#WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP [the sound of me beating him on the counter like raw plant fibers] LOOSEN UP PELL

[attractthecrows]

love pellinore warthrop. love to flog him with chains

[pathologicalreid]

what goes bump in the night | s.r.

in which Spencer's struggling with violent nightmares after prison, and you find yourself on the receiving end of his tossing and turning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: reader gets whapped in the face. don't like don't read, please. blood, prison arc, black eye, a lot of guilt. therapy. word count: 1.89k a/n: (this wasn't a request but shout out to the anon who told me i had to repost this after i deleted it) this is some dark shit but i have to admit i do think about the possibility a lot. take care while reading my loves.

Several years in the BAU had inadvertently trained you to wake up at any slight movement or noise. While some might call it paranoia, you considered it to be a finely tuned skill.

Spencer didn’t sleep talk before prison, and even now, he only mumbled in his sleep when he was having a nightmare. Normally, he didn’t move, he just tossed his head around and begged for whoever he was seeing in his nightmare to just hold on. Tonight was different, he sounded like he was pleading for someone to leave him alone, and he was thrashing more than usual.

You knew there was a risk of waking him, but you reached out and gently shook his shoulder anyway. “Spence,” you whispered, not wanting to hurtle him out of his darkened dreamscape.

There was no response. No sign of him coming even close to waking up.

His thrashing became worse, and his mumbling became even less intelligible like something was covering his mouth in his dream. Reaching out from your side of the bed, you tried to grab his hand, hoping it would be something that he could use to ground himself. Gripping his hand, you said his name again, more forcefully this time.

The pain didn’t even register at first. The first thing you recognized was the sensation of having something stuck in your eye, a small twinge in the outer corner that sent your hands flying to the side of your face.

Oh.

With your uninjured eye, you looked up to see Spencer, awake. Breathing heavy, sure, but awake. Very slowly, his breathing slowed, but he had seemingly forgotten that he was sharing a bed with you until you felt liquid trickling from your nose and scrambled to the bathroom before you got blood all over the sheets.

His wide eyes followed your shadow through the bedroom, putting the convoluted puzzle pieces together as he came out from under his nightmare-induced fugue state only to find a different type of panic. You faintly heard him curse and rustle the sheets as you shut the bathroom door harder than you intended.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your right eye was tearing up as a result of the impact, and your nose was trickling blood down your face. Grabbing a wad of tissues from the box on the counter, you pressed them to your nose, blinking the tears from your eyes to the sound of your heart beating through your chest.

Spencer knocked on the bathroom door, followed by a larger thud that you assumed was him leaning his head against the door. “Can I come in?”

You tried not to sniff, hating the sensation of your nose being covered, you responded, “It’s your bathroom.” Your tone was far too blasé, and Spencer was going to see through it immediately.

“That’s not what I asked,” he told you, a slight tone of desperation ringing through. You knew what he wanted to know; he was asking if you were comfortable with him being in the same room as you – if you’d feel safe with him in the same room as you.

Leaning your head back, you took as deep of a breath as your body would physically allow you before you answered, “Yeah, you can come in.”

Before you had even finished speaking, Spencer had opened the door to the bathroom, letting the light stream into the bedroom, “Fuck,” he murmured when he saw you, “Hey, don’t lean your head back. You don’t want the blood to run down your throat.”

“Okay,” your voice quavered, watching him lift his hands like he wanted to guide your head down until he realized he didn’t know what to do with his hands – he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. Leaning over the sink, you let coagulated blood fall from your mouth, watching it go down the drain before you looked up at Spencer, who watched on in horror at the mess he had created. “Can you grab more tissues?” You asked him, giving him a job to busy his idle hands.

Instantly, Spencer grabbed a handful of tissues and held them out for you, within your range of motion. Still leaning over the sink, you took the new tissues and held them to your nose, haphazardly dropping the soiled tissue in the basin beneath you. “I don’t… What-“

Cutting him off, you spoke, “Do you still have those ice packs? The first aid ones from last year,” you made a new request, giving him a job to perform so that he wouldn’t apologize to you. He’d apologize until he was blue in the face, but you still wouldn’t know how to respond.

He nodded, crouching in front of one of the cabinets and filtering through a first aid kit, hoping to produce a disposable ice pack for you to place near your eye. With the timidness of a newborn foal, Spencer set the plastic on the counter next to you.

Your boyfriend watched as you carefully peeled the tissues from your face, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, only to quickly replace the tissue when you noticed a trickle of fresh blood making its way down your philtrum. “Aren’t you supposed to pinch it or something?”

“Yes, you can pinch the bridge of your nose to staunch the bleeding,” Spencer said, grabbing your discarded Kleenex and putting them in the garbage bin. He watched intently as you reached up your free hand to pinch your nose, “Does… does it hurt?”

Giving him a quick shake of the head, you met his eyes through the mirror, “I don’t think it’s broken,” you told him, avoiding answering most of his question.

He loosed a sigh of relief, “Thank god,” he murmured, keeping an eye on you as you wondered how terrified he must have been to invoke the name of a deity he didn’t believe in.

Once you were finally able to drop the last of the tissues in the sink, you were faced with an even worse reality. There was no way of escaping the black eye that you already had forming, the tender skin would be further marred with time. “I think it looks worse than it actually is,” you offered meekly, reaching to your side and grabbing the ice pack off of the counter. You popped the center of it before wrapping it in a towel that Spencer had set out for you.

Holding in a hiss as the towel touched your face, you allowed your eyes to wander across the rest of your body. Your shirt had drips of blood on it, but the larger issue was red encrusted all over your face. With the urgency of a sloth, Spencer took a different towel from the drawer and ran it under the tap, wringing it out before holding it up, “May I?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, thankful for your newly cleared airway as you extended your neck, giving him the access he needed to wipe the blood from your chin and neck. “Spence-“

“I’m so sorry,” he interjected, his movements faltering as he let his hand drop to your shoulder.

You shook your head, crinkling the icepack in your hand, you blinked rapidly, hoping to clear your vision. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” you told him, it was the truth. He had obviously been having a violent nightmare, and you grabbing him had likely triggered a fight or flight response.

Spencer sighed dejectedly, “I burst a blood vessel in your eye. I’m so…” his voice trailed off in the middle of his sentence, leaving you unsure whether he was going to apologize again or go off on a self-deprecating tirade. “I hit you,” he breathed, abruptly yanking his hands away from you, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” Setting the washcloth on the counter, he put his hands up in surrender and stepped away from you.  

Leaning against the bathroom counter, you wished for an inkling – anything you could say to him that would prevent his auto-villainization. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. Saying you hit me sounds so…”

“Wrong? That’s because it is,” he said harshly, and you could almost see the storm of self-loathing that was brewing in his mind.

Shaking your head, you adjusted your grip on the icepack before looking up at him, “but it makes it sound like it was intentional. You didn’t hit me, you… thwapped me.”

Spencer loosed a shaky sigh, “I’m not so sure that’s better.”

“Would you prefer bonked?” You proposed, looking at him and hoping for a small smile, but being disappointed when you were met with the same haunted expression. “It was an accident,” you insisted, reaching out your unoccupied hand and taking his hand in yours, “I am fine.”

He scoffed dismissively, “I should have had a better handle on myself.”

You frowned, “You were asleep, Spence. You couldn’t have had a better handle on yourself. It wasn’t on purpose, and you’re taking care of me now,” you told him softly.

“But you’re scared of it happening again,” he challenged you.

When he had come home, you knew he had been changed. Not necessarily for the better or for worse, but he was most certainly changed. You had heard everything in bits and pieces, what had happened in Millburn, what had happened with Cat, but nothing had prepared you for the harshness of your new reality. He was capable of harming others, but that didn’t mean you thought he’d hurt you again. “You’re disappointed in yourself, but you don’t believe you get to feel that way. You’re projecting onto me,” you told him, taking your hand back.

Spencer flinched back, “Don’t profile me.”

“You, Spencer Reid, would never knowingly lay a hand on me,” you insisted, you believed it. You believed it even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The two of you sat in an angst-filled silence before he stood up straight, gently starting to usher you into the bedroom. Handing you a t-shirt from your drawer to change into, you could see his internal struggle as he grabbed a pillow from the bed and made his way toward the door.

Despondently, your shoulders slumped forward, “Where are you going?” You asked softly, hating to watch him leave your shared bedroom over this.

“I’m sleeping on the couch. I’m gonna… I’ll try to set up a meeting with my therapist in the morning. I just…” his voice trailed off as he looked at you with wide, sad eyes, “You’re okay?”

Your heart ached at his voice as you nodded, opening your arms for him and letting out a sigh of relief when he returned to you for a hug. Reaching your free hand behind him, you rubbed his back comfortingly, “We’re going to make it through this, mark my words.”

He nodded in affirmation as he pulled away, “For my own peace of mind, I’ll sleep on the couch for a while.”

You accepted it, knowing that he needed to deal with this in his own way, he closed the door behind him, effectively leaving you alone. Laying back on the pillows with your icepack still clutched to your face, you sighed, wondering how long it had been since your boyfriend felt any semblance of peace of mind.

[blankd]

People are very familiar with how konami utterly fucked the Silent Hill IP and in that vein my personal franchise that "got SH'd" would be Breath of Fire.

Certain fans assigned the 5th game (Dragon Quarter) as being what killed it, but I'll defend that game for being a fairly unique RPG (and good!!) in its own right. I feel like if it came out now, people would appreciate it more.

It's relatively short (if you're fast you can legitimately beat it in <8 hours), brutal (flavor/setting + finite resources, finite enemies) and there's a simplicity to it that people seem to mistake as a problem rather than a choice.

read more of me rambling on about how one mechanic can uniquely define a game

One of the loudest fan criticisms of DQ is that it didn't have the dragon gene mixing/summons people loved and that there was !!only one dragon form!! But I'd say it was a worthy sacrifice for doing more with the dragon mechanics.

Your dragon/"I win" button was strapped to Ryu's/the MC's lifespan- sure you'd get devastating dragon powers, but it would also eventually kill him and could deadlock* your game if you abused it. Even walking around would (slowly) tick up the death counter which generates a good sense of urgency *without* condescending railroading.

As a result of this, DQ features something most of the other BoF games generally lacked, meaningfully dangerous encounters.

Other entries would be more typical random encounters that could be snuffed out or eventually grinded out of being a threat.

Meanwhile DQ has finite enemies (and EXP). Battles would take place on a 1:1 map, terrain, enemies, hazards, and items were retained from the normal map and vice-versa.

The game also cranked up the stakes by having limited hard saves (it required a consumable item), but still allowed you to have a soft save anywhere (the latter would be deleted upon reloading the game). Retaining your progress was always on the line and properly framed the dragon option as a temptation with consequences.

*note: the game wasn't so unfair as to leave you without any recourse, you could get a Restart+ where you carried over some items and EXP from a failed run to start the game over again, but leave it to gamers to puzzle out a way to exploit this courtesy to grind/farm, kudos on figuring it out but newspaper whap for going against the spirit of the game

This sort of decision working mechanically, playerwise, AND as a story point was a unique experience. Most games get bogged down in complexities and convulsion but DQ kept to a simple and sweet execution of "this power comes with a terrible price" and is a stronger experience for you.

As a game designer, the cohesion of story and mechanics is a solid inspiration.

Anyway did you know that there was a BoF 6? It was a mobile game and it shut down in about a year. Yes it is was soulless as it sounds. Yes the art is as bad and generic as it sounds.

---

Bonus Round! BoF Game Rankings + Misc.:

BoF:DQ (in case it was not obvious) is my favorite of the series, it's an RPG I can easily revisit and enjoy, truly a lean game. My ideal remake would tidy up the graphics to be nicer and to tweak some fiddlier bits, but the best I can hope for is a lazy port just because I don't think there are many copies (and more people should play it!). The NA box art is a crime though, horrible, 1000 years dungeon.

BoF 4, I like the overall plot and what it tried to do, there's some dodgy TL but I like the weird dragons and the art. Unfortunately it suffers from being in that PS1-PS2 transitory era and from RPG trappings of the time.

BoF 2 (GBA) has a a soft nostalgia spot in my heart. The TL work was incredibly jank, but is what defined JRPGs for me with its funny little freak party and the whiplash of weird goofy shit and Horror that Just Works.

BoF 3 and 1: I never really got around to properly playing either of these and have no real motivation to fix that.

I actually own the BoF artbook (in Japanese) and if you happen to enjoy them, I rec the the purchase even if you know nothing about the series. It actually contains *art from all 5 games* and having a consolidated timeline for how the art evolved over time is fascinating.

[ragingbookdragon]

Snowballs & Winter Races

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,800 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Day 7! Bet y’all thought I forgot, huh? I DID NOT. Enjoy! -Thorne

          “Thank you for coming with me to deliver the supplies, (Y/N). I am grateful for your help.”

           His voice was soft and sweet like it usually was, and she couldn’t help but laugh, hoisting the empty leather bag higher onto her shoulder.

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton, you don’t have to thank me every time I come along with you.” She said, taking his hand. “I do so because I like spending time with you.”

           Connor’s cheeks pinked slightly and to hide the smile growing on his face, he looked forward. “Of course,” he murmured. “I…enjoy spending time with you as well.”

           (Y/N) hummed and waved at Warren and Prudence who were heading towards the inn; they waved back.

           “You haven’t had much of it since starting to work with your father.”

           He glanced over at her, brows furrowing with confusion. “Much of what?”

           She huffed. “Time, Ratonhnhaké:ton. It seems every day you have less and less.”

           He frowned. “I cannot help it. The war does not wait.” Connor’s face pinched. “Nor does my father.”

           (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed with humor and she mused, “So much to do…so little time.” Her gaze drifted up a path just up the road and she stopped, causing him to halt as well, confusion in his eyes.

           “(Y/N)? Are you well?”

           She nodded and looked at him. “Say, how about you and I take a detour and spend a little more time together?”

           A low hum sounded from his throat as he looked between the path and the sun beginning to sink towards the horizon.

           “It is going to get dark soon.” He noted. “And colder.”

           Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she let his hand go and started walking down the path. “Afraid of things that go bump in the night, beloved? If you’re scared, I understand, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” (Y/N) spun on her heel and winked. “I guess I’ll just have to go myself.”

           Connor scowled and hurried after her, taking her hand again. “I do not like to be manipulated, (Y/N). Even by you.” He laced their fingers, keeping her from leaving again.

           She barked a laugh. “Ratonhnhaké:ton, I’m not a manipulator. That sounds so vindictive and cruel.”

