… Desta had never felt anything like that. She’d left her own home long ago and felt no grief over it. “Different doesn’t need to mean bad, does it? Think of all that you’ve seen, and done, and learned. You’re going to do great things when you get back home. Just like Persoq.”

That made Sagani smile. “And then maybe some day another hunter will go out looking for my reincarnated soul, to tell me about my adventures and accomplishments.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”

“But before all of that… I’m going to give my kids a big hug. I can’t wait to see them again.”

Desta smiled and nodded, trying not to show the strange, sad longing that gripped her chest at those words. “You’ll have to bring them some flowers. And tell them I said hello.” Desta looked down, suddenly self-conscious.“… I don’t really know what it’s like to have a family, but I’m glad you’ll be returning to yours. Even if it means I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

Sagani chuckled. She plucked one of the flowers from her crown and, standing on her tiptoes, tucked it into Desta’s hair. “I’ll miss you, too. And don’t be silly- a family is just people who care about you. Of course you have that.”

 It took a bit of convincing, but at last Pallegina acquiesced to Desta’s pleas to just try on her flower crown.

She placed it on her head with little fanfare, glancing grumpily at Desta as she did so. The tulips hung heavy over her forehead, pinks and purples bringing out the colors of her feathers. “There. I tried it. May I remove it now?”

Desta sighed. “I just wanted you to give it a chance. I think it looks good on you. But yes, you can take it off.”

“Agracima.” Pallegina immediately tugged the crown from her head. Seeing Desta’s face fall, she mustered an apologetic smile. “I do appreciate the gesture. But it’s not part of my uniform.”

“Nobody is going to report to your ducs that you’ve been wearing flowers.”

“Hmph. I should hope not. They’ll be upset enough over the negotiations.”

“They’ll get over it,” Desta said with more confidence than she truly felt.  From what she had seen of the ducs so far, Pallegina had the right of it- they would be very upset at having their orders ignored.  But Desta had to hope that after their initial anger they would see that Pallegina was right.

Pallegina made a noncommittal noise, but the tension in her shoulders did seem to ease at Desta’s reassurance. She sighed and traced a finger over the petals of the tulips in her hands. “I hope I won’t regret what I’ve done.”

“You did what you believed was right,” Desta replied. “You should never regret that.”

“That, I will agree with.” Pallegina smiled. She turned the crown in her hands for a moment, then set her chin and placed it back on her head. “I suppose I can wear it for one day.”

 The last crown was the one Desta worked on the longest, picking out only the biggest and brightest flowers to be saved and added to the final product. It was a thing of glory, if she said so herself- roses that had overshot red and landed on a striking orange, vibrant marigolds, and even a couple of white lotus blossoms that Desta had managed to coax into blooming. Autumn leaves were beginning to cover the ground, and she collected some of the fallen foliage to weave into the base.

Hiravias often came to the garden to watch her work on it. He often chattered as they sat together, filling the hours with stories about his previous adventures or musings to Wael or the latest gossip on the other companions. As Desta finally neared completion on the crown, however, he was uncharacteristically silent.

“What’s on your mind?” Desta asked as she tucked in the final flowers. “Usually I couldn’t pay you to be quiet.”

“Not with money at least. Gotta be more creative than that,” he said with a grin, although his voice lacked his usual crack of wit. He shrugged. “Just thinking about the other piece of my soul out there, I guess. Wondering whether it was smart to let him go.”

“If it makes any difference, I think you did good,” Desta said with firm certainty. She looks up from her crafting to meet Hiravias’s eyes. “It takes a certain kind of strength to walk away from a fight. A lot of people choose to settle their problems with violence because it’s… easier, in its own way. It’s harder sometimes to look for something better. But you worked for an ending that was a little more peaceful, and I think your soul is better for it.” She grinned playfully. “And I’m a Watcher, so I should know what I’m talking about.”

Hiravias nods. “I suppose that’s true. Leaping to fight any old fool who challenges you doesn’t provide much opportunity for growth, does it?” He paused, and looked around him at the scenery. “Speaking of growth, your garden’s not looking half bad.”

“I know. And now for the crowning achievement,” Desta smiled at her own joke and held the finished flower crown aloft. Hiravias let out a low whistle.

“Nice. Who’s that for?”

“You, of course,” Desta said with an eyeroll as she held the crown out to Hiravias.

He blinked in surprise and lifted his good eyebrow. “Hey, aren’t I handsome enough already? Besides, something like that should go to the gardener, shouldn’t it?”

“I was thinking it should go to the person who magicked all these flowers into being.” Desta couldn’t but help but laugh at the guilty expression on Hiravias’s face. “Come on, did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? At first I thought it was the Steward, but she didn’t touch the gardens after I told her not to. So I had to think… who knows a bit of nature magic and has a problem following rules?”

“You don’t know any magic was involved-” Hiravias stuttered, but Desta just pointed to one of the flowers on the crown.

“That’s a lotus blossom, Hiravias. In autumn. In the Dyrwood. I’m not stupid.”

A flush colored Hiravias’s cheeks. “Fine. I helped with your flowers. It’s not a big deal.”

“And I made you a flower crown. Not a big deal.” Desta held the crown out once again, and Hiravias at last begrudgingly took it and placed it on his head.

He struck an over-exaggerated pose, turning the scarred side of his face towards Desta. “Do I still look fearsome?”

“Absolutely terrifying,” Desta promised. “Now come use your intimidating druid magic to help me with the orchids.”

[the-barrens-are-ours]

Dog Diggity Darn 2

To say Richie was merely infatuated with Eddie when the Kaspbraks moved in next door would be an understatement.

Richie was head-over-heels in love with him

Here’s part 2 of whatever you’d like to call this!

Word Count: 5,600

Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Ao3

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of blood and injury

Weeks pass and Richie still felt like a complete loser.

No matter what he said or did to try and get on Eddie’s good side, it seemed like the small boy always had some snarky comment or embarrassing piece of trivia about Richie to shut him down. He even knew that Richie ate trash last year on a dare and threw up all over the basketball court during gym. How did he know that? Richie had no fucking clue. It wasn’t helping his situation though.

Eddie walked into Sixth Period and sat down in the seat next to Richie. Even though he refused to speak to him, at least Eddie wasn’t sitting in Richie’s old seat away from him. Sitting next to him gave him more opportunities to try and befriend the small boy.

“Hi, Eddie, how was your day?” Richie tried to sound as happy and genuine as he could but it didn’t matter. He still saw Eddie rolling his eyes as he busied himself with flipping his notebook open to a clean page.

After a moment when it was clear Eddie wasn’t going to respond, Richie just continued talking like he had. “Well, I’m glad you’re having a good day. My day’s been going pretty well, thanks for asking. Nervous about the end of the year tests coming up?”

Eddie didn’t respond, and wouldn’t have been able to as class started.

Richie stared at the side of Eddie’s face with a frown. He scribbled a small note on his notebook and quietly ripped it out. Folding up the paper, Richie tossed it onto Eddie’s desk when the teacher turned her back. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie sweep the scrap of paper off his desk without so much as a glance at it.

Pretending to cough, Richie subtly nudged his pencil off his own desk. Bending over, he grabbed his own pencil as well as the scrap of paper, which he threw back onto Eddie’s desk.

Richie shamelessly watched Eddie as the other boy picked up the piece of paper and dropped it on the floor on the other side of his desk - out of Richie’s reach.

The taller boy sighed, slumping in his seat. He seemed to do that a lot, he realized. Probably wasn’t good for his posture. Richie was already tall enough as it was, who cared if he slouched three inches down all the time.

Time passed slowly, and Richie didn’t hear more than two sentences of what his teacher said throughout the entire period. He didn’t really care much about it though. All of his attention was focused on wondering why Eddie wouldn’t even give Richie a chance at being friends. He wasn’t that bad of a guy. Sure, everyone called him Trashmouth, but it was better than being called a coward for backing down on a dare to eat trash. Regardless, he liked to think of himself as a kind and loyal individual, even if he could be a bit of a prick sometimes. But it’s not like he was malicious. He just enjoying joking and jabbing his friends. It was all in good fun.

Richie hardly even noticed the bell ring at the end of class, signaling the close of the school day. He watched all his other classmates hustle out of the room, eager to get the fuck out of the hellhole that was their place of public education. He glanced over at Eddie, who always waited until after the bell rang to start packing up so he didn’t have to fight people trying to get out of the door.

“Are you ever gonna give me a chance?” Richie asked Eddie.

The other boy didn’t look at him. He just continued to pack up his bag. Right before Richie decided he was never going to answer his question, Eddie spoke up. “Why do you want me to?”

Knowing that confessing his undying love for Eddie right then and there was nowhere even close to a good idea, Richie altered the truth around so he had a somewhat acceptable answer. “I think you look like a really interesting person and I want to get to know you better.” The fewer and simpler words, the better it would probably be for Richie.

Eddie wasn’t having it though. “That’s a lame excuse.” He slung his backpack over his shoulders and started to walk out of the room. Richie grabbed his few belongings and hurried after Eddie.

“What do you mean ‘lame excuse?’ I was being genuine!”

“Wanting to get to know someone better isn’t a viable excuse for constantly watching a person. It’s kind of creepy.”

“What do you mean ‘constantly watch?’ When have I ever?”

Eddie walked up to his locker and Richie made a mental note of its number. “When I first moved in next door to you, all you did the entire time we unpacked the car was stand in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at me.”

Richie flushed. He hadn’t even realized Eddie knew he was his neighbor. Nor did he even remember staring at Eddie that much when he first moved in next door. Or how noticeable that staring was. He was sure he was subtle every other time.

Eddie closed his locker. By this point, the hallways were almost completely deserted except for the two of them. “You also try to stare at me during science, and you seem to be pretty shameless about starting at me during lunch.”

Richie weighed his options and decided he should probably just give in. “Okay, so maybe I stare at you every now and then, but what’s wrong with that? Sure, it may be creepy, but that must mean you stare at me too to notice it.”

Richie figured it was flawed logic, but he noticed Eddie’s face and neck flush pink and figured maybe he hit a bit close to home. “I do not stare at you.” He sounded defensive.

“Oh my god, you totally do.” Richie’s jaw dropped and he felt his eyes widen to what must have been comical proportions when magnified by his glasses.

“Why would I stare at you? Why do you even stare at me so much?” Eddie’s face was now cherry red. Richie was sure he would have laughed if he wasn’t too busy being shocked and feeling slightly giddy.

Maybe he did actually have a chance with Eddie if he was staring at Richie like Richie was him. He hasn’t felt this excited since he first laid eyes on Eddie.

Eddie scoffed, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Whatever. It’s Friday, and I’m tired. I’m going home.” He turned and started walking away.

Richie perked up, grinning playfully. “Let me walk you ho-”

Eddie cut him off. “I’m walking home alone.” He turned the corner, effectively cutting the conversation off completely.

Richie stood there, alone in the school hallways on a beautiful Friday afternoon, and smiled to himself like a damn fucking fool. He felt like he had made some progress today in getting Eddie to open up to him. He would let the smaller boy walk home alone, spend the weekend thinking over their conversation (and thinking of him), and maybe he would actually talk to Richie Monday during history. His heart fluttered and Richie had to physically restrain himself from squealing like a six-year-old girl. Today was a good day.

