#I’m sure he’s VERY effective with his sword nudge nudge wink wink

[tanoraqui]

@gorandomshesaid ooh the plot thickens with a cunning deduction!

…How the fuck does he fight with a sword if he’s not a bladelock; the wiki says he comes with a Dex of 13. Is this man effective with a sword or not?

hey, questions for actual game-players:

Which of Wyll’s eyes is the working one? (That is, I assume the Sending eye can’t see?)

Which hand does he use to wield his rapier?

[dragonologist-phd]

Owlcatober 2022 - #13. “Lockpick”

Cleo has always been one to prefer "force" over "finesse". Being a Demon does nothing to change that. 

AO3

“Oh, shit!”

“What is it?!” Seelah appears at Cleo’s side in an instant, her sword out and ready, but her blade quickly drops as she notes the absence of enemies. She looks to Cleo for an explanation, and Cleo huffs as she slaps her fist against the top of the chest she’d been inspecting.

“It’s fucking locked.”

Seelah seems less than impressed by this revelation, but Cleo only grows more frustrated by the minute. She struggles with the lock for a bit longer- picking these things never looks that hard when other people do it- but it doesn’t budge, and after a few fruitless minutes she once again bangs her hand against the chest in frustration.

“Yes, keep doing that. I’m sure you’ll unlock it in no time,” Daeran drawls. When Cleo glares at him, he widens his eyes in a poor imitation of innocence. “What? I’m being supportive. And anyway, I did tell you we should have brought Camellia along.”

“Yeah, if I wanted some prissy elf looking down her nose at me while she talks to her creepy necklace,” Cleo grumbles to herself. In a louder voice, she says, “Come on, guys- there are six of us here! We can figure out a way to get this thing open.”

But as it turns out…they can’t. Which is just ridiculous, because Greybor’s an assassin and Seelah literally used to be a thief, and how is it none of them have ever needed to learn how to get through a damn lock!?

“Let’s just leave it,” Seelah finally suggests, but Cleo shakes her head firmly.

An Ironbark never admits defeat. And Cleo Ironbark certainly isn’t about to admit that she really wishes Woljif were here. Not after he became her friend, and the two of them joked about ditching the Crusade together, and then he went and ditched her.

The familiar heat of rage scratches against Cleo’s mind- that power which she’s always had, but which has become so much stronger and easier to reach ever since her demonic little transformation. She grins, and lifts her greatsword into the air over the chest.

“No- I’ve got it.”

The force of the sword coming down sends wood chips spraying across the room, and Cleo can’t lie- it’s pretty satisfying to finally hear that crack as the chest gives way. Cleo gives a victorious laugh as she roots through the wreckage for the treasure inside.

“It’s broken,” Greybor observes in a flat voice as she piles the shattered pieces of some gold-traced trinket into her arms.

“Well, it’s like people say,” Cleo says, full of confidence, “A broken treasure in the hand is worth two not-broken treasures locked in a chest.”

“I don’t think anybody says that.”

“Well, I do!” Cleo snaps, her irritation returning in full force because it’s not as if anyone else had offered a better solution.

Greybor blinks, startled by her sudden outburst, and it’s with a groan that Cleo tries to rein herself back in. She’s normally better at shaking off her rages, but- well, apparently that’s another side effect of her new demon look. She growls out something close to an apology and goes back to stuffing her spoils into her bag.

As they prepare to leave, Seelah nudges Cleo’s shoulder with her own and gives her a knowing look. “You good?”

It’s an agreement they’d come up with, back when Cleo liberated Drezen and came into her powers and Seelah wouldn’t stop worrying about the potential ‘negative effects’ of the whole thing. It’s pretty damn annoying at times, to tell the truth- Cleo knows how to control herself, thank you very much.

But snapping at Seelah would just proved the paladin’s point, and…Cleo can at least appreciate the sentiment. So she gives Seelah a grin and throws in a wink for good measure. “I’m good. I told you before- I got this.”

It’s just a little rage. What’s the worst thing that could possibly come from that?

[kageygirl]

also on ao3

part 1 here

"Tell me he'll be all right, Roach," Jaskier says softly, but Roach is a clever lady with her own will who doesn't hold with such foolish thoughts, and therefore ignores him, continuing to nibble at a bush.

"I know," he sighs, and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. It's late, and he should just get to his bedroll, instead of curling against the log he'd been using as a backrest, but his crossed arms atop the log make a fair enough pillow. And it would be downright unchivalrous to abandon a lady like that. "I know it's just a ghoul, I know he can handle that, they're probably in a book somewhere with horribly colorful illustrations. A Witcher's First Monster."

Roach snorts, and he mutters, "Yes, well, you're hardly keeping up your end of the conversation, you've no right to criticize my jokes. Put in some effort, why don't you."

It's not that he truly doubts Geralt's abilities, any more than he doubts that the sun will rise in the morning. But sometimes when Geralt goes off alone and it's too quiet, no music or laughter or people to distract him, he thinks about how witchers never retire and his mind runs off into the dark thickets beyond the firelight where all but witchers fear to tread.

He'd been told as a child that his vivid imagination was a curse; it took him years to understand how that could possibly be true.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I shouldn't have said that. You are truly the loveliest of company," he says, resting his cheek against his arm. She's glossy in the fire's reflection, all combed out by Geralt before he left. He would dare anyone to think witchers have no feelings after seeing the care Geralt lavishes upon her. "How about a song, Roach? To lift our spirits?"

She whuffs at her name, and he takes that as assent. Quietly, barely vocalizing at all, he begins an old Redanian pastoral that he hasn't sung in years.

~

He wakes to the smell of leather and oil and sweat, and a tingling at the crown of his head, as if someone had run their fingers through his hair.

"'M awake," he mumbles blearily.

"You shouldn't be," says a low voice. Gravelly voice. Good voice, goes with the smell, and it's... not really a good smell? But it's a particular person's smell, and that person is very good, so: good smell, after all. "Were you bothering my horse?"

"I provided her with" -- he's ambushed by a yawn, cracking his jaw cruelly -- "only the finest entertainment." He rubs an eye with the back of his wrist, trying to wake himself up, but his eyelids have been heartlessly weighted down by some unknown blackguard. "She's a paragon of taste and sophistication. I can tell she appreciated it."

"Mmm."

There's something faintly mocking about that hum, and he's considering mustering the energy for outrage. Any minute how, it'll be right along. "Wanted to wait for you," he says, and sleep's lingering grasp makes it come out more grumpy than he intended -- and more plaintive, too. Bollocks.

His cheeks are just starting to burn, and he's clinging to the possibility that Geralt will just somehow fail to notice, because sometimes one just really needs the gods to give them a break, just forgive all the blasphemy, and --

-- and there are careful fingers trailing through his hair, now, definitely, and oh, he must have been a very good bard indeed. Somehow.

The fingers comb delicately across his scalp, fingertips teasing the fringe away from his face, dipping to curve around the curl of his ear, trailing the warm humming feeling of being cared for behind them. It's the kind of gentleness Geralt never gets to show, because no one ever wants him for that.

Damp-headed fools, the lot of them.

All the tension sighs out of him, and he raises his head a bit, nudging against Geralt's hand. "Feels nice," he murmurs. His cheeks are still prickling with the embers of his embarrassment, but perhaps Geralt will let him blame the lateness of the hour for his dozy neediness.

He's honestly not expecting a reply at all, so when it does come, it burrows that much deeper into his heart. "For me, too," Geralt says, the faintest hesitant rasp, just louder than the crackle of the fire.

The thrill that gives him is the strength he needs to open his eyes.

Geralt is crouched beside him, whole and hale and well. The cheeky firelight makes his pale stubble shine in the dark as it licks at his jaw, and Jaskier is far too well acquainted with the urge to do the same.

He notices the moment Jaskier opens his eyes, because of course he does, and Jaskier only gets the teeniest sliver of an instant to appreciate the soft look in his eyes before his jaw works and he angles his face away. His fingers make one last pass through Jaskier's hair, and then cup the back of his neck. "Get to your bedroll, bard. I'd rather not hear about your back all day tomorrow."

"Fine," he grumbles, just to watch the smirk play at the corners of Geralt's mouth. Then he sets about the monumental task of figuring out where all of his limbs have wandered off to and how to convince them to work together once more.

Like most group endeavors he'd had at Oxenfurt, getting himself to his feet is a qualified success. He stumbles at the finish line, and doesn't mind the mixed metaphor so much when he's saved from falling into the fire by a solid wall of witcher.

It turns out that having his hands unexpectedly pressed against Geralt's chest is a shockingly effective wake-up call. He'd somehow managed to sleep through Geralt getting out of his armor and cleaning himself up and taking care of his swords, and he feels like he's in danger of being chided for that inattention. He can't really worry about that, though, not when he can feel the steady rise and fall of Geralt's muscley chest through a thin layer of cotton, the wolf medallion half-hidden under a fold and winking at him.

He probably spends a bit too long appreciating it, but what is he supposed to do? It's a very nice chest.

He glances up, and Geralt's watching him. Not humorlessly, not sardonically, not any of the other uncharitable adverbs that Jaskier would never put into a song but sometimes considers ever so briefly, just to make a point... but with a patience that feels almost indulgent.

To someone not nearly so fluent in Witcherese, it might not seem like much. But it's such a change from having to scrabble around for (and possibly invent) meagre scraps of affection, so much so that the guards at Jaskier's heart are momentarily laid low.

"I'm glad that you're all right, Geralt." It comes out softly, plainly, in a way he rarely lets himself be. No artifice or dramatic hyperbole, no ironic detachment or invoking an imaginary other. There's an icy coil of panic in his throat after it's out, but he swallows it down; Geralt came back to him unscathed, and he deserves to know that it means something to Jaskier.

"It was only a ghoul." He says it with the supreme unconcern of someone who's dispatched far worse creatures, which is… true. But there's a searching look in his eyes, as if he can't understand why anyone would bother to be concerned about him.

"Yes, well, you're not 'only an' anything," he says, a little hotly, and it's partly about the parade of idiots who've failed to appreciate the witcher, and partly about the idiot in front of him who thinks Jaskier would be one of the former. "You're one of a kind, White Wolf."

Geralt blinks, and then says blandly, "There are other witchers."

Jaskier takes a breath to begin to address that nonsense, and then registers that even for Geralt, that was too bland -- that even with the firelight, his golden eyes are glinting a bit too much. "You know, Geralt -- fine, you're right, you win." He drops his hands and steps back, muttering, "Yes, you're all inter-bloody-changeable, it's ridiculous that I care so much about this witcher in particular..."

He tromps over to his bedroll -- which is nicely laid out already, with a waterskin beside it that he's betting is full, and there probably aren't even any rocks or twigs under it to poke him in the night, and he turns to glare at the witcher who ever so occasionally makes it difficult to remain mad at him, and yes, he appreciates the irony, thank you --

-- only to find that Geralt is in the same spot he was, watching Jaskier, and he looks a bit… lost.

Jaskier caves like a -- whatever it is that caves, he's tired and has other things to worry about. "Geralt?" he asks, stepping back over to him. "What is it?"

"I--" Geralt says, and then drops his chin to stare down and away. When he returns to meeting Jaskier's gaze, only his eyes move. His voice is raspy again when he says, "Thank you."

He has to wind the conversation back a bit -- and skip past the parts that only happened in his head -- but then it hits him, reminding him not a little of once taking a very jarring tiny cannonball to the forehead. "Geralt… that's not a surprise, is it?" he asks, as gently as he knows how. "That I care about you?"

Geralt doesn't answer, just gives him that not-quite-direct look, which is more than answer enough.

"I'm sorry, I -- I always thought you knew," he says, around the lump in his throat. It hurts, to think that Geralt can spot a lie at a thousand paces and hear all the signs that a man's preparing to attack him, but even when it's staring him in the face, he can't sense…

Well. It's just sort of a different language, isn't it? And if a talented and charismatic bard can teach a room full of drunks the history of their realm with a catchy little rhyme, then surely that same bard can handle a single, much more important learner.

He's caught unawares by another yawn, and he blinks back from it to find Geralt facing him again, a somber look in his eyes. "You should rest."

"I should," Jaskier agrees, and he dares to circle his fingers around Geralt's wrist, tugging lightly. "And so should the witcher who made sure there's one less ghoul in the world."

"Three less," Geralt says, and oh, that's new information, but for a wonder, Geralt lets Jaskier pull him towards the bedrolls, so he chooses not to let it upset him. (He'd noted Geralt's bedroll was next to his earlier, of course, but ignored it on the grounds of it not fitting into the narrative of pique he'd been building.)

"Braggart," Jaskier says only, and Geralt breathes out a laugh.

It's right about then that his body decides his borrowed time is up, and he all but collapses into his bedding. He drifts a bit as Geralt goes through his own routine, but stirs himself to roll and face the witcher once he's settled.

"If you wake up before me," he says to Geralt's profile -- as if it happens any other way all that often -- "feel free to play with my hair. If you want."

Geralt snorts, but his mouth curves up, just a bit. "Noted."

Then Geralt reaches over, drawing his thumb and forefinger gently down Jaskier's eyelids, and he's out like the proverbial light.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Faramir ~ A Void Of Children

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Round 2

Masterlist

Requested by Anon

Based on an imagine found here by @imaginexhobbit

Words: 1,287

Warnings: Female Reader, children, brotherly affection, Boromir being a great uncle

The three excited screams was all the announcement you needed as to the expected arrival today, and you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head, listening as your eldest, Doderic, opened the door.  Now that he was just tall enough to reach, he was always more than eager to do it.

Faramir couldn’t help but grin as he stepped in behind you, placing a kiss on your cheek.  “Do you think they’ll ever grow out of that?”

There was an equally excited voice at the door that stood out above the children, soon turning to laughter as they all started talking to him at once.

You beamed.  “No.”

The laughing drew closer to you and you and Faramir looked at the door as Boromir walked in, holding up your three children in his arms.  Doderic was perched up on one of his shoulders, while the twins, Kiana and Faldlith, were bundled under his other arm.  All three children were giggling, even as Boromir beamed at the two of you.

“Seems I had three little munchkins greeting me at the door,” He chuckled.  “I don’t suppose they are yours?”

“You are quite welcome to them,” Faramir laughed.  “They seem more than pleased with your company.”

Doderic’s eyes went wide. “Can we really go live with Uncle Boromir?”

“Now you’ve done it,” You nudged Faramir as the girls chimed in.  “Now they’ll have to move, and we can be free to whatever we want.”

Boromir laughed.  “While that would be fun for a while I’m sure, I think they are far better of here.  It’s not like you stop me coming and going as I please, and you are a far better cook than I.”

“Oh, that’s true,” You said, smiling, taking the girls off of him.  “I can hardly have my little munchkins starving now, can I?”

The girls giggle as you kissed them both on top of the head, but Doderic pouts a little.  “But Mummy…”

Faramir grins and takes him from Boromir’s shoulder.  “You know Uncle Boromir is very busy Doderic, he can’t be looking after the three of you all the time.  That’s why he visits as often as he can.”

Boromir shakes his head, smiling, quickly pulling Faramir and Doderic into a hug.  “Don’t worry, I’ll still teach you to fight.  My little brother probably needs some lessons again too, I’m sure.”

“Uh huh,” Faramir raised an eyebrow, even as Doderic giggles.  “I think I could still give you a good run for your coin.  Perhaps later we should show Doderic was a proper sword fight is like?”

“You boys, always pretending like I’m not here,” You sighed, just loud enough for them to hear and look at you innocently, the twins seated at the table.  “But I suppose I don’t want to embarrass you in front of Doderic, and the twins are still too young to get the real effect of it.”

Faramir and Boromir laugh, Faramir quickly coming over and kissing your cheek.  “Don’t worry Y/N, neither of us have forgotten how well you can kick our arse.  You proved it to us more than once growing up and well into later years.”

“And?”

“Oh yes, what was that thing that happened?”  Boromir asked, sitting at the table, pretending to think.  “I believe it was during a big battle or something?  We’ve had so many now, it’s hard to remember.”

You shot Boromir a look, which quickly moved to Faramir as he laughed.  “Laugh it up both of you.  We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.  I have all the time in the world.”

Faramir sat next to his brother, grinning.  “Don’t worry dear, we’d never get that far on your bad side.”

“Uh huh,” You said, turning away to hide your smirk.  “You keep thinking that dear.”

You had little doubt that Boromir and Faramir were sharing a worried look behind you, but the children decided that the attention had to be back on them, quickly talking, or mostly babbling on the on the twins part, the occasional word sticking out, to Boromir, wanting nothing more than his attention.

Lunch was soon over, both Kiana and Faldith having escaped their chairs, one climbing onto Faramir’s lap, the other onto Boromir’s, talking away to each other as Doderic excused himself from the table.

Boromir, Faramir and you were talking away too, and you were just starting to wonder what Doderic was up to when he came running back in, wooden sword in hand.

“Uncle Boromir?”  He asked politely, tugging at his shirt.  “Can we have a lesson now please?”

You all smiled at him and Boromir ruffles his hair.  “As long as it’s alright by your parents?”

“Go on,” You said, taking Kiana from Boromir’s lap.  “You go show him what you’re made of.”

“I’ll supervise,” Faramir said with a wink as Doderic beams, Boromir chuckling.  “I need to ensure Boromir stays in check.”

“Well, unless you want these two screaming, then we all best go supervise,” You said as Faramir scoops a giggling Faldith into his arms.  “We can both make sure that Boromir stays in check.”

“You both wound me,” Boromir laughs, following after an excited Doderic.  “I’m sure Doderic is more than capable of keeping me in line.”

Boromir didn’t really train Doderic, he was still far too young for that, but much like you and Faramir, he knew how to play sword fight while still making it seem like he was being trained.  Doderic always had a blast with it, and the girls, who were starting to get eager to join in themselves, enjoyed watching for the moment.

Faramir pulled you into his side as you sat watching, Kiana and Faldith playing in front of you, and kissed your cheek.  “You know, we should try and find him someone.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.  “What makes you say that?”

He nods towards him with Doderic.  “Look at him Y/N, he’d made a brilliant father and loyal husband.  Any woman he gets will never get rid of him.”

“Like I couldn’t rid of you?”

Faramir grins at you. “Exactly.  Seems fair that two of you have to suffer.”

You join his laughter, nudging him with your shoulder.  “He’ll find someone when he’s ready Faramir, there’s no need to rush things.  He’s busy with the king these days, and I think a lot of the quest still weighs on him.”

His smile falters a little and he nods.  “It does.”

Your next sentence is cut off as Boromir pretends to go down, being ‘wounded’ by Doderic, who continues to hit him with his sword.  It was over dramatic, but had you and Faramir laughing.

It seemed Kiana and Faldith had learnt enough watching by now, taking full advantage of Boromir ending up on the ground, charging over to tackle him as Doderic does.

There were squeals and laughter as Boromir half-heartedly fights the three children, trying push them off, only to find himself pinned again.

“Help me!”  He laughed.  “I’m being attacked by three savage beasts!”

Faramir chuckled and shook his head pretending to be disappointed.  “Only an idiot allows himself to be mauled by beasts, brother. I can offer no assistance.”

“I’m just an idiot shouting at the void.”  Boromir laughed, doing his best to try and be free of the three children currently on top of him, who were very uncaring of his words.

“A void…” You echoed, raising an eyebrow, even as Faramir laughed.

“A void of children!” Faramir buckled over.  “Boromir’s greatest downfall!”

You sighed and joined in the laughter.  It mightn’t have made much sense, but at least they were having fun, and the excited screams of your children were always worth it.

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: G

Summary:  Papyrus's New Year's resolutions include: trying new fashion choices, helping his brother talk about his feelings, keeping his friends from murdering each other over Monopoly, and admitting his crush on Mettaton.

Word Count:  4333

XXX

“Hmmm… I feel a little… nervous.”  Papyrus tugged at the end of his shirt.  His very long, very tight shirt.  That aspect felt more embarrassing than the fact that Mettaton’s face was cross-stitched into it.  “This outfit is very different from my battle body.”

Sans blinked.  His grin stayed tight, but still not as tight as this strange shirt.  The red-and-pink fabric clung to the invisible magic that filled out his form.  His usual crop tops covered just his ribcage, but this full-length shirt… it showed his abs.  A full six pack of them.  It was weird.  

Of course, he knew that if he had physical muscles, he would surely have such a buff physique.  A skeleton’s clothed form was based on their perception of their true self, after all.  Sans was lazy and round.  Papyrus trained daily, and his magic chiseled his form to show it.

He just hoped he didn’t look too chiseled.  He didn’t want to intimidate anyone with his handsome figure.  Though… perhaps a certain robot wouldn’t mind...

“You don’t have to wear it, bro.  I’m sure the bucket of bolts will understand.”

No.  No, the ‘bucket of bolts,” the fabulous Mettaton himself, would not understand.  He would wonder why Papyrus didn’t wear his Christmas gift to the New Year’s Eve party.  And then Mettaton would never believe how much Papyrus cared for him…

“No!  Change can be refreshing.  New year, new fashion!  Yeah!!!”

“...Alright.”  Sans shrugged.  

He wouldn’t understand.  He was wearing the same dingey hoodie he’d worn every day in the underground.  At least it smelled a little better now that Toriel was around to occasionally wrangle it off of him and throw it in the wash.  (Sans always complained, but Papyrus had caught him sniffing it and smiling dreamily each time.)

“You could stand to freshen up too, you know!  Don’t you want to impress Miss Toriel?  HMM??”

He elbowed his brother in the ribs (nyeh heh) but it wasn’t as effective as usual.  This shirt had long sleeves, which left Papyrus’s arms looking more filled-out than in his battle body.  And thus, his elbow had less boney-nudging power.

“Hey.  Don’t try to jack-et up my style. ‘Sides, if Tori didn’t like the hoodie, it hood have ended up in the garbage ages ago.”

“Oh my gosh!!! Both of you belong in the garbage then!”

“Only if you’re there too, bro.”  Sans winked.  “Come on, I think we’re late enough to make an entrance.  I know a—”

“Geez, Sans, I know you can teleport.  You don’t have to be dramatic about it!”

Sans’s browbones scrunched.  “You really are nervous, huh?  It’s gonna be fine, bro.  You’re gonna knock that robot’s socks off.  Y’know, if he had socks.”

Sweat beaded on Papyrus’s forehead.  He wasn’t surprised that Sans had guessed the source of his anxiety, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it.

“N-no I’m not nervous!  It’s just… hot in here!  Let’s take that shortcut and hope that Miss Toriel has been banned from the celebratory cider!”

“Yeah, it’d be a shame to have to lock her in her own garage this time…”

Sans casually slipped his arm through Papyrus’s and led them towards the bathroom.  Of course, when Papyrus blinked at the entryway, they were suddenly walking through the tall doorframe into Toriel’s living room.

It wasn’t covered in Mew Mew- or Mettaton-bits.  That was a good sign—Papyrus would’ve hated to miss a live chainsaw fight again.  At the Gyftmas party, he’d been too busy wrangling Toriel to watch.

Sound always took a second to catch up with Sans’s shortcuts, so Papyrus felt Undyne’s smack on his back before he heard her.

“ACK!”  He jumped before attempting to cover it with a cough.  Undyne laughed.

“Dude, I know you don’t have to breathe!  You can’t fool me!”

“It was a courtesy scream! Of greeting!  Because I know how much you love to be intimidating!!”

“Heck yeah I do!  Thanks, Papyrus!”  She slugged him again for good measure, this time on the shoulder.  It felt weird, with his bones covered in layers of protective magic and fabric.  “Lookin’ good, by the way!  I haven’t seen you in a full shirt in… geez, has it been a year?  I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He tugged at his collar, though it wouldn’t keep him from sweating.  Toriel kept her house cool, at least.  Probably because she was covered in fur.

“I know, I know.  It still feels unseemly for a royal mascot to be seen out of uniform…”

“Nah, it’s all good!  I’m sure all the monsters with two good eyes won’t have a problem recognizing the Great Papyrus.”

He felt his cheeks warm.  “Nyeh heh... heh… so it doesn’t look weird?  Sans said it was fine, but you know Sans… he only wears the same smelly outfit, day in and day out!  I can’t trust his fashion sense.”

“Then trust me.  I practically invented fashion!  Like, if you replaced Mettaton’s face with… a spear!  Or an anime princess with a sword!  IT WOULD INSPIRE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF YOUR ENEMIES!”

Papyrus hunched his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck.  At least the shirt didn’t have a high collar, so he could still feel the tips of his vertebrae.  

“I’m not sure fear is the emotion I am going for.  Perhaps… grandeur?  Or even… admiration??”  His skull heated a bit more.  Oh, he hoped his cheekbones weren’t stained pink.  He hadn’t intended to keep his feelings from his best friend… but Undyne and Mettaton butted heads so often.  He just wanted everyone to be friends!  

Especially his best friend and the robot he maybe-sort-of had a crush on!

Undyne took a step back, squinting at him with her one good eye.  Darn it, she was so perceptive!

“B-but I didn’t say it was romantic admiration!”  Papyrus clarified.  “It is—”

“OH MY GOSH!!”  Undyne interrupted, her voice echoing over the human program Toriel had on TV.  “YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON—?”

“SHHHH!”  He slapped her hands over her mouth.  She batted at them with her face-fins, her muffled shouting seeping through his gloves.

Eventually she quieted.  Probably because the whole room was staring at them.  Sans and Toriel on the couch, Frisk squished between them.  Flowey on the windowsill, leaves crossed and faking disinterest.  Alphys with wide eyes, as if predicting what Undyne was about to shout.  And Napstablook, Mew Mew, and…

Mettaton.

Papyrus didn’t need to gulp.  He did anyway.

“DARLING!”  Mettaton spread his arms wide as he strutted towards Papyrus.  His heeled boots somehow made a loud CLICK-CLICK-CLICK, even though the living room’s floor was carpeted. “Oh, you look wonderful!  Positively ravishing!”

He stopped at arms’ length, then scanned Papyrus up and down.  It felt like his robot vision could see right through him.  Not that there was much to see—just normal bones.  It was still rattling regardless.

“Th-thank you!  The Great Papyrus strives to always be ready to be ravished!”

Sans spit out his drink.  Thankfully it was just water, and not anything more intoxicating.  With Frisk present, adult drinks would be off-limits.

But it still left a puddle on the floor, and wet bubbles gurgling out of Sans’s eyesockets.

“Oh dear.” Toriel bit back a giggle. “Frisk, do you mind getting your dunkle a towel?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, shooting Papyrus a wink before scampering off to the kitchen.  Double dang it.  Even Frisk could see right through him!  Of course, Frisk was a master of flirtation, even if none of it had wooed Papyrus in the end.  Perhaps the child could help him… if he survived this current encounter. 

He straightened his spine.  He was the Great Papyrus, and he would not be intimidated by a soul-fluttering crush.

“I um—I mean—”

Undyne pushed in front of him before he could come up with a super-effective conversation saver.

“Dude, you got Papyrus a shirt with your face on it?  Why didn’t you pick out something cool?”

“Please.” Mettaton snorted, even though he also didn’t need to breathe.  (They had so much in common!!) “You’d have me embroider your human cartoons instead, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, YEAH!”  Undyne was one of the few monsters who could almost match Mettaton in height, and she made use of that fact.  Their noses—er, Mettaton’s nose and where Undyne’s nose would be—were nearly touching.  Papyrus wished that meant they were about to hug and make up, but Undyne always kept her friends close and her enemies closer.  She’d be more likely to strangle the robot than hug him.

Alphys hovered near her girlfriend, but her stammering was too quiet to break up the intense glare-off.  That was too bad; Alphys was the one person who was beloved by both Undyne and Mettaton.

“You care about Papyrus, right?  Don’t you want him to look as cool as possible?” Undyne continued.