           “And you are not?” he countered.

           “Oh, I definitely am,” she agreed. “But I prefer to be referred to as a conniver of outcomes.” (Y/N) smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes at him. “I just so happen to conniver many of your outcomes when it comes to me.”

           His amber eyes narrowed, and he growled lightly, “È:rha.”

           She smirked. “That doesn’t sound like a polite thing. Am I making you mad, Ratonhnhaké:ton? Afraid to beat me at my own game?”

           At that, Connor let go of her hand, a crimson streak across his face as he stomped off down the path, fuming in his native tongue. She cackled at his back and continued after him.

           They strolled through the path for a little over an hour and by the time they reached the end, an orange glow bathed the Davenport Homestead as far as the eye could see. Connor stood at the edge of the trees, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the land. It had grown so much since he’d gotten there. With the increased in residents and supplies, the community had begun to thrive as well as Boston and New York did. He felt a pride bloom through his chest at seeing his hard work starting to come back to him. Perhaps if it kept going it would be just as big as Boston and New York. Maybe it would be enough to—

           WHAP!

           Something hard impacted his shoulder and sent Connor lurching forward off balancing, stumbling a few feet. He quickly turned around and gaped, his left arm raising over his head to feel. Feeling something wet and cold, he grabbed it and pulled his arm back, uncurling his hand. Snow melted in his palm and he scowled, looking around—(Y/N) was nowhere in sight.

           “That was not funny, (Y/N).” The opening between both sides of the forest was at least fifteen feet, and while there wasn’t any brush to hide in, she had to be behind one of the trees. He took a few steps, carefully watching his surroundings.

           With the sun sinking, it meant he had less time to find her tracks, but even looking, he couldn’t seem to find where they started. Maybe she’d gone around another—

           WHAP!

          ��A snowball collided with his thigh and he spun, staring in the direction it had come, but there was nothing there but a barren expanse of undisturbed snow and defoliated trees.

           “(Y/N)!” he warned, feeling irritation welling in his chest. He knew she was playing a game with him—and he most definitely knew she was smirking that stupid smirk that made him all weak in the knees.

           Connor stopped and closed his eyes then opened them, seeing the world in a darkened haze of indigo. Her steps appeared before him and he cursed, seeing the tracks she’d made around multiple trees. She was playing a game with him. He sighed, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the world back in the normal hue. He took one step forward and—

           WHAP!

           The snowball came out of nowhere, striking him in the chest with such a force that he staggered back and dropped to a knee. Connor looked up, seeing her perched on a branch, tossing a snowball into the air then catching it. A smirk was plastered on her face.

           “You’d be dead by now if I was your enemy, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” She tutted at him. “Imagine what Achilles or your father would say.”

           Connor growled at her and yanked his hood over his head, already heading for a tree he knew he could climb up and chase her through.

           “Oh? Are we making this a double or nothing game?”

           He didn’t respond, grunting as he pulled himself into the tree.

           (Y/N) stared him down as they came eye to eye in separate trees. “You look absolutely incensed, beloved.” A grin spread across her face as he took a step out onto the branch.

           He gave her one warning. “Run.”

           Her eyes went wide and with a squeal, she spun around, immediately hopping onto the next branch. She could hear him behind her, and while she had flexibility on him, he had reach on her.

           She sped from branch to branch as fast as she could, hearing them creaking under her weight, then groaning under his as he chased her. Her heart thrummed in her chest, heartbeat pounding in her ears, but the grin stayed on her face. She enjoyed these chases far too much, but as long as it was so easy to rile him up, (Y/N) was going to do it.

           Her boots hit the hunting platform and when she didn’t see a new branch to hop on, she turned and yelled, “Ratonhnhaké:ton, wait! There’s not another—”

           He was much too determined to catch her and going far too fast to be able to listen and stop. His moccasins struck the platform and upon hitting a small patch of ice, he slid forward, arms waving as he tried to stop himself.

           (Y/N) deadpanned, “Oh no. This isn’t gonna be—”

          Connor barreled into her like a bull in a pottery shop and the next thing she knew they were going over the edge.

           They smacked into a snowbank and though her back was cushioned by the pillowlike snow, she wasn’t protected from the brunt of Connor’s weight.

           He landed atop her and she let out a long, airy whine that sounded a lot more like air deflating from a sack. For a solid minute, nothing escaped (Y/N), but a groan resembling a dying animal.

           She took a deep breath, well, as deep as she could with two-hundred pounds plus weighing down on her. “I think you crushed my spleen, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Her side ached with a fury. “I take it back. I think you crushed everything.”

           He let out a snort. “You do not even know where your spleen is, (Y/N).”

           “I’m gonna find yours with a knife if you don’t get off me.”

           Connor chuckled, but it dissolved into a moan as he lifted himself and flopped over onto his back, laying beside her. (Y/N) took in the much-needed air, prodding her stomach and chest.

           “Well, I don’t think you broke any of my ribs…but I’m definitely doing to have a Ratonhnhaké:ton shaped bruise across my front tomorrow.”

           “Sorry,” he mumbled, but a smile was on his lips.

           They didn’t speak for a moment, then he said, “We should start heading back. It will be dark within a few minutes.”

           (Y/N) hummed. “I’d move but a bull ran into me a few minutes ago and I can’t feel my back.”

           He scowled. “I am not a bull.”

           “You charge and ram like one.” She let out a heavy whine. “My god, is that what Regulars get hit with on a daily basis? I feel so sorry for them.”

           “It was not that bad.” He muttered and she glared at him.

           “Well that’s because you landed on me! I got sandwiched between you and the ground!”

           “The snow broke your fall.”

           “I’m going to punch you in the forehead. Come here.” (Y/N) reached for him but he rolled out of her way and she groaned, collapsing face first into the snow.

           Connor stood and nudged her shoulders. “Come on, (Y/N). Let us go home.”

           She shook her head, dramatically declaring, “I’m too far gone, Ratonhnhaké:ton. My soul ascends. Leave my body to decompose with nature.”

           He snorted and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder. “You are dramatic, (Y/N).”

           Letting her head hang limply, she grunted at him. “Pot, kettle. Kettle, pot.”

           “What?”

           “Nevermind,” she sighed.

           Connor shook his head and continued walking back towards the pathway.

           “Hey, Ratonhnhaké:ton?”

           “Yes?”

           “Other than bruising my internal organs,” he grunted at her. “Thanks for playing a game with me.”

           “Of course, (Y/N).” he grinned. “I always enjoy winning them.”

           She hissed and slapped his rear. “You didn’t win!”

           “I did too!”

           “No! You ran into me! That doesn’t mean you won!”

           “I think it means I did!”

           “I think this argument means you’re gonna be sleeping downstairs tonight!”

           Connor dropped her to her feet. “You would not dare.”

           (Y/N) got in his face. “Try me, big-guy.”

           They glowered at one another before breaking into laughter. He leaned on her shoulder. “I love you, (Y/N).”

           She smiled at him. “I love you more, Ratonhnhaké:ton. And I am sorry.”

           His dark brows furrowed. “For what?”

           “This.” She shoved him in the stomach, and he sank backwards into a snowbank, howling as she took off.

           “(Y/N)!” Connor fumed.

           “Let’s see you win this one!”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Furies (Mermay OT4)

Request from @angellioncosplay, fill is NSFW

The jagged edge of the harpoon slices into his tail. 

Barclay knows he’s doomed but he thrashes and tries to dive all the same. He doesn’t know what the boar above wants, doesn’t care, he just wants to go home, he has to make it back to them, please, all he wants is to see them again. 

A second barb pierces his side, blood clouds his vision. 

In the darkness below, he thinks he sees two red lights racing closer. Then the harpooners tug, and the world snaps to black.

--------------------------------------

“Is he stable?” Duck whispers as Aubrey swims out of Barclay’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

“Yeah. I’m glad Indrid warned us when he did; if he’d lost much more blood, I’m not sure even my powers coulda helped.”

“And Joe and ‘Drid?”

“They’re gonna stay with him. I think they’re okay but, well” she sighs, shakes her head, “if that’d happened to Dani, I don’t think anything could make me leave her side.” She loops their arms together as they swim to the door, “do you wanna come stay with us? I know this is hard on them, but you had to, like, break a harpoon in half while one of your friends almost died.”

“Nah, oughta stay in case any of ‘em need somethin.”

“You want to keep Dr. Harris Bonkers for extra support?” She holds out her sea bunny.

Duck rubs it’s back, “I’ll be okay, but thanks for the offer Lady Flame. You get home safe now.”

“I will. Oh” She turns, swimming backwards as she adds, “if he needs any more healing between now and tomorrow, come get me right away!”

He promises he will, locks the house up for the night and floats into the kitchen to put it back in some kind of order. Indrid’s sketch pad and enchanted pen are still on the floor where he dropped them, Joseph’s book and Duck’s half-built model ship knocked sideways from the seer pushing away from the table in a flurry of silver and panic. And on the counter are the ingredients Barclay’d set out for dinner, the ones he was checking off when he realized he needed scallops and swam off with a promise to be right back. 

Duck sighs, jumps when something whaps at the green-glass window. 

“Jesus Winnie, thought you were in the bedroom.” He cracks the window enough to lift the octopus inside. See slowly slides off his arm, swimming across the floor to the pile of salvaged ship instruments Duck and Indrid found for her. 

“Maybe this will keep her from stealing the silverware.” Barclay plucks a knife from the cephalopods tentacle. 

Suddenly, he’s too heavy to swim. They almost lost him. 

It’s simple, really. Duck is in love with Joe and Indrid. Joe and Indrid are in love with Barclay. But that doesn’t mean Duck doesn’t love the other mer; Barclay is one of his best friends, a sympathetic ear when things go south and the only one of the four of them capable of beating Joe at Ten Shells. Barclay also understands something about Duck that escapes many of their kind; that he can love Joe, curious and meticulous from his black hair to his dapper monochrome tail, and Indrid, strange and aloof until you gave him the right kind of stroke on his silver scales, with the same intensity. It just manifests in different ways. 

Duck cracks the bedroom door open, finds the wounded mer on his back in their large, seaweed colored bed. Indrid and Joe are nestled on either side of him. Normally, they’d be an undignified, loving pile, but the bandages on his stomach and tail prevent it. 

Indrid stirs, trilling in distress. His nightmares come and go, are most often the echos of horrible futures he was forced to watch over and over. Duck has a pretty good guess as the which one is playing in his mind tonight. 

He wiggles down onto the bed, draping his arm over Indrid’s side and guiding his bony back and red fin against his chest. When Indrid registers his weight, the nervous twitches of his tail stop. Duck glances up, watches Barclay’s hand glide down the bed to hold Indrid’s own. 

Someone almost took this from them. Almost ripped away pieces of the hearts of the mers he loves most in the world. 

And he wants to know who. 

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dearest, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, totally fine.” Barclay tries to sit up as a demonstration, only for his whole body to convulse. He falls back against the bed, whimpering pathetically. 

“Hmmm, I was afraid that would be the case. There were some timelines where you healed quickly, but it seems the monsters who attacked you did a great deal of damage.”

“No, no, it was just a twinge, if you give me a sec I can-”

“-You will stay in bed.” Indrid’s red gaze sharpens, “no mate of mine is going to re-open his wounds trying to make me breakfast.”

“Besides” Joseph looks up from setting all the med supplies they need in tidy stacks and lines, “it’s not like Duck or I can’t cook. You need to rest, big guy.” He swims over, strokes Barclays hair. Barclay leans into the feelings, trying to ignore the fear gnawing a new hole in his side. 

In the three days since the attack, he hasn’t been alone. His boyfriends and friend take turns sitting with him, talking when he wants to and letting him sleep when he needs, bringing him food and changing his bandages without complaint. 

It’s all wrong. That’s not their job. It shouldn’t be, that’s what they have him for. Some part of him wishes they’d been too late. Because he doesn’t want to face what’s coming. 

------------------------------------------------

“Any luck?” 

“Some. Juno says she saw an unfamiliar hull pass by about an hour before Barclay got attacked, but she wasn’t close enough to see any details.”

“Damn it.” Joseph slams the book one human weapons in frustration, then cringes at his outburst. 

Duck swims to him, pulling him up from the chair into an embrace, “We’ll figure it out, slick. Nothin else, happen to know we got a real smart mer workin the case.” He winks, kisses Joseph on the cheek. 

He snorts, then looks at the floor, “Some part of me is worried about what will happen if we do figure out who hurt him. I...I don’t believe in violence outside of dire circumstances, but they, they nearly killed him. I’d like to say my motive in seeking them out is to make sure they can’t hurt anyone else but, well, that’s secondary at best. What I want is to make them pay.”

“That makes two of us” Indrid slithers in the door, “he’s sound asleep, not to worry. I have narrowed down our potential culprits with my visions, but I too am afraid of what I may do if I locate the humans who dared harm him.”

“I get the feelin, but right now we’re mostly borrowin trouble. Let’s wait until we know a little more before decidin whether to track ‘em down.”

Joseph nods, opens his mouth to suggest one of them retrieve dinner from the fishmonger down the block, when there’s a crash from the kitchen. 

“Damn, Winnie must’ve gotten into the cabinets again.”

Indrid blinks, then frowns, “No, that is not her doing.”

Rushing into the kitchen reveals Barclay trying to arrange food on the counter. His upper body can barely move, and his tail is unable to maintain direction due to the bandages. 

“Don’t worry about, ow, me” Barclay smiles at them, but Joseph spots panic in his eyes, “th-thought I’d do some meal prep since you’re all gonna be busy this week.”

He’s about to point out that a)they’re all capable of feeding themselves even when busy and b)Barclay’s only been recovering for a week and a half and Aubrey explicitly told him it would be at least a month before he could move around without help.

Before he can make any points at all, Indrid draws himself up to his full height, frills of his ears fanned out and gestures to the bedroom, “You will do no such thing. You need your rest, dearest.”

“But-”

“That was an order, not a request.” It’s a tone that never fails to make Joseph’s spine turn to mush, and by the flash of pink in Barclay’s tail, he feels the same way. Then his whole tail drains of color and he nods. 

“Right. Sorry. I, I didn’t mean to upset you guys.”

Indrid’s frills flatten and he swims swiftly towards the other mer, “Barclay, I’m not-”

“It’s okay. I caused enough trouble already.” He catches Indrid by the chin to kiss him, blows a second kiss Joseph’s way, then disappears into the bedroom. 

As Indrid flicks his tail nervously, Duck clears his throat, “Know I joke about him not havin a selfish bone in his body, but this is startin to get ridiculous.”