He strolled back up the hallway towards his own locker to grab the few things he’d need over the weekend, whistling cheerfully to himself. He shuffled his belongings around, shaking his hips as he did so, and spun away from his locker, kicking its door shut as he did. Continuing to whistle to himself, he headed towards the school’s front entrance, ready to get out and enjoy his weekend.

Richie took a deep breath of air as he walked outside. The sun was out, the sky was filled with the right amount of fluffy white clouds, the flowers were blooming, and the birds were singing. He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful than this wonderful spring day.

Oh, wait. He has seen something more beautiful. Someone more beautiful. And his name was Eddie Kaspbrak, and he just might be opening up a bit to Richie.

Smiling to himself, Richie damn near skipped over to the bike rack to grab his ride so he could get home. When he got closer to the rack though, that’s when he heard him.

Henry Bowers.

“Aw, look. The little fag’s about to cry. What’s the matter, queer? Where’s your boyfriend to protect you now?”

There was no mistaking that sick, cruel, and sneering sound of Henry’s voice. Richie even heard his goons laughing along with him.

Richie’s heart went out to the poor kid that landed in Henry’s crosshairs. He knows that he’s definitely wound up there more times than he could count. Nearly every kid in his grade has. Frankly, he was surprise Henry hasn’t been expelled from school yet. It seemed like since his father was the police chief, every teacher decided to give Henry infinite warnings. Everyone knew two things to be true about Butch Bowers: He abused his son, and he abused his power as a police officer. Everyone was scared of him, and no one felt safe in Derry with him in charge of anything.

Knowing teachers wouldn’t do anything to help the kid since they always looked the other way in any situation involving Henry, Richie figured the best thing for him to do would be to not get involved and to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. Everyone fell victim to Henry- Richie could get his ass beat later or he could get involved and get his ass beat now and later, and he much preferred the option that would hurt less.

Fumbling to undo his bike lock as quickly as possible, he couldn’t help but overhear the poor kid who was Henry’s current punching bag speak up.

“Please,” his voice was weak, laced with fear and pain, and Richie recognized it instantly. How could he not?

It was the voice of Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie’s body froze.

Eddie was being beaten up by Henry, and Richie was just about to leave him to fend for himself, just like the prick Eddie probably thought Richie was. It wasn’t too late though. He could still do something, even at the cost of himself.

Eddie was worth any injury Henry might inflict on him.

Hyping himself up, Richie dropped his bag and forced his body to move around the corner of the school to face Eddie, four older, larger, stronger students, and his fate.

Henry had Eddie by the front of his shirt and was pressing him up against the brick wall of the school. There was a nasty looking bruise forming under Eddie’s right eye, and blood was trickling down from his nose. He looked like he was trying not to cry, and Richie’s heart cried out in pain at the sight. Henry’s goons, Patrick, Belch, and Victor, stood around Henry, laughing at Eddie and encouraging Henry to hit him again. Richie needed to do something quickly.

Looking around, Richie noticed an abandoned aluminum can. Grabbing it, he chucked it at the back of Henry’s head as hard as he could. The can was much harder to throw than he expected, so despite his dead-on accuracy, the can made contact with Henry’s head with a light tink and tumbled to the ground weakly.

Not Richie’s best idea, but it got Henry’s focus off of Eddie.

“Hey fuck face!” Richie shouted, giving Henry the bird as he tried not to let his voice shake too much. It wasn’t his best insult, but under the circumstances, not the worst Richie’s come up with.

Henry turned to Richie, his glare filled with pure hatred and violence. He dropped Eddie, who landed on the ground with a weak whimper. Henry stalked forward, slowly savoring the look of fear that took over Richie’s face as he realized what he’s done.

He just challenged a high schooler and his three brute friends to a fight that he was destined to lose. Fuck, if he tried to fight all four of them, Richie was gonna die. He had no doubt that they could easily kill him.

Richie fucked up.

So, Richie did the only reasonable thing he could come up with: he started running like hell.

He took off in the opposite direction, feet flying across the pavement as he desperately urged his body to go faster, faster, faster. For a moment, he was worried that Henry would just let Richie run and go back to beating up Eddie, but it wasn’t long before he heard the thunderous herd of footsteps behind him, and it wasn’t long until he realized they were gaining on him.

He seriously fucked up.

Richie wasn’t sure where he was running, and he was running out of time to come up with a plan to get away from them. He ran to the back of the school where the unkempt field and crumbling basketball court the school called a ‘playground’ was. This also just so happened to be a dead end for Richie. The entire area was surrounded by an old and rusty chain link fence that was taller than Richie. His only hope to get away would be to climb it.

As soon as he got within four feet of the fence, he threw himself at it, desperately trying to climb it as quickly as he could. A sharp, rusty part of the fence dug into Richie’s palm and sliced his hand open. He winced at the pain but ultimately ignored it as he continued to haul his ass up the fence. In the end, it didn’t matter.

His hand had reached the top of the fence right as Henry reached him. The older boy grabbed the back of Richie’s shirt and yanked him backward.

Richie fell to the beat up asphalt of the basketball court. First landing on his foot awkwardly, then tipping over and letting his head make contact with the ground with a sickening thunk!

His vision was blurry and swimming, and it took Richie a second to realize he was seeing the former because his glasses had been knocked off of his face during the fall. He saw their blurry outline a foot away from him. Stupidly, he reached out to grab them.

As soon as his hand came in contact with the expensive piece of glass and wire, Patrick Hockstetter’s combat boot came down on top of his hand, forcing it to crush the glasses underneath it. Richie hissed in pain as he felt a few shards of glass embed themselves in his palm.

He didn’t have time to worry about his hand though, as Henry’s foot connected forcefully with the small of Richie’s back. Pain erupted and radiated up his spine, making his mind go fuzzy.

He felt Henry forcefully grab his shoulder and roll him over so his back pressed painfully into the rough surface of the asphalt. The older boy then got down to straddle Richie’s midsection. He grabbed the front of Richie’s shirt, lifting his head up off the ground only to spike it back down.

Richie swears he blacked out for a second, but he wasn’t sure. He was definitely sure that all he could hear was an obnoxious ringing in his ears.

Henry leaned his face down close to Richie’s and snarled something. He could only assume it was something as nasty as Henry’s breath, but he couldn’t make out a word of what he said. He blinked in pained and dazed confusion and was soon introduced to Henry’s fist once again. This time, Richie could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as his teeth came down on his tongue. Frankly, he was surprised he didn’t bite a piece of it off.

After the crummy third and fourth date Richie’s face had with Henry’s fist, Richie was sure he was going to black out or die soon. Based off how badly his body, more specifically his head, was hurting, he was leaning a bit more towards the latter.

Right as the blackness that had crept into Richie’s vision was about to cover up the last bit of light, he felt Henry get off of him.

Confused, he laid there, trying to blink the spots from his sight. When enough of it had cleared, he saw what he could only assume to be a teacher standing at the back exit of the school, speaking animatedly at Henry and his friends. He had no idea what he was saying, but soon enough, the Bowers gang set off, following the person back inside the school.

Oh cool, Richie thought dimly, I’m not dead.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, unmoving on the pavement. Soon enough though, he saw a figure hesitantly step into Richie’s line of sight.

For the most part, said person looked like a blob of color to Richie, but he was able to make out brown hair, a pastel colored polo shirt, and a blur of brown coloring across this person’s face. Was it eyes or freckles? Richie knew it was both as he finally recognized the person.

“Ayyyyyy, it’s Eddie.” Richie’s voice was weak and sounded dead as he slurred the few words. He squinted up Eddie and saw what he thought was a look of concern, but to be honest, he had no fucking clue.

Eddie looked down at Richie and mouthed something that he couldn’t make out. Actually, he probably said something instead of mouthing words, but the ringing in his head still was all Richie could hear.

Richie smacked his lips together, grossed out by the taste of blood that plagued his mouth. He turned his head slightly and tried to spit some of it out, but just ended up getting bloody spit all over the side of his face.

In his dazed state, Richie wasn’t sure how to best flirt with his crush, but at the moment, he was positive he was nailing it.

Eddie’s face scrunched up slightly, probably in disgust, but Richie found that he didn’t care. He just realized he felt really tired.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Richie said, or rather shouted. His eyes slipped shut, and his head lolled to the side.

A faint and repetitive tap against the side of his face caused Richie to snap his eyes back up. He jerkily sat up, his body and head painfully protesting the movement. He vaguely heard Eddie shout something at him about not going to sleep.

He’s right, Richie’s mind dumbly chided him, napping in front of your crush is rude. Might as well invite him to nap with you.

Genius.

“C’mon here, Eds,” Richie grumbled, sticking his arms out and making a grabbing motion with his hands. “Come nap with me.”

Eddie shook his head, instead electing to grab Richie’s arms and haul him up to his feet.

The second Richie put weight on his right foot, it burst into pain and he cried out. Eddie grabbed his shoulder to keep him from falling over as he quickly yanked his foot up off the ground.

“Holy fucking shit, that hurt!” Richie shouted, tears starting to form in his eyes.

“Richie are you okay?” He could now hear Eddie’s voice better, and the concern in it was clear as day.

Richie gritted his teeth and pressed his eyes shut.  “Fuck, I think I landed on it wrong. It hurts like hell.”

“It’s possible you broke it,” Eddie looked worried. “What else?”

“My head. It’s like Satan used it as his own personal punching bag.” Richie felt the back of his throat tighten and he nearly gagged. “I think I’m also going to be sick.”

Eddie’s look of concern went from a Level Ten to a Level Fifty in a matter of seconds. “Christ. I think you might have a concussion.“

“A concussion? You sound like a doctor!” Richie cackled, making the mistake of moving his body too much and feeling pain radiate throughout his body. “Ow, everything hurts.”

“Okay, we need to get you to a real doctor. Can you walk?’

“I think I can limp.” Richie hesitantly shuffled his body forward, favoring his good leg. Eddie ducked under Richie’s arm, acting as a crutch for him. The pair shuffled ten feet forward when Richie’s vision tilted and he was hit with an intense, dizzy wave of nausea. “Oh no.” He stopped, and Eddie moved out from under his arm to glance at him, concerned.

Richie couldn’t help it- he puked. Not only that, but he puked right on his and Eddie’s legs and feet. Richie’s jeans may survive, but their shoes, especially Eddie’s white Keds, and Eddie’s clean khakis would, unfortunately, not share the same fate as the dark, denim pants.

It was dead silent between the two of them. Eddie was in complete shock.

“Whoa, Trashmouth strikes again.” Richie giggles, disgusted by just throwing up, and also finding the coincidence hilarious. “Get it, Eds? Because I threw up on the basketball court last time?” Richie wheezed with laughter. Eddie stared at him like he’d gone insane. May he had. Who knows what repeated head-bashing from good ole Henry Bowers could do to a person.

Eddie shook his leg, face twisted in disgust. “Fucking gross.”

Richie giggled. His head was still spinning and he tried not to puke again. “Sorry. That was an accident.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie sighed heavily. “Let’s just never mention this again.”