“Of course I do.”  Mettaton nudged her back with one gloved finger.  “Papyrus is the very epitome of cool. And thus, the only accessory that could possibly accentuate his natural style is my face.”

Papyrus blinked.  Maybe Alphys wasn’t the only person Undyne and Mettaton both respected.

“WOWIE!! You… think I’m that cool?”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, darling.  I don’t cross-stitch for just anyone.”  Mettaton winked—or maybe it was just a blink; his bangs covered the other half of his face—and then turned on his heel.  “You may join Mew Mew, Blooky, and I in the kitchen if you’d like. Mew is absolutely desperate to be crushed at Monopoly.”

“HEY!  YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S GONNA GET CRUSHED, METTA-LOSER!”

Mettaton rolled his eyes.  “Seriously.  What is the point of an insult if it doesn’t include at least one clever pun?  No class whatsoever.”

“Exactly!”  Papyrus agreed.  

“Hey, Me and Al want in on some metal butt crushing!”  Undyne bent down and seized her girlfriend in a headlock, making Alphys’s face burn red.  Papyrus wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen, since that was her natural state around Undyne anyway.

“W-well, a-as long as all c-crushing is metaphorical…”

“Darling, the only Metta-phorical thing at this party is me.”

“UGH!!  Papyrus, how can you hate Sans’s puns and put up with this?” Undyne threw her arms in the air, which had the side effect of releasing Alphys.  “Come on, babe, I’m gonna need you to come up with our battle strategy!”

“Umm, you do know that Monopoly isn’t a fighting game, right…?”

Mettaton, Undyne, and Alphys all trailed into the kitchen with various levels of excitement.  Papyrus was about to follow them when he caught Sans staring again.  

Frisk was wiping his face with a snail-embroidered dish towel.  His brother didn’t even blink, and his eyelights had gone oddly dim.

“Brother?  Are you alright?”  Papyrus leaned over the armrest and said in as quiet a voice as he could manage.  “Did you want to play Monopoly too?  You can be on my team!”

“Nah, it’s all good. I think Tori, Frisk, and I are gonna play Uno.  It’s a lot easier for a lazybones like me.”  He winked, but Papyrus wasn’t fooled.

“Sans.  You made a New Year’s resolution to be more honest about your feelings.  As is the time-honored tradition, you must keep your promise or risk a year’s worth of bad luck!”

Toriel and Frisk shared a glance.  Had they seriously not heard of this tradition?  Frisk had an excuse, being both a human and a child, but Toriel was hundreds of years old!  

“Uh. Bro. I didn’t make any kinda resolution like that.”

“I know!  You were too busy boondoggling, so I made it for you!”  Papyrus grinned.  “It’s already written on the refrigerator at home, so don’t even try to get out of it.”

Sans let out a long breath through his nasal cavity.  His smile looked strained.

“Alright.  You’re always better at comin’ up with that kinda stuff than me, anyway.  But it’s no big deal this time.  Really.  I’ll tell ya after your Monopoly game.”

Papyrus’s browbone furrowed.  “Okay… but Toriel and Frisk are my witnesses!  You can’t wriggle out of it this time!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bro.”

After one last knowing look, Papyrus left him in the living room.  Perhaps he just wanted some alone time with Toriel, but that look… it had definitely been focused on Papyrus.  He wasn’t so smitten by Mettaton’s charms to ignore that.

But Papyrus trusted his brother.  And he trusted his own ability to pin Sans down by his gross hoodie until he got answers, if necessary.

“I hope you guys saved me the car!” Papyrus called as he plopped down at the kitchen table.  

The empty seat just happened to be next to Mettaton.  Had Undyne been wingmanning… (wingwomaning… finwomaning…?) for him already?  Maybe he should’ve revealed his crush earlier.  Her letter had managed to woo Alphys, after all.

“Oh no…” Napstablook said quietly. “We, umm, didn’t bring that Monopoly…”

“We brought Monster Monopoly!” Mew Mew brushed her hair out of her face with a paw.  “It’s way cooler, mew~”

“It’s, umm, a-actually… Pocket Monster Monopoly, if we’re being specific,” Alphys said from her spot in Undyne’s lap.  

“POKEMON!” Undyne grinned.  “You remember watching Pokemon with me and Al, right, Papyrus?  There was the epic fight between the Charizards, and then there was the lab that got Alphys all spooked, and then Ash got turned into a rock and you started crying—”

“I remember!”  Papyrus cut her off.  Not because he was embarrassed—it had been perfectly reasonable to cry when the human was resurrected by the love of the strange monsters.  But Alphys might not want to think about the anime lab that had been reminiscent of her old home.

“Great!  Then pick your mon!”  Undyne reached around Alphys to push the two remaining pieces towards him.  

One was an orange lizard Pokemon with flames on its tail.  Was that Charizard? Papyrus had expected Undyne to pick that one, but she’d chosen a blue turtle-looking Pokemon with canons coming from its back.  Alphys had presumably let her pick, or else they would’ve had the round pink Pokemon.  Mettaton had chosen that one, and was cooing it it as he balanced it on his fingertip.

The other available option was Pikachu.  Everyone liked Pikachu.  Papyrus set that figure on the starting square.

“Excellent choice, darling.  Now it’s time for the real show!”

The real show turned out to be a three-hour long battle royale.  Despite Alphys’s insistence that Monopoly wasn’t a fighting game, the board game was interrupted by three and a half chainsaw battles.  Two of those were stopped by Toriel entering with slices of pie and fistfuls of fire magic, respectively.  The other two were settled by Sans distracting Mettaton with bad puns, and flashing his blue eye socket.  Drama queen.  It worked though, startling Mettaton and Mew Mew into calling a draw.

“Not that it matters, since Al and I are winning anyway!”  Undyne grinned, stacking her paper cash into a tall tower.  “I’d like to see your MTT-brand resort come back from that!”

It was true.  If anything, Mettaton and Mew Mew were battling for last place.  Each of them only held a few mortgaged properties to their name, while Team Shellshock (as Undyne named her and Alphys’s duo) had racked up monopolies on the two highest-priced sides of the board.  Napstablook had owned the two purple spaces at the beginning of the board, until all the fighting drove them to vanish into the ground.  They later reappeared the living room, chatting quietly with Toriel, Frisk, and Sans, and occasionally calling out “Oooo-no.”  Papyrus wondered how he was playing the card game with no arms.

Papyrus himself was rather satisfied with owning the orange properties before Free Parking.  His stacks of houses caught the other players as they escaped from jail. Plus, Tangela and Victreebel were rather cute.

“Do you hear her, Papyrus?” Mettaton raised the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned dramatically into Papyrus’s space.  “Insulting my brand when she hasn’t even had the nerve to duel me!  Of course, I would have to show her mercy, on account of her being Alphys’s one true love.”

“You? Show ME mercy??” Undyne stood abruptly, accidentally dumping Alphys onto the floor.  “Oh, uh. Sorry babe.”

“I’m used to it…” Alphys muttered.  “Maybe I should just stay down here…”

“No!  No more fighting!  The Great Papyrus will not allow this lighthearted board game to devolve into yet another brawl!” Besides, he really did not want to find out what Sans would do if the others caused any more damage to Toriel’s house.  The scorch marks on the tile would already take hours to buff out.

“Very well, darling.  I’ve showed off all of my moves for the night, anyway.  I wouldn’t want to let my performance go stale.”

“Oh, like it wasn’t stale to begin with,” Mew Mew said.  Mettaton glared at her before—to Papyrus’s surprise—the robot rested his head on Papyrus’s shoulder.

“Wake me up when Mew comes up with some more original material.”  His metallic eyelids slid closed.

“It’s Mewtwo to you, bolts for brains!”  Mew Mew pointed to her character, the purple Pokemon from the movie.  

She’d landed on Alphys and Undyne’s Nidoking space again, but neither of the girls seemed to notice.  Undyne because she was busy snapping a not-so-discreet photo of Mettaton on Papyrus’s shoulder, and Alphys because she was still under the table.

In response, Mettaton just started emitting tiny Zs.  Papyrus was careful not to move and possibly disturb him, even though his bones wanted to rattle with nervous energy.  No one had ever slept on his shoulder before, let alone a handsome robot.  Normally he was simply too bony to be comfortable.

Maybe this new shirt would have to become a permanent part of his wardrobe.

“Enough. ENOUGH. ENOUGH!!!  I refuse to play under these conditions any longer!!” Mew Mew shoved herself back from the table.  Her tail lashed back and forth, and the bells in her hair jingled angrily.

“Mewtwo—” Papyrus called, but she was already in the living room, opening the door to leave.  He sighed.  Why was it so difficult to be friends with everyone…?

“Oh!  Uh, h-hi, Asgore!”  Mew Mew’s voice was suddenly respectful.

Asgore?  Papyrus had thought he wasn’t invited, since the party was at Toriel’s house.  He tried to crane his neck to check on Miss Toriel, but couldn’t turn far enough with Mettaton’s weight on him.  Well, Sans and Frisk would surely be there with her.  Hopefully with enough moral support, the two Dreemurrs could get along.

If not, they probably couldn’t do much more damage than Mew Mew and Mettaton already had with their chainsaws.

“He made it!”  Undyne grinned toothily before throwing Alphys over her shoulder and jogging to join them in the living room.

Which left only Papyrus and Mettaton in the kitchen.  Alone.

Stars, he hoped Mettaton couldn’t tell how sweaty he was.

“Finally,” Mettaton murmured, wrapping his arm around Papyrus’s not-bicep. “As much as I adore the spotlight, every star needs a moment to regain their shine.”

Papyrus blinked.  Mettaton’s fingers tap-tap-tapped over his sleeve, a rhythm that was both comforting and baffling.  What was he doing?  Had he been faking sleep this whole time?

“I… are you alright, Mettaton?” He settled for asking.

“Oh my.  I am being awfully forward, aren’t I?”  He let go of Papyrus’s arm, but still left his head resting on his shoulder.  His dark hair obscured his eyes from Papyrus’s angle.  “This… isn’t something I’m used to, you know.”

Papyrus cleared his throat.  “I, the Great Papyrus, know many things!  But you will have to be more specific.”

Mettaton chuckled.  “Very well.  I am not used to cuddling with such a sweet, sincere, and devilishly handsome skeleton.”

His jaw dropped.  Literally.  It clinked off of Mettaton’s shoulder and landed in Papyrus’s lap.  He had to reattach it before he could ask the question that pounded in his soul.

“Are you… flirting with me?”  He didn’t have his dating handbook with him!  Or a plate of emergency spaghetti!! How was he supposed to secure Mettaton’s affections??

Though… Mettaton seemed affectionate enough already, without any of those things.  Could it be… that he just liked him?

“Finally!  I made a bet with Alphys on how long it would take you to notice.  The suspense was absolutely killing me, darling.  You do know how to create dramatic tension.”

“Mettaton.”  Papyrus scooted his chair back, leaving him space to grip Mettaton’s spiked shoulders.  “You… like me?  Romantically??”

Mettaton’s smoulder looked a little less confident than usual.  “Is that so surprising?  You’re the only one who shines as brightly as me.  Your energy… your passion… you give one hundred percent to everything you put your mind to.  That’s what makes a true star, darling.”

“Wowie…” Papyrus breathed.  His head felt like it was spinning.  Of course Mettaton, being an actor, would be good with words, but… these ones felt sincere. “Would you like to… maybe… go on a date??”

The robot blinked before shooting his signature dazzling smile.  “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

“Are you two done flirting?”

Papyrus jumped at Frisk’s voice.  Their head had poked through the entrance of the kitchen.

“Of course not!  I, the Great Papyrus, have barely begun flirting!”  He puffed out his chest, and Mettaton laughed.

“Fabulous!  That’s the confidence I want to hear!  It’s no wonder you were able to help Alphys.”  Mettaton’s smile softened.  It was something Papyrus had never seen before, something that had certainly never been captured on film or broadcast on television.  He would like to save that smile forever, if he could.  “I must thank you for that, by the way.  I… haven’t always been the greatest friend to her.  But you were able to do for her what I should have.  She has positively sparkled since your self-confidence lessons.”

“I am glad to hear it!  Alphys is a wonderful friend, and she deserves to feel wonderful about herself!”  He beamed.

“Keep flirting if you want, but you’re gonna miss the ball drop,” Frisk called again, and then their messy brown hair disappeared back into the living room.

“It can’t be that spectacular,” Mettaton scoffed, though he hadn’t stopped smiling. “Now, if I were swinging in on the disco ball… now that would be a way to ring in the new year!”

“We’ll have to plan that for next year!  I can’t wait to build a giant disco ball.  It will be just like building a puzzle… but spherical!  Nyeh heh heh!!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, darling.”

And then, before Papyrus could blink, Mettaton gave him a quick peck on the cheek.  Warmth pulsed through his bones, even though Mettaton’s metal lips were cold.

“Nyeh! Heh!!  Heh???” He melted back into his chair with a hysterical giggle.  He could see the appeal of Sans’s hoodie now.  It would be nice to have a hood to hide his blush in.

But Mettaton was giggling too.  The sound mixed with the cheers from the living room as the clock struck midnight.

“Happy new year, darling.”  Mettaton winked.

“Happy new year!”  Papyrus pulled him into a hug that probably would’ve crushed someone not made of metal.  But Mettaton was, so everything was fine.  “Have you regained your shine now?”

Mettaton squeezed him back.  “Oh yes.  I definitely have.”

XXX

“Some party, huh?” Sans yawned when they arrived home hours after midnight.  It was a miracle he’d stayed awake this long.  He’d even helped Toriel clean up, despite leaving Papyrus to clear the mess from his holiday party last week.  Sans definitely had it bad, but at least Toriel was a good influence on him.

“It certainly was!”  Papyrus beamed.  “I’m sorry I did not spend much of it with you.”

“‘S alright.  Frisk filled me in on everything.”  Sans winked.  “I gotta admit, I was worried at first, but I’m happy for ya.”

“Worried?”  Papyrus squinted.  “Wait… is that why you were acting weird earlier?  I thought it might be about Miss Toriel.”

He chuckled. “Not this time, bro.  You, uh… I don’t want you to think I don’t believe in ya, because I do.  If anyone could get a superstar boyfriend, it would be you.”

Papyrus’s face warmed.  He wasn’t sure that Mettaton was his boyfriend yet, but… he could be!  Eventually!! The thought was nearly enough to make him see stars.

“But, uh, I just didn’t want him to lead you on.”  He shrugged, hands in his pockets.  “I’m glad he’s head over stiletto heels for you too.”

“Awww!”  Papyrus squeezed his brother’s shoulders with one arm, the other grinding his knuckles against his skull.

“Hey, hey.”  Sans pretended to struggle, but he was laughing.  “Watch the skull.  These things bone’t grow on trees.”

That pun was absolutely horrible, but Papyrus elected to ignore it for now.

“Thank you for caring, Sans.  And thank you even more for not scaring him away.”

“Me? Scare anyone? You must be thinking of a different Sans. That would take way too much energy.”

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me!  You were going to give Mew Mew and Mettaton a bad time if they broke Toriel’s dining table!”

Sans’s eye sockets widened, as if he’d already forgotten about breaking up the fourth chainsaw fight.

“Heh. Nah, all I had to do was spook ‘em a little.”

“Spooking and scaring are synonyms, brother!”

“But I didn’t scare him away.  In fact, I think I scared him towards ya.” He winked again.  “You’re welcome, bro.”

Papyrus just shook his head and let out a soft nyeh-heh-heh.  By the time he blinked, Sans had disappeared, probably shortcutting himself to his bedroom.  It was rather late, even for Papyrus.

He flopped in his bed, still in his long-sleeved MTT-brand shirt, and dreamt of the fond memories to be made in the new year.

[lovelikedestiny]

Happy Birthday @gildingthemoon!!!

I wish you a wonderful day to celebrate and all the best in the world! <3 Today belongs only to you and I hope a lot of people tell you what an incredible human being you are!

I want to gift you with a small, fluffy, happy TOG-oneshot and thank you for being an amazing beta who fights against all errors in my drafts and is delighted by the German sayings I still use unintentionally! I’m very glad to have ‘met’ you! I hope you’ll like the oneshot and you’re grinning like a honey-cake-horse as we say here ;)

*throws a big hug at you* <3

The little things

Under the midnight blue velvet of the night in the empty streets of Malta Joe looks like a celestial being and Nicky feels himself enchanted by his appearance. By his wide, flashing smile, those warm, deep eyes which are surrounded by lovely crinkles and radiate so much emotion that Nicky sometimes has the feeling his heart couldn’t cope with the amount of happiness Joe’s very existence has gifted him with.

When they're out and about and the sun makes Joe's golden skin glow and kisses his silky-soft curls with warm rays, turning his eyes into obsidian and onyx, just so much more precious than all jewelry in the world, Nicky occasionally forgets how to breathe. Of course, after more than 900 years, he knows what his love looks like and knows him better than himself, but that doesn't change the fact that Joe is still beautiful. Beautiful and a constant at his side, who always manages to lead Nicky out of any darkness back into the light.

A cheerful, warm constant that walks by Nicky's side tonight and is the most beautiful thing Nicky has ever seen.

He promptly stumbles over the sidewalk and staggers a few steps before he manages to get hold of himself, hears Joe giggling behind him and has to grin too.

They’re not totally drunk. 

The pleasant warmth in his stomach and the feeling of lightness confirm Nicky in his conclusion and he tightens his grip on Joe's hand as the latter helps him regain his balance. They are only slightly drunk, if at all. Drunk? No. Tipsy! That's the word Nicky was looking for. They're tipsy, he states with satisfaction.

"Careful, my heart," Joe says with a chuckle. “We don't want you to fall on your pretty face. It would be a real shame if you’d hurt yourself today. I like the blue shirt.”

"Really?" Nicky asks, lips curled up into a small grin, pulling Joe a little closer, who willingly follows the movement.

"Really," Joe says grinning and lets his eyes slide so clearly over Nicky's appearance that he thinks he can feel Joe's gaze like a delicate touch. “It accentuates your eyes and your shoulders. And those pants…” He flicks Nicky on the ass. "... also emphasize an area of ​​yours that is very close to my heart. I could easily come up with ideas.”

Nicky shudders when Joe looks at him from below through his eyelashes with a look he knows all too well. Heat surges through his veins and he smiles mischievously and nudges Joe's nose. "I hope they are good ideas."

"Hm," Joe hums approvingly and hooks his fingers into the loops of Nicky's belt to pull him closer. "Very good ideas."

It's so easy to tilt his head, angling it just right, and put his lips on Joe’s who has already moved towards his mouth. Flowers of red fire bloom behind Nicky's closed lids, shooting stars of silvery light and suns of golden embers.

He enjoys the passion that surges through his veins, a steady stream that has never stopped flowing since Nicky first kissed those soft lips, which can enthusiastically recite poetry, are twisted in concentration while drawing, can smile so warmly that Nicky's heart glows, showing him how much Joe loves him when they get lost in each other's bodies amid sheets and pillows.

Nicky is convinced that they are doing good in the world. They protect the innocent, they are their shield in battle and their sword when they cannot hold one themselves and he believes in what they are doing. Just as much as he believes in his family, in Joe. But even if they can make a difference in everyday life with their good deeds, there is something essential that should not be overlooked.

The little things.

Like the sultry air that dances around them through the warmth of the day and the dark sky in front of whose midnight blue canvas the moon shines large and silver. Like Joe's elegant artist hands, which he could feel blindly and which lie firmly and securely on his hips and pull him closer to the glowing, muscular body. Like the fruity taste of good wine on Joe's tongue and the salty sweat from dancing on his lips. Like the familiar tickling of his beard on Nicky's chin and the soft texture of his curls, in which Nicky buries his fingers and elicits Joe a rumble, which Nicky catches and tastes in his mouth.

It's those little things that should be cherished.

Distant laughter causes them to break the kiss, and Nicky tries to fight the urge not to pounce on Joe again when he whines softly and tries to hold on to Nicky.

Some time ago it wasn't even possible to hold Joe in public or simply to interlace their fingers. And even if there are still people who make the world more terrible than it could be, Nicky is infinitely grateful that in most countries he is allowed to kiss the other half of his heart. To kiss Joe and laugh and dance and live with him.

As soon as Nicky thinks that, Joe starts humming and grabs Nicky's hands just to rock them gently back and forth. His eyes are soft with tenderness and Nicky can feel his heart cramp from the affection he feels towards Joe.

Even though they have been together for more than nine hundred years and Nicky knows Joe better than himself, there are still new things they learn about each other. New habits that they develop, new preferences that they discover. In moments like these, when it's just the two of them in their own bubble of peace, Nicky finds no doubt about their relationship, their solid bond that binds them invisibly and is as strong as ever.

Of course, he is much older than most people on this planet and accordingly has a lot more experience, but uncertainties still exist. It is not uncommon for Nicky to lose himself in thought because nagging doubts about a decision he has made corrode him from the inside. They make mistakes in their jobs doing good because they are human. Everybody makes mistakes.

Joe is the only thing in Nicky's long life that he never doubted. An indispensable support that gives him security, just like Nicky will always have Joe's back.

Because Joe is his heart and soul.

Too many words to say and too few words to express how Nicky feels about Joe are on his tongue, so Nicky joins Joe's humming before he starts to sing softly.

Nicky has no problem with being the center of attention, but he prefers to disappear into the background and watch everything from there. If you overlook him or he does not attract attention, others tend to underestimate him and his abilities and he has already used this to his advantage several times.

Joe is the only audience Nicky will ever need, and the knowing flash in Joe's eyes and glowing smile are the only applause Nicky really wants.

Although he and Joe often sing songs together - evenings when Nicky cooks and Joe assists him while they use a wooden spoon as a microphone and Joe starts swinging the kitchen towel while dancing are one of the best - Joe stays silent.

Swaying them gently, Joe's whole focus is on Nicky, who continues to sing a song as old as time itself, tied to precious memories that only they and no one else share. Nicky sings for Joe like he often does when Joe asks him to or he sits down in the kitchen while Nicky can't get rid of a catchy tune while cutting vegetables.

Nicky sings for Joe because Joe is the song that springs from his heart and is embedded in his bones.

As he turns Joe around, Joe laughs exuberantly and the sound reverberates in Nicky like the precious echo of a long-forgotten chiming of a bell.

"I love it when you sing," Joe says, releasing Nicky to give him a little applause, for which Nicky gives an exaggerated bow. It is not easy to stay on his feet, but since the alcohol doesn’t exist that long in their body due to their healing, Nicky doesn’t worry too much about his balance.

"I love you," Nicky replies and Joe dramatically presses a hand on his heart.

"People call me the poet, but it's your words that take my breath away, habibi." He winks at Nicky and Nicky is pretty sure that he looks back with a stupid grin.

Nicky doesn't know if it's such a good idea to climb the rock at the side of the street, but before he can change his mind he has reached the top and looks down at Joe, who is watching him with amusement.

"I could take your breath away with something other than words," he says bluntly, enjoying the effect it has on Joe. Joe swallows hard, blushing slightly, which Nicky doesn't even need to see to know it's happening. Just like the dark fire that makes Joe's eyes burn.

"Is that a challenge?" Joe asks roughly and bites his lip with a grin, causing Nicky to almost fall off the stone. He catches himself in time, but would have had no problem with falling into Joe's arms.

"A promise," he corrects smirking and Joe takes a step towards the stone and tilts his head back slightly to meet Nicky's gaze.

"Are you being funny tonight, Mr. Al-Kaysani?"

"With such good company, indeed, Mr. Di Genova."

They both giggle like silly teenagers and Joe raises an arm in the air and paces up and down in front of the stone like he's on a stage. “Standing like a Greek God on a rock,” he begins to recite. "Moonlight pouring over you and you have a beautiful..."

"Cock," Nicky finishes deadpan and Joe gasps and runs into a nearby street lantern.

"I didn't mean to say that!" He protests with a meaningful smile on his face and helps Nicky jump more or less graceful off the stone.

"You thought it, I said it," Nicky says and blinks innocently at Joe, who laughs and sways slightly.

“We complement each other perfectly, huh? Such an extraordinary coincidence.” Joe nudges him right in the side where Nicky is ticklish and the snorting laugh bursts out of Nicky inexorably as he tries to turn away from Joe.

“Didn't you read the contract? A perfect match has to be guaranteed in order to be in a relationship for nine hundred years,” Nicky says snickering and Joe pretends to be amazed.

“I had no idea about that! I always leave paperwork to you.”

Nicky nods, playing seriously. "Furthermore, the contract requires that I enjoy a cuddle at least three times a week."

"Phew, luckily I have received the world cuddler Award."

"I know. I can rightly confirm that you truly deserve this title."

It is uncertain what the night will bring them, they have made no plans. Nevertheless, the random brushing of their hands and the lingering of their pinkies on the back of the other’s hand are certain indications of what the rest of the night might look like.

"I don't need any more than confirmation of my love."

"You deserve all the acknowledgment in the world because you are expensive."

"Expensive? Do you mean ‘worth it’? ”Joe frowns. “Or was it precious? Who knows what we oh! That was an alliteration!"

"What?" Alliteration sounds a little bit like alligator in Nicky's mind, and he really hopes Joe hasn't seen one. "What was what?"

“An alliteration, you know. When we want words which...haha! Another one!”

Nicky follows Joe's gaze. "Where? Oh, that's just a cat."

"Ah, Nicolo." Joe shakes his head slightly and laughs softly to himself.

"What is it?" Nicky doesn't remember saying anything funny. "Do you want to share your thoughts? A nickel for your thoughts or whatever they say."

"I think it was a coin for your thoughts. Or dollars?”

Nicky has to snort and Joe starts laughing too. "It does not matter. We could continue this conversation at home.”

"Continue it at home?" Joe repeats indignantly. "Nicolo, we were in the middle of a conversation about stilistic means!"

"Okay, uh...if you’re able to come up with another alliteration, I'll do the thing with my tongue at home," Nicky says without thinking, completely relieved of the worries the world has in store for them, through Joe's mere presence and Malta as their retreat.

Joe laughs and raises his eyebrows. "The thing with the tongue? Ya amar, I have no idea what you’re ta- oh. Oh.“ When Joe understands, he stops abruptly, eyes widening. “Lima? Do you mean...Do you mean Lima?”

Nicky nods and keeps walking, grinning, causing Joe to pull himself out of his freeze and rush after him. "Do you really mean Lima? Oh my god, you can't just say something like that and keep walking!”

"So you are not interested?" 

Joe almost chokes. “Not intere...Nicolo! It is impossible that I am not interested in it! The thing with your tongue, Lima, sweet heavens! That was...that was…” Joe seems to remember Nicky's condition and squints his eyes in concentration. "On it. How much time do I have?"

While Joe is thinking hard, Nicky indulges in the serenity of strolling and reaches for Joe's hand, which Joe withdraws and places on something else.

"Yusuf?"

"Yes?"

"That is not my hand."

"Oh sorry, I guess I got a little confused in the dark," Joe says, grinning, but doesn't take his hand off Nicky's ass.

It’s the little things, Nicky thinks by himself as he watches Joe muttering under his breath and then throwing Nicky a beaming smile when he has an idea for another alliteration. It’s the little things that make this imperfect world so perfect. 

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Alone Together Ch 3

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311754/chapters/54522319

Chapter summary:

“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.

Suddenly, Hyrule throws his head up and away from his knees, eyes large and faraway. His eyes flick left right left right, somewhere or some when else. He reaches out a hand to no one but the rain. Then, slowly, far too slowly to be natural, he turns too bright eyes first to Legend and then Four.

“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”

Somehow, the rain gets colder.

Or: A series of fics focused on Four and his interactions, inside and out.

Four usually enjoys the rain.