The silver-scaled mer sighs, coiling his tail around Joseph’s own and opening his arms so Duck will come give him a hug. When the three of them are close together he murmurs, “ I saw this timeline, but I had so hoped it would not be the one we ended up in. I have mentioned before that the culture Barclay and I grew up in as deep water mers is very different than what you have on the reef. One component of that was the belief that a mer who could not carry his weight in his home would not be in said home for much longer. His mate or mates not only could, but were encouraged to, throw him out to make room for a more useful partner.”

The entirety of Joseph’s stomach crawls up his throat, “He really thinks we’d do that to him?”

“I suspect so.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “Barclay is already prone to such fears, in that he prides himself on taking care of others. And it is a deeply ingrained message and practice, so much so that there are times I still fear you three may turn me away should my powers disappear.”

“‘Drid-”

The mer purrs reassuringly, “But then I remind myself that I am not down there. I am up here, with you who love me regardless of my strength. Seeing the future helps a great deal as well; I can peek and see there are no timelines where you turn me away. Hmm” his tail taps Sterns lower back, “I wonder, is there a way we can mimic that experience for Barclay? Help him see his future here?”

Joseph gets an idea and, for the first time all day, the sense that he’s getting somewhere, “I have a plan.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay isn’t sure if this is some cruel joke, or if his boyfriends genuinely believe they won’t grow tired of him needing to be cared for all the time. Regardless, he doesn’t know what to do when Joseph lays beside him, kissing his cheek and shoulder as he talks about how they should go see the Kelpie migration this fall, and how he’s heard about a human beach where they serve a swim-up meal to mers and humans alike, and wouldn’t it be nice for all four of them to visit and try the food?

He doesn’t know what to do when Indrid gently sits him upright and combs his hair, jumping from topic to topic between kisses to the back of his neck but always returning to what they should do for Joseph’s birthday, or Dani and Aubrey’s anniversary, or their own anniversary.

He doesn’t know what to do right now, Indrid sitting and drawing while Joseph finishes changing the bandages on his tail. The one on his side came off a few days ago, scar tissue forming a jagged tooth of pink and white in his skin. 

Duck swims in, greeting them all at once, his usually friendly expression somber. 

“Joe, ‘Drid, could I talk to you in the kitchen? It’ll only be a minute.”

His boyfriends nod, assuring him they’ll be back even as they swim away. He wishes he could believe it, but he can think of only one reason Duck would need to talk to them alone. With a sad little groan, he rolls onto his uninjured side and pities himself to sleep. 

-----------------------------------------------------

“You’re sure that’s the one?”

“Positive. Minerva had a near miss with it this mornin, described the exact same thing Barclay did. Speakin of which, we know they’re down a few harpoons because the ones they sent after her she threw right back at them.”

“A fair response if ever there was one. Do we all agree on the plan?”

“Yep”

“Yes.”

“Good” A smile that could make a sea monster afraid, “then let us begin.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Winthrop lounges on the deck of the Nemo as his guests and the hired guides mill around the edges of the boat. After that run-in with the mermaid earlier today, they’re on pins and needles, hoping to see and (finally) catch another. 

Is poaching in a protected cove illegal? Only if you don’t have the money to pay the fine. Is it wrong to hunt the rare creatures that call this stretch of ocean home? Wrong is a deeply subjective concept. 

Warmth leaves the deck as clouds swirl above the sun. 

“I say, wasn’t it sunny a moment ago?”

“Yep. Could be again, provided y’all head to shore and never come back here.” A voice calls from the bow. 

Everyone races forward, shouting in excitement when they discover the merman addressing them with an oddly calm expression.

“Don’t even think about tryin to spear me. You ain’t the only ones with weapons.”

A second mer surfaces, armed with a spear gun he clearly knows how to use. 

“Joe’s a damn good shot.”

The other mer fixes them with a steely gaze, “This is your last warning. Leave this cove and never try to hunt here again.”

“Or what?”

The whole boar rocks as something massive bumps the underside. Screams draw his attention to the silver, serpentine shape gliding through the water. A red fin breaks the surface and then it’s gone. 

Then the boat nearly capsizes as it rams the port side. In the darkening waves, the monster turns it’s head to look up at them. It’s red eye is the size of a steering wheel, but he forgets all about that when the creature rears up, jaws snapping, and narrowly misses dragging his wife off the boat between butcher-knife teeth. 

“Our friend here is mighty angry with you” the first merman rubs the monster's fin as it swims by him, “in fact, he’s downright furious.”

“And it looks like he’s decided to build up some speed before hitting you this time. I don’t think your boat will survive that amount of force.”

“Alright, alright we’ll leave, we’ll go and never come back.”

A hissing screech from the monster. 

“We swear!” He says, really meaning it this time. 

The first merman points towards shore, “then get goin’.”

The boat speeds away, and Winthrop decides to never, ever look back. 

-------------------------------------------

“That was fuckin incredible darlin’”

“Thank you” Indrid returns to his usual form, groggy but pleased, “you were both wonderful as well.”

“Never been happier that you’re so into workin out how human machines operate” Duck kisses Joseph hard, one of Indrid’s favorite sights in the whole of the sea.

 “If you like how I handle a spear gun, you should see how I handle, um, other things.”

“I am” Indrid yawns, “in favor of that idea. But first, I believe I am due for a nap, and Barclay is due for an update.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“You did all that for me?” Barclay twists his fingers in the blanket beneath him, trying to sound pleasantly surprised instead of confused. From the look Joseph and Duck trade, he’s doing a shit job. 

“Well, technically we also did it to keep the reef safe from hunters, and hopefully start a legend that will keep any like-minded poachers from coming within fifty miles of our home. Or our family. And yes, dearest, that includes you.” In the darkened bedroom, deep purple shimmers up Indrid’s tail. A signal to obey.

“I, I never said it didn’t.”

“Yes, but it has been on your mind for weeks.”

“I…”

“Barclay” Joseph settles beside him, taking his hand, “Indrid told us about what you two were taught about needing care or being helpless. I, we, none of us want you thinking that’s what will happen here. I promise.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until Indrid whispers “hush now, dear one” and carefully rests their tails together so that the wound is left untouched.

“I, I thought saying it would make it worse. Make you think I needed reassurance, which would just make it clear how useless I am. I, I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous to feel vulnerable or scared after something traumatic.” Joseph traces his fingers up and down his arm and his scales ripple in reply. 

“Nor to feel off-balance when you are unable to do what you usually do.”

“But you gotta tell us next time.” Duck rests next to Joseph, “we care about you, all three of us, but we can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

He flashes apologetic yellow, “You’re right. I’ll, I’m gonna try to be better about that. It’s just hard for me to let other mers take care of me sometimes.”

The purple returns to Indrid’s tail, and when he turns to look at Barclay his smile is no longer gentle and ethereal. It’s almost tangible enough to slice his chest and send everything he wants pouring onto the bed. 

“It seems to me, my dear one, that you could use some practice in that area.”

“Yes” he murmurs, then yips when Indrid bites his throat, “I mean yes, sir.”

“Much better. After all, your convalescence has made such things difficult until now. And yes, Joseph, I will keep an eye on the futures to be certain no one is hurt. Speaking of which: Duck, please adjust so Barclay’s head is in your lap. You’ll need to hold his shoulders down should he try and disobey me.”

A shift of the bed and then his head rests on mottled green scales. 

“Hey” He smiles up and Duck sends a crooked grin his way, setting more pink off in his tail. He may not want to fuck him, but Barclay’s not about to deny how handsome Duck can be.

This rumination distracts him from Indrid and Joseph’s conversation, so he’s pleasantly surprised when the black-tailed mer catches his lips in a kiss. It’s precise, down with calculated care that always makes him feel like the most interesting, important thing in the world. 

“That’s it big guy, relax for us.”

“I’, I’m tryINGfuck, it’s, it’s kinda hard when Indrid is doing that.”

Indrid chuckles, continues teasing the scales in his upper tail, “Shall I stop?”

“No, please no-”

“Please what?” His slit opens at the steel in Indrid’s voice. 

“Please sir.”

“Good boy. Ah, and here’s that lovely cock of yours. What shall I do with it, hmmm?”

“Anything you want sir.” He tries not to giggle as Joseph nibbles his ear.

“I was not asking you.” Indrid cocks his head at Duck.

“Huh” Duck toys with Barclays hair, “think I wanna see you suck it. Been too damn long since you had a dick in your mouth that wasn’t mine.”

Indrid licks his lips and then Barclay’s moans fill the bedroom as his boyfriend lovingly sucks the head of his cock. 

“Is now the time to mention he sucked me off yesterday while you were at work?” Joseph smiles up at Duck, though his hand is busy teasing Barclay’s nipples. 

Duck growls, “and you didn’t even give an encore where I could watch. Mighty rude of you. Both of you.”

“Don’t blame me” Indrid jerks Barclay off with one hand and fingers his slit with the other, “you know how needy our pet gets.”

“True. Guess I’ll have to put him in his place.” Duck looks down at Barclay, gaze soft in spite of his tone, “not tonight though. Tonight his job is to take care of you.”

“Speaking of which” Joseph turns his face into another kiss just as Indrid’s mouth envelopes his cock once again. He moans and whimpers between those perfect lips, a month of not even being able to touch himself meaning his body is already being dragged towards orgasm. His hand finds Joseph’s tail, petting it enticingly. 

“If you AHnnnfuck, lay perpendicular babe, I can suck you off without hurting myself.”

Joseph glances at Indrid, who pulls off of Barclay’s cock and shakes his head, “Not tonight, dearest.”

He whimpers, tries to lift his head, use his tongue to tease Joseph’s retreating tail, only or Duck to hold him firmly in place. 

“I know, sweet one, you do so love being inside our pet, whether with that talented tongue, those skillful hands, or this sinful thing.” He gives a final jerk, then uses his tail to guide Joseph into his former position, “And I would never deny you that pleasure. He’s such a good little pet after all.” He kisses Joseph posessively, then glides behind him and sets his hands on his waist, “which is why I am going to fuck him on you. I will control his movements, so as to avoid aggravating your injury.”

“And because you get off on it.” Duck adds.

“That too.”

“AHfuck!” Barclay’s whole tail lights up purple for an instant as Indrid shoves Joseph down onto his cock. He might submit to Indrid, but Joseph is the mer in the sea he most wants to claim, to fuck until he’s begging for more.

“Nghnshit, shit that’s so good big guy, fuck I missed this.”

“Ahem.” 

“Thank you Indridoh, ohohohohfuck.” Joseph’s hands scrabble on Barclay’s tail as Indrid bounces him up and down. He looks so handsome like this, cock hard and slit swallowing Barclay to the hilt, dark hair loose and framing his head like a crown. 

Barclay reaches for him, desperate for a touch, but Duck holds him down.

“Thank you, love, if he had moved just then he would have hurt himself.”

“Don’t care” Barclay growlwhines, “Joseph, babe, wanna touch you so bad.”

“You’ll get to, big guy, there’ll be plenty of chances after this.”

He growls, teeth clenched as the riptide of his orgasm pulls at him. 

“It’s okay big fella, you can let go. We’ve got you.” Duck’s voice, as soothing as the hand he scritches down his scalp. 

“Fuck” is all he gets out before Indrid pushes Joseph down and Barclay spurts up into him with moan. 

“Better, big guy?” Joseph’s smile is as dazzling as ever. 

“Uh huh.” His bones are mud, his eyes heavy, and he feels better than he has all month. 

“Good. Come, let me look you over and hold you. Duck and Joseph will join us shortly.”

“But I thoughtAHfuck” is all he hears before the sound of Duck frantically fucking Joseph fills one half of the room, his boyfriends moan switching from charming to mouthwatering as Duck keeps fucking him after he’s cum. 

Indrid builds them a nest on the other side of the bed, guides him into it to comb his hair and rub his aching shoulders, humming as he does. Eventually, Duck swims over to join them, Joseph more floating than swimming in his embrace. 

“How do you feel, big guy?”

“Good. Really, really good.” He closes his eyes, safe in the knowledge that his home and family will still be his when he wakes up.

Then he opens them again.

“Wait, so what the fuck did you actually do to the guy who harpooned me?”

[doc-pickles]

livin’ for the hope of it all

Fun Fact: This is probably my favorite track from folklore (betty is a close second and they’re actually connected in the same storyline) so I created an AU College Sweethearts Jolex storyline just for this. I also needed to change things up because my fics for this week were feeling repetitive, but the good news is that I actually love the storyline and this piece!

(And while we’re at it, shout out to @odd-birds-and-booksellers for beta reading this and helping me clean this up for y’all. ILY and you’re the BEST!)

Also oops I slated this as angst and that just absolutely did not happen. It’s pretty fluffy but uh warning the ending is not happy… at all… So sorry about that.  So without further ado, the folklore fic that stole my whole entire heart!

But I can see us lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

'Cause it was never mine

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine

“Alrighty boys, can I get anything else for you?”

“Yeah how about your number, sweet cheeks.”

Jo rolled her eyes, used to the degrading remarks she would often get as a waitress in the greasy diner. The table of young boys didn’t bother her, they were a dime a dozen working in a college town and it was a sure bet that one of them would say something stupid or degrading to Jo.

Ignoring the comments and laughs from the table, Jo began to walk away but didn’t get very far. The boy closest to the edge had tugged her arm hard enough that she went flying backwards, landing in his lap as one hand came up to hold Jo in place against him. 

“Aw come on baby, don’t you want this,” the boy was speaking directly into Jo’s ear, a clear attempt at seducing her that was failing miserably. She tried desperately to squirm out of his grasp, but he only held her tighter. “I can show you a good time.”

“Hey dick wad, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that the lady doesn’t wanna talk to you,” a gruff voice sounded above Jo, the speaker holding his hand out to help Jo up. She took it with a grateful smile and stood, wiping off her apron while he continued to stare down the table of now terrified boys. “And don’t forget to tip generously.”

Jo watched in amazement as the man went back to his spot at the counter, eyes trained on the newspaper before him. She rounded the diner once more before walking behind the counter to stand in front of the mystery man, refilling his coffee as she eyed him. 

“Thanks for doing that. Those losers can’t take a hint sometimes,” Jo offered her hand to the stranger, a small smile on her face. “I’m Jo, by the way. I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Alex,” the man shook Jo’s hand, a crooked grin appearing on his stoic face. “I just finished med school last month, I finally have time to eat breakfast and enjoy a Thursday morning.”