“Agreed.” Richie nodded his head solemnly, trying to wipe the smile off his face. He’s sure his future self would be absolutely mortified later, but at the moment, he found that he didn’t care in the slightest.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” Eddie moved back under Richie’s arm, bearing a good amount of his weight.

The two slowly made their way back towards the front of the school. They were almost off campus by the time Richie remembered his bag and his bike that he left behind when he took off to try and outrun Henry. Eddie helped Richie sit down on a stone bench before running off to quickly grab his stuff.

“I have an idea,” Eddie said, walking up with Richie’s bike and bag.

“Huh?” Richie was nearly asleep again.

The shorter boy scowled at him. “Stop that, Richie, don’t fall asleep.”

Richie slumped down the bench, body flaring up in pain again as he did so. “I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“Whatever.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “At the rate we’re moving, it’ll be freshman year before we get you home. So, if you sit on your bike, I can push it and we can get you back at a relatively decent time.”

Richie slowly tried to stand up. “If I don’t have to move, I’m all for it. My ankle fucking hurts.” He glanced down at his foot. “Also, it’s starting to swell. That’s probably not good.”

Eddie glanced at Richie’s ankle and saw that he was right. He grimaced at the sight. “Let’s go.”

It was a struggle trying to get Richie situated on the bike comfortably. His bad ankle was a difficult roadblock to deal with since he needed someplace to rest it without directly putting pressure on his foot, so the pedals weren’t an option. It ended up with Richie draping his bad leg over the handlebar, which Eddie grabbed hold of to push the bike backward.

The bike wobbled and nearly tipped over as it started to move. Richie gripped the handlebar with his finger over Eddie’s hands tightly and stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t even think about how he was basically holding Eddie’s hands. “If you drop me, I may die.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. “No, you won’t. Stop being so dramatic.”

“I don’t know. You seemed pretty certain I was going to die earlier.”

Richie watched as the other boy struggled to come up with a retort. “To be fair, you already looked like you were dead.”

He snorted. “I probably you be if you hadn’t come. Or rather that teacher did. How did you get a teacher to come out? Most times they don’t care about Bowers picking on other kids, especially after school hours.”

Eddie was silent for a moment, focused on pushing the bike carefully. At last, he whispered quietly, “… I might have told him there was a drug deal going on.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s fucking genius.” Richie was so struck by the awe of Eddie’s ingenious plan that he couldn’t help but let the next few words slip out of his mouth. “I love you.”

The shorter boy looked down at the handlebars of the bike, face coloring slowly. “You’re concussed.”

He laughed. “Maybe.” He closed his eyes for a second.

The sun was still out and it felt nice on his face. A breeze blew by the two boys, gently ruffling the new leaves of the tree lining the streets. Richie swears that if he tried, he could probably hear the sound of children’s laughter in the air. Despite getting the shit beaten out of him, he’d still consider today a wonderful day.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you? Cause if you fall off, get this, you may die.”

Richie cracked an eye open to look at Eddie. Without his glasses, everything was still pretty blurry, but he swears he saw a smirk on his lips.  “For your information, Edward, I was not sleeping. I was enjoying this beautiful day.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Sure, Richard. Sure.”

A moment of silence passed between the two. Then Richie spoke up, “Can you be honest with me real quick: why didn’t you give me a chance?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, confused.

“I mean, when you first moved here, I wanted to talk to you and you kind of shut me down.”

He thought about it for a second before replying, “To be fair, every time I glanced your direction you were staring at me like I had a second head. It was creepy.”

Richie winced. “Okay, so maybe I stare at you a bit much. That doesn’t mean you should just shut me down completely. You gotta give a guy a chance.”

“Aren’t I doing that now?”

“Yeah, after I nearly died saving you from Bowers.”

Eddie studied Richie carefully. “Why did you save me?”

Caught slightly off guard, Richie said the first thing that came to mind. “Because I felt like getting concussed by Henry”

The other boy sighed heavily. “For real, Richie.”

When he thought about it, Richie didn’t actually have a real reason. He just figured he’d rather get beat up than Eddie. He doubted the other boy would go for an excuse as lame as that.

In his panic, the truth slipped out. “Because I- I like you.”

Eddie faltered and nearly tipped Richie off the bike. It looked like his mind was going a mile a minute. “You like me?”

Richie recovered from his near death experience, face flushed. “Uh. Yeah, maybe a bit.”

He still looked perplexed. “Why do you like me though?”

“I don’t know.” Richie shrugged awkwardly. “I mean, you’re fucking adorable so that’s one thing.”

Eddie flushed red. “That’s not valid. I was kind of a jerk.”

Rolling his eyes, Richie sighed. “Yeah, well I was kind of a creep.”

“I guess that’s fair.” The other boy didn’t sound convinced though.

Turning the bike carefully, Eddie started down his and Richie’s street. Richie couldn’t look over his shoulder to look at his house, but he’s sure if he could, he’d see the driveway was empty and his parents weren’t home. He glanced at Eddie, who seemed lost in thought. Richie tried to study his face, but it was too blurry for him to make out anything.

“That’s not everything though,” Richie spoke up, interrupting Eddie’s thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“That’s not the only reason I like you.”

Eddie looked skeptical. “What other reason do you have?”

Richie paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase his thoughts. He had never been too good with genuine words. “You seem like a real person. Like you’re not afraid to be yourself. I think that’s really respectable.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, Eddie pondered Richie’s words for a moment. When he spoke up, he sounded sad.

“That’s really kind of you to say, Richie, but I have to disagree. I’m not fearless. Sometimes, I’m absolutely terrified to be myself.”

Richie hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you seem pretty brave to me, Eddie.” He gave the other boy a reassuring smile.

Eddie ducked his head down to avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Rich.”

He slowed the bike down in the driveway of Richie’s house, and Richie saw that it was, in fact, empty. He sighed. “Well, that’s just great.”

“Are your parents not home?” Eddie sounded perturbed.

“No. They never are.” Richie carefully set his good leg down on the ground and stepped off the bike. His head hurt and his vision swam. Eddie grabbed his shoulder to stabilize him. “If you could help me just get inside I can wait for them to get home.”

Eddie gasped in shock. “I am not just going to leave you like this. That’s almost cruel.”

Richie just shrugged and started to hobble up to his front door. “I’m not sure what you’re planning on doing, Eds, but you’re not exactly a doctor.”

He scoffed. “I can’t fix your concussion or your ankle, sure, but I still know basic first aid. And you’re covered in blood.”

Unlocking his front door, Richie glanced down and saw that his shirt did have some blood on it. Probably from his hand. He also didn’t need a mirror to tell that his face probably looked seriously rough. “Fine. Come on in.”

Eddie followed Richie into the house, looking around curiously at the interior. “For someone who’s known for eating trash, your house is a lot nicer than I expected.”

Richie flopped down carefully on the couch and propped his bad leg up. “Firstly, eating trash was a one time dare that happened last year. I don’t know who told you I just eat trash but they’re a fucking liar. Secondly, my mom decorates the house, not me. That’s why it looks nice.”

The smaller boy shrugged. “Stan never said it was a dare. He just said you ate trash and threw up during Phys Ed.”

Richie sighed to himself. “Stan, that motherfucker. Why did he even tell you that?”

“We have P.E. together and I noticed he hung out with you so I asked him what your deal was.”

“And he said it was eating trash?”

“No. He just said you’re a complete idiot. Eating trash was an example of that.”

Groaning, Richie leaned his back. “That does sound like something Stan would say.”

Eddie looked at Richie carefully. “He also said you’re a good person at heart, and now I see that that’s true as well.”

Richie propped himself up on his elbows to look at the other boy. “Really?”

Eddie nodded.

Laying back down, Richie smiled to himself. Stan wasn’t too shabby of a wingman he supposed.

Eddie asked about where to find first aid supplies, and after some direction from Richie, he returned with a small red box, a bottle of alcohol, and a wet washcloth. Starting with his face, Eddie carefully wiped away the blood. As soon as his face was clean enough for the other boy’s liking, Eddie moved to cleaning his wounds. Richie’s arms had a few miscellaneous scrapes, but the worst was his hands. Eddie frowned at the cut from the fence and the few shards of glass still embedded in his palm.

Grabbing a pair of tweezers, he warned Richie, “This probably isn’t going to feel too good.”  

It was a slow a meticulous process of getting all the shards out, but it wasn’t as bad as Richie expected. That was until Eddie dumped a bit of alcohol on his hands to sterilize them.

“Holy fuck!” Richie yanked his hands out of Eddie’s grasp, flailing them wildly to ease the pain as much as he could.

Eddie grabbed one of his wrists. “Stop that. They need to be cleaned so they don’t get infected, you moron.” Grabbing a roll of gauze, Eddie carefully wrapped his hands. “There. The only thing that hasn’t been taken care of now is your ankle, which you’re going to need a doctor for.”

Richie tapped his temple. “What about the concussion?”

He shrugged. “Just rest and don’t do anything too straining for your brain.”

“That’s lame.”

“Well, I don’t know what you expected.”

“Something cooler than ‘rest.’ Like a lobotomy.”

“Why would you need a lobotomy for a concussion?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“You’re a moron.”

“You love me anyway.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You will one day.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“We’ll see. I’m quite irresistible, you know.”

“Sure you are, Trashbreath.”

“Trashbreath? Well, that’s a new one.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I need to get home. My mom’s probably about ready to call the police to report me missing.”

Richie laughed. “She worry about you much?”

“That’s an understatement.” Eddie sighed heavily.

“Well, Eds, I’d probably be dead without you, so thanks.” Richie nodded his head at him in gratitude.

Eddie shrugged off the gesture. “Thank you for saving me from Henry.”

“Anytime. Except please don’t make me do this often.”

“I’m not planning on it.” Eddie smiled at him. “Take care of yourself, Richie.”

Richie smiled back at him. “I will. Talk to you on Monday?”

Eddie laughed. “Sure. Bye, Rich.”

Richie watched Eddie leave, smiling to himself. Maybe he did have a shot after all.

[brianjpatterson]

SPOTLIGHT: My relationship to failure

If you’re just joining Spotlight, then this is my personal journal of my personal journey as a performer. It’s a kind of way for me to look back on all of my experiences, and lessons I’ve learned, while simultaneously sharing what I’ve learned with you. Disclaimer: The word PERSONAL was utilized twice in the first sentence. Therefore, this is not the gospel or the truth, it’s just me sharing MY experiences in an effort to assist, if possible, in other people’s discovery (end disclaimer). Today, I’m taking a small break from my A+B=C method which focuses on “Brian’s B’s” (Being, Behavior, and Business), to talk about something that I think we all encounter….FAILURE.