Most would probably assume he wouldn't. Rain meant high humidity, which often meant having to crank his fires even higher in order to fight off the cursed moisture that affects the melting point of metals. Rain also meant less people wandering the dirt roads beyond Hyrule Town, ergo, less people coming in to buy or commission weapons.

Some might also assume he hated rain due to his– uhhhm– reduced stature and its apparent susceptibility to the cold.

But the people who assumed that would be wrong.  Every single part of Four finds joy in the rain.

Part of him loves it for its practicality; the way he can easily open a window in the forge to let out the hot air, making it easier to breath. A breath of fresh air to cool his lungs from the smoldering heat.

Another loves it on principle, an excuse to get out of the forge and spruce up around the house while they have less people bursting in and messing everything up holy Hylia why are customers the worst? why can't they put shit back? it's all organized by species! they KNOW this sword doesnt go here! why the FUCK would they put it here???

A third likes its soft presence, a gentle staccato heard peripherally as he reads. The way it patters unobtrusively yet universally throughout the house as they go about their separate work. Something unifying even while apart.

The last loves the results; warm, creamy tea by the fire with the others maybe followed by a run through the puddles outside if he’s good enough at guilt tripping them with puppy dog eyes.

All of him loves its smell and the cool, refreshing feeling it leaves in the air, battling away the overly warm winds common to his Hyrule.

So yes, Four usually enjoys the rain.

But not right now.

Right now it sucks.

It is absolutely pouring and has been since they had set off from their cave that morning.

They’re in Hyrule’s Hyrule– Goddesses, that sounds stupid C’mon thats not nice– headed toward what the traveling hero had called a nearby town.

A nearby town that is apparently more than a three hour walk away.

To be fair, he did say ‘relatively nearby.’  Stated plainly. Flat but at least diplomatic.

A fat lot of good that does us now. Sniped back, pissed for the sake of being pissed at this point.

Four sighs, making sure not to let his annoyance pull his face into a scowl. He knows it's no use getting angry at anyone. It was either walk through the rain, or stay in the cave until the inclement weather let up.

One entailed a cold but ultimately painless three hour walk. The other, being in an enclosed space with 8 other versions of himself for an unknown period of time.

He knows which one he would choose any day. No one needs a bored Wind and Wild with access to unlimited bombs. Or Warriors and Legend forced to share close quarters with no end in sight. Or Twilight and Time animatedly discussing farming techniques for hours with no escape.

Not even the Triforce of Courage would make him brave enough to face that.

Doesn't mean I have to like it… Agitated but calmer, the ocean’s surface settling after a storm.

Now if only this storm would let up.

Four swipes a hand across his face for what feels like the millionth time that day, brushing away the droplets of water threatening to drip into his eyes from the ridge of his eyebrows. Pin pricks of not-quite-pain flare across his cheeks as more freezing rain whips against his already cold skin.

There is a dull ache in his head courtesy of the ponytail he has pulled his hair into. It sits at the back of his head, soggy and drooping, pulling at his scalp. However, the smithy makes no move to remove it from its tie. He had gotten tired of tucking away the sopping wet curtains of hair at around the one hour mark of their walk.

He’ll take the slight headache over wet hair perpetually in his eyes and mouth, thank you very much.

He, unfortunately, can't do anything about his tunic. The patchwork cloth hangs sodden and heavy from his frame, slapping against his forearms and thighs as he trudges behind the others. His boots are likewise sopping wet, water squishing up between his toes with each step. It feels like he's walking barefoot through a freezing swamp. Uncomfortable and vaguely disgusting.

To put it shortly– Oh, fuck off– he’s having a terrible time.

But at least he’s not alone in that department.

From his vantage point near the back, Four can see Hyrule as he leads the group, normally fluffy brunette hair slicked back and stuck to his skull as he treads onward determinedly. Even from behind, Four can tell that his arms are crossed tightly over his chest. Whether it’s from concern, habit, or to ward off the cold, he can’t tell.

Legend and Sky walk behind the traveling hero, almost shoulder to shoulder with one another as they plod onwards. An unusual pair to be sure. Well, at least it would be, if Sky hadn’t divulged to Four earlier that morning that he was taking it upon himself to keep Legend in line for the day. The already snappish Link could blow his gasket at the drop of a hat on a good day, let alone their current circumstances.

But even Legend would think twice about losing his cool with Sky, and the chosen hero knew it. Not enough people give Sky credit for his machinations, the short hero muses as he watches Sky throw a disarming smile and an unheard comment to the pink haired hero, who looks like he's grinding his teeth to stumps with the effort of keeping his snark in check.

Weaponized kindness is not something to be underestimated. Four should know; part of him wields it just as effectively against the others– a hot knife through butter.

Come on guys, I’m not that bad. The words themselves indignant, but undercut with a warm tinge of self-satisfaction.

Easy for you to say. You’ve never been on the receiving end of one of your disappointed looks. Breezes back, flashes of the exact face blinking into existence behind Four’s eyes. Warm amber eyes clouded over and brows furrowed. Freckled cheeks drawn in and lips pouted.

Four feels himself shutter and not from the cold. Yeesh, just the thought of it makes him feel bad.

I just don't like hearing him cry is all. Words grumbled.

Oh, you don’t have to convince us. Tone that of pointed indifference. A verbal nudge in the ribs.

For once in your life, shut up! Voice rising quickly like the tide. More embarrassed than actually annoyed.

Softy. Comes the definitive response, three different tones shaping the thought.

Four shakes his head, a slight smile finding its way onto his face despite the circumstances. Sometimes it paid to have four distinctive thought processes running at once, if only to derive enjoyment from three of them ripping the fourth to shreds.

A wet slapping noise draws Four’s attention away from the teasing massacre currently occupying his mind.

Next to him, Four can see Warriors trudging with a weary expression on his face. His normally majestic scarf hangs heavily from his neck, sopping wet. With each step, the cloth smacks into the back of his legs, the source of the noise that had alerted the smithy.

Warriors seems to have had enough of it, because he takes ahold of the part of the scarf wrapped around his neck and swings the cloth around to secure it more tightly against his throat. In his annoyance, Four can see that the older hero has used more force than he had probably intended.

Oh no It’s his own fault There’s no time to warn him This is gonna be good.

Four watches with mounting– excitement? apprehension?–  anticipation as the water logged cloth sweeps around and around Warriors’ neck before the end of the fabric reaches the Captain’s unsuspecting face, slapping him with a resounding wet clap.

The older hero freezes in shock, the sodden scarf remaining stuck in place for a moment before slowly sloughing off his face, leaving an absolutely shocked and sputtering expression in its wake.

The Pretty Boy glances around to make sure no one saw that and catches Four’s gaze locked on him. Blue eyes widen into a pleading look.

Four lets the corners of his lips raise minutely.

Oh yes. He did, in fact, see that.

The captain lets out a quiet groan and speeds up his steps, head ducking lower as the tips of his ears turn a faint pink.

Four forces down the laughter threatening to escape his lips. Better to let the Captain stew in embarrassment for the moment and bring it up later, when he’s not expecting it. Preferably with Legend present.

Karma for all the ‘kiddo’ jabs and short jokes.

What goes around, comes around.

Like a wet scarf? Four’s left eye twitches, a wink almost slipping from his brain into real life.

I hate that I’m associated with you.

You aren’t just associated with me. You are m– Shit!

Though his toes are numb from the cold, Four can feel as his left foot slips too far forward, gliding across the rain slicked grass like it’s ice. His right foot sweeps forward automatically, trying to stabilize him, but only succeeding in sliding forward as well.

A jolt of sick anticipation wells up in his stomach.

So much for having dirt on Warriors.

But before gravity has its way with him , a warm hand reaches out and pushes between his shoulder blades. After a moment, Four’s boots finally find purchase back on the ground, stabilizing the short hero before he falls flat on his ass and slides down the small hill they are on.

“Careful,” Time says as he steps past the now steadied smith, words flat with an odd mix of weariness, irony, and humor. “It’s slippery.”

Before Four can thank the older hero for the save, there is a shout of “wait!” and two blue blurs of movement rush past Four’s other side, close enough for him to feel the splatter of water and displaced air brush against him as they do.

A trail of boisterous laughter follows behind the blurs. As the two descend down the hill, the shapes resolve themselves into Wild and Wind, one standing upright on a shield while the other rides sitting down on his like a sled.

“Yeah, Four!” Wind’s voice shouts, giggly and growing fainter as he speeds away. “It’s slippery!”

Wind and Wild’s laughs mingle and fade as they reach the foot of the hill, both boys splashing into more runoff waiting for them at the bottom. Sky and Legend, standing too close, jump back a shade too late and end up with water sprayed up onto their pants.

Well, pants and bare legs respectively.

Thats what he gets for not fucking wearing pants.

Four watches as the pink haired hero lets out a hiss, furiously (and futilely) wiping at his legs while Sky simply leans down and helps Wind up from the puddle with a fondly exasperated shake of his head.

With a roll of his eyes and a grumble, Legend steps up to Wild with a hand outstretched to ostensibly help him up as well. But, as the scarred teen reaches out to take it, Legend’s face scrunches, a smile with too many teeth splitting his face and he stomps down, throwing water into the younger hero’s face.

For a second, the smithy thinks Wild will lash out with a splash in retaliation, but the scarred teen simply wipes a hand down his face and then grins up at Legend.  

Quick as a whip, Wild grabs the veteran hero’s hand with two of his own and yanks.

Legend lets out a squawk and goes face first into the water.

Wild scrambles out of the puddle and out of the danger zone of Legend’s flailing arms, laughing as he does. Wind greets him with a high five while Sky watches on with a small smile.

Hyrule steps forward to help his predecessor out while trying to quell the smile on his lips as he does. No need to piss off the pink haired hero more.

As Four watches this all unfold, Twilight finally comes to stand next to him. The man sighs and Four glances at him as they begin to trudge down the hill together. The farmhand’s shoulders slump under the weight of his sodden pelt. He looks exhausted. And he smells like wet dog.

His face is tired but as he looks at the others– Warriors, Wind, and Wild laughing, Legend glaring from over Hyrule’s shoulder, Sky and Time looking on, not offering to help in the slightest– as he looks at them, something about the elder seems to soften and  the bags under his eyes seem to lighten, if only a little.

“I swear,” he says, voice airy with an exhale as he shakes his head. “Those kids are going to kill me.”

“Ah, youth,” Four agrees with a sage nod.

Twilight glances down, giving Four a dry look despite the wet hair hanging in front of his eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

…

It only takes a few moments for Four and Twilight to reach where the rest of the group waits for them.

Now that Four is paying more attention to his surroundings instead of keeping his head bowed against the rain, he can see that they are walking down into a small valley between two hill ranges.

What Four had thought was just a large puddle that Wind and Wild (and Legend) had fallen into is actually a small stream that cuts in and out around the mounds of dirt. It babbles lightly, slightly swollen with the newly added run off from the surrounding hills.

Twilight clears it in a single stride.

Show off.

Four follows, but needs a small hop to avoid the water.

Hyrule smiles as they finally draw near.

“We’re close now!” the traveling hero says. He points over the crest of the hill they stand at the foot of. “It’s just at the bottom of that hill.”

“Finally,” Legend spits, futilely wringing out his hat. He slaps the wet cloth over the back of his head with a scowl directed at Wild. The teen smiles back.

Time nods in approval. “Good. That should give us enough time to find a place to stay and gather supplies.” A single eye flicks back to Hyrule. “You said there was a hotel of some kind?”

“Yeah,” An emphatic nod from Hyrule. “There’s an abandoned house at the edge of town. The shopkeeper rents it out to travelers. There should be enough room for all of us.”

“Then let’s get a move on,” Time says, getting a nod from in response.

With the thought of a warm and dry place to stay so close, the group sets off up the hill in brighter spirits. Hyrule in particular, Four notes, strides forward with quickened steps, taking up the lead once again as he practically jogs up the hill.

Before long, they crest the hill top, giving the group the chance to finally see the town that had necessitated four hours of walking in misery.

Thats it What did you expect So small Well you heard how he talked about his Hyrule

… Town was probably too generous a word for it.

Sitting down in a nest of hills at the base of a mountain in the distance, sits fifteen or twenty buildings. They are divided by a thin river, a single arched bridge stitching the two sides of the village back together.

Surrounding the hamlet is a short and crumbling wall, mossy and coming apart at the seams. More for show than actual protection. A semblance of control, a dream of safety.

Running beside the river are small plots of land, measured out and carved into neat rows. Farms. Important for survival, but apparently not worth building houses next to. Better to stay behind the shattered cobblestone than out in the open. Safety in numbers. Not worth dying over a potato.

It’s quiet, no movement of people running to get into shelter from the rain. No children jumping in puddles or parents calling them back in from the cold.

No.

Rather, only a few lanterns are lit at all. Everything else is dark and silent.

Hyrule steps forward, a sheepish, self-deprecating smile on his face. His eyes are downcast. Embarrassed. He sweeps a hand out to the buildings, ducking low as if trying to sink out of their eye line.

“Welcome to Saria Town,” he says. His eyes flick up for a moment before returning to the ground. His painted smile drips a little in the rain. “I know it’s not much… but it’s safe.”

Next to him, out of the corner of his eye, Four can see Time tense, though at what, he can not say. Then the Old Man steps forward.  “It looks perfect.”

Hyrule’s head snaps up, hazel eyes wide first in shock, before he relaxes into a grin. Time gives him a nod.

“Lead the way.”

The traveling hero nods, stepping down the hill, head held a little higher as he does. Time follows closely with Legend, Warriors, and Sky not far behind.

Four is about to join them when a voice from behind stops him.

“Don’t,” Twilight groans. Four turns back in confusion, only to see that the exasperated word wasn't directed at him but rather, the two blondes just behind him.

Four glances at the two boys, and instantly sees why.

The two are gazing intently down the hill, sizing it up. They apparently like what they see because the two grin widely at each other. The blue clad heroes hold out their shields to one another, tapping them together in a mock ‘shield high-five’.

“Race you there?” Wind asks, eyes fire bright and face pulled into a grin of challenge

“You even need to ask, Sailor?” Wild replies cockily, already tossing his shield to the ground.

“On the count of three…” Wind says. Wild steps one foot on his shield– not his Hylian shield, Four notes with some relief, but rather a long, steel gray one– and braces the other behind him, ready to throw himself forward.

“One,” Wild says. Wind places his hands on his shield, ready to jump.

“Two.” They tense.

“Don’t,” Twilight interrupts again swiping wet hair from his face as he gives them a hard look. “Someone could get–”

“THREE!”

Wild pushes off. Wind vaults forward. The two fly , twin whoops echoing through the quiet air as they descend. For a second, the two boys are lost in the joy of the moment, voices caught in that youthful inbetween of yell and laughter.

And then that second ends.

The two sober, all business.  Wild leans forward on his shield, tucking his arms in to become more aerodynamic. Wind catches on to the others plot and quickly mirrors the older hero, hunkering down and shifting his weight forward to match Wild.  

They’re neck and neck.

And then–

“Shit!”

The harsh crack of snapping leather echoes clear and brutal through the air. Wild’s front foot slides forward on the wet metal, no longer anchored down by the arm strap. The scarred teen throws his weight backward, trying to keep himself from falling forward while simultaneously  slowing down his now out of control descent.

The metal wobbles precariously beneath Wild’s feet and then jerks sharply to the left, throwing it’s rider. With a cut off shout, he slams into the side of an helpless Wind, knocking the other boy from his shield as well. Tangled together, the two careen down the water slicked hill at a break-neck pace, headed straight for…

“Look out!” Bursts its way past Four’s lips without him even knowing.

Sky and Warriors jolt out of the way, their reaction times impeccable as always. Legend and Time reach out to grab the person in front of them…

Too late.

The two blondes slam into Hyrule’s unsuspecting back, the traveling hero only able to get out a shocked gasp before his legs are swiped out from beneath him and the three tumble in a mass of limbs, wet tunics, and pained shouts the rest of the way down the hill.

Four doesn't even need to consult his disparate thought processes. They’re already in agreement.

His feet carry him down the hill almost at a dead sprint, only the barest of thoughts spared to worry about slipping himself.

Vaguely, he can hear Twilight’s steps pounding behind him. In front of him, he can see the others sprint downward as well, Warrior’s feet even sliding beneath him before he rights himself and continues.

By the time Four slides to a stop, the others are already helping the three groaning boys.

Warriors sits up a groaning Wind. At just a glance, Four can see that the teen looks scratched, bruised, and grass stained but overall fine. Sky hands the boy a red potion that the sailor sips at, unwilling to drink more than he needs.

Wild looks much the same, though, the smithy notes that the champion is clutching at a rapidly purpling ankle. He looks more embarrassed than hurt though, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck as Twilight chews him out and Time examines his leg.

Hyrule though…

As Legend helps the traveling hero up, Four’s eyes are immediately drawn to the thin scarlet line streaming from the brunette’s temple, the blood mixing and thinning with the rain, snaking across his cheek before dripping down his chin. A cruel mirror of the rain.

“Is he okay?” Four asks as he kneels down, unable to help himself. He reaches a hand out, the need to help and comfort slightly overwhelming, but with no clear outlet, his arm simply hovers without use.

Legend shoots Four a poisonous look that screams ‘What a dumb fucking question’ but otherwise ignores him in favor of brushing a few strands of Hyrule’s hair back so he can examine the wound closer.

Hyrule’s eyes flutter open at the gentle touch.

“M’ fine, I’m fine,” he says dizzily, swatting weakly at Legend’s prodding hand.  

The veteran hero huffs out a breath, taking Hyrule’s hand and carefully pulling it out of the way as he leans in for a closer look. “Stop moving. I think you hit your head on a rock. You’re bleeding.”

Hyrule’s eyes snap open, the haziness in his hazel depths igniting with a fever bright glow. Now that his eyes are wide open, Four can see that the teen’s pupils are dilated, one a pinprick while the other gapes wide, a dark hole in a green field.

Well that can’t be good Concussion maybe even a severe one We have to help him He needs a potion now

Four takes ahold of Hyrule’s shoulder to steady the other teen and then turns to dig through his satchel for a potion.

Hyrule, apparently, has other plans.

The traveling hero jerks up and away, throwing Four’s hand off him and almost headbutting Legend in his haste to sit up more fully. He slams a hand up to his forehead, swiping directly over the wound. Pain doesn't even register on his rapidly paling face. He pulls his hand back and inspects it, mismatched pupils tracing the blood that drips from the tips of his fingers.

He stares at the red for a moment.

And then Hyrule collapses in on himself.

Both arms reach other the top of his head, wrists crossing over the back of his skull. His hands run between wet curls once gently before gripping and pulling. Knees snap upward, allowing Hyrule to curl up fully, hiding himself from their gazes.

“No, no, no no no no nonononono!” he whispers, voice and shoulders shaking.

Four’s heart breaks.

“Calm down,” Legend cuts in, voice hard as stone but eyes as soft as the dark clouds hanging over them. His hand hovers over Hyrule’s back, like he’s afraid that a single touch would shatter the boy to pieces.  “It’s just a scratch,” he insists.

“No!” the traveler cries, arms dropping from their position above his head. Instead of clutching desperately at his hair, Hyrule’s hands fist into the fabric of his wet undershirt sleeves, using them to frantically scrub at the skin of his face.

With one more vicious wipe, Hyrule pulls his sleeves from his face.

Four sighs sadly at the sight.

Rather than cleaning his skin, the frantic hero has only succeeded in spreading the diluted blood all over his face. The only part of his face that could be considered ‘cleaner’ would be the tear tracks slowly drawing clear lines beneath his eyes.

The injured teen seems satisfied for a moment. But then he looks down at his now bloodied sleeves. With another distressed noise, he tucks his arms under his armpits and throws his head back against his knees, once again curling back up.

Four feels his heart pulled in so many directions. He feels warm, hot, too hot  concern churn his stomach. Cool, cold, too cold anger shoves icicles into his lungs. Wind and Wild’s fault. Rain’s fault. His fault. No where to put the anger and so it grows, piercing. The need for action whistles in his mind, a whirlwind of frantic thoughts. A mountain of unfamiliar uncertainty lodges in his heart, dividing it further.

He wants to pull Hyrule into him and crush him with a hug but knows it will only frighten the boy more. He wants to clean the other’s face and hand him a potion and punch his shoulder for freaking him out and laugh about something stupid and not be here right now in the rain with a desperately injured friend feeling so fucking usless We have to do something Please Please Please We have to help!

No, what we need to do is calm down.

calmdowncalmdown Calm down Calm down, Calm down.

Calm down.

Beside him, Four can hear Legend curse under his breath and begin to shuffle through his bag, though what exactly he is looking for, the smithy isn't sure. His hands become more and more hurried as he searches, fingers flicking through his pockets aggressively.

“Calm down.”

Legend’s eyes flick up, hands stilling as he seems to see Four for the first time since this whole debacle started.

“What?” he hisses, keeping his voice low so as not to cause Hyrule more distress with his angry tone.

“Calm down,” Four says simply. “I know you want to help him. So do I. But right now he’s scared and confused. Getting upset will only make things worse.”

The veteran hero glares at Four, and Four stares right back, not challenging but not exactly sympathetic either. He knows what he’s talking about, even if it pisses off the pink haired hero. Right now, there is no room for negative emotion. Only action.

They hold eye contact for only a moment more before Legend looks away, deflating.The veteran takes a deep breath. In… out. Something, the fight, goes out of him, leaving Legend looking to all the world like a tired young man, soaked to the bone, cold, and worried.

“Hey ‘Rule,” Legend begins, voice low as he inches closer to the curled up boy. Four follows his lead,  slowly shuffling his way to the injured teen’s other side. Hyrule doesn't react. A good sign.

Or a really really bad sign.

Legend carefully places his arm around the traveling hero’s shoulders. “Hyrule, can I see your head? I need to-”

But the teen shakes his head and tenses up further, looking more akin to a Goron getting ready to roll.

“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.

Suddenly, Hyrule throws his head up and away from his knees, eyes large and faraway. His eyes flick left right left right, somewhere or some when else. He reaches out a hand to no one but the rain. Then, slowly, far too slowly to be natural, he turns too bright eyes first to Legend and then Four.

“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”

Somehow, the rain gets colder.  

“It’s okay,” Legend says, voice the most comforting Four thinks he’s ever heard it. The pink haired man places an open bottle of red potion into the other’s outstretched hand and then helps the injured teen to curl his fingers around the glass. Legend guides Hyrule’s hand up until the bottle reaches his lips, all the while, blank hazel eyes stare forward, unshifting.

Hyrule drinks from the bottle reflexively.

Four feels the other boy’s muscles uncoil little by little as his throat bobs to swallow. Wide eyes blink once, twice, three times and then finally refocus, dizziness replaced with slightly pained confusion.

The cut on his forehead scabs over and before he can stop himself, Four reaches up and brushes the blood from the side of Hyrule’s face with his own sleeve.

“Better?” Legend asks.

“Yeah. Better,” Hyrule replies. And then, with a wince, “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Legend cuts him off. “Not your fault.”

“Still,” Hyrule says. His eyebrows furrow, confusion easily written on his face. “I… I don't know what came over me.”

“You were injured and confused,” Four says diplomatically, giving his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Part of him still wants to hug the other hero. He valiantly holds himself back. But only just. “It could have happened to any of us.”

“But it was more than that! I felt… It felt like…” Hyrule sighs, shaking his head and then stops, closing his eyes at the surge of pain that comes with the movement. “I guess it doesn't matter anymore.”

The traveling hero gingerly runs a finger along the edge of his scab, displeasure pulling at his lips.

“Do we have any bandages? Or something to cover this up?”

“Sorry, we just used the last of them to wrap Wild's ankle.”

The three heroes start and look up, surprised to see Twilight approaching them. As he walks closer, Four notices that the others are looking at them as well, and though concerned, none of them make any moves to get closer.

Good. The last thing Hyrule needs right now is a crowd.

Four had honestly forgotten that they had an audience. Albeit a captive audience but an audience all the same.

Judging by the slightly embarrassed tint to Legend’s face, so did he.

“It doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore,” Twilight continues, leaning down to get a better look at the now mostly closed wound. “You should be fine without anything, I think.”

“I know. I just don’t like going into town injured is all.”

That seems counterintuitive. Drops like a stone in water in the back of his mind, stirring up a few responses.

Maybe he just doesn't like freaking out the locals. Suggests one.

Based on this place, they’ve probably seen worse. Mutters a second.

Oh hey, guys, I think I’ve got something! Says the last, brightly.

An image flashes in Four’s mind. He nods.

Four reaches back and pulls at one of the loose ends of his makeshift hair tie. Sopping wet curtains of hair fall back around his face, the headband that he usually wears now sitting limp in his hand.

He takes both ends of the green ribbon and pulls it taut. Then he turns and lays it flat against Hyrule’s forehead. Leaning forward a bit more, he ties it gently but securely around the other’s head, mindful of the pain the other must be in.  

When he sits back on his heels to examine his work, he realises that the others had fallen silent. Legend and Twilight stare at him while Hyrule sits, a small, shell shocked expression on his face.  Four’s eyes jump back and forth between the three. Eventually he settles on a shrug and a neutral face.

“What? He needs it more than me.”

While sweet, I do believe that is wildly unsanitary.

Oh no! I’m sorry!

Don't worry about it! We all agreed.

A spike of annoyance.

Well, most of us agreed and the fourth didn't put up a fight.  We’re not that far out of town anyway. We can get him clean bandages there.

Way to ruin the moment, asshole.

Despite the conversation in his head, outside it remains quiet. After another beat, Hyrule slowly runs a finger across the wet cloth now ties to his forehead.

When he brings his hand back to eye level, his fingertips come back wet but clean. No blood.

A small smile lights up Hyrule’s face, some color finally returning to his face.

“Thank you.”

…

After making sure everyone is okay, the group of heroes finally, finally makes it into town.

As they stumble through the gates, Four muses that if anyone were outside to witness them, they would be getting quite a few looks. Because… Well...

We look like shit.

Leading the group is Time, probably looking the least worn for wear when compared to the rest of them. However, Four notes that even the Old Man didnt get out of their absolutely joy filled trek unscathed.

As he strides further into town, head on a swivel for the store Hyrule had described to him, the Hero of Time walks with an odd gait, shifting his hips slightly to the left as he steps forward. Water must have penetrated the underlayer of his armor Four thinks with a wince. Poor Old Man must be chafing like there is no tomorrow under there.

Behind Time stumbles the procession of the wounded.

Or something like that.

Wind and Warriors walk together, the older hero keeping an eye on the younger as they enter the heart of the seemingly deserted town. The sailor keeps tugging on his makeshift sling: Warriors’ scarf looped twice around the young boy’s neck cradling his arm. Though not broken, Warriors had not accepted anything less than making sure it was wrapped and immoble, something that had Wind groaning and whining about being babied.

Twilight and Wild shuffle behind them, the champion’s left arm thrown over Twilight’s shoulders so the farmhand can help keep weight off the younger boy’s ankle. Though no longer swelling after a potion, the joint was still sore. Wild had assured them that after a good meal and some sleep he’d be fine, but Twilight insisted on helping him walk until they found a place to rest.

(“So you can't trip and drown yourself in the river,” Twilight had said derisively as he helped the teen stand up earlier. Said teen stuck his tongue out in response, but Four could see the affectionate smile tugging at the champion’s lips.)

Bringing up the rear is the triad of Sky, Legend, and Hyrule. The latter is not supported between the other two, but both older heroes damn near frog march the poor kid between them, each with a guiding hand on his upper arm.

The still slightly dazed teen walks slowly. He is wearing one of Wild’s hoods– the teen had felt so sorry about the whole incident, he jumped at the chance to make the traveling hero more comfortable, even if only for a moment– making it difficult to tell where exactly he was looking, but he turned his head slowly, searching.