Jo’s response was cut off by her boss yelling at her, her hand coming up to wave to Alex before she bolted to the other end of the diner. Her eyes flicked back to him once or twice, always finding him staring back already. The small action left Jo with a near constant blush on her cheeks. 

By the time Jo makes it back around, Alex is gone. His empty coffee cup sits on top of a $20, which she grabs with a grin. A corner of the newspaper rests on top of the bill, neat block printing across it that makes Jo’s cheeks flame once again. 

‘If you get sick of stupid frat boys, give me a call.’

+

“I hate to say it, but you might be better at darts than me,” Alex let out a chuckle and grabbed his beer, taking a long swig from it as he turned back to Jo. “You have nothing better to do than practice your aim?”

After her shift at the diner, Jo had sat in her car and hesitated all of thirty minutes before calling Alex and asking him to meet up with her at the bar down the street from her apartment. Nerves flying all around her, Jo had finally made it down to Red’s Bar and Grill, meeting Alex with a wide grin and the first round of beers on her tab. 

“Mmm I practice between classes and work,” Jo rolled her eyes, throwing another dart and hitting just outside of the bullseye. “I’m about to start my last year of school at UI. Architecture degree, the boring stuff.”

“Hey hey, I don’t judge,” Alex shrugged, eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m sure that doodling buildings is just as thrilling as cutting people open.”

Jo let out a laugh, her eyes roaming appreciatively over Alex for the first time. He wore jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his arms and torso, the dark blue bringing out the flecks of gold in his eyes. The low lighting in the bar didn’t help Jo as she tried to concentrate on anything besides the way Alex looked at her, cheeks flushing as she imagined his hands running over her body. 

“Oh you should see me in class, I’m the only woman in my major so,” Jo blindly threw her final dart at the board, relying on Alex’s shocked expression to tell her that she had hit close to her mark. “Had to find something to beat the boys at, keep their egos at bay.”

Satisfied with the dark look that came over Alex, Jo swigged her beer and took a step towards him, her fingers trailing over the collar of his shirt. She’d held back through the three rounds of beers and the pizza they’d shared, but she couldn’t keep her hands off of him any longer. 

“I don’t wanna be too forward but,” Alex finished his beer with one gulp, one hand moving to rest on Jo’s hip. “You wanna get out of here?” 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Jo breathes out, pulling Alex down to kiss her chastely before letting go and walking towards the exit. “Come on, Doctor Handsome. Let’s go.”

+

Two weeks after their first date, Jo is scrambling during the morning rush to touch each of her tables and makes sure they’re all taken care of. It’s just her and her boss Nancy working this morning, so she’s really busting her ass to make sure that she makes good tips. A hand reaches out, swiping her arm delicately and makes Jo sigh in relief. She was so used to the gentle brush against her arm that it felt like second nature at this point.

“Hey you,” Alex’s voice is soft, something that Jo can barely hear above the rush of the crowded restaurant. “Long morning?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe, Katie called out sick so there’s only two of us,” Jo groans as she reaches for the coffee pot to refill Alex’s cup. “I have the next two days off though so I’m just trying to make it through this stupid shift.”

Alex’s hand reaches out and grabs her wrist, holding it for the briefest second before letting her go with a grin. Jo can never seem to control the way her heart beats out of time around the man she just met, but she can’t say she hates the feeling of her heart fluttering nervously. 

“How about we drive to the lake and spend a day or two up there,” Alex shrugs, as if the idea of spending a few days away with Jo is the most natural thing in the world. “Just the two of us. I’ve got some camping gear and a hard top for the pickup. We’ll make a weekend out of it.”

Jo’s eyelashes batted against her cheek, eyes roaming over Alex with a focused stare. They hadn’t labelled whatever it was that they were doing (sleeping together, spending nights stargazing in the back of Alex’s truck, meeting up almost every night to drink cheap wine and order whatever takeout was offering a deal, actually just sleeping together) but spending a few days alone was something entirely different. Spending a few days alone was real. 

“You know what,” Jo laughed, leaning forward to peck Alex’s cheek. “Let’s do it. Let’s get out of this hellish town, god knows we both need it..”

The crooked smile that appears on Alex’s face made Jo’s heart stutter again, the look ingrained in her mind so well that she thought she might be able to paint it from memory. 

+

“I haven’t been up here in years, I didn’t realize how beautiful it was,” Jo stood at the edge of the small cliffside overlooking the water just a few feet down. Alex stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and head propped against her shoulder as they both admired the beginnings of the sunset reflecting on the water. “I’m glad we came up here.”

“Me too, I’m glad I get to spend some time with you,” Alex turned Jo around, his hands squeezing her waist as he kissed her gently. “And I’m very sorry about this.”

Before Jo could respond to him, Alex had lifted her off the ground and jumped off the small dirt cliff, plunging them both into the icy water of the lake. When she resurfaced, Alex was already laughing at her shocked expression. 

“You’re gonna pay for that, Karev,” Jo laughed, feet treading water as she swam closer to him. “Oh you’re so gonna pay for that.”

Alex seized the opportunity in front of him, quickly wrapping his arms around Jo and pulling her body flush with his. His lips meet her neck as she tries in vain to squirm away from him, loud peels of laughter escaping Jo as she let herself relax into Alex’s embrace. 

It’s hours later when they’re laying in the back of Alex’s truck, eyes glued to the sky as they lay wrapped up in one another in a pile of blankets and pillows. There’s a discarded wine bottle next to them and the last embers of the fire they’d built are still glowing. It’s peaceful and quiet and Jo doesn’t think she’d ever felt so relaxed in her whole life. 

“The stars look way brighter out here,” Jo noted as she rested her head against Alex’s chest, eyes closing as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I wish I could stay here forever. It’s the perfect spot.”

“Well this truck bed is uncomfortable as hell so I don’t think us living in the woods would be great on your back,” Alex chuckled as Jo’s hand hit his chest with a soft whap. She sat up then, reaching for her overnight bag and digging through it. “What’re you doing?”

“I got you something! It’s not much but,” Jo pulled out an immaculately wrapped box and handed it to Alex with a wide grin. “I figured it might be handy when you become a hot shot doctor.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow at Jo, before unwrapping the box and popping it open. Inside laid a wrist watch, a silver watch face mounted on a thick leather strap. Jo revelled in the crooked grin on Alex’s face as he took it out and handed it to her, silently asking her to latch it onto his wrist.

“It’s vintage, I found it at a thrift store the other day and I couldn’t resist buying it,” Jo gushed as she adjusted the strap against Alex’s wrist. “I read somewhere that most doctors want to keep a watch on because they’re easier to check and more reliable than digital. And it helps with counting seconds an-”

The rest of Jo’s sentence melted away as Alex pressed his lips firmly against hers. Jo couldn’t help the smile that overtook her, a giggle escaping quietly as Alex leaned her back and pressed her into the truck bed.

“Thank you, you’re more than I deserve,” Alex kissed Jo once more before moving his lips to her neck. “Maybe I can show you how much you mean to me.”

“Mmmm that sounds like a fun way to end the night,” Jo giggled as Alex moved his lips further down her body. “A really fun way to end it…” +

Once the thrill of their spontaneous weekend trip wears off, Jo is surprised at how normal her relationship with Alex feels. It’s August now, Alex’s short break between med school and the start of his internship nearing an end. He had applied all over the country, but the county hospital had been the only one to accept him. 

“I didn’t hear back from Hopkins, Mass Gen, Seattle Grace, or UCSF, but they were all long shots anyways,” Alex shrugged, slinging his arm around Jo’s shoulder and bringing her closer to him on the ratty couch in her apartment. The movie they had chosen rattled on in the background, neither of them paying much attention to it. “Besides, staying here means I get to hang out with you all the time.”

Jo leaned into Alex’s embrace, eyes closing as she relished the feeling of his heartbeat pounding steadily in her ears. She’d become so comfortable in spending so much time with Alex that she didn’t know what she would do when he began to work long nights and days at the hospital. Of course, her own classes would begin in two weeks and then who knew where the two would land up. 

“Mmm yeah I don’t think I can let you go even if I tried,” Jo felt Alex’s hand slip into her own, squeezing gently as he kissed her head. “I’m pretty sure I love you.”

Jo didn't register the hitch of Alex’s breathing, she didn't even notice that he was staring at her so intently. She had dozed off in his embrace, head heavy against his chest as he watched her carefully. He only moved when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, stepping into the other room so he wouldn’t wake her. 

“Hello? This is him. Umm yeah, yeah absolutely. I’m definitely interested. I can be there, I will be there… Three days? Yup. Not a problem. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Thanks Doctor Webber, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll see you soon.”

+

“I have to take this stupid Calculus class and I can’t drop it and I already hate it,” Jo groaned as she plopped into the seat next to Alex. It was a Tuesday morning and the diner was near empty, allowing Jo a few minutes to breathe easy. “Honestly, I’m not excited to start classes next week. I’ve been absolutely exhausted the past week and I would rather just sleep until graduation.”

Reaching over, Jo grabbed Alex’s toast and took a bite and then returned it to his plate. She looked at him curiously, watching as he stared deep into his coffee cup and didn’t flinch at her quick action. Alex usually swatted her hand away when she stole his food, or at least said something to her. In fact, she didn’t think he had spoken more than a brief hello to her all morning. 

“Are you okay? You seem off today,” Jo rested her hand on Alex’s shoulder, a pang of relief coursing through her as he leaned into her embrace. “What’s up? You stressed about your internship? Because you’re going to do great.”

“No it’s just,” Alex heaved a sigh and turned to Jo, his normally bright eyes a dull brown. He looked sad, upset almost, but Jo couldn’t tell why. “You know I love you, right?”

A brilliant smile took over Jo’s face, a distinct glow coming about her as she leaned her forehead against Alex’s. 

“Of course I do,” Jo pecked Alex’s lips quickly, one hand coming up to rub his cheek. “I love you too. You’re pretty special, you know that?”

Alex responded with a nod, leaning up and kissing Jo once more. She left the seat next to him after that, checking on her tables and refilling coffees before heading back to him. Alex was shrugging his coat on as she walked up, coffee cup drained and bill paid. 

“Heading out?”

“Yeah I got stuff to do,” Alex pulled Jo in close, lips meeting hers in a kiss that was much more passionate than what he’d normally reserve for the diner. He pulled back and stared into Jo’s eyes, a look of longing filling the dark orbs. “I meant what I said. I love you Jo.”

“I love you too,” Jo whispered back, leaning up and kissing Alex once more before patting his chest and stepping away from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, I’m working a double today. Bye Alex!”

“Goodbye Jo,” Alex stood a moment longer in the doorway of the diner, watching Jo carefully as she flitted around the dining room. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool August breeze. 

+

“Hey pretty girl, where’s your hotshot boyfriend now? Dipped out on you?”

Jo tried as much as she could to tune out the catcalls and insults flowing from the rowdy table of boys behind her. What she would give for Alex to come swooping in to save her like he did that first day they’d met, but she knew that he wouldn’t. She hadn’t seen him in so long, the August weather turning darker and colder as the months shifted to autumn. It was November now and between classes and the diner, Jo barely had a spare moment to think of the man she’d fallen in love with. 

Except that she did. 

Every minute of the day all Jo could think about was Alex and how much she missed him. His phone number had been disconnected, his apartment was cleaned out, and she hadn’t seen his beat up red pickup truck since it was parked outside of the diner the last day she’d seen him. She’d even gone down to the county hospital to look for him, but a nurse had informed her that there wasn’t anyone under his name working there, much to Jo’s dismay. 

She knew she was being stupid, that Alex and her had just had a fleeting summer romance and she needed to let it go. There was not going to be a magical reunion like the beginning of Grease, there would be no singing and there would be no happy ending for Jo. But she couldn’t let Alex go, she didn’t think she would ever be able to.

“You need to calm down, I know there’s a lot going on, but you are not helping me out,” Jo sighed, eyes closing as she took a moment to press a hand to her protruding stomach. “I know you get excited when we’re here but today… I can’t deal with the constant kicking of my bladder little boy.”

You know when you’re already down and out and then something comes along and just knocks you flat on your ass? That’s exactly what Jo was experiencing. After spending two weeks straight crying over Alex and insurance commercials and the grocery store being out of strawberry ice cream, she’d finally realized that her period was late and that she just might be carrying the child of a man who didn’t want to be found by her. Three stupid plastic tests later confirmed just what Jo had thought: Come April of next year, she would be a mom. 

“We’ll get through today and all the days coming,” Jo sighed as she spoke to herself, a few tears slipping out and dragging down her cheeks. “It’ll all be okay, things will change for us.”

[jujywrites]

(previously)

Touka wakes to distant birdsong. Either the birds are especially cheery this morning, or she left her balcony door ajar.

She doesn’t move right away, instead letting her awareness expand at its own pace. Bedsheets crumpled in one hand. Knees tucked to her chest (she stretches out leisurely with a small yawn). Bumping into Kaneki’s hand.

She opens her eyes and sits up, stretching her arms high above her. With a content sigh, she looks at Kaneki. He’s spread-eagle on his back, mouth slightly open, breathing deeply. She stifles a laugh and shakes her head, finally noticing what a small space he’d left her; it’s a wonder she hadn’t fallen out of bed.

She eyes the floor. Did Hide fall out?

Just as she’s wondering where such a silly thought came from, the memory of last night whaps her upside the head and knocks her back into the pillow.

That wasn’t a dream? But he’s not here, so it must have been.

But no, the morass of feelings is bubbling up inside her again, carrying with it the pressure of Hide’s body at her back and the scent of Kaneki’s shampoo. Quietly, she groans, face in her hands. It’s too hot, I have to move…

She gets out of bed, glancing back to see Kaneki still sleeping (her lips quirk, lazy boy), and goes out to the balcony.

A gentle breeze is swirling, and the birds are still singing. The air feels like ice on her hot skin at first and she shivers, clad in one of Kaneki’s old tees, but soon the heat dies away. That helps a little, but her mind is still full of thoughts that she doesn’t want.

It’s a nice summer morning. A good day, Touka thinks, for a run. Not that she needs to clear her mind or anything. So decided, she moves about changing into her running clothes: purple tank-top, her favorite pair of stretch pants, new-ish sneakers she’d forgotten about until spotting them now.

Kaneki sleeps on. The clock reads 8:30. Not so lazy then, given last night, and for heaven’s sake Touka it’s Sunday. She keeps forgetting that not everyone is an early riser like she (usually) is.

She opens the door– and yelps as she collides with a paper bag.

“Whoa, sorry, Touka!”