I post a lot about success and achievement in this blog site in the form of strategies I have developed, and even my own wins. Recently, I had been feeling like a very big failure. Therefore, today, I’m going to talk to you about my failures. My failures far outperform my successes, and couple of weeks ago I was feeling out of sorts, and had been feeling that way for about a week or so. The day I started writing this, I ended up going to the gym, doing a Zumba class, and afterwards listening to Jem & the Holograms’ “We Can Change It” on repeat (because it’s one of the most positive and uplifting songs I’ve ever heard…Not only that, but it takes me back to a much simpler time in my life, and always puts a smile on my face). So there I was listening to Jem, while doing what I call a “White Boy Workout”. You know, the kind where you lift the heaviest weights possible and angry grunt a lot. White boys, please don’t be offended. As the late, great Joan Rivers said, “It’s a fucking joke!” lol :) At any rate, I often do that kind of workout when I’m letting off steam, and I REALLY needed to let off some steam because I was feeling like a complete and total failure. Why? Well, let me give you some details to set up my current situation. It started with a list of unfortunate events at the end of 2016. First, the big named clients for whom I normally worked, and who provided me with over 70% of my annual income, were not hiring for 2017. I also found out in mid-2017 that they weren’t going to be hiring for the second year in a row. Second, my assistance from said jobs had expired at the end of 2017. Third, my agent, who provided the remainder/other portion of my income (and with whom I’d been signed for the last nine years), decided to shut down the agency and close their doors for good. Fourth, around this time multiple members of my family were contacting me in a near desperate state because my other parent was also experiencing what were percieved as a potential major health concern. Fifth, and last but not least, my living situation had become even more toxic…again (that’s an entire essay in itself, and one I’ll save for another day). The culmination of all these things forced me to make a very big change in my life, which was to move from the nest I’d created for myself over the last 14 years in San Francisco, and try a new market. So I packed up my things, and headed for Los Angeles to live with my adoptive brother. Now I am in a new market, where no one knows me, and no one knows my work history, talents, or my work ethic. Not to mention, I had to utilize my savings and have also accumulated a bit of debt over the past two years just trying to survive and stay afloat. This brings me to my situation from a few weeks ago where I was feeling kind of lost and alone, and without any income or upcoming work. For all intents and purposes, I’m essentially completely starting over in my life in nearly every way. Needless to say, I have been feeling like a GIANT failure. In addition, after reviewing my annual business plan only days before, I reviewed my list of goals. By nature they should take me to the next level of my career, but I am now living in a place where I’m a nobody and can’t see how to achieve these new goals. This for me highlighted the fact that I was once again a giant failure in life…period. Yet, there’s that word ‘once again’. I have been here before, and I’m willing to bet that many others have either felt like this, or have also been in similar situations; Especially other performers. So how do I (we) transform my (our) failures into successes? I’m guessing the answer lies in failing some more.

FAIL MORE TO ENDURE

In a previous post, where I discussed my approach to making a living as an actor, I mention that statistically the average performer (specifically actor) only books 10% of every thing for which they might audition. Utilizing this statistic against the average day rate of pay for the market in which I lived (San Francisco), I calculated that I would need to attend approximately 25-30 auditions per month just to break even on monthly expenses. Keep in mind if you look at this another way, this would mean that I would be failing to book approximately 23-27 times EACH MONTH! That means over the last 7 years, I failed to book a job over 1,900 times. Many of them were very VERY good paying jobs that could’ve taken me many other places. To exemplify, there were approximately 4 big budget SAG national commercials in that mix, all of them paying what would have been the equivalent of my annual salary. I was placed on a hold/check avail for all of them…and I booked none of them; Failed. I won’t even go into detail about the network tv show for which I was being strongly considered. Long story short, the director received my name and resume from a mutual friend, but after reviewing my materials, he said that he “wouldn’t waste putting me in a supporting role”; Failed! Yes, that’s only a couple of examples to help illustrate how my failures have far outweighed my successes. But much like my equation for breaking even on monthly expenses while living in San Francisco, the equation for success is similar. Failing a lot ensures achieving at least 10% success from failures. So I have to go out there and fail s’more! Why? Well, first off it’s how we build durability.

The very first audition I attended was in Pittsburgh, PA and it was for a toothpaste commercial. I had just been introduced to theatre in high school, and was performing in the spring musical for the first time. I went into the audition and naturally I totally BOMBED IT! I was completely horrible and even though I felt as though I was invincible, I had absolutely NO IDEA what I was doing. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job, and I knew it as soon as I left the audition room. I cried for the longest time and didn’t attend an audition again for probably a year. Which of course was next year’s school spring musical audition. While in high school I built up a small ability to endure these auditions and it got stronger and stronger each year. Cut to twenty five years later, I now find the audition process to be a normal thing. Although I still experience nerves, it’s become normal and natural for me and I’ve built up a kind of inoculation to it where I can navigate it much better. I’ve built up a durability to it. Durability is one of the coolest after effects of failing often. The more we fail, the more durable we become so that things don’t have such a crippling effect on us.

FAIL MORE TO MASTER

Another great after effect of more failures, is mastery and/or learning. For this, I always think of one example in particular. I was on set with another actor one day and he was talking about things that inspired him, and how many actors often aren’t very good in their early years. He used the example of Eva Longoria, and he claimed that she wasn’t very good during her early soap opera days. I stopped him and asked him if he knew about the conditions under which soap opera actors operate. He admitted he didn’t know, and so I told him. A lot of the time, soap opera actors are given scripts merely minutes or hours before shooting. This can also sometimes be true of many other episodic television as well. The business side of much of entertainment operates so quickly that it doesn’t always leave the adequate space or room for in depth actor preparation. Specifically soap operas. So when he saw Eva Longoria, he saw someone who was probably new to the business and hadn’t had practice operating under those kinds of circumstances. After hearing this, the actor with whom I was working, better understood the circumstances under which Eva was operating (EVERYONE has different circumstances in life, and it’s always great to keep this in mind). This was a great example of someone who failed in order to master. Once Ms. Longoria had an understanding of the system, she knew how to work with it and even began mastering it. This was evident in her work on other shows in the future as she really kicked some ass on screen!

I have failed like that in many ways. The only difference is that I used San Francisco as my training ground for a lot of it. A few of the things I was mediocre at during the beginning of my stay in SF were: acting for the camera (I started in theatre so everything started too big), TelePrompTer, stunts for camera, and voiceover. When I first began each of these I sucked ass. I was horrible, but I kept working on each of them and became good. Some came easier than others, but I knew getting good was important because by the time I got back to LA I would need to be ready and prepared to work. My previous experience of LA was that the city and entertainment industry was a business and those who were actually working wanted to work with people who could work at their level and could contribute to efficiency and profitability. That means a mastery of job skills. Right now the skill I’m learning is moving to a new market. I’m in the early phases, and I’m failing (EPICALLY) at the moment, but I’m slowly learning how to master it. After I’ve mastered it, I’ll be ready to do the next step, which I believe, is to climb that ladder of success!

FAIL MORE TO CLIMB

Once we are able to build up durability and master our skills, we can then more effectively and efficiently climb the ladder of success. The ladder of success is often a difficult climb without strength, durability, grit, thorough skills, and developed talents. Usually, when ascending any kind of ladder, each step is more and more challenging; Requiring more evolved skills and responsibilities. But know that the more you fail, it’s very likely that you’ll be able to climb faster and easier.

CONCLUSION

Personally, I work hard, which means that I also fail hard. Every time that you see one of my successes, that often (but not always) means I’ve failed exponentially just to get there. In the past, I have failed many many times. I’ve failed at auditions, I’ve failed at tasks, and I’ve even failed at achievement. Currently, I’m failing in a major way in my transition into a new market. However, failure is a natural part of the equation for success. We often think that failures are the end all and be all of our endeavors. However, that mindset prevents us from gaining many of it’s benefits. Because, in fact, the sooner we can perceive and internalize the benefits of failure, the better. The more we fail, learn from our failures, and build up our durability to failures, the sooner we can climb the ladder of success. So I invite you all to look at failure through this lens. Change your conversation about it. Because it’s then, that you can watch failure work in your favor!

[tenmillionotters]

In a green sea

Rating: Teen and up audience 

Character: Marude Itsuki, Washuu Furuta Souta

Relationship: Marude Itsuki/Washuu Furuta Souta 

Word Count: 7306

Additional information: Human AU, Post-Apocalypse, Fluff, referenced character death, Mutual Pining

Was everyone else punished to die when they wanted to live and he was punished to live when all he wanted was to reunite with his friends? But looking around now, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the warm spring sun on his skin… living like this could hardly be a punishment.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Buy me a coffee

The world ended many times before. Metaphorically speaking.

The world ended one time. Literally.

The world ended several times for him. Every time he had to watch one of his friends die.

The world ended one time. When he had to let go of his lovers hand a last time.

Itsuki sighed and pushed his glasses up. Yes, that was the life he was leading right now. He had imagined to whatever would come after the end of the world to look different, people expected the literal worst, from zombies to endless deserts to the sun exploding.

No, the end of the world was quiet. Most of earth’s population had died in the war, one after the other just died. It weren’t bombs that killed them, it felt like their own resentment towards the human race took their lives away.

Now earth’s population counted roughly 1 million people. The number rose and fall with each day. Itsuki lost interest in it. Sometimes he talked to the remaining survivors, everyone was family now.

Technology never collapsed, it just kept on working without the humans that once created it. Now it worked with the humans who tried their best to find more of their kind in the vast oceans and forests that had grown in once pulsating cities.

Good morning Itsuki, did you sleep well?

“... morning… I don’t remember that I turned the speakers on,” he rubbed over his eyes and yawned, the screens were already turned on the powers blinking while they did their best to calculate all the data their sentiment AI downloaded from the internet.

I did it myself. You’re avoiding me lately and I missed you.

Itsuki stopped in his tracks and stared at the camera that was installed on top of the construction, “You missed me…?” When did he develop emotions? Of course it was inevitable to give him thoughts of his own, something Itsuki didn’t want to deny him either but emotions were something different.

Yeah, I missed talking to you. It’s fun. Only your computers are strong enough to support my code. I can’t visit your foreign friends.

“... just wait a few more hours and your data will be comprised enough to transfer it into your brain,” at this point he was playing with fire but what else could he do. There were no Gods, no morals, no ethics.

I’m really looking forward to finally be able to meet you in person.

What should be say? Did he feel the same way? “Me too.”

He had worked on this AI for 13 years now, it was a fully functioning adult. There weren’t any AI that started out as children. In the war they were used as soldiers, doctors, disposable junk.

This one had a different purpose, a different body.

“Did you ever think of me as your father?”, maybe it was an odd question but it’s been on his mind for a long while now.

If I could laugh I would. You wrote my code. That’s it. I know where I come from and my body is not a physical copy of yours. You’re the original, aren’t you?

God, how he hated that question, “I am. I never got medial clones.”

I thought it was a requirement for soldiers to get medical clones.

So he read the articles. Well downloaded them, “Yes that’s right but I wasn’t a soldier. I was a doctor.” And he was still capable of building a computer like this, it wasn’t hard when he was honest. When his friends started dying one after the other they fell out of their usually roles either way.

What about my new body?

Itsuki froze on place and carefully put his cup down. He was scared of this question, “It’s a clone I restored with parts of our computers and engines. You’ll have to eat and sleep once you’re in it… are you sure that you want it?”

Of course I am. I want to meet you.

Then there was nothing he could do but fulfil his wish. Not that it hadn’t been Itsuki’s initial plan in first place, “... well, then I’ll transfer the data now. Goodnight.”

I’ll see you tomorrow.

It was a state between anxiety and curiosity, failures and success. If anything went wrong 13 years of work and the last medical clone that existed in this area were lost. Even worse, he would have failed to achieve the one thing that kept him going all this time.