“There!” he said, pointing to a building on the left.

Four follows his arm. The building in question is one of the few with a lantern out front. On a whole, the place looks worn down, like too stiff of a breeze would knock it down. It has a small overhang, probably for shade in the summer. From the rafters of the awning, hangs an old wooden sign suspended on rusted chains. A simple bottle design is painted on the molding planks in what was probably white paint at some point, but now looks chipped and faded into a shade Four would call ‘dirty snow.’

Light streams from the singular window out front, advertising warmth within.

“Do all of the houses have these?” Time asks, finger pointed up at the overhang. Hyrule nods in response.

“Okay.” The Old Man falls silent for just a moment. “Okay, here’s the plan. Hyrule, I want you to lead everyone to the house we will be staying in for the night. We don't want to alarm anyone with our wounded and I’m assuming there won't be enough room in the storefront for everyone.” He directs his last statement to Hyrule, who nods.

“Four, Wind,” Four feels his head tilt to the side at the mention of his name and thinks he sees the sailor do the same on the other side. “You’ll be with me. Everyone else, try to stay warm under the awning if at all possible.”

“Why do the brats get to go inside?” Legend asks sourly, causing Four’s metaphorical hackles to rise. Wind opens his mouth to spit something probably filled with expletives, at the other hero, but Time beats him to it.

“What kind of father would I be if I left my poor, injured sons outside in the rain?” He says, with what Four would call a mischievous smile on his face. If his bad eye wasn’t perpetually closed, Four would assume the Old Man would be winking at them too.

Maybe he is winking and we just can’t see it.

How does that work?

Aww, he called us his son!

Wait a minute…

“Now, hold on,” Four says, drowned out by six distinct laughs.

“I did NOT agree to be used as a prop!” Wind hisses above the din in agreement with Four’s sentiment, eyebrows pulled low and a glower plastered over his face. Yeesh, Four forgot how expressive Wind’s face was. Kid looks pissed.

Time raises his hands in surrender, his smile turning from mischief to frank in a second.

"Look, these people are scared. It’s a harsh world out there. If you were a shopkeep in a small town and nine heavily armed people entered demanding a place to stay, wouldn't that frighten you a little?” He doesn't wait for a response before continuing. “A father with his sons and a small band of injured travelers is a much easier story to swallow.”

“If you want to play the father, why don’t you take Twilight then?” Four asks, his voice somehow coming out both huffy and genuinely questioning. “You two at least look like you have a little bit of family resemblance.”

Time and Twilight share a look.

The oldest hero throws a hand behind his head, rubbing at his neck. Eyebrows up, smile sheepish. “Bringing in a soaking wet, pissed off farmhand wont make for quite as sympathetic a image.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard, you know that, right?” Legend says flatly.

“What? What do you mean?” Wind asks.

“He wants to bring the two of you in because you,” he points at Four, “look like a drowned rat. And you,” he turns to Wind, “look like a drowned rat with a broken arm.”

"Why don’t I break your arm? Then we’ll match!” Wind spits, marching over to Legend, who sports an unimpressed look on his face. Warriors grabs the back of the smaller hero’s sling, holding him back.

Four blows out a breath from between his lips, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

They, unfortunately, have a point.

You would be okay with lying.

If it’s to help everyone else, then yes, I am.

It’s demeaning!

It’s useful.

Four pinches harder. His head pounds.

Guys. Stop.

Please!

A blessed moment of internal silence.

Four can vaguely hear Wind telling Warriors to let him go. Wild eggs the younger boy on while Twilight threatens to drop the teen if he continues. Legend merely huffs, probably daring the kid to make good on his words. Time sternly tells them to keep it down, probably thinking of the townsfolk or Hyrule’s delicate head.

They ignores it all.

They take stock of how they feel. Angry. Loved. Embarrassed. Annoyed. Regretful. Tired. Hungry. Cold. Bruises on their knee, grass stains on their leggings. A friend’s blood on their sleeve. A splitting headache, but thankfully not a Splitting headache.

They’re not in a good place. Fighting will only make it worse.

Fine… I see your point…

Four’s hand pulls at the leather strap securing his sword to his back, pulling it over his head and off his shoulder. He wraps the worn leather around and around the sword, making sure the strap doesn't come loose and then he holds the blade out to a now silent and very confused looking Wild.

“Uhhhhh,” the champions says, “What are you doing?”

“If we are going to pretend to be normal kids, I figured we probably shouldn’t be armed.”

Four holds out the sword more insistently. Wild takes it gingerly, like it will bite him if he handles it too roughly. Or like it’ll break if he looks at it wrong. With his track record, that could actually be an issue.

“If you break it, I’ll break you,” Four hears pour out of his mouth with a hiss, and he wonders if his eyes are flashing cobalt at the moment.

Based on the way Wild’s eyes widen, Four guesses they are. Whatever. If it keeps the champion’s mitts off his sword, it's worth the weirdness. He knows the other teen can’t actually break the Four Sword– he’s too good a smith to make the magic sword that defined his era anything less than perfect– but he sure as hell doesn't want the teen touching it more than necessary either.

What a nightmare that would be.

Wind huffs, seeming to calm a bit. Warriors lets the teen go and the sailor strides up next to Four, roughly unstrapping his own sword and shoving it at Wild as well. It disappears with Four’s own, into the slate.

There is something about seeing his sword disappear, the ever present option suddenly taken away, that makes Four’s skin feel too tight. It’s like when you never realise you’re thirsty until suddenly you're out and about with nothing to drink. He feels itchy and too small. He wants to scratch at his head. No, the seams of his brain.

He stays his hand.

Legend rolls his eyes and turns away from the group, apparently done with the scene they’re making. He places a gentle hand back on Hyrule’s shoulder. The pressure seems to jolt the other hero, who until that moment had been spacing out.

“Lead the way. The sooner we can get everyone out of the rain the better.”

Hyrule nods. Sky takes up his old position at the traveler’s other side, and together the three start heading toward the bridge.

Wild throws his arm back over Twilights shoulder.

“I’ll take care of your stuff,” he says sincerely and then the two turn to follow the others at a slightly slower pace.

“Watch out for them?” Time asks Warriors as the other man turns to leave.

“Will do!” The captain shoots back with a smile and a salute then he’s gone, around the corner and out of sight.

With the others taken care of, Time turns back to look at them. Four keeps his face as stony as possible. Next to him, Wind scowls, tapping one foot on the ground repeatedly, a soft splat splat splat in the mud.

Time moves past them until he stands just in front of the door before he throws a look over his shoulder and beckons them forward.

“Oh, he so owes us,” Wind mutters as he and Four come to stand at the oldest hero’s side. Four nods in agreement.

“I’ll do most of the talking,” Time says. He glances down at Four. “You’re much too mature sounding for your own good.”

Before Four can ask what, exactly, that’s supposed to mean, Time has moved on to Wind. “And you keep your hands–hmm– hand to yourself. I know you have sticky fingers, little pirate.”

With that, the man pushes the door open and walks in.

“Don’t throw out your back opening the door, Dad,” Wind grumbles, sarcasm dripping from the final word.

“You’ll have to speak up, dear brother of mine. You know our father’s hearing is going.” Four mutters back.

They share a sour look for a moment, before small smiles break over their faces. Then quickly, before the door closes, they follow Time inside.

Inside, it is warm. While Four isn't exactly thrilled with the part he is playing, the warmth of the room is definitely an upside to the deal. Inside, it is also cramped. Like Time had predicted, the front room is small, with little room between the door and the counter, very much unlike his own shop.

Behind the counter, a woman’s humming is suddenly cut short at the sound of the door opening and closing. A head of mousy brown hair perks up and glances over the desk. There is a soft gasp and a smack as she drops what she was doing behind the desk and straightens up with wide and curious, amber eyes.

Interesting color.

Please, like we’re one to talk.

“Hello!” She greets cheerfully, though Four thinks he sees her eyeing Time’s sword. Huh. Though he misses it like a phantom limb, maybe it was for the best he left the Four Sword with Wild.

“I haven’t seen you all around here before. What can I do you for?”

Time smiles, charming but not too charming. Less flirty, more the rustic hospitality of a rancher. A real man of the people and all that nonsense.

“We’re just passing through. My sons and I were traveling with a group of merchants when we got caught in the storm. We ran into some problems,” Time says, gesturing to Wind and his slinged arm, “and now we’re just hoping to find somewhere to get us out of the rain.”

The woman gasps, a hand coming up to cup around her mouth.

“Oh you poor dears!” The woman exclaims. She leans over the desk–practically falling over it– to get a better look at Wind, who leans backward in response. “What happened?”

“I, uhhhhh, slipped and fell down a hill,” Wind says, taking a small step back.

The woman’s head snaps toward Four next, and suddenly, the smithy understands the other’s reaction. Her amber eyes are intense, burning with something unidentifiable. Maternal instinct? Maybe? Four wouldn’t know. Never really knew his mother.

“And what about you, dear?”

Four’s eyebrows furrow. He didn't think he looked all that bad. Definitely not visibly injured like the others. He glances down at himself to make sure nothing is out of place and– oh. The blood on his sleeve. Hyrule’s blood. Right.

“I cut myself on a bush,” Four lies smoothly.

“Hmmm, you have a couple of clumsy boys then,” the shopkeep says, eyes still locked on Four.

Okay, she’s freaky, right? Oh yeah Maybe she’s just bad at first impressions I wouldn't say we’re the best judge of normal anyway

Time laughs. Four thinks the Old Man is trying to sound agreeable, but it sounds more nervous. No. That’s not quite right. Uneasy. Ready to be done with the interaction and back with the others.

“They get it from me, unfortunately,” he says, making an aborted motion toward his face, his eye.

There is a beat of silence.

“So,” Time continues, “A place to stay…?”

The woman blinks, finally tearing her gaze from Four and leaning back onto her side of the counter. A kind smile slides its way back onto her face, like it’s her default expression.

“Yes. Yes of course. Just a moment.” She turns away, shifting through a drawer on the back counter. While she’s not looking, Wind shoots Four a look, face scrunched in question and good hand drawing small circles next to the side of his head.

Four shrugs in response.

Time smacks both of them on the back of their heads as the woman turns back around.

“Here we are,” the woman holds out a key, old and rusty. Time reaches into his wallet but the shopkeep shakes her head. “No, no. This one’s on the house. For your troubles.”

“We couldn’t possibly-”

“It’s no trouble at all,” She insists. “Old place could use some life in it after so long.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Time says uncertainly. “Can I at least buy a few of those in thanks?” he asks gesturing to the shelf of red potions.

The woman smiles. “Seems fair to me.”

Time finally pulls out some rupees, exchanging them for five bottles filled with scarlet, viscous liquid and the key.

With their business seemingly concluded, Wind and Four turn to see themselves out, but Time grabs them, holding them in place.

Four restrains a groan. Though he had enjoyed the warmth when they had first entered, now it felt heavy and oppressive in a way that even the heat of the forge never did. There was something about this place that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his head feel fuzzy. Like he was being watched; watched by something other than the shopkeeper’s piercing amber gaze.

He wants to leave. Now.

“One more question if you wouldn’t mind,” the Old Man starts to Four’s chagrin. “While we plan to stay a few days to rest, we will be heading out at some point. We heard that there were increased monster sightings.”

The shopkeeper's head tilts at this, as though this is news to her.

“We were wondering if there was anyone we could talk to who might have some more information. Locations of sightings and the like so we can avoid those areas.”

She brings a hand to her chin and her eyes angle up and to the left in thought.

“Hmmm, well, you could go ask old Norman. He runs the bar in town. Gets lots of travelers through there. He might have heard of something.”

A smile suddenly stretches her lips. “Though he doesn't often talk for free. He might loosen up if you have a few drinks with him.”

Time nods at the information, sending her a smile in return.

“Thank you for all the help.”

The woman waves him off.

“My pleasure.”

They turn to leave and Four feels some tension leave his shoulders as Time grabs the doorknob and turns it, opening the door wide. Cold air rushes in and the smithy feels like he can breathe again.

“And kid.”

Both Four and Wind tense, look at each other and then turn. Her eyes are pinned firmly on the shortest hero’s sleeve; right over the dark stain of slowly blackening crimson. That odd, default smile still on her lips.

“Bandage that up soon, deary.”

Four nods his head rapidly and then quickly walks out the door to follow Time with Wind hot on his heels.

Though out of the room, Four still feels eyes on his back. He doesn't dare look around. Instead the smithy walks faster until he draws side by side with the older hero. Wind soon catches up, walking on Time’s other side.  

As soon as they are far enough from the shop, Wind opens his mouth.

“Soooo, she was freaky right?” Time shoots him a look. “Nice, but like, in a freaky kinda way?”

Four nods, wordlessly.

“She was kind to us. That’s all that matters,” Time says sternly. “Now, let's find the others and get inside.”

…

Thankfully, it is not difficult to find the others. It is, afterall, a very small town.

After a quick debate over who gets the old, musty beds and who gets the floor– all of the injured heroes get beds and sips of Red Potion along with their dinner of Hearty Mushroom and Pumpkin Stew– the heroes quickly turn in for the night, tired from their long day.

By the time Four wakes up, light is streaming through the windows. Huh. It must have stopped raining sometime during the night. Based on the color of the rays, it’s past sunrise. Way past sunrise if their warm, yellow glow is anything to go by.

The smithy sits up from his bed roll, blanket pooling around his waist as he looks around.

Beside him, Sky sleeps peacefully, under his blanket but with limbs sprawled out. His mouth is open and he snores softly, deep, even breaths murmuring through the air.

In the small kitchen, Time, Legend, Twilight, and Warriors sit at the table, mugs of something warm and steaming in their hands as they talk. Their conversation doesn’t appear to be serious or even really a conversation at all. One hero will contribute something every so often, but as Four watches them, more often than not, the older heroes seem content to lapse in companionable silence.

Four disentangles himself from Sky. He's glad he doesn have to worry about waking the elder– the chosen hero sleeps like the dead– so he separates himself quickly and then pads quietly over to the kitchen.

“You let us sleep in,” he says in lieu of a greeting, taking the final seat at the table. Legend pours him a mug of the drink, which he discovers to be tea, and passes it into Four’s hands. Four takes a sip.

Ah perfect Too bitter Needs some milk Maybe a little honey

He breathes in the steam, letting it fill his lungs with herbal smelling air as warmth seeps into his stomach.

“The only thing on the schedule for today is going down to the bar and that won’t open until sometime after noon,” Time replies. “Besides, I thought everyone could use a rest after yesterday.”

“Hear hear,” Warriors agrees with a raised mug. Everyone takes a sip.

After that, the group falls back into a relaxed silence that Four has no trouble maintaining. Instead he sits and sips his tea, drinking in the rare moment of peace he finds himself experiencing.

Eventually, slowly but surely, the other trickle in: first Wild, then Hyrule, and then ending with a yawning Wind who trips over and wakes the still sleeping Sky.

After a quick breakfast, Time sets them loose for a bit of leisure time.

Warriors quickly demands a rematch in BS from Legend, who acquiesces with an easy, confident grin. The two rope in Twilight and Wind and sit around the now empty kitchen table with Legend quickly distributing cards. Looking at the makeup of the group, Four would say that Warriors has approximately a 5% chance of winning. Maybe 6% if he’s lucky.

Time and Wild take opposite corners of the living room, with the Old Man sitting down to polish his armor while the champion taps away at his slate, reorganizing his inventory.

(Wild had told him the night before that taking his and Wind’s swords had made the older hero realise how unorganized everything was. Pumpkins with shields, fish with monster parts…. Four really hadn't been listening, too preoccupied with the familiar, comforting weight being returned to his back)

Sky leans against the back wall whittling… something. Four wasn't sure what it was yet but based on what he saw of the chosen hero’s talent with a carving knife, he was sure it would be great by the end.

Four curls up next to the fire, book in hand to read.He opens the book and leafs through the pages to his desired chapter, settling in. After a few moments and a few pages, a green ribbon flutters and settles itself inside the crease of the book. His headband. The smithy looks up just in time to catch Hyrule as the other hero sits next to him, needle, thread and a tunic in hand to do some mending.

"You kept tucking your hair behind your ear," he says in lieu of an explanation. "You need it more than me."

"Besides," the traveler continues, with a smile. "Now it doesn't have my blood on it anymore!"

Four smiles back, tying the cloth around his forehead, his hair finally tamed once more.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

The small hero leans back over his book. Hyrule holds the needle up to his eye, trying to thread it.

They sit together, chatting every so often but mostly just sitting in each other's company, warmed by the fire.

It's nice. The room is quiet but full of murmuring, laughter from the card table, and the rhythmic sound of scrubbing.

To Four, it seems all too soon that Time calls them back around the table to discuss their plan.

And their plan, unfortunately, is complete bullshit.

“This is complete bullshit!” Wind hisses, voicing Four’s thoughts perfectly. Well, at least one of his thoughts.

“Wind,” Time says, voice that of a tired man who already knows his patience is going to be tried at least twelve more times over the course of this conversation. “You’re thirteen. They’re not going to let you into the bar anyway.”

“That just means I can’t be caught!  I can still go on the mission!” he replies vehemently, pounding a fist on the table.

Time rubs at a spot between his eyebrows, just underneath the blue tattoo on his forehead. “First of all, what you are describing is breaking and entering. Secondly, this isn't a mission. We’re just going to get some information.”

“Oh, and I suppose you need four people to gather information?” Wild cuts in, face just as sour as Wind’s.

“Well, we sure as Hylia don't need nine,” Warriors replies in a similar state of exasperation as Time.

“Look, the four of us,” and here Time gestures to himself, Warriors, Twilight, and Sky, “Are the only ones who can get in without any questions asked.”

Wild and Legend let even heavier glowers darken their faces.

“We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible,” Time continues, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown his way. “Coming in with a big group or trying to argue with anyone will not help our case.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don't plan on drinking anything,” Sky puts in with a genuine expression of concern. Twilight slaps a hand to his tattoo, shaking his head.

“That’s not the point!” Wind huffs.

Time and Warriors share a look, which is then passed over to Twilight. The farmhand just shakes his head and the other two sigh.

“You were fine with splitting up before,” Warriors tries. “If this was just a run to the shop you wouldn’t fight so hard to come. What’s going on?”

“I’m tired of being treated like a kid. You all laughed at me and Four earlier!” The sailor says, chest puffed out. Four isn't sure if he should feel touched or offended that the younger hero feels the need to stick up for him. Whatever. He’ll figure it out later.

“And! And...” Wind looks lost for a second, like the air just went out of his sails. “I… Something just feels off. I don’t know.”

“I feel it too,” Four puts in, remembering the feeling of eyes on his back and prickling at his neck. Watching. Waiting. “I would feel better if we accompanied you as well.”

“And how do you suppose you do that?” Time asks, not exactly unkindly but with little sympathy in his words.

Well, the smallest hero can think of a way he could sneak in unnoticed. He had felt the presence of a portal near the center of town when they walked in. The others…

Silence reigns over the kitchen for a moment.

“Then that’s settled then,” Time says with finality. No room for argument.

Wind slumps a little, eyes going to the floor.

Without anything more to say, Time and Twilight head toward the door. As he passes by the sailor, Warriors gives the teen a soft punch on the shoulder and a quick smile.

“We’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Sky reassures.

And then, with a swing of the door, they’re gone.

It is quiet for a moment, Wind staring at the now closed door.

Then he turns to face them, the disappointment dropping off his face like water off the back of a Zora. All business.

“So we’re going after them, right?” He asks.

Four feels a slow smile grow on his face and sees it mirrored by the others. Legend nods approvingly.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.”

…

They wait a few minutes inside the house to let the others reach their destination before they sneak out. Hyrule, still feeling sensitive to the light– though Four also senses that the teen is probably feeling a small flare for the dramatic– leads them with Wild’s hood pulled over his head.

Once they cross the bridge into the other side of town where the bar is, the traveling hero pulls them behind one of the houses where there is a large break in the cobblestone wall protecting the town.

One by one, they slip through the crack. It leads them to a small, thin walkway in the space between the edge of a cliff leading up to Death mountain and the cobblestone. They have to sidle, backs against the crumbling stone, to move at all. It’s a little slowgoing, and more than a little uncomfortable, but it lets them move through town unseen.

Eventually, they come to another break and they shove their way through, coming out behind two buildings.

“How did you even know about this way?” Legend asks with a gasp as he squeezes through the gap in the stone.

“Oh you know,” Hyrule says, his smile peeking out from the shade of Wild’s hood, “When you get lost easily, sometimes you gotta find your own way.”

Legend shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the younger’s antics but doesn't comment.

The highest compliment he can give.  Dry like the desert and so correct that Four almost nods at the comment.

“Okay, what exactly is the plan here?” Wild asks.

“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day you actually think before you act,” Legend replies with a single raised eyebrow.

Aaaaand he’s back.

Before Wild can grumble out a response, Legend continues. “I’m assuming the plan is sneak in, keep an eye out, and then get out in time to beat them back to the house.”

“Now,” Legend says, sweeping a critical eye over all of them. “How are you all getting in?”

“What about you?” Four asks, picking up on Legend’s odd word choice.

“Me?” he says in response, a cocky smirk on his face. “Well, I’ve got this.”

The veteran hero places his left hand on the wall of the building. Suddenly the golden bracelet on his wrist flares to life, the purple eye engraved on the band flashing brightly. Swirls of green and yellow magic twine around Legend’s body, gently shifting his red tunic. On the wall, green lines draw themselves into what looks like a painting frame.

The vines of magic tighten themselves around Legend pulling him closer, closer, into the wall and in a flash of light, Legend is gone.

Behind where he was standing, on the wall, sits a bold lined, chalk-like drawing of the hero.

The drawing’s oval shaped eyes snap open and a single line cuts across the bottom half of its face, curling up at its edges. A smile.

In a flash of purple, Legend exits the wall. He leans back against it, smug grin still in place as he observes their shocked expressions.

“So back to my question: how are you all getting in?”

Four’s eyes glance around their small group. Hyrule seems to be looking away, hood pointed downward toward the ground. Wild pulls out his slate and holds it up in front of his eyes, head sweeping back and forth, up and down as he searches for something. Wind meanwhile, scans around, eyes squinted.

The sailor’s eyes widen at the same time Wild makes a small noise of excitement.

“There!” They exclaim, both pointing at a spot higher up on the wall.

Sure enough, when Four follows their hands, he can see a metal grate cover what looks to be a small air vent. He has a few built into the back of his own house to help release steam and smoke from the forge without it entering the rest of the home, but can't help wondering what exactly its utility is here.

The two teens share a quick high five and then Wild begins swiping away at the screen. In the blink of an eye, the champion’s sky blue tunic and tan pants are replaced with navy blue leggings and a tight and lightly armored shirt with a red eye in the middle. A slim, white scarf wraps itself around the teens neck, leading up to his face which is partially covered with another piece of navy blue fabric clinging over the champion’s nose and mouth.

Wind, meanwhile, rummages around inside his Spoils Bag for a moment– with an alarming amount of dangerous sounding clanging, Four notices with some worry– before pulling out a grappling hook.

Using one hand to hold onto the slack and the other to spin the metal end, Wind winds up and with a final definitive swing, releases the hook end, launching it upward toward the roof. The hook skitters across the wooden shingles of the roof, a few of the more rotten tiles coming loose before the metal catches and holds.

Wind tests it a few times, pulling on the rope hard before he is satisfied.

“Okay,” Legend says as Wild finishes pulling the metal grate from the wall with his Magnesis Rune. “Three down. Two to go.”

Four glances at Hyrule who stares right back at him, as though waiting for the smithy to make the next move. Though the hood is obscuring part of his face, Four swears the other looks… nervous.

Maybe we aren’t the only one with something to hide.

Either way, this isn’t going to work.

Hey! We’re losing time here people!

You might be onto something there...

Four sighs. “Look, we’re already losing time. You three go in, Hyrule and I will figure it out.”

Legend looks like he wants to argue but with a flash of hazel from underneath a hood, he drops it.

“Fine. If we need to leave, I’ll give this signal,” The veteran says as he holds up two fingers and then flicks them downward twice.

“And if we have to fight?” Wind asks, face serious once more.

“You’ll know that signal when you see it,” Legend says.

With a final nod, the pink haired hero sinks into the wall, becoming a drawing once more. Large, circular eyes, flick over the group one more time before he’s off, walking along the wall until he disappears through a crack between the backdoor and its frame.

Using the rope, the two blond teens quickly make their way up to the vent. Wind delves inside first, crawling easily through the opening in the wall. Wild follows closely behind, throwing a hand out to give a wave to Four and Hyrule before he too disappears from sight.

“So, I’m going to just, uh,” Hyrule starts once everyone is out of sight, pointing to the left of the building.

Four cuts him off. “No need to explain. I’ll meet you in there.”

Hyrule flashes him a thankful smile and then jogs around the corner of the building and away from Four’s eyeline.

“Oh yeah,” Four’s voice says to no one in particular as he turns around the opposite corner of the bar. “Definitely hiding something.”

“Pot meet kettle,” His voice replies in the darkness of the alley way.

…

Four isn't sure whether he should feel grateful or concerned about the fact that the bar seems to have a rat problem.

On the one hand, he muses as he pulls himself up onto a ledge containing a few decorative pots, it had made it very easy to get into the building; simply enter the rat hole and follow the tunnel to an opening out into the main room.

On the other hand, his friends are patrons of said establishment. And even though Four knows rats are relatively hygienic– And cute!– he can't help but shutter as he watches Warriors eat a piece of  bread.

Regardless, it had been very easy to enter the bar once he was the size of a minish.

Easy to enter, easy to find his friends.

From his vantage point on a relatively high shelf situated near the front of the room, Four can see almost the entire layout of the bar.

Quietly playing cards near the door are two older men, regulars Four would guess by their relaxed nature and easy smiles. Near the left corner in a small alcove sits an ancient looking woman, slumped over and nursing a half-full bottle of something red.

The people that Four is actually interested in, however, seem to have split themselves up. To cover more metaphorical ground or to appear less intimidating, Four would assume.

Sky and Warriors have taken a small table for themselves, a loaf of bread and some butter between them. There is a half full tankard in Warriors’ hand and a completely full one in Sky’s, with the former jeering on the latter to drink. The chosen hero gives a sheepish smile and takes a sip, foam sticking to his upper lip causing Warriors to break out in laughter.

Though jovial and loud, Four can see that the captain’s eyes are clear and bright. Not buzzed, then, simply acting. Making himself seem like an easy target. Someone to underestimate. Smart.

Twilight and Time, meanwhile, sit at the bar talking. Four can see that they too seem to have drinks in their hands, but neither man appears to have had any yet. Polite purchases then.

From his position on the front wall, Four can also make out the exit of the vent that Wind and Wild were using. Though dark, the smithy thinks he might see some movement behind the grate, but other than that, the two don't give themselves away.

Legend is being similarly sneaky.

While Four had been too late to see the other move into position, after quite a bit of searching, he can just make out a singular outlined eye peeking from behind a stack of crates in the other corner of the bar.

Figures. Four should have known that Legend would be good at this sort of thing.

A soft scuffling sound in the rafters draw’s Four’s eyes upward. At first, the smithy wonders if perhaps there were some Minish up there that he had somehow missed on his first pass through the building. But then, a ball of pink light flashes from between the wooden support beams, moving frantically up, down, and around the rafters.

A fairy huh How did one get lost in here Oh poor thing must be so confused

Eventually, however, the fairy seems to settle down, the pink light landing on one of the beams and simply resting there.

Four leaves it be.

Besides, he has more important things to worry about instead of a wayward magical entity. Notably, Hyrule’s absence.

He should be here by now, right? Crashes into his brain like an errant wave.