A hand grasps her shoulder–that voice, it’s Hide’s– and they both wobble for a few precarious seconds before Touka finds her balance and backs up to let him come in.

“Thanks. Jeez, really sorry,” Hide says, chuckling. “That was close. I have bad timing, I guess, and–”

She’s about to hiss at him for being too loud when he spots Kaneki and shifts to a whisper. “Right, right, he’s still asleep.“

“Well, if he hasn’t woken up by now,” Touka mutters.

“Yeah, he can sleep through a tornado.”

That spears her heart because of course Hide would know that, maybe he’s woken up with Kaneki before and– what the fucking hell brain I hate you

“Anyway.” He waves the bag in her face, cutting off her plan to headbutt the wall. “I went to Tsukiyama’s!”

The name alone makes her mouth water, never mind finally recognizing the bag: pink and white scallops and swirls, Tsukiyama’s scrawled in a font that’s probably in the dictionary under “egotistical.”

“But that’s–” expensive, she was about to say. Read: you can’t afford it. Which is rude. Maybe he can.

“It’s a special occasion.” He places the big reverently down on the counter and beckons her over. “I’m glad you’re up, actually,” he says quietly. “My master plan had been to make breakfast for you guys– I checked your fridge, you have enough eggs and stuff– but then I thought ‘maybe Touka doesn’t want you messing up her kitchen, you should ask’ so what d’ya say, can I make breakfast?”

He speaks quickly, keeping his voice low the whole time. She takes a moment to be sure she understood. “You… wanted to make us breakfast.”

He nods, smiling. “Special occasion,” he says again.

“That’s nice of you,” she starts, but what special occasion?! “But, Hide…”

“Oh.” He snaps his fingers. “You were heading out, right? Nice day for a run.”

She abruptly remembers what she’s wearing and feels exposed, suddenly. Hide hasn’t seen her in her workout clothes before. His automatic once-over (he doesn’t mean anything by it) has her fighting off heat from her cheeks. She crosses her arms, attempts and fails a frown. A deep breath…

“Breakfast sounds good,” she says offhandedly, though she looks straight at him. “I’ll run later.”

His eyes light up (she nearly winces from the jolt to her heart). “Okay! If you’re sure. I don’t wanna screw with your routine.”

In response, she bends to untie her sneakers. Something is strange about this situation, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t happy Hide came back, and she’s really trying not to lie to herself (in general, but also now specifically).

“Cool.”

She hears the fridge door open and shut, the same with some cabinets as she drops her shoes on the mat by the door. Then she straightens, stretches high and long, rising on her toes; something pops satisfyingly in her back.

“Hey, do you…?”

She turns, still tip-toe, to see Hide looking at (watching) her, eyebrows raised.

“…Want coffee,” he finishes, whirling to face the cabinets (not fast enough to hide a blush). “I can make coffee. You have it.”

“Mmhm.” The warmth of stretched muscles follows a different warmth down her spine. It’s distracting (Why did I do that, what am I thinking). “Yes,” she says, something clear. “Can I help with anything?” She steps toward the counter as she asks, watching him move as if he knows her kitchen.

“If you really want to,” he says, smiling briefly. “But the plan was for you to relax. Unless you’re worried I’ll wreck your place.”

“You’re not the type,” she murmurs. Kaneki has told her of Hide’s tendency to tidy up Kaneki’s apartment on occasion.

“Oh? And how would you know that?”

She allows a small smile. “I have my ways.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Her smile widens. “I know how to recognize fellow clean freaks.”

“Damn, my cover’s blown.” He ducks down behind the counter, mug in hand.

A beat later and he hasn’t reappeared, and then the joke hits her. She catches a laugh behind her hand. More spills out, but she leans up and over as far as she can and loudly whispers, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank god for that.” He pops back up, sets the mug down, and gets back to work. “Okay, go cuddle Kaneki or something so I can feed you two before it’s noon.”

“Am I distracting you,“ she deadpans. Distracting? I’m flirting with him!

“Despite appearances,” he says to the coffee maker, “I’m not great at talking and cooking at the same time.” He smiles over his shoulder. “I wanna do this right.”

“Fair enough.” She’s already heading back to the balcony instead of to the bed, her realization making her head start to spin. Except it’s not a realization so much as an admittance, which despite her efforts to be truthful with herself is still hard to take.

Her forearms dig into the railing as she leans forward, head bowed, trying to breathe. What she and Kaneki have is good, but this whole Hide thing could wreck it. That isn’t what she wants. Never mind that Kaneki doesn’t know anything yet, that she’s could act like everything’s when Kaneki wakes up; the guilt would still eat at her. (Last night’s decision to wait until everyone awoke so they could talk has long since been forgotten.)

Damn it.

She rests her forehead on the cool iron. She actually likes Hide, more than as a friend. What a shitty time to realize it. (What she truly wants is so deep down that it isn’t even an inkling.)

“Touka…?”

Despite the small shock of his voice, she doesn’t flinch. She straightens and turns.

Hide stands on the threshold with two mugs of coffee. “I… There was chocolate, in the cabinet. So I made you mocha, because I kn– thought you’d like it.”

It’s her favorite, and there’s only one way Hide could know that. But she refuses to think about it right now, just holds her hand out for the mug and says, “Hide, what is it?” much more tiredly than she wants to. She very carefully keeps her fingers from touching his, and steps back quickly to let him onto the balcony.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says with a small chuckle. One side of his mouth turns up. “It’s just… you served me coffee. Er, Kaneki and I. When we first met. And now, well.” He gestures with his mug to hers, his smile broadening. “The tables have turned.”

She feels a smile coming on, so she hides it in her mug, taking a grateful breath. A sip fills her mouth with perfectly balanced swirls of dark chocolate and coffee, along with a splash of cream. Probably the best mocha she’s ever tasted.

When she opens her eyes they meet his expectant gaze. “It’s good,” she says blandly.

One eyebrow goes up.

“Really good.”

He’s smiling again. “That’s all I’m getting. Okay,” he says, pausing for a drink. “I saw your face. I know what you really think.”

In lieu of answering, she takes another sip. It’s delicious enough to relax her, and she leans back against the railing, the mug in both hands now. She glances at Hide, who’s enjoying his own mug and mirroring her stance. The sun inches out from behind a cloud, warming her back. He’s looking absently down at his shoes in between sips, so she feels safe enough to observe him. His hair is sticking out on the side facing her, and she can see darker roots here and there. Maybe he likes the contrast, or maybe he doesn’t know.

What would he look like with dark hair?

She goes back to the mocha, wincing inwardly about her train of thought. Thinking about such small things, it’s almost like they’re already toge–

“Touka?”

oh god he saw me staring fuckfuckfuck

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

She makes an agreeing noise, forces herself to actually look at him.

He’s not looking at her. “Or talk to you about, you know. I don’t know.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s kind of weird, so I’m just gonna…” He turns completely to face her, and for some reason her heart is beating much faster even though he isn’t any closer. “I was trying to wait for Kaneki to wake up but,” a flashed smile, “patience isn’t my strong suit, I guess, and–”

“Please just tell me,” she says with a sigh. Before I do something stupid, like kiss you. She drains her mug and sets it on the patio table, then turns back to him.

“Yeah. Okay. Um.” He does the same, depositing his mug wobblingly. He takes a breath, shuts his eyes and says in a half-shout, “I like you, Touka!”

It’s so amazingly shoujo that she almost laughs, except she can’t really breathe properly. She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly chilly. “I like you too. You’re nice. So what?” she bites out, painfully aware of what he actually means.

He does laugh, a short surprised burst. “I mean, not just as a friend. I… I really–”

“Damn it, Hide! What the hell are you playing at? I have a boyfriend. Kaneki. Your best friend. I’m not–” interested? Liar. “I’m not a cheater. Is that what you really think of me? I’ll leave him just because you’re, you’re nice to me?” She meant to keep her voice down but forgot halfway through, so she modulates to a fierce whisper, words pouring out of her despite the hurt and confusion on his face. “God, you bring me amazing mocha and think I’ll let you into my pants, that’s a new one. And what the fuck do you think Kaneki will thi–”

His hand lands on her shoulder, somehow, past her gesturing hands. “Touka, please.”

“Don’t touch me,” she snarls, jerking away from him and back into the corner. “I can’t believe you, Hideki. You– I’m–” disgusting. Why can’t I just be happy with him? I’m a terrible person, how can I ever– “I thought you were a nice person,” and she’s crying now, she’s saying awful things and she should stop but she’s so angry– “but you want to mess everything up and you, you won’t even get what you–”

“Touka, please stop.” He should have shouted, he deserves to, but he says it in a normal tone with anguish on his face, hands raised. “Please let me explain!”

She can’t stop. “What is there to explain?” she cries, flinging her arms out. “It’s perfectly simple! I’m with Kaneki, you like me, he likes you,” and she chokes out a laugh because that’s suddenly clear as day, “and I, I–”

She surges forward and kisses him.

She grabs his shoulders and presses tight against him, and tears are still falling from her closed eyes, and he is warm and soft, and the complete wrongness of this and everything fades into white noise. Somebody moans, and his hands are finally on her back, and her hands sweep up into his hair, and her tongue slides over his lips that taste like coffee.

It’s when he opens his mouth against hers, when his hands clutch her skin like he’s going to fall, that she pulls back, shock flashing through her. She can’t do anything but catch her breath and stare at Hide, who’s also panting, his face flushed like hers has to be. She needs to let go of him. She needs to throw herself off the fucking balcony.

She backs away, but he comes with her, still holding her lower back.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because the silence has dragged on and it’s the right thing to say because she is sorry. Sorry that Hide’s fallen for her, sorry to be so hellishly weak, sorry for what she said to him, sorry that she’s with someone she doesn’t love back because she wouldn’t be in this position if she really loved Kaneki, would she.

“He likes you…” But if that’s true, then what–

“Why?” Hide says, softly. He smiles, but his eyes are sad. “I’m not.”

She doesn’t flinch when he puts a hand on her cheek, even though he really shouldn’t do that and she shouldn’t let him. But her eyes fall shut just for a second, and suddenly her chin is on his shoulder and his arms are around her upper back, and she returns the embrace even while her mind’s processing the why of it.

“I guess I’m a little sorry, though. I ended up doing this totally wrong. Should’ve waited for Kaneki so we could all talk.”

“But patience isn’t your strong suit,” she mutters, eyes still closed. Mine either, apparently.

He chuckles. “Not yours this morning, either.”

She jerks up to look at him, wondering if he read her mind (and at this point she wouldn’t be surprised), but he’s just smiling lightly again, damn him.

She pulls free of his arms, about to snipe back, and several things happen in the space of milliseconds: Instinct crackles a moment before she spots Kaneki, and a thousand emotions flare and fade so fast she can’t name any, yet they leave her hot and woozy. The look on his face disappears as he focuses on her, but she saw it– a gentle smile, eyes soft, and he’d been looking at them both, at her and Hide, and suddenly she’s never wanted anything as badly as she wants to see him look that way again–

“You’re finally up,” she says, and she ought to win an Oscar for how calm she sounds. She squashes the urge to smack Hide, turning so smoothly with a casual, “Morning.” Her stomach’s on a rollercoaster so his better damn well be too.

Kaneki nods, stepping onto the balcony. “Seems like you’ve been up for a while.”

She follows his gaze to the empty mugs in the table and nods back. Her arms settle across her torso again; she doesn’t feel cold, only tense enough to shatter, so she cuts to the point. “How long have you been watching?”

“Well, I saw you hugging.” He shrugs, smiling briefly.

“I’m so–”

Hide speaks at the same time. “I was gonna wait for you but things got, uh, complicated.”

Kaneki hums, head tilting at Touka. “Let’s go back in. Getting crowded out here.”

He turns and Touka follows, Hide behind her; she feels lost enough and being the last one in is just salt in the wound, as silly as that is.

Kaneki gestures to the couch, so they all sit in a line. He looks between them until Touka wants to fidget, or hit something, and then says to Hide, “Do you–”

“No, please, take the reins.” Hide puts his hand up with a short laugh. “I’ve done enough damage– uh! Not damage,” he stammers, glancing at Touka, “well maybe a little– not that I regret it, but– I’m just gonna stop talking.” He flops back with his face in his hands, giving a small groan.

“So.” Kaneki places his hand over Touka’s (and she can breathe better, suddenly). “When we were out last night, Hide and I were talking. About a lot of things, including you. It’s not the first time we’ve had that kind of conversation, but we finally decided we were ready to talk to you about something that we–” he swallows, “well, mostly I, have been mulling over a while.”

She stays still, watching his face, feeling his hand squeeze hers.

“I love you, Touka, and I want to stay with you. You feel the same, right?”

“Of course.” But does she? “Yes, Kaneki, I really–” She stops herself, feeling tears threatening again.

“Thing is, Hideki admitted that he likes you, too. To me, months ago, and I’m guess that’s part of what happened on the balcony.”

Her mouth opens but she can’t make a sound. Her eyes slip to Hide and see he’s sitting more upright, gaze intent on a worn spot of the couch.

Kaneki holds up a silencing hand anyway, smiling in an echo of when she caught his eye earlier. “You’d think I’d be jealous, but. I wasn’t. I was actually happy, can you believe it?” He says it almost to himself, with a chuckle and a small head-shake. “That was when something crystallized for me, and I’m sorry it’s taken– taking– me so long to tell you. But I was thinking,” and he takes a deep breath, lets the next words out with it, “that maybe all three of us could try being together.”

There it is. Now that he’s said it, it’s as if the idea’s already familiar; at the same time it’s utterly foreign. Makes sense and doesn’t, is something she wants and isn’t. She stares at his hand, makes some sort of noise.

“It’s a lot to process, I know.” He sounds regretful. “Let me add one more piece. I had a crush on Hide once.”

A tiny chortle escapes her despite her wishes. “That isn’t exactly a surprise to hear.”

“And…” Another hand squeeze. “Turns out it never really went away. I felt guilty when… feelings resurfaced. Especially after you and I started dating. It was so much easier to tell him than you… He’d been fighting the same thing, plus an attraction to you, and–” He sits back with a sigh. “Here we are.”

“So.” She raises her eyes, focuses on him, aware of Hide’s tensing aura next to her. “I’d be… with you. But also Hide. And you two would also be together.”

A nod.

“Both of you are okay with that.”

“Very okay.” Hide, quietly, as Kaneki nods again.

“You… want this.”

“Yes,” they both say.

She rolls her head to either side, tense muscles loosening. “So it’s just me, then.” She hunches forward, elbows on knees. “We… we could do this. It’s a thing?”