His hand brushed over the glass tank. Inside, fast asleep, was his most important possession, something that could never be replaced. Maybe that made it all worse, knowing that their relationship would change forever once it would open its eyes and look at him.

Itsuki went outside, on the way there he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung beside the door frame. Time was kind to him, he had barely aged a day for 13 years. More maybe she was punishing him for not moving on.

Once he stepped outside the warm sun kissed his skin, the noises he made attracted the animals. His dog barked happily, the cats meowed and ran towards him, their tails reaching up to a sky they would never touch.

“Hey, sorry for making you wait,” he smiled and patted them, “You’re hungry right? I’ll make you breakfast.” For now he could stay with them, until nightfall. Then he would have to return to the bunker where he had spent so much time in the past years. When he was not talking to his overseas friends, he had spend his time building a little house. A home.

He had enough materials, he had the knowhow. It was a cozy little cottage, a little balcony led to a treehouse he had build 4 years ago. His friends from Germany sent him their blueprints, working after their plans made it much easier. By now everything was overgrown with flowers.

It was beautiful.

“I wish everyone could see this…”, the end of the war, the world that slowly healed. When Itsuki closed his eyes he heard nothing. When he first stepped out of the bunker after the long silence, everytime he closed his eyes he could hear the bombs go off, he heard the gunshots.

Towards the end the war was quieter. Everyone just gave up, but the noises haunted them at night. Thinking about it now, maybe that was the reason why everyone left him, the sudden silence and the noises at night could get too much too bear.

A soft meowing to his right made him snap out of his thoughts, “I’m sorry, Ihei, I know you’re hungry.”

He opened the door to his little cottage and his friends walked inside before him. Kishou stretched his tired legs and slumped down on the sofa, he yawned and closed his tired eyes. It seemed like he didn’t get any rest waiting for Itsuki.

But the cats did, that meant they were more lively now, “Yes yes -” One after the other jumped onto the kitchen counter and sat down waiting for a slice of their favourite cheese. When he was honest he always thought that war meant that they would starve, but in reality, now that there were so little people, they had more than enough to eat.

His heart sunk thinking about it, he would love to share all of this with someone but now it was too late. It was too late for so many things. While they did have enough to eat, they never had to pay for it. They just traded the food, there was no need for big factories or machines, it was a simpler life. Downsized to the number of people that was left.

“I wonder if he’ll stop by today…”, Itsuki patted his cats while they ate their cheese, “I think a week has passed. He’ll need more vegetables.” His pantry was packed with pickled vegetables and fruits, jams and dried meats and fish. Everything that was fresh, like bread, eggs, milk, fish and meat was delivered to him. He only had to trade in a few of his goods for a week’s supply.

Or he had to treat the wounds of whoever accompanied his fox faced friend on his journey into this no man's land. Every country was a no man’s land now, when he was honest. There was no set of rules, no rights, no rulers, no government. Everyone was tired of war and conflict, they lived in peace that came at a high cost.

While the cats ate their breakfast, Kishou rolled on his back and yawned. He didn’t want to get up yet, he glimpsed at Itsuki who placed his bowl on the ground and barked softly, as if he were to say, thank you. No, it was Itsuki who had to thank him, it was less lonely with them around.

Maybe new friends would join them soon, he didn’t mind. It seemed like Ihei had found a little friend, her belly was growing and she ate more than usual, but he couldn’t feel the babies yet, it was just wishful thinking for now.

“I wonder if his name is also Koori,” he chuckled but wiped over his eyes, “I wish I could have met their baby.” There it was again, this heavy pain in his chest he felt every time he thought of them. Not that he wanted to forget about them, but maybe he needed a little more time to remember them as sweetly as nostalgia could possibly paint them.

The soft ringing of a bell reached his cottage from the hilltop to the right as the wind carried it to the hilltop on the left. So a week already did pass, Itsuki walked towards the door, startled by the noise Kishou got up and followed his master. A soft bark welcomed the visitor that parked his truck nearby the cottage.

“Maru!”, a blond man with a foxish expression jumped out of the truck and smiled, “It’s good to see you again.” He used to be a medical clone, or so he told Itsuki. Unlike the others he was given freedom by his original, he was given a name and taught how to live freely.

“It’s good to see you too, Itou,” a soft smile formed on his lips. Some good things came out of the unethical things they did, Itsuki hated the war, but he was born into it.

Kishou bumped his nose against the young man’s hand, he knew what he had to do once he came here.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t forget you, how could I forget the best boy in the world?”, Itou laughed and scratched the white dog behind his ears before giving him a treat, “Itsuki wait - you don’t have to pay me today… I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Oh?”, that meant he needed to get his equipment ready, “What is it?”

The door on the passenger’s side of the truck opened and a young woman slipped off the seat, she held her belly and walked over to the small group, “Hello…” She was a shy and timid woman, maybe pregnant for five months now.

“Hello, how can I help you?”, it wasn’t because of the baby, apparently they had learned how to take care of expecting mothers very well in the village by the sea, but they didn’t know how to take care of a sprained ankle.

While Itsuki took care of her pains, Itou filled up his pantry. The supplies should last for a week. Now for two people. It was a warm feeling, knowing that his friend would no longer be alone out here.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she smiled and carefully took a step.

“Be careful, you’re not completely healed yet. Rest a bit and come back if you need to,” it was odd to treat minor injuries now, before he had to sew shut open wounds and fight for his patients lives when he was barely an adult. Now he spent most of his days taking care of his vegetable and fruit garden and the animals that lived with him.

“I’ll make sure she’ll be careful,” Itou rested his hand on her back and smiled brightly, “That’s what I promised our originals.”

Oh? So she was a medical clone too. A very pretty one. She light silver hair and deep grey eyes. Did he ever meet her original…? Maybe not, if they now lived in the town by the sea.

Itsuki waved as he watched them drive back home. He didn’t feel well letting Itou go with nothing in return for this week’s favour, especially since he now got twice the amount of food he needed.

Everyone knew of his project, nobody minded. It was wish born out of loneliness and longing. Longing for someone to protect this place. How much time was left for him? His appearance would never let him know that his body also seemed to function well.

Was everyone else punished to die when they wanted to live and he was punished to live when all he wanted was to reunite with his friends? But looking around now, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the warm spring sun on his skin… living like this could hardly be a punishment.

“Would you like to join me for lunch, good sir?”, he bowed and Kishou stretched before he happily jumped around Itsuki. So that was a yes.

There were no apples in the pantry left, he knew it because Kishou had shared the last one with him yesterday. The good thing was that there were still enough in his greenhouse. He could grow any fruit at any time of year, what an amazing achievement.

It was quiet a walk until he reached the greenhouse, Kishou waited outside, wagging his tail knowing he would get delicious apples again. The smaller dogs with the weird faces didn’t like apples. More for him then. Though it was a little sad, he loved the odd dogs. There were 4 of them now. Ihei, Tako, Anpan and Marble.

One day they just appeared, just like him and just like their master too. They just started existing in this beautiful, quiet world.

Itsuki carefully placed five apples in his basket and closed the door the greenhouse, no need to lock it. Even if someone would pass by here and get hungry, they were free to take as much as they needed. There was no such thing as stealing food, there was more than enough for everyone.

If they would ask him for a plate, he would offer them a seat at a set table. … if only someone would stop by…

Kishou jumped through the high grass next to the path and barked happily, soon they would be home and eat their lunch. Then it was nap time. Nap time was an essential part of their day. Very important.

Coming back to the cottage always felt oddly healing, no matter what happened it would always be there and even if he wouldn’t be there anymore one day, it would still stand for a while before nature would take it back. Just as it should be.

Itsuki took his boots off and shut the door behind him once Kishou had shaken off the grass that was stuck in his white fur. Today it was time for pancakes. He liked them best with apple pieces in them, his friends had taught him to eat them this way. They were also much larger than the ones his other friends used to make.

Eating sweets had been a rare treat during the war, now they could eat sweets 6 times a day. Or 3. Or 2. It depended on his willingness to get up and cook.

Should he turn on the radio Itou gave him? He barely listened to music these days. Nobody bothered to produce anything new, only the old songs played on repeat. There were no stories anyone still wanted to tell. They just read what the people before them had left them, but they were happy with it.

In a world like this, nobody needed to imagine far away places or a pain they would never feel again. Oh, but he did love music, it wasn’t like that. But the only music he listened to was the music he made for his friends.

The cats were lying around, with their stomachs filled they didn’t bother asking Itsuki for more food. Every now and then they blinked at him and asked for affection. Kishou was content with the carefully prepared apple slices he got to eat.

Itsuki carefully placed his heavy pan on the stove, it was an electric stove that relied on the energy the sun was willing to give. When there was no sun, there was still the wind. Everything was green now, from the cities, to the forest, to the shores, to the energy.

The earth could finally breathe again and so did they.

His small home slowly filled with the warm smell of warm batter, sweet honey and cinnamon. Today was the last day that he would only have to cook for one person. Starting tomorrow there would be two.

The lonely cups in the cupboard would be used, there would be more noises. Someone else would play with the cats and the dog. Maybe he could help him taking care of the vegetable garden. But he needed to learn those things. Just downloading data from the internet wouldn’t be enough.

… he also needed a place to sleep in the cottage, the bunker would merely function to communicate with the world outside of this place but Itsuki would try to spend less time there.

So many things on his mind, but nothing in his stomach. He really should focus on his lunch now. Itsuki took his hot plate and walked upstairs, the entire building was openly structured, he watched Kishou chew on his food while the cats blinked at him. There wasn’t much he wanted to do alone, but he did want to eat his lunch alone on the balcony one last time.

Over the past decade he learned to appreciate the silence and he wanted to properly bid her farewell today. His meal tasted sweeter than usual, maybe because the apples were ripper. Or maybe he was just happy, yes… that was the reason. What an odd feeling, he took a deep breath and felt something move deep inside of his soul. It was as if everything fell into place, yes, that was happiness must felt like.

The dishes could wait, Itsuki placed them in the sink and let them soak in the clear water came from aquifer deep beneath the small cottage. Once he turned around all of his little friends were sitting behind him, waiting for him to give them his okay. They didn’t like sleeping in his bed unless he was there with them.

Itsuki laughed and told them it’s okay if they already go ahead, but they waited for him. It was so easy to fall asleep surrounded by so many little sources of heat. They didn’t have to stay with him, they knew it, but knowing that they chose to made him incredibly happy. Hopefully it wouldn’t change once there were two humans around…

The last time he slept alone, he slept longer than anticipated. Ihei softly touched his nose with her paw, she didn’t mean to be rude but the babies were hungry. Once they got up, everyone else stood up too. Even Kishou was hungry this morning.

Before he could think of eating breakfast himself he had to think of his little ones. But even after he fed them he couldn’t really think of making breakfast for himself. Today was the day he had been waiting for for so long. Make or break.

Itsuki put his boots on and let the animals roam free. Who knew if he would came back home any time soon, so it was better when they could just spend the day outside.

His hands were shaking, his knees felt weak. Anxiety was a feeling he hadn’t known for a long time, but now it hit him with full force. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside. The screens were still running, only white noise was audible in the room.

… and soft breathing… Itsuki felt his heart nearly jump out of his body. The tank was drained of the liquid inside, the body now worked on its own but it was still asleep. He carefully detached the USB wire that connected the tank and the computer. Then he pushed open the glass lid for the first time ever.