Maybe he’s already here and we just can't see him? Flares back, the statement tilting upward into a concerned question by the end

He is the most magically adept. Who knows what he has up his sleeve. A steady breeze. Comforting.

“What? Not good enough for you?” A gruff voice breaks through Four’s  mind, bringing him back to the present.

He follows the voice until his eyes land back at the bar. There, the bartender is eyeing Time and Twilight, top lip pulled up in a distasteful snarl. The man is middle aged, pot-bellied and balding, with a thin semi-circle of salt and pepper hair at the crown of his head. Bushy brows are aimed downward as he levels a purposeful look to their still filled cups.

Twilight takes a big sip and then nods his head approvingly. Time merely smiles at the man.

“Sorry, we got a bit caught up in our conversation.”

The bartender grunts in response, and then turns to begin organising the multicolored bottles lined against the back wall. Twilight shoots Time a look and shrugs. The older hero sighs and nods.

Then, the two heroes clink their cups together and throw their heads back while chugging, both polishing off their drinks in a matter of seconds. Twilight's nose wrinkles at the taste and Time’s good eye twitches minutely.

Four winces in sympathy. His grandfather had let him steal sips of beer before. He knows what it tastes like.

Seriously. The things they do to protect Hyrule.

Time knocks lightly but politely on the bar. The man turns back, with first a surprised and then a considering look on his face as he sees the now empty cups.

“Another round, please,” Time says.

“And one here too, if you would!” Warriors calls out, slapping Sky on the back for a job well done. Two empty cups sit at their small table.

The bartender nods, his lips minutely twitching upward as he sets about gathering their cups and refilling them. As the man passes out from behind the bar to grab the mugs from the other two’s table, Time sends the captain a look, which is returned with a wink.

Four settles in against one of the pots, the cool ceramic sinking through his tunic and cooling his back.

This is gonna get interesting.

…

And interesting it was. After the second round of drinks, Sky taps out. Well, he taps out in so much as he slumps over the table, face down and breathing deeply.

After his drinking buddy conks out, Warriors moves to the bar, taking the stool on Twilight’s other side, sandwiching the farmhand in the middle of the two oldest heroes.

It is after the three finish their third round that the bartender seems to warm up to them. Well, at least Four thinks the bartender has warmed up to them. He had gone from outright glaring at the heroes to only offering the occasional huff of irritation combined with polite if stilted conversation.

It’s progress. Kind of.

“So, you four are from out of town then?” he asks, nodding toward the sleeping Sky to indicate him in the group as well.

Time nods, taking another sip from his cup. “My sons and I were traveling the roads when we came across their merchant group.” He says as he shoves an elbow lightly into Twilight’s side, causing the foaming head of the younger man’s drink to spill over onto the pelted hero’s fingers.

Twilight simply glares at the old man, but the action leaves Four staring at the group intently. Only three drinks in and already losing spatial awareness…?

“We thought it would be safer to travel together, what with all the monster sightings,” Warriors picks up, sending a quick look to Time.

“Wise,” the man says with a nod. Then his face darkens and he all but slams the cup he had been cleaning back onto the bar. “Especially now that that damn brat of a hero up and vanished,” he says with a hiss, eye bright and lips pulled back in distaste. “Fucking coward.”

Four feels his blood go cold at the comment. Anger rises in him, an unstoppable tide of emotion roiling in his chest and begging to slam upward and out of his throat with a nasty comment. He beats down the instinct, pressing himself more fully against the pot behind him. Grounding.

Time’s face goes hard and cold. Twilight’s hand tightens minutely on the handle of his cup. The jovial light leaves Warriors eyes for a moment, before the captain plasters an understanding smile back on his face.

Above him, Four notices that the scuffling from the fairy has resumed but the smithy doesn't pay it any mind. Instead, the small Link takes another quick glance around the bar. Same men in front. Same lady in the alcove. Same Sky dozing peacefully at the table. Still no sign of Hyrule.

Maybe it’s better that way.

“He probably has a lot to do, taking care of the other villages and such. I’m sure he’s trying his best,” Warriors grits out with a smile, trying to strike the delicate balance between defending their friend and trying not to appear too contradictory to the man they were trying to get information out of.

The man just rolls his eyes and grunts back.

“Anyway,” Time cuts in, obviously trying to get the conversation back on track , “Have you heard much about these monster sightings? We wanted to make sure to avoid anywhere too dangerous on our way out.”

“Leaving so soon?” The bartender asks.

“Unfortunately yes. My sons and I were hoping to get home as soon as possible.”

“And we were hoping to be headed to our destination tomorrow, providing the weather holds,” Twilight says.

Four watches as a smile pulls at the bartender’s lips. It looks more like a grimace and Four wonders if the man even knows how to express any form of emotion other than irritation.

“Well then,” he says, gathering up the heroes’ cups. He turns to the back wall and pulls out the small barrel he had been using to fill their drinks and pours, filling the cups back up to the brim.

“We really shouldn’t–” Time tries to get out, but the man ignores him, instead sliding the glasses back in front of the three. Then, he quickly turns back to the bottles on the back wall and selects one for himself, pouring the red liquid into a cup and holding it out.

“To safe travels,” he announces.

“To safe travels,” the three heroes chorus back, with less enthusiasm, holding up their own glasses.

And then the four drink.

And as they drink, Four watches as the bartender’s eyes remain locked on the heroes, watching to see them finish their drinks.

Four feels his blood go as cold as the pot behind him.

Shit.

Time and Twilight almost throw the cups from their lips, disgusted expressions on their faces as they do.

Warriors, having stood up to take the biggest swig of the three, slams his glass down and coughs. As he tries to get a handle on his breathing his knees begin to shake. The captain sits back heavily onto his stool, a dizzy expression pulling at his handsome features.

“That one…” Warriors starts before his tongue seems to get tied. His eyebrows furrow and he blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear them. “That one tasted different,” he finishes, sounding like he was speaking through numb lips.

“Oh it would,” the bartender admits easily, turning his back on the heroes to push the barrel back into place. “A higher dosage will do that to a drink.”

Time and Twilight slam themselves away from the bar, mirroring each other as they clumsily pull their swords from their scabbards. Warriors trips over his stool as he follows them, but instead of pulling out his own weapon, stumbles toward a table. His old table.

“S-Sky!” he slurs urgently, shoving at the chosen heroes shoulder. “Wake up!”

Sky’s face doesn't even twitch. His breathing remains deep and even. Unnaturally so.

In the front of the bar, the two men playing cards have stopped their game, once relaxed smiles going sharp and wide. They stand, cards forgotten as they slowly approach the heroes, hands turning to claws as they close in.

The woman from the alcove straightens and for the first time Four can clearly see her face. Her nose is large and flat against her face, nostrils flared. Her eyes are wide apart and yellow, without pupils. Where her mouth should be is instead a muzzle, full of sharp teeth and dripping the red substance she had been drinking earlier.

Blood. One part of his mind supplies helpfully.

Her once hylian looking ears grow and grow and grow until they are massive, pointing upward and ridged on the inside. She stands on thin, spindly limbs and two wings pull themselves from her back, the membrane between the– fingers? They appear to be keese people so technically wouldn’t those be fingers? But they're on her back? I don't think that's important right now!– the membrane between the ridges of her wings are thin and clearly veined in the firelight of the bar.

The man behind the bar turns back to the heroes, having undergone a similar transformation, a gleeful smile showing off fangs.

Warriors, unable to rouse Sky, instead pulls the young man from the stool and drags his body to Twilight and Time’s side. That accomplished, the captain tries to pull himself to his feet, but his knees fail him, leaving him slumped on the floor with his back against the bar and an unconscious Sky next to him. He grabs the Master Sword from Sky’s back and holds it in front of himself defensively.

Time and Twilight flank themselves on either side of the incapacitated heroes, though Four notes with mounting horror that they are not uneffected by the drink either. Twilight keeps shaking his head,trying to clear his vision and Time’s grip on his sword looks weak, like the blade is too heavy for his arm.

We have to get in there! A tsunami of anger and fear sending his heart jumping from his chest to his brain to his stomach to his ribs.

We need a plan first! Blisters back, a whirlwind of thoughts tearing at Four’s brain as he tries to run through options. He needs a portal. Now.

He focuses on the old magic he knows so well, letting the bubbling feeling of its energy settle in his chest. It crackles under his ribs, a fire sparking at fresh wood, filling him with warmth. Slowly, the sparks pull inward, filling his lungs with popping energy. He breathes out, the sparks flying up and out and leading him forward. And… there!

Down in the alcove the old keese-woman had been occupying, a lone blue and white pot sits, tipped on its side.

Go Go Go Go Gogogogogogogo!

Wait! Screeches a third, a bolt of lightning splitting a tree, the thought spreading through his mind like a forest fire. The others! What about the signal?

Four’s eyes flash down toward the corner Legend was occupying.

The hero turned drawing has pulled himself out from behind the boxes, now his entire head and one arm visible. His hand moves frantically, palm facing out. He cycles through four positions over and over and over again, hand shaking slightly back and forth, as though making sure he catches only the attention of those who might be looking at him.

He holds up three fingers. Then he curls his hand into a fist, thumb resting outside the fist against the pointer finger. His pinky then sticks out, the thumb coming to rest over his other three fingers. Finally, his hand clenches back into a fist, thumb tucked under the pointer finger, it’s tip sticking out from the knuckles of his hand.

W-A-I-T  

Screw that! We need to help them now!

No, Legend is right. If we jump in now, we could compromise the situation. Make them angrier. More likely to fight. If they think they have the upper hand, they may let something slip.

And if we wait for the signal, at least we know one other person is jumping in with us. A more coordinated assault.

Four’s hand twitches over the pommel of the Four Sword, a finger tracing the gem there. He draws the blade but just holds it at the ready. A compromise.

“What did you put in our drinks?” demands Time as he levels the Biggoron sword at the bartender. The man? Keese? laughs with a squeaky voice, the sound grating on Four’s ears.

“Just something to help you relax,” he says, amber eyes alight with satisfaction. “It seemed to have worked just fine on your friend there, but you three needed a larger dose. I’m honestly impressed.”

Using two clawed fingers, he pushes the sword away from his face, grin widening as Time’s grip on the pommel falters.

“Stop playing with your food and cut to the chase,” hisses a new voice impatiently.

Across from him, the grate over Wind and Wild’s hiding place rattles. Four clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from shouting out.

I knew it Just as I suspected Well shit But she seemed so nice!

And low and behold, the woman from the shop emerges from the back room, nose flat and flared, massive ears back in anger and amber eyes lacking pupils.

“You.” Time says, words coming from between gritted teeth. He brings his other hand up, now  using both arms to hold up the sword. Beside him, Twilight’s blinks are getting longer and slower as he faces down the three monsters approaching them from the back.

The Master Sword clatters to the ground as Warriors slumps over completely, practically laying on top of Sky.

The shopkeep narrows her eyes at Time.

“Where is the hero?” She demands, flexing a hand to display her claws.

“I don't know what you mean.” Time replies coldy.

The woman hisses, air slicing between her fangs. “Don’t bother lying! That kid of yours had his blood on his sleeve. I could smell it!”

Our fault...

Without pausing, the woman fishes around in the pocket of her dress for a second before she pulls out another key, the bronze flashing in the dim light of the bar.

“I went to the house,” Four’s stomach drops to his feet. “Your brats weren't there. Are they in on it? Where are you hiding him?”

Time’s eyes widen at her words, the drugs probably muddling his head enough to make it difficult for the man to try to hide any of his feelings.

She tilts her head at his expression and then sneers at him.

“You thought they were still there,” she says voice disbelieving and flat. A sardonic laugh pushes it’s way past thin lips. “Man, you must be a real shit father if you can’t keep track of two injured kids.”

The shopkeep stalks forward, closer to Time. Meanwhile, the bartender loops around the otherside, closing in on the old man’s blind side. The three others staring down Twilight move forward, snarling.

Despite everything telling him to watch his friends, Four keeps his eyes glued to Legend.

Wait. C’mon, c’mon! Stay calm! Ughhh!

“They smell like him,” The bartender says conversationally. “And not just that they’ve been around him. Something about them smells… familiar.”

“If we can’t find the brat, maybe we could just use their blood instead,” Pipes up one of the card playing men as he eyes Twilight, not daring to step any closer with a blade still held pointed at his chest.

“No!” the shopkeeper spits, amber eyes ablaze and lips pulled into a snarl. “It has to be him! For the power he stole from our master! For stealing this world from us!  A drop of blood for every monster he ever killed.”

Wait for it…

“I want to see the light leave his fucking eyes as the world comes down around him.”

An eruption of purple and an arm pulling itself from the wall sets several things in motion at once.

A sharp slam echos through the room as a metal grate strikes stone. The skittering from above resolves into a heavy clunk as something heavier drops from the rafters. Four takes a running leap and dives off the shelf, Roc’s cape billowing behind him as he slices through the air, a tiny arrow aimed straight toward the pot.

He slams into the back of the ceramic, and the bubbling, popping, geyser of magic erupts inside him. It jumps from his chest, condensing into blue runes that jump and jive and dance around his head, circling circling circling. The energy still in his chest breathes in, breathes out, and then expands, pushing at his bones, pushing at his skin. Four feels the magic push past his physical boundaries, and the smithy throws himself out of the pot as he grows.

Four brandishes the Four Sword in front of him.

Across from him, Legend stands in the fading purple light of his own magic, flame rod in one hand and a shield in the other. He looks angry. Angrier than Four thinks he’s ever seen the veteran hero look, canines bared in the cruelest smile the smithy has ever witnessed.

Wind stands triumphant in front of the unconscious Warriors and Sky, Phantom Sword held out in challenge for anyone to get near.

Wild, meanwhile, kneels on the bar, strightbacked as he aims his bow at the three monsters who had been approaching Twilight. Three electrical arrows sit knocked against the champion’s string, barely restrained by his knuckles.

And behind those surprised monsters, stands Hyrule.

For the barest of seconds, hazel eyes cloud over with regret. Guilt. But then that second ends. A pink, golden glow seems to blossom in Hyrule’s eyes, a beautiful dahlia growing in his pupils. The smell of ozone fills the air. Sparks of electricity hiss and sputter between the brunets fingers, dancing to an unseen beat.

The traveling hero extends his hand to the shopkeeper.

“You want me? Come and get me.”

And then everything explodes.

The shopkeeper lets out a scream of fury, her wings flapping thunderously to propel her toward Hyrule. Four lunges forward, slashing into the keese person closest to him; the old woman. She lets out a hiss as the blade bites into her shoulder and then a scream as her body seizes up. Her wings twitch and convulse unnaturally, arcs of greenish, yellow energy crawling over her skin.

Wild must have released his barrage, Four thinks, if the two matching screams are anything to go by.

Time dives forward, stabbing one of the card players while Twilight takes a large step forward, letting the momentum of the movement throw him into a spin attack, his sword scoring deep lacerations into the monsters’ stomachs.

Almost makes this too easy. Part of him thinks viciously as Four takes the moment of vulnerability to drive the Four Sword through the hag’s chest. Her scream cuts off as the pain causes her lungs to freeze in their tracks. A claw rakes across the smithy’s arm but he ignores it, pressing the blade in deeper.

She coughs, and blood– her own or perhaps others– splatters into Four’s face and hair. The glow behind her yellow eyes fades and then in a plume of noxious black smoke, she is gone.

A blast of heated air pushes into Four’s face, almost causing him to close his eyes against the warmth. In front of him, a tower of swirling flame erupts from the wooden floor, engulfing the bartender. His screams rise, too high to be human as the smell of burnt hair and skin clogs the air. The light of the flames dances in Legend’s eyes as the screeches slowly fade away, no sympathy in poisonous blue eyes.

Seeing the last two monsters staggered from Twilight’s hit and frozen with fear from Legend’s display, Four rolls to the floor behind them, dragging his sword across the back of their knees as he moves past.

One falls forward with a cry, soon silenced as Wind slashes into his neck with the Phantom Sword.  The other falls backward, another arrow sticking from his eye courtesy of Wild.

Legend strides through their fading smoke, fire rod glowing and held at the ready to help Hyrule.

The traveling hero thrusts his shield forward, blocking a wide arching slash from the woman’s claws. The nails hit the metal with a clang. She changes tactics, gripping the sides of the sheild with both hands, pulling Hyrule closer to her gnashing teeth.

While she goes for the face, Hyrule aims low, slashing into her legs with his sword. With a cry, she lets go of the shield and turns quickly, slamming one of her wings into the unsuspecting hero, knocking him back a few steps.

Legend takes advantage of the brief moment of separation, swinging his fire rod in a downward arc. A wall of fire flares between the two combatants, separating the snarling woman from the panting hero.

By the time the flames die down, Hyrule is flanked by both Legend and Four, weapons and shields raised. To the side, Wild raises his bow once more and Wind readies a boomerang.

“Last words?” Legend asks.

The woman doesn't even look at the veteran, amber eyes locked on Hyrule. Her eyes trace a single bead of blood that rolls from the teens bottom lip where the skin has split from the force of her wing attack.

“We’ll never stop, hero,” she says, spitting the last word with all the venom in the world. “You will never know a moment of peace! Not until that cowardly little heart of yours beats its last.”

Her face suddenly lights up with glee, eyes flicking between Hyrule and Legend and then back to all the others, landing on each one of them in turn.

“They don’t know, do they?” She asks, voice squeaky with her giggles, fear mingling with the laughs, making them sound desperate and breathy. Her amber eyes sweep over them. “If you knew what power lies in his blood, you’d be tripping over yourselves to kill him too.”

A sharp, bark of laughter cuts through the air. Legend steps more fully in front of the woman, shoving the fire rod in her face as he cuts off her line of sight from Hyrule.

“Okay, listen here you overgrown piece of guano, ‘cause I’m feeling generous. I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he says.

“Ever heard of the Hero of Legend?” Her flat nose scrunches and her ears flick in confusion. At her tentative nod, the veteran hero pulls at one end of his tunic, as he gives a small mocking curtsey. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he says with a nasty smile.

"So if you’ve heard of me, then you know what I did?” he asks, staring at her intently.

“You supposedly killed Ganon,” she says, eyes wide. Legend clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Partially right.”

The spherical red orb on the end of the fire rod glows brighter and Four sees the air around it grow shimmery, heat radiating off it as Legend holds it closer to the keese woman. She shrinks away from it, her back hitting the wall.

“See, I’ve killed Ganon three times.” He presses the fire rod closer, the outer edge of the orb now licked with small flames. Blue eyes are locked with amber, an ocean pulling the sun into its depths at the end of the day, drowning it. “I’ve traveled through time, fixing the past to change the future. I’ve changed the seasons with the flick of a wand. I’ve walked through the cracks of the universe and came out fine on the other end.”

“I’ve woken sleeping gods,” he grits out. Legend finally seems to come back to himself pulls and himself back away from the monstrous woman. Four watches as she relaxes minutely as the hero steps away, standing at Hyrule’s side once more.

“I’ve seen enough power. Not interested.” With a small circle of the rod, embers erupt around the woman, a tight circle of small fires pinning her in place. She lets out a sharp gasp as the flames slink in closer and grow like terrifying bright poppies.

“I don’t know where you all go where you die but tell your friend this: if I find even a hair out of place on his head, he won't be the one who has to worry about being hunted, got it?”

Before she can get out a response, the fires converge, twining together first into a cage and then a singular pillar. It flares up up up toward the ceiling, the heat so great that Four finds himself stumbling backward from it, wishing he had his protective gear and goggles on.

And then, just as fast as it had flashed upward, the fire extinguishes itself, only a blackened spot on the ground and a swirl of purple smoke a sign that it had ever existed.

“Good.”

SIlence reigns over the now empty bar, all eyes locked on Legend.

Holy shit.  Rises like a bubble to the surface of Four’s mind.

“Holy shit,” says Wind. Four nods at the sentiment. Because really, there isn’t anything else to say.

…

Getting everyone back to the house is a production.

Wind, using his power bracelets, bridal carries the unconscious Warriors the whole way back, a smug smile on the sailor’s face as the captain’s scarf drags behind him in the mud. Legend takes up a similar job, but instead carries the still snoring Sky slumped over on his back in a very awkward looking piggyback ride.

Wild supports a dizzy looking Twilight, in an ironic reversion of the day before. Time, whose legs seem to have failed him completely, is hunched over Hyrule and Four’s own shoulders as the two younger heroes all but drag the older man through the streets of Saria Town.

Once again, Four has to thank the goddesses for making sure not too many citizens witness their procession. Not for the first time since they’ve arrived here, the smithy is glad that this isnt his Hyrule. He won't have to be the one to explain this.

Thankfully, they’re able to get back to the house without incident.

“They’ll be fine,” Hyrule says with a weary smile as he and Legend leave the room they had designated as the infirmary. Four lets a breath of air out through his lips. Beside him, Wild and Wind visibly relax as well.

“They’ll just have some pretty nasty hangovers tomorrow,” Legend puts in, with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“So, you’re saying I can’t scream ‘Told you so’ as soon as they wake up?” Wind asks, head tilted and face innocent. 

Legend shrugs his shoulders. “It would be a real dick move. But we deserve payback so, go nuts, kid.”

“On the topic of what just happened,” Hyrule cuts in, eyes cast down to the floor, “I wanted to apologize to everyone.”

The traveling hero clutches at his chest, hand fisted in his green tunic.

“I told you all it was safe here. And I-I was wrong about that,” the teen’s voice catches in his throat. He swallows thickly a few times and then finally raises his head, looking at each of them in turn with sorrowful hazel eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Wild shakes his head vigorously. “There was no way you could have known this was going to happen.” Hyrule opens his mouth to argue, but the champion barrels forward, voice powerful. “It’s never your fault that people want to kill you for being you. That's not something you can control and definitely not something to apologise about,” he says. Empathy burns in the champion’s eyes, and for a second, Four wonders if Wild is reciting someone else’s words.

Words that he has heard himself a million times and internalized. Words that are etched into his brain.

Hyrule looks like he wants to argue further, but Legend places a hand on the younger hero’s shoulder, capturing his attention. He shakes his head once, eyes intent. The traveling hero slumps under the other’s gaze.

“Thanks,” he manages, a weak smile pointed at them

WIld brightens. “No problem. Now,” he says, changing the subject and trying to lighten the mood.  “Dinner.”

Wind immediately perks up. “Soup! Soup! Soup!” He chants, following behind Wild as the older heads toward the kitchen.

“We had soup last night.”

“Not seafood soup! That’ll make everyone better in no time!”

Their voices fade as they turn out of the hallway and into the living room.

Hyrule and Legend make no move to follow them. Neither does Four.

The tentative smile that had fallen onto Hyrule’s face crumbles, leaving him somber. Resigned. There are bags under his eyes, Four notes suddenly with a hint of worry. He wonders how much magic the other hero had just used to make sure their friends were stable. He wonders how tired the other must be.

“I’m assuming you want answers,” Hyrule says, looking more exhausted and sad with each word. “What she said about me–”

“I don't care about that,” Four says, causing Hyrule’s head to pop up and eyes widen in slight surprise. “It wasn’t her secret to tell.”

All of the events from the past two days: The injuries, the anger, fear, regret, all of it adds fuel to the fire burning through Four’s chest and searing into his brain. The fire that tells him to comfort and protect.

We can hug him now, right? The fire asks, bright and hopeful and maybe just a little bit desperate for physical affection.

Yes. Comes a reply, easy as a summer breeze.

Ughhh do we have to? Ever the rain cloud on a sunny day.

Don’t play coy. Says the last.

Four’s arms slowly encircle Hyrule’s middle, allowing the other time to pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn't, the smithy leans into the embrace and squeezes. The traveling hero doesn't respond at first, muscle tensed and breath caught in his throat. However, slowly but surely, warm arms fold themselves around Four’s back and Hyrule’s chin comes to rest on the top of the smithy’s head.

“What information you choose to share with us is yours to decide,” Four says against the other’s chest, the words almost sounding too formal for the situation at hand, but heartfelt nonetheless. “I won’t think any less of you if you want to keep this to yourself.”

Four feels Hyrule nod, the older’s chin leaving the top of his head for only the barest of moments.

They stand like this for a moment. Eventually, Hyrule’s grip on him lessens, indicating to Four that he should let go. Part of him doesn't want to. Hell, actually, all of him doesn't want to. He does anyway.

Legend lets out an awkward cough, that almost has Four rolling his eyes as he and Hyrule fully pull apart.

Really, the vetreran hero had the emotional range of a Deku Scrub. No, less than that. A Leever.

“Maybe a smaller secret would be easier to start with?” Legend suggests, with a raised eyebrow and and a smile. “Namely, how the holy Hylia both of you got into the bar? Both of you seemed to appear out of thin air when I gave the signal.”

Four and Hyrule look at each other and then back at Legend.

“Trade secret.” Four says with a smile as he walks past the older hero and into the living room. Behind him, Hyrule lets out a sharp snort of laughter while Legend makes a mock offended noise at being brushed off so easily.

There was a sound from the rafters and then Hyrule appeared, right?

Hmmmm

Four lets a laugh bubble up from his throat.

Yes. A smaller secret indeed.

[elizabethemerald]

Catra Joined the Rebellion AU

@sconefacedgirl Here’s the story you asked for!

AO3

 "pls someone write a catradora fic where they are in love and this whole enemy stuff is just a stupid roleplay pls"

I took the roleplay prompt a little literally. This isn't quite an everyone is happy AU, but it's an AU where Catra and Adora have been honest with each other about how they each feel. Any challenge they face, they face side by side, hand in hand.

Catra looked between the lever that could destroy the world and the girl she had grown up with. Then an evil grin split her face and she grabbed the lever and pulled it towards her. 

"Catra, no!" Adora said, standing up from her spot at the table. Catra turned to look at her from her own spot standing on the table posing dramatically. “You were supposed to turn away from the lever and free me so we could defeat Hordak together! And then we would kiss as the sun set over Etheria!”

“Nah, I can’t do that!” Catra said, hopping down from the table. “I’m playing a full angst version of myself! I’m a tortured soul! I’ll destroy the world before I go with you! Haven’t you been listening about the badass leather jacket I’m wearing now?”

Catra swaned and posed around the table. Glimmer giggled and Bow groaned. 

“I for one am glad that at least one campaign with you two won’t dissolve into sloppy make-outs between your two characters!” Bow said, his papers in his hands. 

“Our make-outs aren’t sloppy!” Adora cried. “They are elegant, cultured, and refined.”

Glimmer laughed at Adora’s attempts to sound fancy, she always put strange emphasis’ on words when she tried to sound fancy. 

“I think the real reason you’re so happy.” Glimmer said past her laughs. “Is that you have some dark stuff you’ve written and you want the chance to actually be able to make us play it!”

Bow smiled and flipped through the notes he held. He looked at a certain page closely and his smile got even wider. He winked at Glimmer.

“That’s concerning. Let’s get into it shall we?” Adora said. The sword of protection was leaning against the table on her side. 

Bow’s face grew serious and he focused on his writing. His voice took on the resonance of a practiced storyteller. 

The portal spins to life, with crackling bolts of power coming off it. The three massive pieces of the gate lift into the air and take their place. Adora you can only watch in horror as the portal opens wider and wider. A white light pours out of the portal and fills the room shutting down all of your senses. 

Bow looked around, pausing for dramatic effect while the others watched him closely. 

Adora you awaken as if from a nightmare. The dream you had fades quickly. Catra is on your chest.

“Yes! Finally!” Catra cheered. She jumped across the table to land on Adora’s lap, her tail lashing happily and her pupils were dilated. 

“Careful! You could upset the pieces!” Bow said. He fussed for a few seconds over the characters he had made for them all, until Glimmer nudged him. “Oh, right.”

Adora you sit up in fear, but you can’t remember why you would be afraid of Catra. She’s been your best friend your entire life. 