“Polyamory,” Kaneki says. “It’s definitely a thing, although a bit unusual.”

“Even if it weren’t a thing, it’s a thing if we make a thing.” This from Hide. A pause, and then a cough-laugh.

“Hmm.” Resting her forehead in her palms, she takes a few deep breaths. If she tries to speak right away, she’ll start laughing and won’t be able to stop. Then she straightens, looks over Hide and then Kaneki, and says. “Yes.” It’s too quiet; she says it again. “I– I really, really want this.” Because she wants it so suddenly, so badly she can hardly think. Relief wars with elation; there’s a name for her feelings, Kaneki and Hide return them… She doesn’t know whether to stay still or do cartwheels or let out a very undignified sound, so she sits there shaking for a moment before she hides her face in her hands.

Hide gives a short laugh, and she feels his hand on her shoulder. “Wow. R-Really?”

She can only nod.

“Oh, Touka.” Kaneki’s hand on her forearm. “I– I’m so happy, I can’t… Let me see you, please?”

“How do you think I feel?” It’s a half-whine, half-who knows what. She’s smiling so widely she must look ridiculous, but she takes her hands away and sees Kaneki’s smiling too. The laughter she’s been holding back comes out; she tries to talk through it. “You know what’s– what’s really funny? I just remembered last night, I– I thought ‘we should just talk’, and w-when I woke up today I completely forgot, and here we are anyway…!”

She wilts against Kaneki, laughter overcoming her.

“Oh, last night.” Nervous chuckles from Hide. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t do anything untoward.”

She flaps a hand at him, still laughing. “It’s fine, you were a gentleman.”

It takes a while to get her herself under control. Kaneki’s arms around her help somewhat, but by the time she stops the shoulder of his t-shirt is damp. She mumbles apologies as she wipes her eyes, attempts to sit up and away from him, then realizes she simply doesn’t want to. Not yet. She hugs him back, letting her body soften against his and sighs, a few final chuckles easing out.

“Hide,” she says. “Come here.”

“Yeah, Hide.” Kaneki reaches toward him (she knows from the patch of warmth leaving her back).

She feels the couch shift as Hide moves closer. His knees bump the backs of her legs, and then his chest is against her back and his arms brush her sides as they reach for Kaneki, and she almost wants to cry but has to stifle another noise instead.

“That’s right.” His voice near her ear sends tingles rippling through her. “We can actually do this now, huh. …Can I…?”

“Please.” She smiles at his lips on her cheek, the shift and soft sounds when he kisses Kaneki briefly.

They move all together as Kaneki settles more comfortably. He gives a deep sigh. “I’m so lucky.”

“That makes–”

“Three of us,” she murmurs, nuzzling Kaneki’s shoulder. “Let’s stay like this a little longer. Please?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna go anywhere,” Hide says softly. “You two will just have to wait for my gourmet meal.”

“Making us breakfast? How, how nice…” Kaneki half-yawns.

“Special occasion. Right, Touka?”

She hums affirmatively. “No more talking, now.”

***

When she wakes some time later, one leg is asleep, there’s a small cramp in her neck, and her arm is tangled with Hide’s in an awkward way.

“Ow.” Hide grunts. “My bad…”

Then Kaneki wakes and a minute or two of pained noises and ginger movements later they’ve all separated across the couch.

“Still worth it,” says Hide.

Touka nods, stretching her dead leg. “We’ll get better with practice.”

“Lots and lots of practice,” Kaneki says. “Probably several times a week.”

“I vote for multiple sessions on weekends.” She raises her hand, turning it into a stretch.

“All in– favor,” Hide says, pausing for a yawn.

“I can’t vote on an empty stomach.” Kaneki stands and takes exaggerated strides intothe kitchen. “How about some oh my god who went to Tsukiyama’s.“

“Our boyfriend.” She says it without thinking and whips to face Hide, heat rising to her cheeks. She won’t take it back, but it’s not even been a day…

Hide just grins at her, wider than she’s seen it yet. “Hey, Kaneki,” he says, slinging an arm across her shoulders, “did you know our girlfriend is super cute when she blushes?”

“Yes, yes I do.” He’s back with them, lifting Touka’s chin so she can’t hide under her hair. He beams at her, eyes crinkling. “Maybe we’ll get you to blush twice as much now.”

He kisses her before she can protest, leaving her dazed and staring as he leans over Hide. “And you deserve a tip for bringing us those amazing treats.” He kisses Hide too, then heads back toward the kitchen.

“A double tip,” Touka says, kissing Hide’s cheek, then his lips and his other cheek for good measure. “Since I never properly thanked you.”

He gazes dreamily at her. “That’s like, a quintuple tip, but who’s couahaha stop,” he exclaims, as she attacks his neck in kisses, suddenly inspired. “I can’t cook for you if you kill me!”

“Good point.” She backs off, unable to keep smug satisfaction off her face. “You’re pretty cute when you blush, too.”

“That–” He stands, a little wobbly. “That is an unfair tactic and I’m gonna go complain to the ref. And also start the eggs.”

She follows him to the kitchen, arms swinging thoughtlessly. “We need to all pick one,” she says to Kaneki, hurrying a bit when she sees he’s eyeing the bag. “You might eat them all.”

Kaneki snorts. “I have to leave room for Hide’s cooking,” he says, lifting a small chocolate croissant delicately. Then to Hide, “Please tell me you got more of these.”

“Uh, are you kidding? You forget I’m well-acquainted with the chocolate princess.”

“Lies and slander,” Touka replies flatly, grabbing another croissant and popping the entire thing into her mouth.

“Okay, mocha maniac.”

She considers flipping him off, but the croissant is so good she can barely stand up. “Is it too soon for a proposal?” she asks once she’s finished it.

Hide turns to her with a grin but Kaneki speaks first. “First you’ll have to duel me.” He takes a bite of the croissant and winks. “The winner’s prize is choice of movie on the weekend.”

“And a kiss from the betrothed,” Hide says, brandishing a whisk grandly.

“A tempting prize,” she says, licking some chocolate from her lips and watching Hide flush lightly. “Perhaps we should face off at that arcade you two visited yesterday. Say, three of five on Street Fighter IV?”

“Challenge accepted.” With a decisive nod, Kaneki turned to the coffee-maker.

“You are going to love Critical Hit, Touka,” says Hide. “Half the second floor is pinball machines.”

“Two floors? Well, now I really have to go there.” She sits on an island stool, elbows on the counter, observing the two of them.

“You two fighting over pinball scores would be quite the sight,” Kaneki says over the coffee maker’s grumblings.

“Whoa, whoa, we’re taking things a bit too quickly.” Hide glances over his shoulder by the stove. “You guys have to fight for my honor, or my hand or whatever, and then whoever wins faces me in pinball.”

“Pray that Kaneki beats me.” Touka smirks, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not looking forward to destroying you, to be honest.”

“Tough talk. We’ll have to set up another match if Kaneki wins. I wanna see you back up your words.”

“There’ll be time enough for that,” she says, resting her chin in her hands.

“There will, won’t there.” Kaneki looks at her over the rim of his mug, a slow smile spreading.

She smiles back, happiness unfurling inside her like wings.

[serendipitystation]

Read it here, too: AO3

Chapter Length: Short 

Summary: He makes art and wonders who the beautiful woman at the window table is. She fixes people and wonders who the barista with the bright eyes is. He’s passion, action, and fire. She’s peace, order, and intellect. They’re very different and, yet, they worked. Modern AU, rated T for later, Anidala.    

Rating: PG-13

——————————

“Okay, spill it.” Padmé looks up to see Sabé looming over her, suspicion in her dark eyes. Padmé frowns.

“What?” She asks questioningly. Sabé arches an eyebrow and sits down beside Padmé primly.

“You’ve got the hots for someone.” Sabé says accusingly. When Padmé scoffs at the idea, Sabé cuts her off. “Save it. I know you do- you’ve had that weird look on your face for the past half hour and I know it’s not from the biochemistry textbook you’re reading.”

At Sabé’s words, Padmé stops trying to talk, choosing to clam up stubbornly instead. Sabé lets silence sit in the air for a moment, watching her friend concentrate on her work. Then Sabé breaks face and jostles Padmé.

“C'mon, Ami,” she says, using the nickname she has for Padmé, “tell me all the details. I want to know everything.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything about him.” Padmé says quietly, keeping a calm face. She realizes her slip-up too late; Sabé’s eyes light up with glee.

“Aha! So it is a guy…” Sabé says silkily. Padmé curses her own stupidity under her breath but doesn’t let out any other information. Sabé remains unsatisfied and sidles up to Padmé, batting her eyelashes like a child asking for a treat. At this point, Padmé knows Sabé won’t stop until she gets what she wants. With a sigh, Padmé turns to Sabé.

“He’s just a guy I’ve seen a couple times. It’s nothing substantial.” Padmé tells Sabé, who listens with a victorious gleam in her eyes.

“Is he good-looking?” Sabé asks eagerly. Padmé’s mind flashes to blue eyes, tanned skin, and wheat-gold hair. She shrugs vaguely and Sabé whacks her arm.

“Have you talked to him?” Sabé says, fishing for the scoop on the guy.

“A little, but it was in a professional context.” Padmé says, continuing on when Sabé shoots her an unimpressed glance. “He was making me coffee- it wasn’t exactly the place for riveting conversation.” Sabé’s eyes widen.

“Wait- does he work at a coffee shop? That is such a stereotypical meet-cute. Of course, you of all people would fall in love with a hot guy at a coffee shop.” Sabé says, mock irritation coloring her words. Padmé frowns and goes back to reading, but Sabé isn’t finished.

“So are you going to ask him out?” Sabé asks curiously. Padmé’s face grows apprehensive.

“I barely know the guy, it’d be weird if I did that.” She says, at which Sabé rolls her eyes.

“Padmé, that is what normal people do when they meet someone they like. They take them on a date or text or buy them coffee or something.” Sabé says in exasperation. A smile slowly blooms on Padmé’s face.

“I buy coffee from him already, shouldn’t that be enough?” She says with a laugh while Sabé groans.

“Ok, just- the next time you see him, do something. Start small and get his number at least.” Sabé says.

“Getting his number is not starting small.” Padmé says sceptically, but Sabé waves her off.

“If you can successfully negotiate a grade on an exam up five percent, you can get a random guy’s number,” Sabé says imperially, turning away from Padmé. Grateful for the silence, Padmé goes back to reading. Still, Sabé’s thoughts bounce around in her mind and, though she hates it, a twinge of doubt pricks her heart.

After all, she is a good negotiatior.

—— Anakin is focused. He is precision, he is strength, he is perfection. He can do anything. As he lets his ego run wild, his muscles strain to keep his hand steady while it moves. Time stops as his hand approaches the target, his arm winding back to strike-

Whap. A balled-up napkin hits the wall dully, scaring away the pesky fly that Anakin had been stalking all afternoon, trying to squash. The fly buzzes away haphazardly and Anakin whips around to stare daggers at Ahsoka, who sits on the far counter and doesn’t bother trying to hide her grin.

“You jerk!” Anakin exclaims, his fury uncontained. Ahsoka doesn’t flinch. Sulking at his failed assassination, Anakin points his finger menacingly at Ahsoka.

“I should’ve expected betrayal from you.” Anakin says, eyes narrowed. Ahsoka’s smile grows.

“Of course, you should’ve. Good thing you’re in the arts, fly boy.” Ahsoka replies flippantly, hopping off the counter as the door bell jingles and a group of customers walk in. Still grumbling, Anakin gets to work at the espresso machine as Ahsoka begins taking orders and the cups line up on the counter.

At one point, Anakin, lost in thought and in his work, begins steaming milk for a latte. Padmé’s face pops into his mind as he remembers the last time they met and he smiles. As his mind and hands fly, Anakin hears a voice pipe up.

“Things are busier here than last night,” the voice says. Anakin looks up absently and finds himself meeting a pair of umber eyes- the eyes that have been haunting his mind ever since he first saw them. Padmé watches Anakin, humor in her gaze, while Anakin stills his heart and wills himself not to gape as he finds his voice.

“Well, people typically want coffee in the daytime, not at night, so it makes sense.” Anakin replies, hoping his voice sounds convincing. It seems to work; Padmé shrugs good-naturedly.

“True,” she says. Her voice tips up as she continues. “How has your week been?” This time, Anakin shrugs.

“Busy. Worked here a couple days, at school the rest of the time. You?” He asks, eyes flicking up to meet Padmé’s.

“Same here. Lots of labs to write up and such.” Padmé says plainly. Anakin grimaced.

“Sounds stressful.” He notes. Padmé, as if realizing the shortness of her words, lets out a halting chuckle.

“It can be- it depends on the day.” She says good-naturedly. “What about art? Is it hard to juggle?”

“You’d be surprised. We have this annual art showcase coming up and all the students have been going nuts trying to get their pieces done.” Anakin explains, his eyes turning from Padmé to his deft hands.

“Do you have a piece in it this year?” Padmé asks conversationally. Anakin nods absently, his attention on his work.

“I submitted a mixed media piece I made a couple months ago. I’ve submitted stuff before, so it was just an off-the-cuff thing for me.” Anakin says. Padmé nods, looking impressed. Her voice falters before she speaks again.

“All that artwork…it must be pretty incredible to see it all in one place.” She mumbles. In that moment, Anakin sees a golden opportunity approaching in the conversation, the perfect excuse for getting to talk to Padmé somewhere where he’s making her a latte. But he has to play it off first- he hasn’t reached the right point in the conversation to make his move. Anakin hides his eagerness and puts his professional-person face back on, giving Padmé a nonchalant nod.

“Some years are better than others, but there’s some cool pieces this time around.” He says easily. Padmé looks at Anakin with causal interest.

“I’d love to see it at some point.” Padmé says innocently. Anakin feels a sense of excited anticipation growing in him. That was delightfully easy, more so than he thought it may have been. For a moment, Anakin feels like a con man, but he blows the thought away.

“You should come check it out. The grand unveiling is Thursday night.” Anakin states casually, glancing at Padmé carefully. “I could send you the details.” He adds, as though he’d just thought of it. Padmé levels a critical eye on him- not unkind, perhaps a bit confused.

“You’ll need my number for that.” She says matter-of-factly. Anakin, in turn, just smiles.

“I think I will.” He says slyly. Padmé pauses for a moment, as though thinking. Jostling around in her bag, she pulls out a pen and grabs a napkin, scribbling out something. As she caps her pen, Anakin slides her finished drink towards her. She slides him the napkin in return, on which she scribbled a phone number, her name, and a smiley face. Anakin carefully tucks in his pocket.