His eyes slowly opened, it was heavy, having a body felt heavy. He looked around and his eyes met Itsuki’s. He looked so different now, now that seeing him could actually trigger a response that didn’t rely on numbers but… chemicals.

“Good morning.”

“... h-he…”, what was that? He weakly rose his arm and touched his throat, why did his body vibrate when he spoke?

“You still need to get used to your body, hm?”, he spoke so softly, it was so nice to hear the sound waves he produced ring in his ears and not hit against a microphone.

“Y…”, speaking was harder than he thought, but he needed practise, “Ye…”

“Let’s take things easy,” Itsuki carefully picked him up, luckily the amount of mental in his body was small compared to what was actual flesh and blood. His skin was soft but he needed to wash off the tank’s liquid still. Now he was a human, not a medical clone anymore.

He was warm, warm and strong. Itsuki could walk on his own, he didn’t, not yet. He couldn’t even speak nor did he have a name. A name… could be pick one for himself?

Once they approached the door he felt nervous, he had never seen the outside world. He only knew the bunker.

Itsuki felt the body he held shaking, so he held him a bit tighter, “The sun might be brighter than you expect it to be, please don’t get scared by it and don’t look into it too long.”

“Yes,” he still couldn’t make more sounds, no matter how much he would have liked to. It was a start though.

Once they stepped outside he shut his eyes, but all the noises and smells made him curious. The bunker was the first smell he knew. Cold metal. Now it smelled like… grass, fresh air and the forest. Everything was green and wide like an ocean.

Standing still for a moment didn’t hurt, Itsuki watched him look around in amazement until his gaze wandered back to Itsuki. His eyes were light grey and filled with amazement, he smiled at Itsuki before turning his head to the sound of a cat’s meow.

He stretched his arm out and tried to touch the cat, but after a while he moaned in pain and let his arm fall back.

“You’re still too weak to move, your muscles are fully developed but they were never used before,” their bodies were functional but not functioning. They were created to be harvested even down to the bones, but now they were free.

What was that feeling in his chest? He wanted to play with the cat but his body didn’t let him. Now his chest felt heavy and he didn’t want to stay outside anymore.

“Just give it some time and you’ll be okay,” Itsuki carried him inside, they walked past the living room and the kitchen, curious eyes tried to look at everything but they had to go the bathroom.

He felt how Itsuki slowly put him on a stool and he nervously clung to him. Not because he couldn’t sit yet, but because it was cold.

“Don’t worry, the water will warm you and once you’re clean we’ll dress you,” even though it would be easier to do it himself, Itsuki knew he had to do these things himself so his body would get used to moving on it’s own.

Curiously he picked up the small container with shampoo and smelled it. It was so nice, it smelled exactly like Itsuki. He reached out to turn on the water and started rinsing his body off.

The water was warm and tickled on his skin, if he could stay like this forever that would have been nice...

So he knew how that worked, he had enough time to study human behaviour after all. Itsuki turned away to give him privacy and to fill the tub with hot water. His muscles would hurt very day from now on, every break they would get would be welcome.

“I’m done,” finally more words, it was still odd to use his vocal cords, so he didn’t want to talk much. He didn’t like the sound of his own voice yet.

“Do you need help with getting into the tub?”, whether he liked it or not, he had to talk.

“... yes… I can’t stand yet,” he was surprised that Itsuki didn’t care about his clothes getting wet, he just picked him up again and placed him in the bathtub.

“I hope it’s not too hot,” it most probably was a shock to …, “... you don’t have a name…”

“Yeah… you never named me and I never bothered about getting one either,” since he didn’t really feel the need to address himself as anything but a sentient computer program.

“What kind of name would you like to be called by?”, he took his wet shirt off and wrung the water out of the fabric.

For a moment he was lost in thought, he looked at the glass window to his right that slowly fogged up, “Sou… ta… Souta is nice.”

“Well… then, Souta it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Itsuki,” what a nice feeling it was to call him by his name and well his body react to it, finally he knew what happiness felt like.

Lying in the bathtub must be… comfortable? Or was it cozy? Knowing what a word meant was nothing compared to finally experiencing what they felt like.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes and then I’ll make you food, just call me when you want to get out of the tub,” standing there watching him play with the water was amusing but the world kept on turning, so he had to keep on going.

Some of his old clothes should do, he didn’t want Souta to wear anything that belonged to someone who was now long dead. For a moment he stopped and looked up at the treehouse, it was the place where he kept all the memories of them alive, photos, their clothes, letters they wrote to him. Everything.

They were all buried on the hill that nobody ever dared to cross, they slept under the stars, down below in the soil where they once came from. It was a peaceful sleep that nobody dared to disturb. Flowers grew in their wounds and their souls were free to go wherever they wanted.

Kishou could read all the books he wanted to read, Koori never had to leave Ihei and their baby ever again, Rize could play in the meadows all day long… Everyone was free to do as pleased now, but as much as he wanted Chika to be free, he didn’t want to let him go either.

How selfish of him, but in the end only the living could be selfish, maybe that was their greatest sin.

Itsuki sighed and picked a few random clothes, poor Souta had probably soaked long enough, but when he took a peak he saw him staring out of the window in amazement. A pair of butterflies was dancing in the warm brise after nipping on the roses below the windowsill. Well, he would just let him enjoy the show.

What should he cook? There were so many options, but for now something light would be the best, after all his stomach wasn’t used to taking in food yet. An egg drop soup with soft rice should do the job, yes.

A soft paw touched his leg and claws pulled on his jeans, a soft meowing caught his attention. Ihei stared at him with her big blue eyes, her white fur smelled like hay and she meowed again.

“You’re getting heavier, are the babies growing?”, he carefully lifted her up and laughed as she licked his face, “I love you too.” Itsuki carefully placed her on the counter and patted her little head. She’s gotten a lot more needy since she was pregnant, just like Ihei was, but all she really wanted back then was for Koori to came back to them.

… to think that she died because of a broken heart shortly after they recovered his body… the only thing that eased the pain for him was to think that they met again in afterlife. All three of them.

Little Ihei needed more food now, but the other cats didn’t mind, they let her have as much as she wanted and needed. Once her little stomach was filled she lied down in front of the window and purred happily while the sun shone on her.

Itsuki watched her sleep, he smiled and went back to cooking. He was hungry too but he had to think of Souta first, while everything simmered he checked on him again. This time their eyes met and he felt his heartbreak, he could barely stand looking at him but it was something he had to do...

“Can you help me but out of the tub?”, even though he needed help he tried his best to get out of it himself, it was hard but he managed somehow, Itsuki only needed to catch him as he slipped.

“Careful…”, the sudden fear that he might hurt himself weighed even heavier on his heart than the pain he felt looking into his light grey eyes.

“Sorry…”, his hands were shaking as he grabbed the towel and dried his skin, “Where are my clothes?” Before Itsuki could reply he had already spotted them himself, he clumsily walked over the chair on which Itsuki had placed them and put them aside to sit down.

“Can you dress yourself?”, Itsuki was worried, he had to admit that. Worried and surprised that Souta could already walk so well.

“Yes, don’t worry about me…”, was he ashamed? What an odd feeling, he didn’t want to rely on Itsuki. No, he wanted to be the one to support him. He had been lonely all this time, carrying a burden with a weight that Souta would never even begin to imagine.

“Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen,” did he imagine things to go differently? When he was honest he didn’t have any expectations, he had never seen a medical clone come to life like this. Usually it was more difficult, they were like infants in the body of an adult, they had to learn and grow but Souta was an adult in the body of an adult. Just a clumsy one.

Walking was hard and it hurt, just like in this fairytale that Itsuki’s Danish friend loved so much. But the little mermaid gained legs and lost her voice because she fell in love with a prince, Souta came to live for other reasons but…

… didn’t he feel the same love the little mermaid carried in her heart? He stopped in his tracks for a moment and gazed at Itsuki. He was lost in thought, a white towel lazily thrown over his shoulder while he cooked. The warm spring sun softened his features and illuminated his deep and dark eyes.

Was there a little bird in his chest? Probably so, one that was still caged and desperate to get out.

“Can you walk here?”, seeing how slowly he walked Itsuki gave Souta the help he needed to reach the table.

It was such a nice feeling to feel their hands touch, he wanted to be held by him again, but he knew that was nothing he could ask for so lightly, “Thank you…”

The kitchen smelled like so many things that he didn’t know yet, but it left him with a warm longing… was it… hunger? No, appetite. He didn’t feel desperate to eat something, he just wanted to eat something.

“We’ll try a small portion right now, you can have more if you like,” Itsuki filled two bowls with food and sat down next to Souta, “See, this is how you hold a spoon… you need to blow the food, it’s still hot you’ll might burn your tongue.”

“Okay,” he watched him eat and tried to copy it, but his arms were still not used to movements like this.

“Let me help you, open your mouth wide,” it was odd to feed a grown man, but Souta trusted him. What a bittersweet feeling it was, knowing that another person relied on him… only now he noticed how long his eyelashes were, his features were so soft. God what was he thinking -

“It’s delicious,” his lips curled into a pleased smile, “Thank you.”

Did it hurt? Yes, seeing him smile felt as if a knife was pushed right through his chest. Seeing something so beautiful made him want to die.

They quietly finished their meal, Itsuki after Souta. He cleaned the kitchen while the younger one watched him, he didn’t get tired of it, he didn’t complain.

“Do you want do so something else? Maybe read something?”, before he could protest, Itsuki picked him up and carried him in the small nook where he kept the books. He placed Souta on the small sofa next to the window and covered him with a blanket, “Read whatever you’d like to read. I’ll come back once I cleaned everything.”

But he didn’t. It was already night when Itsuki returned to him from wherever he had been. Their eyes met and Souta noticed that the white in his eyes had a red tinge now, why was that so?

“Let’s go to bed,” maybe it was wrong of him just to pick Souta up and carry him upstairs to the place he slept, but all of the animals were waiting and there was more than enough space for them. Itsuki slept next to the wall, Souta next to the banister. It was an uncomfortable distance, but neither wanted to close it for now.

“Goodnight Itsuki,” but he got no reply.

Souta felt a heavy weight on his chest when he woke up, a cat was lying on him. Itsuki had already gotten up, he was nowhere in sight. Maybe he turned into a cat overnight, “Good morning, cat Itsuki. It’s nice to meet you.” The cat meowed and yawned.

“That’s Tako,” he stepped back inside from the balcony, “It looks like it’s going to rain today… it’s a shame, I wanted to show you the outside.”

“It’s okay, really… I’d rather stay inside…”, his muscles were still sore, it wouldn’t be fun to be outside if he couldn’t run around. Souta scratched the lazy cat behind his ears and laughed, “Do you like that?”

Itsuki smiled and waited for Tako to run downstairs before he picked Souta up again, “We need to eat breakfast.”

Feeling his touch and the warmth of his body made Souta feel protected, his arms were shaking as he slowly wrapped them around Itsuki’s neck. Walking down the stairs was scary…

But the breakfast Itsuki made was worth it, coffee was bitter, but sugar and milk made it better. Warm toast was delicious and it was even better with strawberry jam.