“Damn straight!” Catra said from her spot on Adora’s lap. Adora had her arms around the other girl’s waist, holding her to keep her from slipping off. Bow gave Catra a look then continued. 

You two are back in the Frightzone. You are in the same bunk you’ve slept in together since you were children. 

“Have I ever mentioned how cute that is?” Glimmer asked. Bow glared at her before either of the others could answer. 

“Do you three actually want to play or do you want to keep interrupting me?” Bow said. His arms were crossed and he was holding his notes tighter than was probably necessary. When no one spoke he continued. 

Neither of you can remember a time where you had left the Frightzone. Neither of you remember a time where one of you was called to be the She-Ra of Etheria. You are both in the past, and not just the past, but a past that played out differently. You two are the champions of conquest of Thaymor.

All three of the girls around the table held their breath and leaned forward. None of them wanted to make a noise that might interrupt Bow. The conquest of Thaymor? Where Adora and Catra had decided to abandon the Horde and join the rebellion fighting against Hordak? What had the brilliant Bow come up with?

Bow was about to continue with his story when there was a knock at the door. He threw up his hands in defeat causing his papers to fly everywhere. One of the Brightmoon guards stuck their head in. 

“Commanders, Catra, apologies for the interruption. Commanders, you are needed urgently in the war room.” They said. 

Glimmer teleported immediately to her feet, then out into the hallway. 

“I guess this is as good a spot to stop as any.” Bow muttered as he hurried out of the room into the hall. Catra removed herself from Adora’s lap and leaned against the table they had been playing their game on. She was surprised to see a hand enter her field of view. 

“Catra?” Adora said in the soft voice that was reserved for Catra and Catra alone. “I might need your help in there.”

Catra looked at the hand for a second, then took it, Adora had the sword of protection in her other hand. She and Catra jogged to the war room, hand in hand. Catra watched Adora’s face. The other girl’s mouth was set in a grim line. Before they entered the war room Adora released Catra's hand. 

"For the honor of Grayskull." 

Catra squinted against the aura of her love transforming. She-Ra walked into the war room. Catra followed close behind. 

Entrapta sat on Emily, the robot she had stolen from the Horde, near the entrance. She had multiple holo screens in front of her and she was typing rapidly with both her hair and fingers. 

Projected on the large screen was a shadowy outline. Catra's eyes slid sideways to look at Adora. Only a few of them knew the double agents real identity. It was of the utmost importance that no one in the Horde find out who she was. However She-Ra did not make eye contact with Catra, only staring at the screen. 

"I have good news and bad news to report." Her voice was heavily muffled and changed by the filters Entrapta had put on the com device. "The good news is that the number of deserters is rising daily. The sound systems Entrapta hacked into are working like a charm. Hordak is at the end of his rope trying to find all the speakers and destroy them. And while he's focused on that I'm working on fixing the misinformation the Horde tells its soldiers. Shadow weaver hasn't noticed that I'm changing her files yet."

"And the bad news?" Glimmer asked. She-Ra was leaning on the war table. Catra put one hand on her arm and one on the table. 

"Two deserters were captured trying to escape the Frightzone. They were put on the next transport to Beast Island." 

Catra felt the muscles in the arm under her hand tense. 

"Do you know their names?" She-Ra asked quietly. Catra could hear Adora's voice under there as well. The double agent hesitated. 

"Kyle and Rogelio."

A cracking noise echoed in the small space. Followed shortly by a short, metallic screeching. She-Ra had crushed the edge of the table under her grip, and Catra had dug her claws into it as well. 

"Is Lonnie ok?" Catra asked. 

"I'm keeping Lonnie safe with me." A small hand appeared and waved in the corner of the screen. 

"Keep yourself safe as well. We can't lose you." Catra said barely loud enough to be heard. The informant then attempted to turn of the broadcast. 

“Oops sorry. Small buttons and large claws.” It took a few more attempts before the screen cut out. 

The silence weighed heavily on the room. A shimmer of light announced She-Ra transforming back into Adora. She hung her head, her hands resting in the larger handprints she had put into the table edge. Catra held her softly, leaning her head on the other girl’s shoulder. She knew Adora was struggling to get her tears under control. Adora grabbed one of her hands and gave it a light squeeze before straightening. She coughed, to get everyone’s attention. 

Talk in the room ran in circles. They were sure they were doing everything that could be done to get the soldiers out of the Horde before Hordak caught them. Each of the princesses had wild ideas and plans but there was very little they could do. 

Catra ignored all of them, only joining in the conversation to shoot down particularly terrible ideas. Instead she only focused on Adora. Her friend was forcing down her grief at the loss of their two squad mates. Of course Rogelio and Kyle would leave the Horde together, she was sure they had been hoping to flee to a place where they could be open about their love. It was a shame they had been caught. Hordak was dedicated to hurting as many people as he could. 

When it was clear that Adora was not going to start crying in the meeting and the conversation had started to go over the same ground again, Catra tapped her arm and motioned that she was going to leave. Adora nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before returning her attention to the meeting. 

Entrapta still sat on Emily near the entrance. Though now Catra noticed she had her faceplate down. Entrapta had only been in the Frightzone for a short time before the Princess Alliance was able to free her but it was clear the genius inventor had started to make a few friends among the horde soldiers, prior to her rescue. She turned her head away as Catra approached but she could still see a few drops of tears falling from under her faceplate. 

Catra put out her hand, then hesitated and patted Emily instead. She knew how Entrapta felt about unnecessary touching. Some of Entrapta’s hair reached out and grabbed Catra’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze, though the inventer herself appeared to be focusing completely on her screens. 

It was much later in the day that Catra found herself lying on the bed she shared with Adora and her ears perked up at the sound of someone approaching their room. She stretched out languidly, adjusting the leather jacket she had “found” while the others were in a meeting. Adora opened the door and carefully set the sword of protection down just inside it. 

“Hey Adora.” 

Adora looked up and smiled. "Hey Catra." Her voice was heavy with exhaustion. 

"What do you think of my jacket? I found it laying around."

Rather than answer, or acknowledge the obvious theft, Adora fell face first onto their bed. She turned on her side and and wrapped her arms around Catra's middle pulling her close  so her back was to the blonde girl. Catra felt Adora bury her face in her thick hair. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Catra asked. She felt Adora shake her head. "Well do you at least want to take your shoes off?"

Adora didn't respond only nuzzling her way deeper into Catra's hair. After a few minutes she could feel and hear the other girl crying softly against her. Adora's soft sobs shook her body. 

Catra glanced toward the door, nervously. If Sparkles came in right now...but Adora obviously needed her. She allowed herself to relax in her girlfriend's arms, till she started purring softly. Neither of them knew exactly how Catra was able to purr, but they both knew it always helped Adora feel better. It was something special, that Catra had never told anyone else about. 

Slowly Adora's sobs softened. She relaxed her grip on her love, but kept her face buried in her hair. Once Adora had quieted completely Catra gently pulled away. 

Catra helped Adora out of her red jacket and threw it and her own leather jacket over the arm of the couch. Adora quickly pulled off her boots and got under the covers. Catra laid down on top of the covers right next to her. Her head was on the other girl's chest. 

"Talk to me." Catra whispered. 

“I feel so helpless when I hear reports like that.” Adora whispered back. “The Horde is falling apart. The alliance is retaking land the Horde used to control. We are defending our borders from Hordak’s counter attacks. More and more soldiers are deserting every day. We’re winning this war. We’re just not winning it fast enough.”

Catra couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She was pretty sure the Rebellion was already at its limit of what it could do and sustain. Even her personal brand of chaos wouldn’t help here. 

“How long do you think it took Rogelio to convince Kyle to leave the Frightzone?” Catra asked instead. 

Adora snorted. “How long do you think before Kyle accidentally set off an alarm once he did?”

Catra gave a short laugh, then quieted. “And now Hordak is shipping them off to Beast Island to die.”

“Hmm.” Adora tapped her fingers idly on Catra’s shoulder. “What if Beast Island wasn’t a death sentence?”

“What?”

“What if we could rescue the Horde soldiers who get sent to Beast Island before they are killed. Then Hordak would be basically delivering the deserters straight to us.”

“What are you thinking, Adora?” Catra sat up more and looked Adora in the eye.

“So much of what they told us in the Frightzone was just filled with lies. Like what the princesses were really like, what the rest of the world was like. And even the things that weren’t outright lies were some times just plain wrong. Like what they said about the Crimson Waste.”

“Maybe so, but even the princesses don’t have any more information about Beast Island.” Adora didn’t respond, she was still thinking. So Catra kept talking. “So what’s the plan? We get the princesses together and storm Beast Island?”

“No. The princesses are a little...hard to control all together. And if something bad happens to us, we can’t deprive every kingdom of their biggest protection. That would ensure the Horde’s victory.”

“Then should I go get Bow and Sparkles and we can roll out with Best Friend Squad?” Catra struggled to keep the derisiveness out of her voice. 

Adora lifted her head to look at the sword near the door. “Actually I think this might be a job for just She-Ra.”

Catra immediately threw Adora’s arm off her and changed her position so she was sitting on her chest her hands pining Adora’s shoulders down. She let her hair fall, creating a curtain around their faces. 

“Adora I love you so much, but if you don’t stop being so stupid for ten minutes I will throw you into the sun.”

Adora could stare up at Catra in confusion. She was unable to form sentences with her girlfriend on top of her. 

“Obviously anywhere you go, I’m going too.” Catra said. 

“Catra, I-”

“I am going with you. I’ve never left your side. I left the Horde with you. I joined this silly princess procession with you. The two of us can scope out Beast Island, conquer the island, and put a resort there, so Hordak personally delivers our old friends to us. But I am going to go with you.”

Adora managed to nod past her growing blush.Once Catra was sure her love wouldn’t go off and do something stupid by herself, she kissed her. Maybe a little more forcefully than necessary, but Adora didn’t complain, only kissed her back just as forcefully. 

After their kisses, Adora fell asleep, her arms once again wrapped around Catra’s body. Catra sat awake for a long time, glaring at the Sword of Protection.

Head canons for this AU: First off Kyle and Rogelio are NOT dead. I do not bury my gays. They are alive and awaiting rescue on Beast Island. At the battle of Thaymor Adora manages to convince Catra to switch sides. Angela and the others are resistant to take her in. But Angela realizes how messed up what the Horde does to these kids is. She creates healing centers all around Brightmoon so deserters can recover from the Frightzone and she helps them over come their brainwashing. Scorpia switched sides as well but now serves as a double agent, helping fix the misinformation of the horde. She feels guilty for her family's part in welcoming the Horde. She doesn't want the soldiers under her command to die for that. Catra still isn't accepted to the degree Adora is. Mostly because Adora is also She-Ra, and because Catra is a sarcastic, abrasive, chaotic lesbian who only cares about three people in her life. Adora, Entrapta and Scorpia. Her squad is right below those three. Everyone else falls away rapidly. Catra also hates the Sword of Protection. She's not stupid and can see that her and Adora's lives are better for it, but she can also see the way Adora is constantly crushed by the weight of the responsibility. She fears the sword will one day take her love from her, just like how Mara was eventually killed because of it. The roleplay is a game Angela created to help the former Horde Soldiers, and all the child soldiers face and overcome their trauma to help them heal. With all these kids clearly in danger from the brainwashing of the Horde she is able to overcome her fear and be braver, flying around the county treating deserters. Entrapta was captured by the Horde instead of Glimmer. She was there for a little while but the princesses were able to free her. In that time she was able to become almost friends with several soldiers, including Scorpia, Kyle, Rogelio, Lonnie, (and maybe Hordak. haven't decided yet.)  

[cianmars]

The Bookworms and the Library Chapter 7 First Date

AO3

James and Belle go on their first date

On Thursday night he was invited to the Charming’s new home, along with Regina, Robin, and all of the kids, Snow and David were cooking together, Regina was bringing dessert, so James brought wine and some beers, as well as sodas for Henry, Roland, Margot, and Neal.

He arrived and happily ate the meal, he conversed with the rest of the adults, and played with his nephew and the other kids, who were wanting to teach him how to play some video games.

He and his brother shared a look when they realised that Killian was stinking like rum, he said he had spilt some on himself when they had been celebrating something, he may have only met Robert once but he had stunk of absolutely any alcohol he could find and David had grown up with that: they didn’t trust Killian’s words, they knew he was drunk.

The news of why Killian had been celebrating came during dessert: Emma was pregnant, she had already told her parents, son, and brother, and now James felt his heart swell to be included in the small announcement meal before everyone else in the town knew.

When he saw Snow about to cry, judging by Emma’s grimace told him that she had already cried several times, he made a joke about already being a pretty great uncle but now at least it was official.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you excited about your date with Belle?” Snow asked, James had offered to help wash up after their dinner, and was now stood at the sink drying the dishes David was washing up.

James sent her a quick smile. “Yeah… and kind of nervous.” He added remembering Archie urging him to experiment with telling people his feelings.

David looked at his twin brother, he could see the nervous energy in his smile, for a brief moment he felt a wave of the same feeling flow through him, then it was gone. “Do you need any tips? I’m pretty smooth.”

Snow let out a snort of laughter. “On our first date you were so nervous even though you knew we were true love, and we were engaged at the time.”

David couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose you’re right, I think it was a nice date we had a picnic near that waterfall, I was mostly nervous that we wouldn’t be able to get ten minutes alone, away from the rest of our friends.”

Snow laughed again but linked her arm through his, looking at him lovingly. “It was a very nice date.” She assured him.

David ducked his head down to kiss his wife’s lips.

“Ew! Gross guys, there’s children here.” Emma teased, ruffling her little brother’s hair, smiling as he giggled. “What are you doing on your date, Uncle Jamie?”

James sent a glare to his brother, it was his fault that both of his kids referred to him as Jamie, and James refused to give up the appearance that he really didn’t mind the nickname anymore. He looked back at his niece after receiving a smug smile for David. “It’s a bit hard to do things like the movie theatre with Belle being pregnant, so I’m cooking her a meal instead.”

“Aw that’s sweet, I don’t think Killian can cook a meal at all,” She joked she clutched her husband’s hand to prove that she really didn’t mean it, “but it means that I’m learning more which is good. It means I’ll be able to cook my baby things to eat, like you both do.” She placed her hand on her stomach and smiled at her mother and father, she felt her husband squeeze her hand protectively.

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The friday of his and Belle’s date James was full of nervous, so much so that he felt his phone buzzed with a worried text from David who was now full of the same feeling, James actually felt bad about that: being twins came with a few unexpected side effects.

James headed to Granny’s, he gave Ruby an awkward wave when their eyes met, and followed her into the kitchen.

“Thanks for cooking the stuff, I wanted it to be fresh.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“David does that too.” He looked confused. “The running his hand through his hair thing- he does it whenever he’s nervous or he feels awkward. You shouldn’t be worried, Belle really likes you, trust me.”

James did his best to send Ruby a smile, though it was hard considering he had approximately one hundred and seventy nine butterflies in his stomach, and another eighty cocoons ready to unleash more.

“Anyway, you did all the prep work, and you taught me how to cook the things,” she sent him her lupine grin, “which means I get to steal your best date recipes.”

James found himself laughing as she smirked.

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Belle wasn’t entirely sure what was in store for her when she entered the library, James had requested she meet him there for their date, although she loved the library she didn’t quite count it as a date sort of place.

She was greatly mistaken, James was stood in front of her, smiling that secret smile he only sent to her, not the slight glare he walked around the town with, or even the calming smile he sent to timid children who came into the library or store.

Looking past him she noticed that he had strung up fairy lights leading her to the heart of the library.

“Woah, James this looks so pretty.”

“I convinced Regina to let me use it for a date, I think she was just surprised that I asked instead of just using my key to get in.”

Belle smiled and took hold of his hand. It felt solid beneath hers, stable, and when he gently squeezed it she felt a zing in her heart.

James led her through the library, decorated with fairy lights and vases of flowers, Belle was almost certain that he had got them from the florist near their bookstore not from her father’s store.

James led her to the far end of the library, there was a table with a picnic blanket on, and two of the more comfortable chairs in the library, the table was full of food; not just food, but all the food she had been craving while pregnant, she supposed if anyone was to know what she had been craving it would be James who she spent nearly all of her time with, but she was surprised that he had remembered all of it.

“James, this looks amazing. It looks like a picnic, how did you- you remembered all the food I’ve been wanting.”

“I thought it would be nice to have a picnic, but I think that maybe it would be hard for you to stand up and down, and it would be uncomfortable… Of course I remember what food you want, it would be pretty hard to forget.” He winked at her. He led her to the chairs and when they were sat he pressed play on his phone. “Henry helped me put together a playlist, I’m not really sure what sort of music there is, but he was certain they’d be perfect.”

Belle smiled, she knew that Henry had a very strong romantic in him, she wasn’t surprised that he had helped his great uncle with this, nor was she surprised that it included several songs from the sixties and the eighties, along with a few newer ones.

James happily told Belle that he had made their entire meal, apart from the gelato, with help from Ruby to do the actual cooking. He received a kiss on his cheek which made him blush.

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As they ate their dinner of a salad, a korean barbecue curry, rice, and then gelato, along with sparkling cider, they talked about their lives: the adventures they had gone on, the good and the bad, their families, their lives growing up as influential aristocrats.

James hadn’t realised that Moe had been a duke in his father’s kingdom, that he and Belle had grown up maybe a couple of hundred miles away from each other, not that far really, a week or two of travelling… he wondered if they had ever met, at a party, a dinner, a ball, anything… He wouldn’t be surprised if they had met when they were younger, but he couldn’t remember, he hadn’t been in the best shape at these things when he was young, and he  had been so scared of doing anything to embarrass George that he couldn’t remember much as a protection instinct.

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Their date went better than either of them could have even imagined.

As James leant in to kiss Belle he froze. “What was that?”