“Let me know about the showcase.” Padmé says pleasantly. Anakin grins.

“I’ll text you.” He says slowly. For a moment, Padmé just raises a brow at him. Then she smiles in the thin, all-knowing way that Anakin has engraved in his mind and turns away, headed for the window. Anakin watches her leave for a second before something occurs to him. Maybe it’s the smile, maybe it’s the way she walked right into his plan- he doesn’t know. But in that instant, it dawns on Anakin that he’s just been played. She beat him at his own game. This thought registers in his mind with surprise, disbelief, and an electric current of desire that flashes through him like a match to gasoline.

Oh, she’s good.

[raendown]

Chapter 33

Woohoo! For anyone interested, that fic that needed looking over was the latest chapter for the Soulmate Collection that was only going to be like 300 words and then ran off to do it’s own thing. As most of my stories do.

A giant thank you to @lavendersblues for helping me out with proper representation! 

Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Soulmate AU:  The one where whenever you cry your soulmate will start to cry as well

“How exactly would an entire forest disappear overnight?” Tobirama’s tone was heavy with skepticism and Izuna rolled his eyes at him.

“Well obviously it can’t but that’s not the point!” Izuna said. “It was a genjutsu. They believed that the entire forest was suddenly gone and that’s what was important at the time.” He crossed his arms and nodded once as if his words had ended the discussion. Tobirama raised an eyebrow.

“How could they believe such a stupid thing, though?” he asked. “It’s not believable at all, not feasible.”

The two Uchiha present both sighed in exasperation while the two spectating Senju simply smiled and shook their heads. Madara stood close to Hashirama and Touka, who were both stretched out on the grass next to the picnic basket that they had all been eating from earlier. Their Hokage had hunted them all down one by one and insisted that they take a break. He enjoyed having his most precious people all together for a meal. He always seemed to conveniently forget that his most precious people were, to a man, argumentative stubborn idiots.

“It was a genjutsu Tobirama! I could make the sky purple and they would swallow it!” Izuna had sort of brought it upon himself this time by boasting about his success during a recent mission.

“The sky is not purple,” Tobirama said. Izuna growled.

“GEN-JUT-SU!” the man shouted. “What about this are you not getting? You know what it’s like to be caught in a genjutsu; you know how they mess with your mind!”

Tobirama lifted an eyebrow and said, “I do not.”

“And you kn– huh?” Izuna cut off in the middle of starting a rant to make a noise of confusion. “You don’t what?”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be caught in a genjutsu,” Tobirama clarified. “I’ve never experienced it.” Izuna gaped at him like a fish for a few beats before promptly turning red with frustration.

“What do mean you’ve never experienced it!? There’s no way I would believe that you have never been in a genjutsu before! Our clans were at war for years before we made peace. You’ve fought dozens of Uchiha – sparred with dozens more – you can’t tell me not a single one of them ever tried to use a genjutsu on you! That’s half of the Sharingan’s specialty!” Izuna seemed only moments away from stomping his foot.

Tobirama, however, tilted his head in that vaguely superior way of his as he said, “I’m a sensor. I can tell when another’s chakra is touching my own. I have had many attempt genjutsu but I’ve always been able to counter it right away.” He shrugged as if this weren’t extremely annoying to someone whose clan used genjutsu so heavily.

“That’s stupid!” Izuna screeched. It was his usual go-to when he couldn’t come up with a witty rebuttal fast enough. “Fine! Let’s go, right now! I’ll put you in a genjutsu!” His Sharingan spun to life right as Tobirama narrowed and averted his eyes.

“You’re stupid if you think I’m letting you, of all people, do anything of the sort. Bloody Uchiha and their bloody eyes! Get away from me!”

For a few minutes the two grown men could have been mistaken for children as one dodged the other’s attempts to catch him and force him to stand still. The rest of them watched with varying reactions, none stepping in to help either side. For one of them this kind of behavior was depressingly typical but for the other it was rather amusing to watch him throw dignity out the window to scramble out of reach of grabby fingers. After a while however Touka felt the need to step in – if for no other reason than she enjoyed ruining Izuna’s fun.

“You know, there’s another solution here,” she called loud enough for the bickering pair to hear her. “What if I put you in a genjutsu, Tobes? You can trust me, right?” Tobirama paused in the act of swatting away Izuna’s fingers.

“Barely,” he grumbled, still dodging backwards.

“I promise not to show you anything mean! I’ll make it something nice!” She grinned as she rose to her feet, wiping grass blades off her clothing. Izuna stopped to watch the process, very interested in the places her hands touched. Tobirama whapped him on the back on the head while his cousin strolled over.

He furrowed his brows and said, “If you’ve decided to help him play tricks on me you know very well that I can break out of whatever trap you to lay.”

“Are you doubting my word, little cousin?” Touka asked, her face freezing in to a dangerous smile. Tobirama snorted but wisely said nothing. “Good. Then hold still and let me put you in a genjutsu.” Privately, Tobirama started having doubts about the wisdom of agreeing to this right then. He still said nothing however as she went through a rapid set of hand signs and then –

The room was bright. It was an incredible day for such an event. The open window let in the slightest of breezes and the sunshine turned the drab blue color of the walls to something almost dreamy. He had never felt more anxious for something and yet he was also strangely calm.

“Tobirama-san?” he turned his head to the nurse approaching him, looking eagerly down at the bundle of yellow blankets in her arms. “Would you like to hold her?”

He took the bundle from her with the utmost care, turning back one edge of blanket to reveal a tiny face peering up at him. The baby’s face was scrunched and red as they fussed, tiny little toothless mouth opening and closing while they determined whether or not to begin wailing. Two of the tiniest hands he had ever seen waved aimlessly, one attempting to clench in to a fist. Holding the child in one arm, he brought his other up and slid one finger in to the palm of that clenching hand. Immediately it closed around his finger, barely able to cover up to the first knuckle.

“Congratulations, Tobirama-san,” the nurse said to him. “You’re a father.”

He was unable to reply. The child held on to him as he stared down at that tiny, perfect face. His daughter. This was his daughter. He had waited for nine long months and she was finally here, a child of his own. She looked just like him.

“Kai.”

The bright and happy hospital room faded away at a word from him, replacing with an open field at midday, the sun hiding behind the clouds. Tobirama stood perfectly still and said nothing, looked at no one.

“Is he…is he crying?” Izuna asked from somewhere close to him. He raised a hand to his face to discover that yes, he was crying. Tears were dripping slowly from the corners of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks to catch at the corners of his mouth. He could taste the salt like he’d gone swimming in the ocean and then licked his lips. Tobirama couldn’t remember ever crying. He had as a baby, of course. But as far back as his childhood he had always been good at holding his emotions inside. His emotions were often overwhelmingly strong yet he found it easier to show nothing. Now, the feeling of tears was foreign and unwanted.

Hands on his cheeks startled him. He focused his eyes to see Touka gently swiping under his eyes with her thumbs, an apologetic look on her face.

“Why are you crying?” she asked, more gentle than he had ever seen her. “It was supposed to be a happy moment.” He squeezed his eyes closed, feeling more tears fall with the motion, and tried hard to disappear within himself. It was embarrassing, crying in front of these people.

“Because you showed me something that I cannot have,” he choked out, wincing when even his voice sounded watery.

Hashirama and Madara’s chakras were spiking, over by where they still stood next to the picnic basket. He couldn’t help picking up on the anxiety of it but was too flustered to even care about looking too deeply in to it. He had no idea how he was supposed to make the crying stop. He was mortified when his breath hitched and he let out a tiny little hiccup, knocking a few more tears loose.

“Whaaaa? What did you show him?” Izuna demanded. He was bouncing his weight back and forth between his feet and there was an anxious expression on his face. He obviously wanted to help somehow but just as obviously wasn’t sure what to do.

“He wanted something nice!” Touka snapped defensively, all gentleness gone from her voice. “So I made up a scene of his child being born. That’s happy!”

Tobirama sighed and mumbled, “Yes, but with my proclivities it is something that I will never have.”

While he took another deep breath he heard the Uchiha asking what ‘proclivities’ meant and Touka explaining to the younger man. By Izuna’s stunned expression, he hadn’t known that Tobirama preferred men. By Touka’s guilty expression, she’d forgotten as well. It wasn’t something he advertised usually. Not because he was ashamed of himself but because he was a private person and felt that the only person who needed to know was someone he had a possible interest in.

He didn’t say so out loud but the worst part had been knowing it wasn’t real. Even despite the pull of her chakra trying to trick his brain in to believing the scene she had woven for him, he had still known the whole time that it was false. He’d never told anyone how much he wanted a child of own because it seemed pointless to say. He would never father a son or daughter and he disliked the idea of asking a woman to bear the child and then give it up. Not to mention that he had always dreamed of raising a child with a partner and he did not have one. He knew he had a soulmate somewhere but Tobirama was aware that not everyone found their match. He had dated in the past but he was a hard man to live with and the few relationships he started had not ended well.

“Tobirama?” he turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Hashirama had appeared at his side, cautious yet strangely contained expression on his face. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but I think I may have something that will….cheer you up? Possibly?”

He reluctantly raised his eyes to look where Hashirama was indicating. He was certainly not expecting to see Madara standing a few feet away wiping his own wet cheeks. For a moment he thought his brother was trying to cheer him up by offering to let him mock the Uchiha. Then he noticed the color of the tears.

“Madara!?” Izuna’s screech cause them all to flinch. “What are you crying for? You don’t even – holy shit are those Sympathies? They are! Those are Sympathies! You’ve never had them before! Holy shit!”

Madara gave up on trying to stem the flow of pearly white tears in favor of growling and reaching out to swat his brother in the face. Tobirama stared openly at the opalescent Sympathies, the tears that only fell when one’s soulmate was crying. Had Madara truly never had them before? He himself had only experienced it a few times. He met the other man’s gaze.

“I told him you hadn’t cried since you were a baby,” Hashirama was saying cheerfully. “Apparently he thought he didn’t have a soulmate. Shame on you, brother, making him lonely.” His grin belied the playful rebuke.

Tobirama frowned and ushered both brother and cousin out of his way, gingerly stepping over to where Madara was standing. The other frowned and turned his head, scrubbing at his cheeks with the back of his hand. Tobirama touched his own cheek curiously. The tears seemed to be slowing. His eyes felt red and puffy and his throat felt a little too tight. He wondered if his face was splotchy the way Hashirama’s was when he cried.

He cleared his throat to capture Madara’s attention and tilted his head. Madara nodded silently and they both walked away, side by side, to find somewhere more private to speak. Hashirama in particular could be heard commiserating that he wanted to hear all about their happy ending. Tobirama wasn’t so sure that he was going to get one. After all, Madara had never been shy about calling him annoying or cold-hearted or any other number of disparaging terms. If the decision were left solely to the Uchiha he was sure they would end up being one of those matches that did not end up bonding. And Tobirama knew that no matter what he personally felt about it he would honor whatever Madara wished to do. He had many years of experience keeping his feelings to himself. Once more wouldn’t kill him.

The two of them ended up simply strolling through the forest that hemmed in the row of training grounds, wandering aimlessly as they both searched for something to say. Tobirama had many things in mind that he would like to ask but he wasn’t sure what Madara would be willing to answer. The silence continued as they meandering through the trees, making their own paths through the untouched loam. Madara was the one to break it.

“Hashirama was correct,” he started. “I have believed all my life that I was without a soulmate. I have no idea if I experienced Sympathies as an infant; it wasn’t something I ever thought to ask my father. For as long as I can remember I have waited and received nothing for my patience.” He did not turn his head but Tobirama still looked away in shame. “Please understand that I am asking this with no intention to antagonize but with honest curiosity. Why are you so…emotionless?”

“I am not emotionless,” Tobirama answered with a sigh. “I am controlled. I feel things but I do not express them well.” He swallowed and refused to look anywhere but forward as he continued, not wanting to see how the other man reacted to his words. “I have what is known as autism. The one who was clan doctor while we were growing up liked to label me as ‘high functioning’ and promised my father she could ‘cure me’ but it was a load of crock. Someone with autism is not diseased and they do not need a cure. I’m not broken. I simply react to certain things differently.”

Madara’s chakra was spiking and Tobirama deliberately pulled his own closer to himself so as not to pick up on any emotions while he continued.

“I spent much of my childhood thinking I was wrong somehow because of that woman. It’s always been difficult for me to express myself in a coherent manner and when I tried I was demonized so I learned from an early age to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. I don’t cry because that control that I forced upon myself is difficult to unlearn.” He clenched his jaw to hold more words in. That was probably the most he had ever spoken to Madara with neither anger nor insult.

The Uchiha was silent as they continued walking, ostensibly either thinking about what he had said or wondering why the universe had given him a broken soulmate. Tobirama frowned and silently rebuked himself. He had stopped seeing himself as broken years ago, had just asserted that he was not. Calling himself such a derogatory term now was backward progress. Still, he couldn’t help but worry as they walked on and on, nothing in his ears but the crunch of dry leaves.

“I am, again, not trying to antagonize,” Madara said eventually. “I was under the impression that autism meant someone who did not speak.” Tobirama rolled his eyes.

“Misconception,” he grumbled. “There are many with autism who are non-verbal. And there are many who communicate just fine. Autism manifests differently in each person. That woman called me ‘high functioning’ as if I were somehow less valid than someone without autism just because of the way I communicated. I hated the term. I hated the way she compared me to what she considered normal.”

“Ah.”

Silence fell yet again. Tobirama had never felt more awkward in his life. Truthfully, he hadn’t explained that he had autism to anyone since before he was ten years old. The only people still living who knew were Hashirama and the old crone who had first diagnosed him, somehow still alive although age had taken most of her mobility from her. Not even Touka knew. He wondered if Madara were petty enough to tell others, to mock him for something beyond his control.

“I don’t know how to ask this question.”

Tobirama blinked and finally turned to look at the man beside him. Madara has his brows furrowed in a thoughtful manner as he puzzled through how to word something without giving offense. The idea of Madara attempting diplomacy made him smile just the tiniest bit.

“If you word it poorly I will not mind,” he said.

“Has having autism changed any other part of you? Does it determine any other of your…behaviors isn’t truly the word I want but I can’t think of another way to put it.” Madara looked at him hesitantly, as if wondering if he’s asked correctly. Tobirama met his eye briefly but shyly looking away again. It was incredibly strange to be discussing himself so openly like this.