He ate as eagerly as if the world would end at any given moment, but the world had already ended, so there was nothing for Souta to worry about. Nothing at all.

The afternoon came quickly, they sat side by side, back to back while Itsuki read a book to Souta who played with Ihei that slumped down in his lap.

“Itsuki… why did you name her Ihei?”, did the name have a particular meaning?

Silence. Then he shut the book and sighed, “She has the same blue eyes as my friend Ihei did. I met her here, she was a nurse and her boyfriend a soldier. Ihei always talked about wanting to open a little shop once the war ended but… they didn’t make it…”

Oh. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that, “What was my originals name?”

Instead of an answer he got the continuation of the story, well… then it would be so, but Souta didn’t mind. It was comfortable like this, sitting next to Itsuki and waiting for sun to shine again. His fingertips traced the trails the raindrops left on the window while Itsuki’s voice filled the room and his head.

“... that’s… it,” Itsuki’s voice was a little hoarse from reading but Souta’s excitement about the story made it worth it. While the older one prepared their dinner he didn’t stop asking questions about the story he heard.

He was so curious that it made Itsuki forget about all the things that worried him about Souta coming to live.

They ate a quiet dinner before going to bed, this time they slept closer to each other, not close enough to touch but the distance vanished little by little.

Itsuki woke up to a cold breeze tickling his nose, Souta was up already, standing on the balcony smiling at him brightly, “The sun’s out!” A warm day was lying ahead, he could tell by the clear blue sky above their heads.

“Then let’s eat so we can go outside,” this time he didn’t need to assist Souta who cautiously walked down the stairs.

He sat down at the table and rubbed his legs, but he smiled brightly. Today oatmeal was on their breakfast plan, oatmeal and fresh fruit. Souta liked sweets the best.

It was nice to see that he liked his meals so much, but at the same time it made him sad, he couldn't help but look at Souta even though it made him sad. When he was still a computer program without a name it was easier to deny the feelings he had, now it was hard. He was an actual living and breathing being.

The dishes lazily soaked in cold water in the sink. Souta fed the cats while Itsuki brushed the dog, it was such a quiet and peaceful moment that Itsuki almost mistook for a dream.

Once they had taken care of the animals it was time to go outside. Even though Itsuki tried to stop him, Souta ran outside without putting shoes on. Maybe he just wanted to feel everything all at once, but who could blame him?

“Itsuki! This feels amazing!”, Souta laughed as he ran through the grass and even when he fell he started laughing and rolled around on the ground, “This is so much better than I could have ever imagined…”

Itsuki sat down next to him and smiled, “Is that so?”

“Yeah…”, looking at the sky made him sad, happy and sad, “I was trapped in this computer for 13 years… now I can feel so many different things… and…” When he looked at Itsuki he forgot whatever he wanted to say.

“Hm?”

“... I think I finally understand why people say they’re happy to be alive…”

Souta kept lying in the grass for most of the day, only when the smell of food lured him back into the cottage he got up. Sweet and sticky rice was a delicious meal, even though the warm taste of chocolate made him sleepy.

The next thing he knew was that he woke up in their bed, it was already night time and Itsuki was sitting outside on the balcony. Souta dragged the warm blanket they shared outside, first he covered the other under the blanket and then himself.

“The stars are more beautiful now, you know? When there were still a lot more humans they polluted the air… and you couldn’t see all the stars at night, but now you do…”, there was something sad in his words, “I feel guilty for being alive you know… I think that in every moment that I am happy I forget the people that died before me.”

“... but you don’t, do you?”

“I hope I don’t, but…”, when it got late he felt more honest, “All this time I never allowed myself to move on, I thought… once I brought you to life… gave you a body… once I saw him a last time, I could die in peace… but I met you… and I want to live… with you.”

What was this feeling? It was like a wave of fire that washed over his body. There was a word for this feeling, wishful thinking? Yes, maybe he was just getting his hopes up. Having a body was stressful…

“I always thought a machine could never develop things like emotions, but you cared for me… I remember how you played lullabies for me when I was sleeping in the bunker and had a nightmare… also how you called my friends when I was feeling lonely,” Itsuki couldn’t hold back the tears that filled his eyes, in all these years he never allowed himself to cry, but now he had to, “All this time you looked out for me…”

Did he really…? After all Itsuki was all he had but… no, that wasn’t honest. He knew that everything could have went differently, if he wouldn’t have rebelliously rewritten his code, if he had only served the purpose of filling an empty shell.

“I just wanted to see Chika once again before I die, I thought… once I see him… even if it’s just a puppet, I could be happy, I regret that I never told him goodbye and he left… without…”

What could he say? Souta took Itsuki’s hand and squeezed it tightly, he watched the fireflies dance in the moonlight while silverdrops rolled down Itsuki’s nose.

“I am scared that … I forgot him… I don’t want to forget him but in every moment that I allow myself to be happy with you, it feels like I’m letting him go,” whatever he wanted Souta to be, he wasn’t. He was Souta. A new person. His own person. He had been since he first started talking to him through the speakers that allowed him to, “... and the worst is… I know he would want me to do this…”

“What do you mean…?”

“He told me that whatever would happen, he loves me but he wishes for me to be happy and free… I think he knew that we would never see each other again and I got so mad at him I couldn’t reply… but once everything started growing around me, the flowers on his grave and the anticipation I felt… when we talked to each other I understood… I…”

Souta felt him squeeze his hand tighter, their eyes met and Itsuki smiled through the tears. Time would never stand still again now. The world wouldn’t end again. Maybe it didn’t even end in first place… it just started over again and even if flowers grew in old scars, the beautiful memories they once made wouldn’t be erased by it.

“I think I love you.”

The little bird in his chest grew bigger, now it was strong enough to escape the cage and Souta felt like crying, it was painful to feel the bird escape but at the same time it felt like he had been waiting for this moment since he began to exists in this world.

“And I know that I love you… too…”

[toomanysurveys9]

Have you ever read the Hunger Games series? i have not. i’ve thought about it but i’m not sure if i’d like it. When was the last time you ran into something? yesterday at the factory i’m working at. Do you enjoy dressing up? not so much. i feel extremely uncomfortable with my body after having a baby and i’m still breastfeeding, so that doesn’t help. Do you live in the city or a rural area? city. but it’s a smaller city where there’s never anything to do. Would you say you have a sense of style? i do, but it’s just kind of big t-shirts and jeans.

What’s your biggest fear? failing as a mother and at life in general. Have you ever been bitten by a wild animal? i have not. Are you close to any of your cousins? we used to be when we were younger but as we’ve all grown up and life has happened, we’re not. Have you ever been lost in the woods? not really, no. Where did you last travel? last place of significance was kentucky this past may. Do you enjoy driving? depends. generally, i get pretty bored with it pretty quickly. i rather ride shotgun and pick the music or in back with wyatt. What song did you last listen to? whatever was on the radio. If you have a job, how often do you work? i’m working at a factory operating a rivet machine so i can afford christmas because jake wants to be an ass. that’s monday through probably saturday, 5 am to 2:30 pm. then i go home and take care of my baby love. oh. he also still doesn’t sleep through the night, so that’s been fun. i get no sleep. i can’t wait to be past christmas so i don’t have to work there anymore. it’d be different if i was doing something i loved, but i’m not. What time do you normally go to sleep at night? whenever wyatt decides it’s bed time. Do you watch a lot of movies? eh, kind of. we have netflix and movies and that’s alll.. Do you like Tom Petty? i think i enjoy a couple songs but i’m not a super big fan or anything. Would you rather have snow or rain? rain. i hate snow. it’s just cold and complicates driving. Do you own a lot of sweaters? i own two. i only have one here. Have you ever tried rock-climbing? i have not. i don’t think i’d be good at it. Ever ridden in a police car? yeah. when i was taken to this place to talk to a forensic psychologist about my cousins who abused me as well as others... Favorite decade of music? i guess the 90′s and early to mid-2000′s? Have any of your best friends been your best friend longer than a year? yeah. kayla has been and so has jake. Ever witnessed a murder? i have not. Do you care what people think of you? ugh. i do but at the same time, i don’t. it’s complicated. Does your room have a ceiling fan? no, it doesn’t. Would you consider yourself poised? nope. Have you ever tried blogging? only tumblr, and i’m not sure what i do here really counts.... Favorite television channel? food network and cooking... usa... stuff like that. Have you ever lied under oath? no, because i’ve never been under oath. but if i were, i definitely wouldn’t lie. What are your religious views? i don’t have any. Are you a romantic person? not so much anymore. used to try but it’s not really worth it. Would you consider yourself a flirt? not even a little. At what age do you plan to be married? i am married. i got married when i was 22 to jake, who i have been with since right before high school. Do you eat a lot of junk food? not a lot, but still probably more than i should. When did you last go on vacation? this past may. Are you resilient? i’m not sure that’d be a word anyone would use to describe me. Have you ever failed a subject before? nope. If so, what was the class? Do you wear more bright or dull colors? dull. i wear a lot of grays and black. Do you know anyone who has attempted suicide? a few people, myself included. What’s your favorite quote? "and she loved a little boy very, very much; even more than she loved herself.” Would you consider yourself mature? for the most part, yes. How many clocks are in your house? i don’t know the exact number but we have quite a few ways to know the time.... most aren’t actually clocks exactly though. Do you play any sports? i do not. What is your biggest life regret? trusting anyone. ever. Have you ever been injured in a car accident? i have not. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be? far away from here. Have you ever had highlights in your hair? i have not. too much work. Favorite fast food restaurant? i don’t really have a favorite. In what country were you born? the u.s. Are your eyes more than one color? no. just blueish. Have you ever caught something on fire? nothing comes to mind. What would you consider your biggest flaw? i’m emotional. i care too much. What do you think your best quality is? i don’t even know. i guess i’m a pretty good mom.

Do you enjoy listening to others’ problems? i mean. i’m not sure i’d say i enjoy it. i feel horrible when i hear about the things people are going through.... i’m good at it though. Do you keep any plants in your house? nope. What is your mother’s occupation? stay at home mom. Do any of your friends like your musical style? yeah.. for the most part. What are you most looking forward to? quitting the factory job. What was your favorite television show as a child? i don’t know. when i was really little, barney. Are you afraid of insects? certain ones, yes. Are you cold-natured? lately i have been. How old were you when you got your first pet? i don’t remember exact age. Did you/do you enjoy high school? i enjoyed some of it. What would you say was your favorite age? young child before all the bad. but i really like my current age thanks to wy. What annoys you most about social networking? almost everything yet i use it. lol. i really hate that people hide behind their phones and computers and think it’s okay to be assholes to people. Are you the center of attention most of the time? not even close, which is fine with me. What are you currently reading? willow. most of my books got taken to storage. When did you last go to the library? it’s been a very long time. Are you ill at the moment? nope. just tired. Do people tease you about anything? yeah... i have a lot of weird quirks i guess. How late did you stay up last night and why? it was after 11:30... i wanted to finish watching john wick.