Belle frowned. She had been wanting to kiss James since they had first kissed, and the next time they had, but she stilled listening. “I don’t hear any-”

~~~~~ BANG~~~~~

“-I heard that . There’s a sword on that wall!”

No sooner than James had dived for sword, did a monstrously huge spider crawl along the bookcase heading towards them, not any normal type of enlarged spider, this one was breathing fire, it seemed angry with them.

“Shit.” James automatically raced in front of Belle. “Belle, get safe!” He stood with the sword and as Belle moved to get to safety James raced towards the spider to ensure it wouldn’t chase after his date.

The spider was bigger than James, and seemed to be growing bigger the more James tried to stab it with his sword, or if he rolled or ducked away from the fire.

He found himself led on his back, trying his best to keep his sword kept between the spider’s fangs, hoping it would hold a little longer so the spider wouldn’t be able to turn him into bbq. All he could do was hope Belle had gotten away.

“Hey!” There was a whacking noise and the spider turned to look at the lilting australian voice.

James didn’t waste any time. He thrust his sword up through the spider’s skull, covering the sword in goo as the spider shrunk and collapsed. Dead. James was breathless but stood up. He used his sword to nudge the now smaller creature, it was perhaps the same size as his torso, it was no longer exactly a spider, more like a wolf mixed with the amount of legs of a spider, and the antlers of an irish Elk.”Fucking shapeshifting bastard.” James swore.

Belle walked over to James’ side. “It’s an Elkendaw, but they’re only in the Enchanted Forest, one must have come over, are you okay?”

James checked himself. “Yeah, yes I’m okay. What did you throw?” He looked down at the size of the creature. He laughed loudly. It was a copy of the same book Belle had threatened him with when they had first met.

“I told you Les Miserable could be dangerous.” Belle said laughing along with him.

When they finally stopped laughing they found themselves quiet for a second before kissing, the same feeling spread through them as had when they had first had true love’s kiss, it was undeniable now.

The kiss, what it meant, the admittance to themselves and each other, felt like relief and danger, like fire and ice, normally they both would have run from it: James always would have, and Belle had found herself scared of love after her tumultuous relationship with Rumplestilskin.

Neither felt like running anymore.

[squiddybeifong]

Training

Day 6 of RobRae Week 2019:

Part 1 here

--

Damian sneered as he unsheathed his sword and pounced towards the mage’s back, easily rolling out of the way as she sent a wide disk of magic his way. He anticipated as Cass jumped from her spot and sprung to the left, an unfriendly string of Arabic slipping out of him as Raven’s powers flipped him.

The boy let out a huff as he landed on his back, immediately jumping back to his feet as Dick’s voice filled the air, “GO RAE!”

Raven glanced to where he was watching, hesitating for a beat too quick. Her eyes widened and she moved with her shadows, narrowly avoid a fist to the nose and a blade to the stomach. She stumbled for half a second, just barely recovering as the two tiniest Bats lunged at her.

She twirled, bringing her forearm up as Cass punched the magic shield that formed to cover the mystic’s face, hitting so hard that she ricocheted back a few feet. Raven used the momentum to jump back, not able to stop Damian from landing a hit to her shoulder.

A pause as she stumbled and slid against the shadows again, then Jason cried out, “KICK HER ASS, DAMI!”

For once the bird seemed inclined to listen to him.

Raven bounced back, easily shifting her weight side to side as she dodged his sword the best she could. Her senses went on even higher alert as Cass vanished from her sight and her spread attention got her a shallow slice just above her knee.

The demoness flew a few inches off the ground and dodged another kick, delivering a punch that sent her and Damian in different directions. Robin easily shook off the hit and lunged for her again. Tim’s voice cried out, “YOOOOOO!!” at the same moment Babs proudly called everyone to notice, “LOOK AT CASS!”

Raven took in a loud breath of air as she dived through the air, but not before Cass practically landed on her, her elbow landing in a hit just barely above the ex-Titan’s kidneys.

Raven hit the ground and rolled, her hands encased in black the moment she landed. She rose up til she stood, feeling more than hearing as the two Bats launched another attack. Her magic flung out at the same time as Damian went high and Cass dove low.

All three paused, breathless and tense. After a second a low laugh forced its way out of the demoness’ throat, the movement pressing almost painfully against Damian’s sword. She didn’t dare move her feet, lest Cass’ ironclad hold break her knees.

A breath slid out of Raven and she chuckled again. Amethyst eyes flicked from Damian to Cass and back.

“You two are very impressive,” She praised, her heartbeat still pounding in her ears. When neither mortal moved her shoulders shook as she held back her amusement, her thumb twitching as the magic dissipating off her hand. Violet eyes were bright as she simply said, “I yield.”

Both Bats immediately withdrew from her, although the proud spike in their emotions was telling enough. The mage grinned as she shook herself out, biting back a groan at the stretch of soon-to-be-bruises. Her healing ability worked wonders, but that didn’t mean the throbbing hits hurt any less.

Although, maybe that was just because she hadn’t fought in a while. “Haven’t had a fight like that in a while,” Raven muttered as she rolled her torso, finally getting the full effect of Cass’ diving act. “You guys certainly know how to coordinate.”

Cass grinned behind her mask and Damian scoffed, his chest not-quite-puffing as he wiped the sweat off his blade, “It was nothing. We do even better when it’s not merely practice.”

He glared at his sister as she elbowed his side, Cass’ head turning as Dick hopped onto the platform. His eyes were bright as he congratulated, “Y’all’ve really improved since the last time I trained here.”

“What is with this family and contractions?” Raven muttered to herself.

“I’m not gonna go full B on you two; you know where you slipped up. But,” He nudged his girlfriend’s shoulder, getting her to face him as he jogged a few steps back. Raven aimed a flat look his way and he grinned even wider, the tiny beginnings of a laugh line around his mouth making her heart flop.

“You were fighting a demon. And you see,” Dick suddenly got into a defensive stance, his shoulders shaking in held laughter as his love raised a few inches off the ground in return, “The key to fighting Raven is that her emotions are her greatest power--”

Cass jumped back half a heartbeat before Damian, the two narrowly dodging their brother as he charged. Raven but back a groan as she skipped to the side, a shield coming up to block her soon-to-be-sore right side.

Dick rolled over the shield and she let out a yelp as he grabbed her hips and dipped her, stealing a kiss. Someone called out a disgusted “Grooooooss!” from the stands and a second later Nightwing stood to his full height, continuing his sentence as if he hadn’t cut himself off almost half a minute prior, “--but they’re also her greatest weakness.”

Babs’ voice called out from the sidelines, “So that means we all can kiss her, then?”

He turned to give the redhead a look, his growing smile lessening its impact, “Shut up!”

--

After a brief and impossibly chaotic round of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who had to answer the bat signal, as well as Dick’s promise of a future massage, Raven found her way to the roof. She rolled her shoulders and watched as the signal faded from the sky, impressed and sore at how well of a sparring session that was.

Raven hummed and crossed her legs, smiling down at herself. Training had been… fun, all things considered. She felt like she belonged here among the gloom of Gotham and the organized disorder that was the Bat family. They all seemed to really like her; Hell, even B was acting like she wasn’t a burden.

It was surprising and nice. She wondered if bats and birds usually got along well in other situations too. Her eyes opened as the sound of footsteps on the roof alerted her to someone hesitantly approaching from behind. Speaking of bats…

Raven wordlessly patted the ground next to her. Steph’s eyes were bright as she eagerly took a seat next to the hero, “Hi.”

“Hello,” The mage’s smile seemed to put the blonde at ease, although her shoulders dropped at Raven’s words, “We missed you at training.”

She rubbed behind her arm, “Sorry, I slept in. Busy day yesterday, y’know? Trying to finish everything before you got here wore me out a bit.”

“Wish I was that lucky.”

Batgirl snickered, the answer obvious, “Dami wake you up as early as Dick would let him?”

Purple eyes met the girl’s curious sapphire gaze, “He camped outside our door.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did, but I actually didn’t want to talk about Damian.” Raven tried to open up the best she could, her face softening as she felt that same eagerness that all but radiated off the hero, “I wanted to talk about you.”

“Me?” Steph blinked, a flush heating her cheeks, “What about me?”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about you. I know that you’re a hero. And that you’re blonde and fought against B’s stubbornness until you could be a Bat.” Raven paused, her eyes sliding to Gotham’s buildings and then back to Steph. She shrugged, “That’s it. But you probably know a lot about me through my time as a Titan, huh?”

The girl sheepishly nodded, her eyes widening as the demoness nudged their shoulders together, her voice genuinely interested, “I want to get to know you, Steph.”

“Really?!”

Raven nodded, looking amused at how flustered the blonde was getting. It reminded her of the first time she met Donna and that was putting some charming parallels into the mystic’s mind. Steph smiled at the attention and tugged at a lock of hair, horribly aware that her voice just cracked. “I mean, um, sure! Sure. So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?”

Raven put a hand on the hero’s shoulder, seeing the way her chest hitched at the contact. She sent a wave of calm into the air around them, quietly commanding, “Breath, Steph.”

Her cheeks reddened and Steph covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Excited?”

“Yeah, I’m a really big fan and I’m meeting you. But like, I know I already mentioned that.”

“Well,” The Azarathian rolled her lip in between her teeth, switching the topic to a more even ground, “Dick mentioned that you love waffles too, maybe we can start there?”

As if on cue the teen’s stomach rumbled. Raven lips formed a soft smile, her arm reaching back to rest her weight on her palm. This Batgirl was certainly different from the first one she’d met, and Raven really liked the change.

A pale hand pointed towards the window Steph had come up through, “Did you miss breakfast? I’m sure we can sneak something.” Steph looked positively entranced at the opportunity and Raven stood, casually adding, “I know Alfred’d cook for us if we asked.”

In fact, they didn’t even have to ask. The butler was carefully cutting his pastry dough when they walked in, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes at the sight of them getting along so swimmingly.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Stephanie. There are Belgian waffles and hot syrup on the stovetop when you’re ready.” He aimed a smile Raven’s way, nodding a simple, “Master Richard also asked me to tell you that he went to help Miss Cassandra with a quick recon opportunity that sprung up. They should be back within a few hours.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“Anything for family, Miss Raven.”

He glanced once at Steph, who was already practically inhaling her plate and winked at his eldest ward’s beloved, “There’s also a possibility that I made a few extra waffles, if Miss Stephanie doesn’t get to them first.”

Raven smiled back, stage whispering to Steph, “He’s just the best, isn’t he?”

The blonde nodded, raising the syrup like a drink, “Hell yeah he is!”

Alfred didn’t look up from his crimping, “Language.”

“Heck yeah he is!”

The mystic snickered and let her magic encase a waffle. She took a seat next to Steph and the two fell into an easy conversation, going from the worst kind of syrup they’d ever tried to the best ways to get Batman to ask what updog was.

After far too short of a time one of Batgirl’s pockets let out a shriek, filling the room with a steady beep. She cursed under her breath and lifted the device to her face, her lips twitching down in worry as Tim’s voice carried over the comm, “Spoiler, I need your help. Half a block west from Robinson Park. Come up from the rooftops.”

Steph touched the mystic’s arm, a rueful hint to her voice as she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “I gotta go…”

Raven shooed her towards the door, “Go on, help him. I’m gonna be here all week, you know.”

The hero stood, a brow raising, “I thought you were only staying the weekend?”

“I made other plans.”

Steph tried but couldn’t contain her smile, “Our girls’ night?”

“Exactly. But no time for planning now, go kick some bad guy butt first,” Her amethyst eyes were warm as she waved the Bat away, not able to stop her chuckles as the blonde ducked her head, doing a horrible job of hiding her blush. Her comm shrieked out again and a second later Steph was out the door.

Alfred spoke up from his baking, “You’re certainly fitting in quite fine with the rest of the family.” His gray eyes were warm, “I’m glad.”

Raven fiddled with the ends of her sleeves, “I know Dick is glad too.”

“Are you?”

A smile lit up her face again. Alfred hadn’t seen her much in the short day they’d been in Gotham, but she was smiling more than he’d ever seen her before. It was a wonderful change yet he still felt a stab of impatience that Master Richard was hesitating on the obvious course of action. But the butler didn’t let his thoughts show and Raven didn’t acknowledge if she felt any change in his emotions. All the woman did was murmur a soft, “I really am.”

She shook her head before she could get lost in her thoughts, standing to peek at what Alfred was working on. “Hope this isn’t rude, but what are you making?”

Oh, she was absolutely meant to be a Bat. The old man chuckled, “Master Dick mentioned you’re a fan of key lime pie.” He glanced from her face to the eight additional pie tins in front of him, “I’m just ensuring that there’ll be enough to feed the whole family and for at least one to go back with you to Blüdhaven.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all, Miss Raven. Did you have anything you particularly wanted? I don’t believe you’ve eaten too much today.” Her half of a waffle certainly couldn’t have been enough, not when she was sparring earlier.

But the mage only shrugged, an odd mix of calm and disquiet all but seeping out of her, “No, I was going to meditate first. Maybe we could share a cup of tea before everyone gets back? Just before lunch?”

The butler raised a brow, a smile in his eyes, “I’d like that very much.” His chin tilted towards the back door, “If you’d rather not be inside, the courtyard is bound to be quiet right about now. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

Raven nodded and turned to the door, pausing at the doorway when Alfred spoke to her back, “Oh, just one more quick question, Miss Raven?”

She blinked at him, curious.

“If I were to send someone out with snacks later, would savory or sweet be best?”

The demoness chuckled, “Both?”

“Alright then, Miss Raven. I’ll leave you to your meditation.”

A half-smile filled her face and she slipped outside, retracing her route from her tour with B until she found the courtyard. Her steps were slow as she bypassed the fountains and carefully trimmed hedges, taking in the beauty that was Wayne Manor. The calmness reminded her of Dick and she smiled to herself, wondering when he’d be back. Her injuries from sparring were all but healed by now, but she still wanted that damn massage.

Shaking her head, Raven’s eyes lit up at the sight of a wooden bench, just under the shade of one of the many trees that dotted the manor. She took a seat and immediately went cross-legged. The empath took a deep breath, Dick’s name slipping out as a part of her calming routine and, a second later, she began silently chanting her mantra.

After what must have been an hour, Raven eventually opened her eyes, softly glancing around at the courtyard. Whether it was the muggy light of noon, the fact that she’d just meditated, or the fact that she felt Dick’s aura within the manor’s walls, everything looked cozier. She raised her face to the sky and let out a breath; her view was breathtaking.

Even when cloaked under the rainy gray sky that Gotham seemed to always sport, the plants were lush and the birds were chirping out, fluttering this way and that as they prepared for a rainy spring. Raven sagged onto the bench and let herself get lost in the quiet of the courtyard.

After a few minutes of listening to the robins’ songs, she heard the faraway click! of a door opening and felt another Bat’s presence. The empath waited until he was a few yards behind her to turn to him, languidly smiling up at the teen from her spot on the bench. He grinned back as pale hands patted the seat next to her, “Hey, Duke.”

He lifted the tray in his hands up an inch in greeting, “Heya, Rae.”

His steps faltered at the name, but she didn’t seem too annoyed by it so he added, “I mean, uh--” The metahuman’s smile was getting increasingly awkward, “Can I call you Rae? Dick said you didn’t really like nicknames, but…”

When his explanation trailed away she shrugged, a tiny hint of a smile on her face, “Rae’s fine.”

“Oh! Okay, that’s good,” Duke took a seat next to her, a hum of surprise escaping when a disk of black magic formed a table for them. He couldn’t bite back a snicker at the way her face lit up at the sight of spread Alfred had made for her; snickerdoodle cookies, peach slices and a croissant sandwich, complete with a thermos of tea.

“Shouldn’t you be on patrol? Or did Alfred rope you into getting me to eat?”

“I’m taking today off, actually. There’s a lotta stuff going on, y’know.” He cheekily smiled at her and Raven laughed, “Well I’m glad you’re here now. You gonna share this picnic with me?”

“If you don’t mind me--” He cut himself off with the look on her face, his shoulders losing any tension.

“Of course I don’t mind. I haven’t had a chance to really hang out with you yet,” Her head tilted as she thought of her time at the Manor so far. She pointed a peach slice at him, “This is the first real conversation we’ve ever had, don’t forget.”

Duke snickered as she stole another peach slice from him, “We should have more.” He ran a hand over his short hair as a thought came to him and Raven waited, but he changed the topic.

“Anyway, I didn’t want to… intrude, I guess? Dick warned us you aren’t the most talkative. And I know I’m not as loud as the others, but he figured we’d get along pretty well.”

Raven sipped her tea as he spoke, shrugging out, “I don’t make friends all that quickly. Doesn’t mean I don’t like talking to people,” Her eyes brightened and she winked, “But I always seem to get along with Bats and you’re not looking like an exception.”

“I don’t make friends all too fast either, but you’re cool and you’re family now,” Raven grinned at Duke’s words; she was a fan of this kid already. The empath shifted and began unwrapping her sandwich, “Well, how about we eat? Food apparently is a great way to start a conversation.”

The meta snickered as she handed him half, “I’d hate for Alfred to see we have leftovers.”

She ripped off some of the croissant’s top, tossing the pieces the birds’ way. Duke seemed to enjoy the relative silence as much as she did so they stayed quiet, listening to the eager chirps of the birds and the dreary sound of wind rustling the trees. Amethyst eyes flicked to the teen and Raven smiled at him.

“I’m glad you came out here. This is nice.”

Duke gave her a little smile, all but sagging into the bench, “I’m glad you’re here too.”

“Can’t usually get some peace and quiet around here?”

“Everyone’s on their best behaviour, actually.”

She gave him a look and he nodded, as if accepting the incredulity of his own statement, “Even Damian.”

The meta bit the inside of his cheek, “We just want you to feel included, y’know?” His brown eyes flicked to just behind her, his face brightened at the sight of his brother.

“Mind if I join?”

Duke raised a hand in a wave, “Hey, D.”

“Dick,” She let out a little hum and lifted her face as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Her palms softly glowed blue and she pressed them against his shoulder, pulling out a bullet and starting to close the hole.

Nightwing sat down next to her, grinning at the impromptu picnic table, “You two seem to be getting along well.”

“I mean Rae and I are basically siblings now, so--” Duke laughed as Dick reached forward to flick his shoulder, the two sharing a look. Raven shifted, a flutter in her heart. She’d known him for years, she knew what Dick was planning even without her connection to his emotions, obviously. But hearing Duke say it was really making this trip real.

Raven took a sip of tea as her boyfriend laid his chin on her head, casually talking to his adoptive brother about something or the other. Her violet eyes met a robin’s beady gaze and she fought the urge to stick her tongue out at the little creature.

She wasn’t just a bird anymore. She was a Bat.

Her breath calmed at the solidness of that title, of having a damn-near traditional definition of a family, despite all that extras this particular one would entail. Raven leaned her weight against her love, listening to his heartbeat with one ear and Duke with the other.

Dick must have felt her realization through their bond but he kept talking, his right hand skipping down to intertwine with her left one. His thumb rubbed circles over the finger that would undoubtedly bare a ring soon and Raven hid her smile behind another sip of tea.

[olga-eulalia]

Fic dump! As in I’m dumping you, fic! Bye. #improvingmylife

Unbeta’d Pre-S1 Prostitute!Silver/Patron!Flint PWP. 2500 words. Warnings: Non-native speaker writing here. Explicit content. Weird content. Money & Masturbation. No plot. Unfinished.

Except for the ink staining his fingers, his body was clean, his sweat crisp. A whiff of battle, of smoke and metal, sometimes lingered in the thick of his hair and in the folds of his clothing. He was wont to kiss Silver sweetly on the side of his neck where it was most tender and cradle his body with gentle hands as if it were a fragile parcel. Yet he fucked deep and hard, and knew how to make Silver come on his dick.

Flint was the one patron Silver would not part with without protest.

Once or twice, gingerly removing his legs from Flint's shoulders, Silver, in an addled state, had entertained fancies of recompense. He might be getting paid for providing a service and whether he was attracted to his client or not ought to have no influence on his performance, but if Flint somehow managed to make him excited just at the thought of him, and not only because he could make a kiss on the mouth be as effective as a hand down Silver’s silk trousers, if Silver’s breaths came a little faster at the mere sight of his favourite, returned from the sea, mounting the stairs with one hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes tempting like a dare while he took each step with strategic deliberation, surely that was not something to be taken for granted?

On the bed, jostled into the space between Silver’s bare thighs, Flint held another doubloon up to the light and then placed it on Silver's belly so that it kissed the upper arch of the navel from above. He watched it lie there for a moment, watched it rise and fall in the rhythm of Silver’s quickened breaths, before he added another one of its kind to it, and then another, making the potential reward a rather generous one already and making it, in turn, very difficult for Silver who had to slow down his measured strokes even further in order to contain his excitement.

"Think you can reach that?" Flint peered at him, fingertips glancing over his latest addition.

Against the red backdrop of Silver’s bed, his features were of a mind-boggling brilliance as sunset fell on them through a sliver in the curtain, changing the colour of his eyes into a vivid sea-green and turning his beard bright orange, his lips pale pink. Freckles crowded on his arms, were scattered across his chest, but gradually decreased in volume the further down his body tapered to his white underpants where the skin was soft and tender and kisses made him groan, where the shape of his hard dick, gorgeous and hefty like the rest of him, now pushed against the linen.

“Certainly," Silver answered, pointedly serene, snaking a leg around Flint’s waist while he eyed the coins on his abdomen to make sure they did not dislodge themselves during his attempt to pull Flint closer. One of them was about to slip off already. "If you fucked me, however--"

Flint lifted a stern eyebrow at him.

Silver dropped his leg and his head back into the sheets and sighed, providing a bit of a show.

An exercise in patience was nothing new, after all. Even with Flint primed and ready from the first kiss, as he usually was, it seemed impossible to accelerate the progress of events, and as long as Silver’s attempts at steering them according to his will kept misfiring, their trysts would always remain a source of frustration for him.

As a meagre consolation, Flint gave him two more gold pieces to attain to, placing the second in the centre of his chest. "How about this one? You think you can reach it?” A hint of wiliness twinkled in his eyes, twitched in the pointy ends of his mustache. Distracted by such roguish charm, one could easily forget that all those shiny coins had been raked in by means of violence and coercion.

"Please," Silver said, aiming for nonchalance, but missing by a considerable margin.

He put one hand between his legs, two fingertips to his taint and nudged them in. Habit almost made him reach further down and give himself something to writhe down onto, which would have been disastrous; would have not only broken the agreement he had with Flint, but also ruined over a week’s worth of monumental restraint, when it was the promise of having it done for him good and proper that had made him so well-behaved in the first place.

Flint guided Silver’s thighs further apart, holding him open to his gaze, eager to see. “Fuck,” he said, readjusting his grip a tad crudely. “There’s not an inch of you that’s not pretty.” Without taking his eyes off Silver, he loosened the drawstring on his underpants and reached inside, knuckles straining against the fabric as he soothed himself. His jaw worked as though he was going to alter his plans after all and suck cock until Silver was a begging, incoherent mess.

It wouldn’t be the worst of outcomes, really. Silver, at his most attentive, held his breath.

“You’ve been waiting for me?” Flint asked.

“Yes,” Silver breathed out.

Not having to lie was quite something. Excitement at the prospect of Flint sinking into him, filling him, heavy and thick, and fucking him open had his nipples perking up, his cockhead blurting out drops of precome with every tug and twist of his hand so that his palm produced a delicate, slick noise sliding up and down on his dick.

“Spent all week without letting anyone touch you--” Flint was relentless now, smoothing a hand down into the crook of Silver’s groin, running a fingertip over Silver’s knuckles and coaxing Silver’s fingertips to his tight little sphincter. “Where you need it most.”

A pulse of pure want swept through Silver when, lashes lifting, Flint locked eyes with him as he continued to probe for the truth. “Next time, you’re going to let me watch you stretch yourself open. Let me see how you try to stuff yourself with those gorgeously thick fingers of yours. Do you know how many you can take?”

Silver licked his dry lips. “Four, I think.”

Flint made a rumbly noise deep down in his throat. “I think you should try to take one more.” Eyes glinting, he leaned over Silver like something dangerous lowering itself to feed, filling Silver’s field of vision, his senses, with the sumptuous, dramatic delights of him. “Or would you want me to try for you?”

There was a lump in Silver’s throat that he could hardly swallow past. His breaths sounded harsh and shivery  to his ears as he kept jerking himself wetly with his legs spread open wide on Flint’s thighs.

In his line of work, he had done a lot of stuff, stuff that would make even a hardened pirate blush just hearing about it, so he couldn’t really say why this affected him so much or what about the situation had him so ready to shoot his load all of a sudden that speech was difficult, his tongue chasing fragments of words like crumbs around his mouth. If only there wasn’t space yet for one more doubloon at the top of his chest. If only he didn’t know exactly that Flint would give it to him if he kept going just a little longer.

Of all his clients, it was this man who agitated him the most, because he furthered the possibility of a life in which Silver’s future was not under the lock and key of someone else’s schemes like no other. With this much additional income laid out on his body, with it shimmering on his skin like sunken treasure or fool’s gold in a brook, Silver’s mind was awash in the glow of its potential. If only he could speed up the actualization of his plans.

“No,” he told Flint. “I want to try. While you watch.”

Flint looked pained somehow and pushed himself upright, taking up his former position, scrutinizing Silver. “What else would you try for me?”

A keen shock of pleasure jolted Silver’s body as the first of many ideas poured in. Monosyllabic Flint, who chose to lie back and say things like mount, waiting for Silver to swing his leg over, was much easier to deal with.

“How long would you keep yourself in such an agonizing state just to have this?” Flint asked, holding up the last doubloon between finger and thumb, mesmerizing Silver, who squirmed inside his skin and gasped wordlessly, with its gleam.

It seemed to take forever until he resolved the suspended moment and used the coin to complete the line that ran straight from Silver’s groin up to his throat. But finally, it came to rest cold on feverish skin.

Silver’s eyes rolled back in his head as the inevitability of his release pulled at his tendons like a cramp, gathered on the tip of his tongue behind his teeth. After one last thought in which he remembered to aim properly, he was gone, disappearing to that place inside his mind where it was quiet and peaceful, where he found bliss warming him through and through, and he was floating weightless, even as his climax wrenched at his core, forced his mouth open around a loud noise, and then ebbed, ever so abruptly.

Emerging from that state felt a bit like waking up in a foreign place. It took a long time to get reacquainted with the colours of the room, which were greying now, the sounds and the sweet, spicy smell of the brothel, the feel of his own limbs. Loss of tension let him sprawl like an ocean creature stranded by the tide. He wiggled his toes.

Above him, Flint was holding himself up with one arm. "I must say I’m impressed,” he said and gave Silver a small, but fetching, wink.

The coins, as they were being collected and set aside, sounded merry, sliding against one another. Silver wondered whether he’d truly earned all of them and reached for his neck, but Flint snatched his hand and calmed it with a kiss to its back. He had that look on his face, the one that had accumulated bit by bit. The one that softened his whole demeanour.

When Silver had first come to know the man, he couldn’t have guessed at its existence, finding him brusque and of a highly sceptical nature. But Silver knew a business opportunity when he saw one and rumour-laden Captain Flint had been well worth the effort.

Though Flint had been close to turning on his heel and walking out of Silver’s room even after it’d taken a month of intricate planning to get him there, he had then revealed himself determined to make the experience a pleasant one; a little bit rusty in responding to Silver’s advances, a little bit rough when he took Silver at first, filling him with a couple of impatient thrusts, but soon moving them like a dream, his strokes long and confident up to the finish, his kisses full of passion and appreciative little groans.

“You know what I like,” Silver said, letting a lazy smirk pull at his mouth.

Flint’s face twitched.

They had always been honest with each other about the nature of their arrangement and Flint, especially, had always seemed very pleased by the absence of any illusions, which was why Silver had used the demystification of his work as a handy tool and never been hesitant to mention his love of coin, but seeing Flint’s eyes now so mirthless in response made something dissatisfied squirm inside of him, urging him to amend his statement somehow.

With a hand on the back of his neck, Flint let himself be pulled down easily enough, but he evaded Silver’s seeking mouth by bending to taste the underside of his chin instead, nipping at the skin there, running his tongue across the stubble, his beard a not unwelcome caress as he placed kisses all the way to the dip at the base of Silver’s throat, licking Silver clean in the process. Silver, with his reasoning still reassembling itself, could not deny that Flint’s hand stroking down his side sparked exhilaration along the way and that being measured by its great span made him feel utterly claimed. And when that touch swept over the curve of his ass and lifted him off the bed so that Flint could fill his hand with one plump cheek and their bodies came sliding together with the smooth caress of skin on skin, he sighed contentedly, all remorse forgotten.

Flint interrupted his exploration and lifted his head. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed with lust. A couple of strands of his hair had sprung loose from their leather string and Silver, stifling his amusement at the sight, brushed them back with his hands, cradling the skull tenderly. Finally, he thought, teasing Flint’s hard-on with the slow drag of his hips. After all, Flint was paying for the privilege to be the only one to enjoy him that particular way, and not too little either since everyone was intrigued by what greater men desired but they themselves could not possess.

“I want to put my mouth on you,” Flint rasped, his fingers slipping down into the cleft between Silver’s buttocks. “Yeah?”  

Silver sucked in a breath, not expecting his cock to firm up again so soon. “By all means,” he said, dizzied by how fast he was then put onto his stomach and given a pillow to squish. 

When it came to parting with information, however, Flint was less generous. His commentary on the very latest was entertaining, but mostly scathing, as though he was reluctant to sound well-disposed towards anyone lest someone should accuse him of having a heart. So one could mainly tell how important a topic was to him by how much it strained him to keep his thoughts to himself and how dear someone was to him by how unhappy it made him to hear them mentioned unfavourably in gossip.

"I've got my eye on a prize that might prove a bit of a challenge," Flint had said.

Silver's ears had pricked up. He’d masked his interest with a saucy remark, but that sort of coquetry rarely gained any approval from Flint.

Standing in front of the cabinet, pouring a drink, watching it run into the cup like the clearest water, he considered the options available to him. He could offer to find a captain more suitable to the task and by doing so inflame Flint’s competitiveness splendidly, no doubt. Or he could offer reassurance by saying that most pirates on the island were only alive because they chose easy pickings whereas Flint’s skills were truly exceptional and that someone of his calibre had nothing to worry about. He could also choose to take a slightly more subtle approach and talk about the time he’d seen a fistfight break out after someone had insulted Flint's competence as a captain, use that opportunity to put his own thoughts on the tongues of strangers to find out what exactly such an experienced mariner deemed challenging. This could be the day he coaxed a lucrative lead out of one of the most tight-lipped of clients.

But he did none of these things and instead wondered aloud, "Why not take some other prize, then?"

"I’m afraid that, too, lies beyond choice,” Flint said.

It occurred to Silver that, while he was still barred from being a confidant, any worry that filtered through in Flint’s tone of voice would have to remain assuaged superficially. Sliding the bottle back onto the cherrywood shelf, he paused for a second before he corked it. Then he turned and slowly, on wobbly legs, crossed the room.

Flint, waiting for him on the edge of the bed, took the offered drink and downed a couple of swigs before he wetted a cloth with which he wiped at his beard. He was quiet, contemplative. But his gaze, flashing like crystal from beneath the heavy fringe of his eyelashes, travelled over Silver’s naked body in a manner that said his thirst was far from slaked.

Silver eased himself onto Flint’s lap.

Putting his head back, Flint studied him with unconcealed curiosity. His expression was open, wondering. His lips were parted, kissable. “You’re really not going to ask me about it?”

Silver considered his next words, the heart suddenly jumping in his chest.

[apiratecalledav]

Okay, I'm gonna need you to tell me nice things to make me hopeful about Sansa and Arya. Please. Help me obi-wan, you're my only hope.

Ask and you shall receive, friend.

It’s another long, numbered list and mostly Arya-centered, since she’s the one who seems more concerning. Hope that’s okay.

Finishing under the cut because the answer is dark and full of 7x06 spoilers. ;)

So the end of 7x05 and the first half of 7x06, I was sure that it would turn out that Arya and Sansa (and Bran, too) were playing Littlefinger. All the Stark kids know to some extent that Littlefinger’s a psycho, so I thought it was obvious that they would scheme together to take him down. Especially since Arya confronted Sansa out in the open, where Littlefinger or one of his toadies could have easily been lurking.

Then Sansa went to Littlefinger (doing exactly what he wanted!) and they were talking about how Brienne promised to serve both Arya and Sansa. And again, I was hopeful. Littlefinger seemed to be suggesting that Brienne would help Arya before Sansa (LF and Sansa watched them training together and having fun) but I thought it could also be him implying that Sansa should “get” Brienne on her side first. And Sansa almost immediately sent Brienne away, which I hoped was an effort to spare her from Littlefinger’s potential manipulations.

But Arya and Sansa later had it out alone, so now I don’t think they’ve teamed up (yet??). Unless they knew Littlefinger was hiding under the bed. Holy shit, how fucking hilarious would that have been if the camera had panned to him down there, his mustache all full of dust bunnies?  I’m still hoping Arya has a trick up her sleeve but even if that’s not the case, this “feud” is not going to last long and I’m pretty much positive that the sisters’ relationship will be on the mend by the end of the season finale.  Here’s why:

1) If they don’t work together to take out Littlefinger, one of them will. It will be very soon and the other will be grateful (Sansa) or impressed (Arya) and they will bond.  I really will be shocked if this isn’t Littlefinger’s last season. And if it’s not, it’s only because they’re saving it for the opening of season 8. Or it’s because Aidan Gillen once saved Dan or David from choking to death on an hors d’oeuvre at some fancy event and in their gratitude, told Aidan he could stay on the show til the end. Seriously, there are no other explanations that don’t plummet into M. Night Shyamalan levels of weird insanity.

2) Over the course of this show, especially during season 6 and 7, we’ve seen a lot of characters “going home”/back to the start and temporarily regressing:

  Dany with all of those Dothraki strangers, with no army, no dragons,and no friends. And then boom.

We saw Sam back at his father’s house, his self-esteem splintering. Then he left, not even needing some bs confrontation or validation from his father. Gilly loves him, what else matters? >HEART EYES

Jaime, whose inner decent person really got to shine when he was FAR away from Cersei and with Brienne… Well, we’ve seen how he’s been the last few seasons, barf. But Brienne is headed towards him so I think there’s a lot of hope now! :D

Then there’s Theon. Theon, who has been Theon: hostage of Winterfell/Robb Stark’s friend and ally, then Theon Greyjoy, then Reek, then Theon:captive of Wintefell/friend and ally of Sansa Stark and then Theon Greyjoy again… has now had a Reek relapse. Most likely, he is working up to a grand rescue of Yara and/or defeat of Euron and will finally just get to be Theon, his own man on his own terms.

 Sansa was a bit bratty/entitled and channeling Cersei earlier this season and now we see her being much more thoughtful and mature.

So it seems it’s Arya’s turn now.

One of the most important things Arya has learned is forgiving/understanding those who have done horrible things in order to survive. Such as herself. Such as the Hound. And notice how after she managed to stop hating the Hound and no longer wanted to kill him, Ilyn Payne, Thoros, Beric, and Melisandre suddenly disappeared from her list. While they’ve done a lot of shitty things, they aren’t pure evil and they didn’t do anything with the malicious, sick kind of glee that Walder Frey, Cersei, Joffrey, The Mountain, and Meryn Trant did.

So obviously, Arya’s regression would have to involve forgetting that particular lesson. Especially since this time, it is so much more personal. She loved her parents and Robb. And thinking that her sister had a hand in the events that lead to their deaths, even unintentionally and indirectly, would make her have a temporary meltdown/throw a tantrum.

And then there’s the fact Arya and Sansa were both absolutely terrible to each other when they were little. But I don’t think Arya ever managed to hurt Sansa as deeply as Sansa hurt Arya. After all, Sansa was the pretty one, the one who had praise and approval from all sides: their mother, their septa, Jeyne Pool, etc. Arya mostly just had Jon and occasionally Ned.

So of course, backsliding!Arya would snap up the chance to finally “get even” with Sansa. Since Arya’s mantra is “fear cuts deeper than swords” (at least in the books), her revenge would not be physical harm but rather completely and utterly scaring the shit out of Sansa and effectively saying, “You will never have power over me again. You couldn’t if you tried.”  

But as with Dany, Sansa, Sam, and probably Jaime and Theon, Arya is going to overcome her past weaknesses and show Sansa empathy and forgiveness.

I think her handing Sansa the dagger was kind of the start of that? Possibly “I officially offer you my badass assassin services” or “Hey, want to borrow a face and get rid of somebody on your list? I know you probably have one, even if you don’t acknowledge it or say it out loud every night…”

3) Arya is not nearly as dark as D&D want to trick us into thinking.

In my opinion, D&D use Arya as a red herring for a certain Queen with a boatload of titles and some cool pets. Hear me out. They are probably the two characters who started off the most innocent that have gone down the darkest paths, with Arya’s being the more obvious one.

I think it’s very interesting that whenever Arya does something like bake Freypies, D&D are quick to say in interviews, “Hurr durr, Arya’s getting kinda scary. Maybe we should be worried about what she is becoming?”

And yet, Arya repeatedly proves that there is a line she won’t cross, even if it’s a risk to her own life- She didn’t leave Hot Pie at Harrenhal, despite the fact he would slow them down and had no skills that would be helpful on the run; she managed to feel empathy for the Hound/couldn’t bring herself to kill him; couldn’t kill Lady Crane, even though sparing her was dangerous for Arya; she didn’t let those Frey girls drink poison (she only would have needed to spare one if it was just about delivering a message), was friendly to those Lannister soldiers who were nice to her, and oh yeah, SHE CHOSE JON/WINTERFELL OVER REVENGE/KILLING CERSEI.

Meanwhile, they are almost always curiously quiet about said certain Queen whose line seems to get blurrier all the time…

  Though the show itself doesn’t shy away from dropping hints, ie the very sinister version of her “victory theme”  in 6x04 after she burns shit down. Not to mention that Varys (the most intelligent person in Westeros) and Tyrion (the cleverest person in Westeros) are beginning to be uncomfortable with some of her choices. And I’m betting it won’t be long until Davos (the wisest person in Westeros) raises an eyebrow at her, too….

I sorta compare it to Arya walking down a set of stairs vs. Dany walking down a ramp. The stairs might have you descend quicker but it can be a hell of a lot harder to stop when you’re on a ramp, especially after you’ve gained momentum. And walking upstairs is typically a lot easier than walking uphill. ;)

4) More than once, Arya has been shown to fight with Sansa or bitch about her and then almost immediately defend her from someone else. The thing with Mycah/the direwolves, for example. Arya was pissed at Sansa but Cersei wanted to punish Sansa by killing Lady and Arya immediately shrieked, “Lady wasn’t there! You leave her alone!”

Or she told Ned she hated Sansa for siding with Joffrey but when Ned said Sansa was going to HAVE to take Joffrey’s side Arya is concerned and asks “How can you let her marry someone like that?”

Aka the classic “I can be mean to my sibling, but YOU CAN’T, ASSHOLE.”

5) “I don’t hate her, not really.”

TL;DR:

1) Littlefinger is just about toast, and one or both Stark girls are going to be behind it. Wolves are known to hunt birds, sometimes. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

2) Lots of characters have been temporarily reverting to their old, lesser selves and they have either bounced back or are clearly getting ready to make a comeback and Arya is no different.

3) Arya certainly might enjoy walking around ankle deep in darkness but she’s not going to drown in it.

4&5) Arya might complain about Sansa, but she loves her. And Sansa loves Arya.

[brawltogethernow]

Neutral Element - Welcome to Mechanicsburg (Be Sure to Try Our Cheese Snails and Tell Your Friends Back Home About Them!)

Installment Masterlist

Characters: Zeetha, Klaus, a certain Brit, Bangladesh, ensemble; Relationships: A little Agatha/Gil, kolee dok zumil without being called that, Wulfenbachs (avec Bang), an heir and his butler-spy; Length: 2k

Agatha and the Circus and the Jägers are all left cooling their heels on the stolen airship, which provides extra time to fret about everything. Agatha is still fairly worried about what happened to the Sturmvoraus siblings, mostly for Tarveka’s sake on the sister’s part and for that of her own security on the brother’s. At some point in all the missing time, Anevke seemed to vanish as a player. And Agatha was with Tarveka, furious with her and terrified, then blacked out, and then came to again with her nominal ally from the castle nowhere in sight. She didn’t see the princess again before they had to beat a hasty escape. Agatha hopes she’s alright somewhere and not dead or dismantled, even if her motivations were deeply suspect.

The sudden cessation of action, in general, leaves no one quite sure what to do with themselves.

“Well, that’s dumb,” says Zag, when Agatha expresses this feeling to him after she’s woken up and killed an hour on uninspired fiddling with her little clanks. “We’ve got barely just enough time to plan what we’re going to do when we get into town. We can’t expect that things won’t pick up quickly once we do. They’ll be keeping my father in the same place you’re going, for one thing. The Great Hospital of Mechanicsburg is famous, and the head medic is my father’s personal friend.” At Agatha’s frazzled, dizzy look, he appears to take a little pity. “But, hey, you haven’t even had your coffee yet. …And there’s someone who hitched a ride who you haven’t even talked to yet.”

“…I don’t drink coffee,” says Agatha.

“Dear god, why?”

“Who are you talking about?”

Zag raises his eyebrows.

Zag waggles his eyebrows.

Zag cocks his head across the gondola.

Agatha turns to see what he’s nodding at.

It only takes her a second to pick out a mop of light brown hair among the otherwise familiar lineup, apparently drawn into animated conversation with a knot of circus members.

Agatha gasps. “Gil!”

Zag smirks at her. “So are you gonna go talk to her?”

“No! Yes! Maybe? Oh, I don’t know, Zag, I mean. Maybe I should just stay over here?”

“Ooooo-kay,” says Zag, and begins to gently shove her toward the knot of conversation the Wasteland spark is involved in until Agatha smacks him away and chooses walking over being slowly skidded there.

“Can you act?” Rivet is saying to Zengil. “Because you look like you would make a great High Priestess.”

“…I’m sorry?” says Gil. Due to interplay of genre conventions, the stock role of the High Priestess, the mysterious foreign spark who exists in some form in most Heterodyne plays to give Barry Heterodyne a love interest, does not bleed over much from the plays to the novels.

“Well, since we’re about to lose Miss Clay, Pix won’t be able to take that role as much, and — Oh! Speak of the devil!”

Caught lurking, Agatha jumps in place.

Gil turns to her, and gets that look like the sun’s come up again. She. She really needs to stop doing that. Agatha swallows.

“Um,” says Gil.

“I,” says Agatha.

Gil looks up. Agatha looks down.

“Blue fire, I can’t take this,” says Zag, failing at what looks like a personal challenge to stay a respectful distance away. He glares at Agatha as he turns his bystander-maneuvering powers on guiding the rest of the (very interested) group a few feet away.

Agatha pointedly ignores all of this. She clears her throat. “What — what are you doing here? Not that I’m not, um, glad to see you, but — what are you doing here?”

“Oh, um. My flyer kind of got. Destroyed? In the big fight.”

That’s her fault. Her destruction, her fault Gil was there at all.

“Oh my gosh, Gil, I’m so sorry!” she says. “You worked so hard, and…”

“Hey, no, it’s okay! Seriously, it’s fine. Anyway, I have so many new ideas now, I’d have had to start over from scratch to implement all the new principles I’ve thought of anyway….”

Agatha licks her lips. “What kind of new principles?” She finally stops fidgeting and looking at her shoes and looks Gil properly in the eye. And immediately jerks back. “Agh! What happened to your face?”

“Uhh,” says Gil.

“Wow, you really don’t remember,” drifts a voice from the “separate” knot of theater people.

“Quiet, rabble,” says Zag.

 *

When they get into Mechanicsburg at last, sneaking incognito-like, Zag is de-ligh-ted at one of the people they happen to run into.

“Wooster!” he says, beaming. “What are you doing here?”

“I got reassigned,” says Wooster, looking alarmed. “After you ran off. What are you doing here?”

Ardsley Wooster and Zagreus Wulfenbach had had an understanding. Zag knew Wooster was a spy for Her Undying Majesty (the Queen is undying, long live the Queen), and Wooster knew Zag knew, because Zag told him, and instead of kicking him out Zag extracted payment for Wooster’s absent loyalties in the form of an endless stream of wink-wink nudge-nudge British jokes, and in exchange for not mentioning his cover had technically been blown, Wooster didn’t have to be in disgrace and could keep trying to do his job. Zag tried to moderate what information Wooster had access to, and Wooster tried to subtly get around that, and was also fairly certain that Zag knew he did this, and thought it was funny. It had, despite everything, been a surprisingly workable arrangement before Zag ran off with a girl.

Which, by the way. “If I may ask, sir…”

Zag beams at him. Delighted and evil. “Go for it, Mister Wooster.”

Think of the nation, Ardsley. “What is your relationship with the Lady Heterodyne? Exactly.”

He braces himself for details. Zag is and always has been a details person.

Zag leers at him, even worse because Wooster knew he would. “Oh?” he says. “Why? Got some great aunts you want to gossip to about it? Maybe other, miscellaneous older women?” His eyes tip up into half moons.

“Hurrk.”

Zag shrugs. “Don’t worry, I can throw you this one. I’m teaching her how to fight.”

What. “Er, what?”

Zag starts counting off on his fingers .”And run all over the place, and dodge stuff, and I think some acrobatic maneuvers when we’ve worked on her wrist strength more.” He gestures around the town square. A large spider holding a piece of Swiss cheese speared on a knife dodges his fingertips. “Have you seen this place? She’s going to need it.”

Wooster contemplates this strange and new world order. “You are instructing the Lady Heterodyne.”

“I’m teaching her tactics, too. Politics. Diplomacy.” He emphasizes “diplomacy” by smacking one of his daggers into his hand.

“…Oh, yes,” says Wooster. “Between you and the citizens of Mechanicsburg, I imagine she’ll be set.”

 *

Klaus wakes up to all-over pain, admonishing insistence he not work, and a bodyguard he suspects was picked out as much to punish him as for her effectiveness. But talking through his plan of action is keeping him on track. Bangladesh DuPree is mostly nodding along and adding off-color comments, but her pointed disinterest in anything political or logistical actually make her an uncommonly safe sounding board. “…Vole should deal with the girl and retrieve my son. It’s the best I can do for him.”

“Mm hmm, mm hmm,” says Bang, nodding diligently, hands busy twirling some of her knives. “But really,” she says, “I say good on the guy for sticking to his guns and fighting for what he wants. Being caged up on the Castle didn’t really suit him, did you think?”

Klaus sighs, and dismisses this. There isn’t time to keep Zag happy when he’s trying to keep him alive. The issues of his son’s tendency to withdraw into himself and to appear in places he isn’t wanted and then vanish from settings where his presence is called for like a morbid ghost can be dealt with after his safety has been ensured.

And when Klaus gets him back, it’s probably time to tell him about his mother. “…And then there’s her other companion. The girl with the unusual swords, and the circlet. She —”

“Who, the madgirl from the lost city?” says Bang.

“…What,” says Klaus.

“Do you want her for something?” asks Bang. “Well, good luck, pal. I’ve been trying to catch her since she landed on this stupid continent, but she’s slippery.”

Klaus takes a moment to take this in and reach the inevitable conclusion.

“She’s the warrior who destroyed your fleets?!” he demands. “All of them?! Alone?!” Klaus somehow imagined DuPree’s query and original reason for joining him as someone…larger. Maybe she’s usually better-equipped?

“That’s the madgirl!” chirps DuPree. “I’ve been after her for aaaa-ges.”

Klaus peers at her. Maybe he’s not even really conscious right now. That would explain the surreal combination of events. But it hurts so much. That would be so unfair.

“Guess you were distracted when I was trying to kill her during the Circus thing, sir!” she says cheerfully. Bangladesh is always cheerful when talking about murder.

Klaus groans. “This isn’t good. If she is here for my son, she’s much more dangerous than I suspected.”

DuPree looks at him oddly. Why? “Why would she be here for Zag?” she asks. “She —”

A courier bursts through the door. “Herr Baron!” she shouts, panicky, then tosses off a salute and waits for his nod to speak. “You know the prince of Sturmhalten, sir?”

Wilhelm. No, his son, who Sun was looking after. “Yes?”

“He’s gone missing, sir.”

Klaus slams his palm into the bridge of his nose, reopening both of the stitches in his brow.

 *

Wooster isn’t quite sure whether joining Miss Clay’s entourage counts as defecting from the Wulfenbach Empire if it’s because he’s following its prodigal son. Not that it really matters. And Introducing himself as “Ardsley Wooster, Agent to the Queen” has a certain thrill to it, even if, by definition, being able to do so means he’s failed his task. He hasn’t gotten to do it since certain discrete altercations in Paris.

The Lady Heterodyne’s party settles in amid the whirlwind of chaos Agatha is making of the coffee shop. Zagreus waves a stick of gingerbread he must have acquired at one of the vending stalls. “You know she still can’t do a handstand?” he says to Wooster, the continuation of an ongoing critical assessment. “She says it’s her hips, but Zengil doesn’t have any problems. I just haven’t been testing the strength in her core enough.”

“And the young lady in question would be, ah.” The odd-looking one, with the weird hair and the fading but still plainly spectacular bruise and compression bandage. “…The foreign spark.” Without thinking, he adds, “Well, she isn’t as… As…” There is no acceptable way to end this thought. “Uh.”

Wooster wishes he didn’t know exactly how he got signed up for these rundowns analyzing violence and women’s hips. Understanding his journey to this point really just makes it worse. He hopes he can get his hands on some coffee, so he can spike it.

“She’s the one whose relationship with Agatha you should be asking about,” says Zag ruminatively, ignoring Wooster’s abandoned point, which is uncharacteristically merciful. “Whoo-ee!” he continues. “It’s a good thing the Heterodynes have pretty much always done what they want. Because if the Fifty Families thought they had a say in this, ha! It’d be a show!”

“…Wait, what? What?”

Zag cheerfully pats him on the back. It would as good as confirm that one of his favorite pastimes is playing “Chopsticks” with Wooster’s blood pressure if Wooster hadn’t already known that.

In the background, something else explodes.

“Huzzah!” shout the cafégoers. There’s an assortment of whooping.

Under their booth, the talking cat and the lobster construct are engaged in a disagreement that’s escalated into a scuffle. The Baron’s heir gently nudges the violent whirlwind of child-sized coats away from Wooster’s legs and flashes sharp canines at him.

…It was far and away time to toss his cover, anyway. Far more interesting things are happening here.

No jaw wiring for Bang because A.) that seems to have been a prank orchestrated by Gil, who isn’t present, and even if it wasn’t his idea B.) her path through the Circus incident and its aftermath was completely different due to chasing Gil instead of Wooster.

[readbookywooks]

HOW THEY DISCOVERED SOMETHING WORTH KNOWING

THE others admitted afterwards that Jill had been wonderful that day. As soon as the King and the rest of the hunting party had set off, she began making a tour of the whole castle and asking questions, but all in such an innocent, babyish way that no one could suspect her of any secret design. Though her tongue was never still, you could hardly say she talked: she prattled and giggled. She made love to everyone - the grooms, the porters, the housemaids, the ladies-in-waiting, and the elderly giant lords whose hunting days were past. She submitted to being kissed and pawed about by any number of giantesses, many of whom seemed sorry for her and called her "a poor little thing" though none of them explained why. She made especial friends with the cook and discovered the all-important fact there was a scullery door which let you out through the outer wall, so that you did not have to cross the courtyard or pass the great gatehouse. In the kitchen she pretended to be greedy, and ate all sorts of scraps which the cook and scullions delighted to give her. But upstairs among the ladies she asked questions about how she would be dressed for the great feast, and how long she would be allowed to sit up, and whether she would dance with some very, very small giant. And then (it made her hot all over when she remembered it afterwards) she would put her head on one side in an idiotic fashion which grown-ups, giant and otherwise, thought very fetching, and shake her curls, and fidget, and say, "Oh, I do wish it was tomorrow night, don't you? Do you think the time will go quickly till then?" And all the giantesses said she was a perfect little darling; and some of them dabbed their eyes with enormous handkerchiefs as if they were going to cry. "They're dear little things at that age," said one giantess to another. "It seems almost a pity..." Scrubb and Puddleglum both did their best, but girls do that kind of thing better than boys. Even boys do it better than Marsh-wiggles. At lunchtime something happened which made all three of them more anxious than ever to leave the castle of the Gentle Giants. They had lunch in the great hall at a little table of their own, near the fireplace. At a bigger table, about twenty yards away, half a dozen old giants were lunching. Their conversation was so noisy, and so high up in the air, that the children soon took no more notice of it than you would of hooters outside the window or traffic noises in the street. They were eating cold venison, a kind of food which Jill had never tasted before, and she was liking it. Suddenly Puddleglum turned to them, and his face had gone so pale that you could see the paleness under the natural muddiness of his complexion. He said: "Don't eat another bite." "What's wrong?" asked the other two in a whisper. "Didn't you hear what those giants were saying? `That's a nice tender haunch of venison,' said one of them. `Then that stag was a liar,' said another. `Why?' said the first one. `Oh,' said the other. `They say that when he was caught he said, Don't kill me, I'm tough. You won't like me.'" For a moment Jill did not realize the full meaning of this. But she did when Scrubb's eyes opened wide with horror and he said: "So we've been eating a Talking stag." This discovery didn't have exactly the same effect on all of them. Jill, who was new to that world, was sorry for the poor stag and thought it rotten of the giants to have killed him. Scrubb, who had been in that world before and had at least one Talking beast as his dear friend, felt horrified; as you might feel about a murder. But Puddleglum, who was Narnian born, was sick and faint, and felt as you would feel if you found you had eaten a baby. "We've brought the anger of Aslan on us," he said. "That's what comes of not attending to the signs. We're under a curse, I expect. If it was allowed, it would be the best thing we could do, to take these knives and drive them into our own hearts." And gradually even Jill came to see it from his point of view. At any rate, none of them wanted any more lunch. And as soon as they thought it safe they crept quietly out of the hall. It was now drawing near to that time of the day on which their hopes of escape depended, and all became nervous. They hung about in passages and waited for things to become quiet. The giants in the hall sat on a dreadfully long time after the meal was over. The bald one was telling a story. When that was over, the three travellers dawdled down to the kitchen. But there were still plenty of giants there, or at least in the scullery, washing up and putting things away. It was agonizing, waiting till these finished their jobs and, one by one, wiped their hands and went away. At last only one old giantess was left in the room. She pottered about, and pottered about, and at last the three travellers realized with horror that she did not intend to go away at all. "Well, dearies," she said to them. "That job's about through. Let's put the kettle there. That'll make a nice cup of tea presently. Now I can have a little bit of a rest. Just look into the scullery, like good poppets, and tell me if the back door is open." "Yes, it is," said Scrubb. "That's right. I always leave it open so as Puss can get in and out, the poor thing." Then she sat down on one chair and put her feet up on another. "I don't know as I mightn't have forty winks," said the giantess. "If only that blarney hunting party doesn't come back too soon." All their spirits leaped up when she mentioned forty winks, and flopped down again when she mentioned the return of the hunting party. "When do they usually comeback?" asked Jill. "You never can tell," said the giantess. "But there; go and be quiet for a bit, my dearies." They retreated to the far end of the kitchen, and would have slipped out into the scullery there and then if the giantess had not sat up, opened her eyes, and brushed away a fly. "Don't try it till we're sure she's really asleep," whispered Scrubb. "Or it'll spoil everything." So they all huddled at the kitchen end, waiting and watching. The thought that the hunters might come back at any moment was terrible. And the giantess was fidgety. Whenever they thought she had really gone to sleep, she moved. "I can't bear this," thought Jill. To distract her mind, she began looking about her. Just in front of her was a clean wide table with two clean pie-dishes on it, and an open book. They were giant pie-dishes of course. Jill thought that she could lie down just comfortably in one of them. Then she climbed up on the bench beside the table to look at the book. She read: MALLARD. This delicious bird can be cooked in a variety of ways. "It's a cookery book," thought Jill without much interest, and glanced over her shoulder. The giantess's eyes were shut but she didn't look as if she were properly asleep. Jill glanced back at the book. It was arranged alphabetically: and at the very next entry her heart seemed to stop beating; It ran MAN. This elegant little biped has long been valued as a delicacy. It forms a traditional part of the Autumn Feast, and is served between the fish and the joint. Each Man... but she could not bear to read any more. She turned round. The giantess had wakened up and was having a fit of coughing. Jill nudged the other two and pointed to the book. They also mounted the bench and bent over the huge pages. Scrubb was still reading about how to cook Men when Puddleglum pointed to the next entry below it. It was like this: MARSH-WIGGLE. Some authorities reject this animal altogether as unfit for giants' consumption because of its stringy consistency and muddy flavour. The flavour can, however, be greatly reduced if- Jill touched his feet, and Scrubb's, gently. All three looked back at the giantess. Her mouth was slightly open and from her nose there came a sound which at that moment was more welcome to them than any music; she snored. And now it was a question of tiptoe work, not daring to go too fast, hardly daring to breathe, out through the scullery (giant sculleries smell horrid), out at last into the pale sunlight of a winter afternoon. They were at the top of a rough little path which ran steeply down. And, thank heavens, on the right side of the castle; the City Ruinous was in sight. In a few minutes they were back on the broad, steep road which led down from the main gate of the castle. They were also in full view from every single window on that side. If it had been one, or two, or five windows there'd be a reasonable chance that no one might be looking out. But there were nearer fifty than five. They now realized, too, that the road on which they were, and indeed all the ground between them and the City Ruinous, didn't offer as much cover as would hide a fox; it was all coarse grass and pebbles and flat stones. To make matters worse, they were now in the clothes that the giants had provided for them last night: except Puddleglum, whom nothing would fit. Jill wore a vivid green robe, rather too long for her, and over that a scarlet mantle fringed with white fur. Scrubb had scarlet stockings, blue tunic and cloak, a gold-hilted sword, and a feathered bonnet. "Nice bits of colour, you two are," muttered Puddleglum. "Show up very prettily on a winter day. The worst archer in the world couldn't miss either of you if you were in range. And talking of archers, we'll be sorry not to have our own bows before long, I shouldn't wonder. Bit thin, too, those clothes of yours, are they?" "Yes, I'm freezing already," said Jill. A few minutes ago when they had been in the kitchen, she had thought that if only they could once get out of the castle, their escape would be almost complete. She now realized that the most dangerous part of it was still to come. "Steady, steady," said Puddleglum. "Don't look back. Don't walk too quickly. Whatever you do, don't run. Look as if we were just taking a stroll, and then, if anyone sees us, he might, just possibly, not bother. The moment we look like people running away, we're done." The distance to the City Ruinous seemed longer than Jill would have believed possible. But bit by bit they were covering it. Then came a noise. The other two gasped. Jill, who didn't know what it was, said, "What's that?" "Hunting horn," whispered Scrubb. "But don't run even now," said Puddleglum. "Not until I give the word." This time Jill couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. There, about half a mile away, was the hunt returning from behind them on the left. They walked on. Suddenly a great clamour of giant voices arose: then shouts and hollas. "They've seen us. Run," said Puddleglum. Jill gathered up her long skirts - horrible things for running in - and ran. There was no mistaking the danger now. She could hear the music of the hounds. She could hear the King's voice roaring out, "After them, after them, or we'll have no man-pies tomorrow." She was last of the three now, cumbered with her dress, slipping on loose stones, her hair getting in her mouth, running-pains across her chest. The hounds were much nearer. Now she had to run uphill, up the stony slope which led to the lowest step of the giant stairway. She had no idea what they would do when they got there, or how they would be any better off even if they reached the top. But she didn't think about that. She was like a hunted animal now; as long as the pack was after her, she must run till she dropped. The Marsh-wiggle was ahead. As he came to the lowest step he stopped, looked a little to his right, and all of a sudden darted into a little hole or crevice at the bottom of it. His long legs, disappearing into it, looked very like those of a spider. Scrubb hesitated and then vanished after him. Jill, breathless and reeling, came to the place about a minute later. It was an unattractive hole - a crack between the earth and the stone about three feet long and hardly more than a foot high. You had to fling yourself flat on your face and crawl in. You couldn't do it so very quickly either. She felt sure that a dog's teeth would close on her heel before she had got inside. "Quick, quick. Stones. Fill up the opening," came Puddleglum's voice in the darkness beside her. It was pitch black in there, except for the grey light in the opening by which they had crawled in. The other two were working hard. She could see Scrubb's small hands and the Marshwiggle's big, frog-like hands black against the light, working desperately to pile up stones. Then she realized how important this was and began groping for large stones herself, and handing them to the others. Before the dogs were baying and yelping at the cave mouth, they had it pretty well filled; and now, of course, there was no light at all. "Farther in, quick," said Puddleglum's voice. "Let's all hold hands," said Jill. "Good idea," said Scrubb. But it took them quite a long time to find one another's hands in the darkness. The dogs were sniffing at the other side of the barrier now. "Try if we can stand up," suggested Scrubb. They did and found that they could. Then, Puddleglum holding out a hand behind him to Scrubb, and Scrubb holding a hand out behind him to Jill (who wished very much that she was the middle one of the party and not the last), they began groping with their feet and stumbling forwards into the blackness. It was all loose stones underfoot. Then Puddleglum came up to a wall of rock. They turned a little to their right and went on. There were a good many more twists and turns. Jill had now no sense of direction at all, and no idea where the mouth of the cave lay. "The question is," came Puddleglum's voice out of the darkness ahead, "whether, taking one thing with another, it wouldn't be better to go back (if we can) and give the giants a treat at that feast of theirs, instead of losing our way in the guts of a hill where, ten to one, there's dragons and deep holes and gases and water and - Ow! Let go! Save yourselves. I'm - " After that all happened quickly. There was a wild cry, a swishing, dusty, gravelly noise, a rattle of stones, and Jill found herself sliding, sliding, hopelessly sliding, and sliding quicker every moment down a slope that grew steeper every moment. It was not a smooth, firm slope, but a slope of small stones and rubbish. Even if you could have stood up, it would have been no use. Any bit of that slope you had put your foot on would have slid away from under you and carried you down with it. But Jill was more lying than standing. And the farther they all slid, the more they disturbed all the stones and earth, so that the general downward rush of everything (including themselves) got faster and louder and dustier and dirtier. From the sharp cries and swearing of the other two, Jill got the idea that many of the stones which she was dislodging were hitting Scrubb and Puddleglum pretty hard. And now she was going at a furious rate and felt sure she would be broken to bits at the bottom. Yet somehow they weren't. They were a mass of bruises, and the wet sticky stuff on her face appeared to be blood. And such a mass of loose earth, shingle, and larger stones was piled up round her (and partly over her) that she couldn't get up. The darkness was so complete that it made no difference at all whether you had your eyes open or shut. There was no noise. And that was the very worst moment Jill had ever known in her life. Supposing she was alone: supposing the others... Then she heard movements around her. And presently all three, in shaken voices, were explaining that none of them seemed to have any broken bones. "We can never get up that again," said Scrubb's voice. "And have you noticed how warm it is?" said the voice of Puddleglum. "That means we're a long way down. Might be nearly a mile." No one said anything. Some time later Puddleglum added: "My tinder-box has gone." After another long pause Jill said, "I'm terribly thirsty." No one suggested doing anything. There was so obviously nothing to be done. For the moment, they did not feel it quite so badly as one might have expected; that was because they were so tired. Long, long afterwards, without the slightest warning, an utterly strange voice spoke. They knew at once that it was not the one voice in the whole world for which each had secretly been hoping; the voice of Aslan. It was a dark, flat voice - almost, if you know what that means, a pitch-black voice. It said: "What make you here, creatures of the Overworld?"

[notapaladin]

#bg3#btw the strength of will it’s taking not to put winks after some of these sentences…#you better BELIEVE he wields his blade with charisma ifyaknowwhatimean#I’m sure he’s VERY effective with his sword nudge nudge wink wink#also needless to say I reserve the right to (project wildly) daydream about monocular vision!wyll regardless of ‘canon’#maybe after he breaks his pact the eye stops working…#maybe any time mizora was pissed at him she turned off the vision feature…#or any time he was hunting things that weren’t HER things to hunt… (via @tanoraqui)

#bg3#if he's not a bladelock he is not good with that sword#however there is that animation where he teaches a kid how to use a sword and he seems pretty good at it#therefore I consider him being a bladelock to be canon#which is fascinating from a character analysis standpoint#like even if you disregard the eye the guy is bad at fighting#he was brought up to be a politician clearly and he has some weapons training but he was never good at it with those stats#so every aspect of his capacity to fight depends on his deal with Mizura#he is a hero because she allows it and without it he's just Ulder Ravenguard's son#I love him so much#one of the most fun and interesting Faustian deals I've seen (via @allandnot

THIS. I LOVE HIM.

hey, questions for actual game-players:

Which of Wyll’s eyes is the working one? (That is, I assume the Sending eye can’t see?)

Which hand does he use to wield his rapier?