Have you ever written poetry? yeah. i used to really enjoy it. Curtains or shades? we usually use shades. How many people have you spoken to in the last hour? six. Do you tend to text a lot? no. i have no one to talk to. Ever lost a great best friend? yeah. story of my life. What is your favorite kind of flower? lilacs. How tall are you? about 5′3″ or something. Do you own any guns? not at the moment. my husband has quite a few though. What would you say is your favorite book of all-time? there are too many amazing books to choose. Do you think you’re living a good life? eh. there’s a lot of bad right now. What’s your least favorite part of the day? when i have work, that’d be it. Are you an over-achiever? depends what it is. Have you ever won an award for a speech? no. i hate speeches so i don’t give them much. Do you tend to curse a lot? sometimes, yes. Have you ever played on the Ouija board? nah. no reason to. they’re not real. Do you sleepwalk? nope. Have you ever slept on the floor before? many times. Are you a fan of public displays of affection? eh. depends. personally, i’m okay with holding hands, hugs, and maybe some not super intense kissing, but i’m not a super open person. When did you last attend a yard sale? a couple years ago. Do you wish your life were simpler or more interesting? more interesting i guess. What goals do you wish to accomplish tomorrow? just spending time with my baby. When is your birthday? september 1st. Which is worse: going blind or deaf? both would be hard to adjust to since i’ve had both senses my whole life. What was the best part of today? cuddles with my baby. and getting to take a nice, warm shower. i even got to shave my legs. Do you attempt to stay away from drama? for the most part, but it somehow manages to find me from time to time.

What liquid did you last drink? sprite. Do you ever prefer to be alone? i’m fine if wy is with me always, but other than him, yes. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? no. Favorite Disney movie? the lion king. Have you ever been to the beach? yes. it can be fun. If you have, how many times have you been? lots of times. we used to take yearly trips to florida. What was your dream occupation at age ten? singer. Are you terrified at the idea of weight-gain? i have self-esteem issues, so it kind of does i guess. Do you drink a lot of water? not as much as i should. i don’t drink anything as much as i should. Does your room have carpet or hard-wood floors? it’s the floor that was under the carpet so neither. Do you take naps daily? nope. Who were you named after? first name is after a character on a soap opera. middle name is after my nanny (aka my mom’s foster mom). Do you plan on traveling this spring or summer? this spring and summer has passed. Do you know anyone who is colorblind? no one comes to mind. Have you ever been a teacher’s pet? jake has called me that. What is your absolute favorite hobby? reading and playing with wy. How many times a day do you brush your teeth? twice, depending how many times i’ve eaten and whatnot. Ever been to a tanning bed before? i have not. Are you satisfied with your financial stability? no. Who is your favorite actor/actress? misha collins, jensen ackles, and jared padalecki.

Are your nails painted? no. as always. What’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to someone? i’m sure i said some not too nice things to michelle but she’s a psycho bitch who wanted to talk shit about me as a parent and wy. that shit isn’t going to fly with me. i suck at every aspect in my life EXCEPT that one. and who the hell talks about an innocent baby, and your nephew who you tried claiming to love so much at that? like seriously. and we won’t even go into the shit that was said when i was pregnant because she was jealous i was pregnant first (she wasn’t even seeing anyone). oh, and all of that drama started because i said her brother said we weren’t going to her grandpa’s house but that i’d talk to him. apparently he’s not a grown man who makes his own decisions. sorry. i am still having issues with her and jake’s entire dad’s side and it’s pissing me off. Do you ever accidentally talk to inanimate objects? i’ve never accidently talked to them, no. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? lately, plain vanilla is fine. Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender? on a dare, twice. Do you receive any hate mail? nope. Have you ever sent a letter in the mail? yeah. a long time ago. If you could, would you have a pen pal? eh. it’s whatever. What color are the pants you’re wearing? blue jeans. Have you ever had a stalker? not really. What is your life philosophy? i’m just trying to be the best mom i can and trying to give wy a good life. other than that, i don’t care much about life. Who last sent you a goodnight text message? no clue. Do you own any clothes that are your favorite color? yup. Have you ever been in a hot tub before? yeah. they’re pretty nice. What’s your favorite comedy movie? i just watched fist fight and that one was pretty good. i’m also a robin williams fan and jim carrey.

[anthropologicalhands]

fosterson week day one: post-tdw

Despite my lack of writing for them, I still have such a soft spot for Fosterson. Here’s a silly fic for them about the immediate aftermath of Thor’s return. This was mostly written in late 2013.

Thor and Jane do not sleep together immediately after he returns to Earth. Much as Jane would like that, she really would, if he’s going to live here, they need to be careful.

There is, however, kissing.

Quite a lot of kissing.

And they don’t stop touching each other. Even after she’s pulled him into the apartment and they’re sitting at the kitchen table and he’s telling her of his decision to leave Asgard, to join them on Midgard, their hands remain firmly clasped.

It’s a lot to take in.

Especially worrying to Jane is that she is not concerned by this turn of events. That Thor has returned to Earth for her, and the sum total of all the hours they have spent together is scarcely a glimmer next to the years they have spent apart and really, how many relationships stand up against those odds?

The answers, to Jane, seem much simpler than they should be. She likes Thor, is intensely attracted to him in a manner she has never experienced with anyone. He likes her enough to move in with her on another planet (dear god). They just saved the world together. They’ll manage.

There’s a lull in the conversation after he finishes his explanation and her questions have been exhausted and matched point for point. They now sit together on the couch in the main room. Mjolnir is dangling easily from the coat rack and a small part of Jane’s mind still wants to know how that is possible. They are sitting close, knees touching, one of his large hands held by both of her own. His palm and fingertips are rough, but warm.

“You’ll be staying here, right?” asks Jane, even though she doesn’t really have any doubts. Thor has as little love for S.H.I.E.L.D. as she does, and while Tony Stark has apparently been redesigning Stark Tower after the crisis at Christmas, she isn’t quite certain about the extent of Thor’s friendship with his fellow Avengers.

Thor smiles at her. His face seems lighter now; the grief of Loki’s passing no longer so heavy a shadow across his face. “Wherever you go, Jane, I will follow.”

Jane ducks her head so that Darcy and Erik (who are blatantly spying on them) don’t see how wide her smile is. “That’ll be here—for a little while at least. I mean, we have some residual data to record. But this—” she gestures at the closed in walls of her mother’s upstairs flat. “—is not permanent. We’ll move again.”

Thor’s eyes crinkle at the corners and his teeth flash white. “They will suffice for as long as you need them,” he says. “I see. Is there a room I can sleep in for tonight?”

There is no expectation there. Jane realizes she hadn’t even thought about where Thor would sleep, if he returned with her.

Equally, she realizes that that is not quite a…thing (why yes, she is a detail-obsessed astrophysicist, shut up kindly) that she is ready to tackle yet. Her logical brain seems to take a Thor-shaped shortcut every time a relationship touchstone springs up.

First kiss less than two days after they first met?

It’s Thor.

Spend two years researching more furiously than ever and having her heart break more than once for said guy she’s known less than three days?

Thor.

Go visit him and meet his parents after only knowing him for three days and not seeing him for two years?

…not entirely her call, but still Thor.

Take up kissing said almost-stranger again as soon as she goes home with him?

Look at him!

But Thor is here now, with her again, and not going anywhere soon. Perhaps it is time to stop rushing in headlong to everything, and take it slow.

“Well, you can sleep on the couch, but we do have a room,” she says. “It’s full of boxes and tech right now, but we can clear it out. Give you a proper bed to spread out on. It’s the room right next to mine.”

Darcy is making some sort of frustrated cat noise in the background. Erik is probably grimacing. Jane doesn’t look at either of them. Let that Ian guy deal with it all. Her eyes are still on Thor.

“I accept your most generous offer,” says Thor, with utmost warmth. He brings her hands to his lips and yes, she’s giggling because it still works. “My thanks.”

“Well, I want you here where I can see you,” she says, trying to maintain her composure and not collapse in on herself right now. The giggling is bad enough. “Make sure that this wasn’t just another bad day.”

Thor won’t stop smiling. Not that she wants him to.

“And I you,” he says, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “My Jane.”

-

There’s nothing awkward about it to either of them, and the fact that they are in agreement on this is a good first sign.

Darcy doesn’t get it. Jane leaves the guest room with Thor sleeping on the bed—jet lag isn’t entirely unknown on the Bifrost, she supposes—and finds her intern scowling, arms crossed, a coffee mug dangling by her first three fingers by the handle.

“The guest room?” she asks, pointedly. “Jane, I know your room is kind of small, what with London just building on top of itself and cutting up all the old houses and everything, but I’m pretty sure Thor won’t have a problem with it.”

“Well, he asked,” Jane points out. “He might want some space, you know, get adjusted to everything. An Earth bed’s a lot different than an Asgardian bed and don’t give me that look nothing happened. I mean, it’s a lot to take in. He needs at least a little space.” She puts her mother’s beaten blue kettle on the stove—tea is cheaper here and Irish Breakfast usually gets the job done when she needs the boost. Hopefully Thor will like it. If not, there’s some instant coffee in the pantry…

“Jane. Two years. Two years. Now he’s here. Why wait?”

Jane shrugs, fiddles with a teabag, leaning against the counter. “Seems like the thing to do.”

Darcy levels a stare at her, but helps herself to a fresh tea bag and turns the stove back on. “Well, whatever you’re planning, I hope it works. Dying of sexual frustration when he’s right there would be pretty stupid.”

Jane rolls her eyes, but can’t help but laugh, regardless. “Darcy, I can promise you that I won’t let that happen.”

They know. They can give themselves breath for a few days.

-

They adjust. Jane takes his measurements and orders an entirely new wardrobe. Erik suggests Thor try getting a haircut, to better fit in with Midgard, and is promptly shouted down, not only by Thor, but Jane and Darcy as well.

“What is wrong with my hair?” Thor asks her later, over cartons from the Chinese place down the block. He is surprisingly good with the chopsticks, though they look no bigger than pencils in his hands. He picks through the chow mein, and seems very close to pouting.

Jane pops a piece of chicken into her mouth, swallows after two bites. “Absolutely nothing. It’s just that most guys don’t wear their hair that long. It attracts attention.”

“And the rest of my person does not do that already?”

Jane laughs without meaning to. That Thor is able to make fun of himself is not something she had been particularly expecting. Especially when she glances at him through her hair, and sees him looking at her, waiting for her reaction.

She unfolds one of her legs and pokes him in the side.

“Fair is fair,” she says, and then leans over to kiss his cheek.

They curl up around each other on the sofa afterwards and watch movies, but do not kiss again.

--

For all of Darcy’s complaints about the evils of celibacy and of how stifling her and Thor’s sexual tension was, it isn’t as though they go for months without sex. Jane is disorganized by nature, and setting up any kinds of boundaries usually pulls at her throat, makes her feel like the air is hard to breathe. This ‘no sex’ thing is less of a rule and more of a condition—i.e. let’s simmer down first before the fireworks start.

This lasts for approximately two weeks before they cave.

For a first time, it goes relatively smoothly. It isn’t seamless, and there are a couple odd starts and stops as things get going, but damn. Two years of pent up dreaming and pining makes for one hell of a night.

There’s an exceptionally powerful thunderstorm in London that night. Jane can’t look Darcy in the eye the next morning and Erik talks about returning to his own apartment. Thor cooks waffles and Ian remains politely baffled throughout the entire meal.

This is her new normal.