“I do certain things that others might not,” he admitted. “Do you know what stimming means?”

Madara nodded and said, “Stimulating, yes? Doing something to achieve a certain sensation?”

“Yes that would be the general idea,” Tobirama agreed, warmth in his chest. “For example I chose to add a fur collar to the armor I wear because I find the sensation of it particularly calming.”

“Is that why you pull at it when you’re overstressed?”

“I’m…surprised you noticed that, but yes.”

Tobirama listened to Madara’s contemplative hum and fought back the smile that wanted to grow larger. With every moment and each question his hope grew stronger. Hope that his soulmate might be willing to even contemplate a bond had him nearly giddy. Not that it showed. For a few minutes neither of them spoke again, both of them thinking over what had been shared. Tobirama glanced sideways when Madara stopped walking, halting with him.

“I get angry when I don’t understand things,” the Uchiha said slowly. “Not understanding something makes me feel stupid, incapable, and I have always avoided things I don’t know well. People especially. I have never understood you. I was always baffled by how little emotion you display yet how easily you are angered. You seem to care for nothing and yet jump to the defense of injustices faster than your brother even. If you would be willing to be patient with my questions, I would be willing to ask them.”

Madara looked up to catch his gaze and Tobirama nodded, words caught in his throat. The corners of Madara’s mouth curled up ever so slightly in response.

“I understand you much better knowing what I do,” he said, his tone strange formal. “It must have been hard to share those things with me and I hope you understand that I appreciate you sharing them. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

After a beat of silence Tobirama glowed, the biggest smile he had shown in years spreading across his face and exposing his pearly white teeth. The expression squinted his eyes nearly closed and he felt his head tilting to the side the way it always had on the rare occasion he truly smiled, a personal quirk very few had ever witnessed. He relished in the shock that splashed across Madara’s features.

“Happy,” he murmured, reverting to an old habit. Since he’d never been good at expressing what he was feeling, for many years he had simply announced it to avoid confusion. He’d trained himself out of it but the whirling in his mind had stifled his tongue and thickened his throat. He was suddenly incredibly excited for the future.

Madara barked out a laugh. “I’m glad to hear it.”

It wasn’t quite the happy ending that Hashirama had been hoping to witness. But it was a beginning filled with wonderful possibilities and Tobirama was more than satisfied with that.

[snowsheba]

iron-willed are the ascended

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chapter 1 (part 3 of 3) - your life and mine

The note she leaves behind reads two things. The first is thus: Tell the world I am dead, even though I am not. The second is simply hope will take flight, far away and out of reach.

She puts it on her bed and writes Jesse’s name on it; of everyone she trusts here, he will understand the fastest, and he will also be the first one to see. (She doesn’t ask if Genji had killed her guards. Somehow, she thinks the answer might somehow make the reality worse.) Then she turns to her window, shouldering her pack across her back, combat clothes loose and flowing across her person, and steps onto the sill.

“You will not be able to follow me,” Genji says, clinging to the wall beside her room with just his fingers, just his toes. His acrobatic feats to get up to her window in the first place are astonishing by themselves, and she fears that he will fall during the descent, but he is confident in his skills and she – doesn’t trust him fully, not yet, but she does not think he’s lying.

“You do not know me very well,” Angela says with a small smile. “Go. I will be watching over you.”

Genji gives her a dubious look but does as she says, beginning the laborious climb down the stone walls. Angela waits until he is a respectable distance below her before gently breathing out and humming an old, familiar song under her breath; when she feels the soft warmth upon her back, she takes a step forward into the air, and Genji’s startled sound is cut off when, instead of falling, a glittering remnant of wings fly her to him and let her slowly drift to the ground next to him.

“Keep going,” she says, gesturing with her staff. He’s staring in shock and she says, a bit impatiently as she sinks closer to the ground far, far below, “We do not have much time. Push onward, I will be with you.”

He starts moving after that, scampering down and then leaping over to the next building and she flies up to him, and it would be hysterical of how shocked he’d been at the sight if she wasn’t painfully aware of how little foreign countries know of her, of her Goddess, of Mercy.

“You realize that this is a terrible idea,” Genji says to her once they’ve reached his makeshift camp.

It’s at the edge of the capital – close enough to the walls to see them, far and hidden away enough to remain invisible. Angela has never been out of the city herself, and the woods around her make her uneasy, especially in the night; and though she doesn’t quite trust Genji (but she has to now, this she knows), she is certain she will be safe, and she gives one last lingering look to her home before turning her back on it to stare him in the eye.

“It is a chance to correct a mistake before it spirals out of control,” Angela says. “If it would prevent your armies and mine from dying, I would gladly give my life.”

“You need a better sense of self-preservation,” Genji mutters, only to yelp when she whaps his shoulder lightly with her staff. “Hey!”

“There’s no need to be rude, you know,” she says, and Genji huffs and rolls his eyes. There’s the slightest of smiles on his face though, just barely there, and she’ll count that as a minor victory. “Bad idea or no, this is the only way to prevent widespread bloodshed.”

“Why must we be the ones to do this?” Genji says, shaking his head even as he turns away, glancing up at the tree that holds most of his supplies, presumably. “We are hardly important in the grand scheme of things, you and I.”

“No one else will,” Angela tells him, iron conviction in her words. Genji stills, and she says quietly, “You know that this is true.”

“That still does not mean we should,” Genji points out.

“On the contrary,” Angela says, eyebrow lifting, “For if we do not take action when we could have, we are just as responsible.”

Genji turns to look over his shoulder, his expression entirely deadpan. “That is stupid reasoning,” he informs her.

“Oh?” she says, forcing her shoulders to remain at a gentle, even slope. Getting angry over something like this is counterproductive, after all.

“That would imply we, as individuals, are responsible for a great many things – peasants starving, children dying of illness, farmers losing their crops as a drought rolls in...” Genji spreads his arms, eyebrows raised. “A war starting through no direct action of our own. Is that, too, your fault?”

She hums at that; he has a point, but now that she’s thinking about it, “To be quite honest with you, the last point you spoke of could have perhaps been avoided. If I had been more careful at the last summit – ”

“Gods,” Genji says, addressing the canopy of foliage above, “This is what arguing with myself is like, is it not? No wonder people grew sick of me back home.”

“I - what?”

“Always having a justification. Always having to be right. Always having to have the last word,” Genji rattles off, and no doubt it’s a list he’s heard tremendously often back home for how quick the words escape his lips. Angela would be offended if he hadn’t been very correct, and he shakes his head, smiling, and says, “Whatever the case may be, this war is not our responsibility. There are others who are to blame.”

“Perhaps so,” Angela says, and she counters, “But they will not take action.”

“And why should they?” Genji says. “For them, there only is the one path. Why should it not be the same for you and me?”

Angela is quiet for a few moments. Some of her confidence is fading away, now, slow and languid cold trickling down her spine; but then she sighs and gives herself a slight shake. She’s already gone so far – there’s no backing out now. “You have not killed me,” she tells him. “That in itself is a sign that you think we have a chance, at the very least.”

A pause. “Are you not afraid I will kill you while you sleep?” Genji says, and at Angela’s dry look he slowly puts his hands flat against his face and drags his fingers down his cheeks, pulling at his skin and giving him an almost ghoulish appearance, just for a split second. It’s enough to make Angela smile in amusement, especially as he mutters, “When they told me to assassinate the Mercy, I could never have expected this.”

“Perhaps I should be offended,” Angela says mildly.

Genji snorts, but then he hesitates; something’s on his mind, and he says, “That is not your real name, is it? Mercy, that is.”

Angela pauses at that. Few outside of her inner circle know her name – Jesse, Jack, Gabriel, some of the priests and priestesses. For all else she is the Chosen, the Miracle, the Angel, the Mercy, and while she has placed her faith in the prince of Shimada, she does not trust him fully, not here, not yet.

“Perhaps I will tell you in the future,” Angela says. “For now, Mercy will suffice.”

“That is rather unfair, seeing as you know mine,” Genji grumbles, but he doesn’t push anymore, a sign of his character. “Fine, then. You said we needed to return to my brother?”

We, he says, and Angela’s lips curl up in a smile. “I cannot follow you in, for obvious reasons. My brother will ensure rumors of my demise reach your people’s ears, and from there, you can ask yours why the war has begun. Once we have an answer, we can begin to counter it.”

“It is an impossible task,” Genji says; “There are two of us and thousands of them. I – this will not help, you know. We cannot do anything, and it’s laughable to think we ever could.”

No wonder he was cast out, forced to regain his honor in a futile assassination attempt; all the values of the Shimada point to being brave, focused, iron-willed, and here is their prince cowering in fear and uncertainty. Foolish and beautiful for it, Angela thinks, or perhaps Mercy does, and it doesn’t matter who, really. “If you truly wish to help your brother, then we have little choice.”

“Even if I learn the cause of this war, what good will it do?” Genji says, staring up at the leaves above. The moonlight peeks between the branches and casts his skin in a pale glow, and Angela has a sudden, untimely desire to smooth her thumb across his cheekbones. “We would – from the very start, Shimada would never back down unless loss was certain. With you presumed dead...” He trails off, only to mutter, “Hanzo would not rest, knowing his final obstacle is gone.”

“There are other factors to consider, always,” Angela says, thinking quickly. “We want to ensure he withdraws? Then let us break down his forces, piece by piece, one by one.”

“Sabotage?” Genji says, and then, “That is treason. Regardless of whether it works or not, which I highly doubt it will, I will be killed.”

“Right now, we are both criminals,” Angela says. “You have lost everything already. I leave all I have known behind. For better or for worse, we must see this through.”

“Or I could kill you.”

“Or you could kill me,” Angela agrees, “But you know better than I how that will end.” Honor, redemption, but at what cost? Genji does know, one way or another, of that Angela is certain.

In the meantime, Genji looks her over, pausing from where he had been packing up camp. He’s almost finished at this point, and Angela hums a soft tune under her breath the longer he stares. He does that a lot, she’s come to note, and she is so used to it from her role back home that it doesn’t so much as throw her. No, instead she meets his eyes steadily and hardly blinks, daring him to look away first. I am Mercy and Mercy does not falter.

“To be honest,” he says after many, many beats of silence, “I do not think I could kill you even if I tried.” She raises an eyebrow, and he clarifies, “They say you are strong of heart and weak of mind and body, but such a description does you a tremendous disservice.”

“You flatter me,” Angela says, quirking one side of her lips into a half-smile. “You are correct, I suppose. I am no professional, but I can fight well enough.”

“I am curious to see how you will fare in a real combat situation,” Genji says, going back to rummaging through his bags. “No person can be perfect, after all.”

A throwaway comment, but it draws the air from her lungs in a startled exhale. Perfect. She is far from it, and it should not matter that the youngest prince from a faraway country thinks as such, but the more she watches him the more certain she becomes that this young man will become her world, somehow. Mercy sings to her whenever she is looking at him, and to think – they have already bonded so quickly despite him attempting to kill her, despite her breaking him apart with words sharper than knives.

She is supposed to give a blessing tomorrow. She won’t be there, though, and instead she says, “Prince, if you would allow me a triviality.”

“Of what sort?” he asks, standing up straight and turning to face her and that is exactly enough as she raises her free hand, the one not holding her staff.

“Stay still,” she says, and before he can open his mouth to respond, she begins to sing.

It’s an old song – one of the earliest she was ever taught. Perhaps taught isn’t the right word, however; the songs and hymns of the Goddess have never been out of reach, traced across her mind just as easily as the golden ink across her back, and Mercy hums with her in her blood as Angela sings the words of virtue and victory and hope. Genji’s eyes are wide, of course, and they are dark and beautiful and she closes her own so as not to look at them. She has never given her blessing to someone who is not of her own homeland, so she is not sure if this will even work, but she hopes, she dreams, she –

“A blessing,” Genji breathes when she lets the final note die across her lips, and his voice trembles as he says, “I have – heard stories, but never would I have – ”

“Your hand,” she says, “Let me see it,” and when he steps closer and removes his glove to proffer his left hand, she sees the golden trail of a feather inked across the back of it. She touches it with her finger, traces its outline, and murmurs, one last hopeful contribution, “Let this one walk in the golden light.”

The feather flares bright in her vision, just once; Mercy has answered, and She truly favors this child, Angela notes with wonder as she pulls away. Never before has Angela met someone with whom Mercy has been so preoccupied, and when Genji takes his hand and peers at it more closely, Angela takes her staff in both hand and breathes as deeply and steadily as she can. Favored son, favored child, she had said, and the irony now makes her sigh, halfway amused.

“What will it do?” Genji asks, voice hushed.

“Luck,” she answers, eyes closing, knees shaking. “A shadow longer than usual, so that you may hide when the guard passes. A hesitation where there should be none, so that you may strike faster. Small things, little things, that will ease your passage.”

“I did not believe the stories were true,” Genji breathes.

“Many do not,” she says, and she offers him a tired smile and a slight bow. “Mercy favors you, Genji Shimada. Perhaps it is fate that we met as we did.”

“... You favor me?”

How little he knows. Angela won’t complicate it for him, and she says, quite simply, “Yes.”

Except the voice that comes out isn’t hers, not quite; it reverberates with Mercy’s power, and Angela drops to her knees instantly. To think, Mercy wished to help this young man so strongly, to think of what injustices Shimada ensconced within its borders to garner such a reaction, to think –

“Mercy?” Genji asks, alarmed, and Angela swallows hard, wings burning across her back, a familiar pain but one that brings no comfort.

“No,” she says, voice strangled with Mercy’s will, and then, “Yes. To whom do you refer?”

“I – I don’t know, the girl. The woman. Not the – not the Goddess. I don’t think?”

“Angela,” Angela says, and just as swiftly She had come Mercy departs and she can breathe again, which she takes some time to do before she laughs, small and quiet. “Well. Perhaps it is too early to say, but it seems we have a Goddess on our side.” Such is the hope, she thinks, such is Mercy’s intent for you.

She remains kneeling as Genji says, “So – that was her. That was... Mercy. And you are Angela.”

“Indeed,” Angela says, and she looks up to him, at the pensive look on his face, and gives him a brittle smile. She had wanted to help him; now, it seems, Mercy wishes her to ensure his success. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth – she thought she had been making a choice of her own, for once, for once, but everything ties back to the prophecy, to Her, and she bows her head as she pushes herself to her feet. “The night grows older the more we stand here. We should begin moving.”

“Right – yes. Have you – do you know how to – er, have you ever traveled far, I mean. Wait, no,” Genji says, rubbing his forehead as he shoulders his pack – it’s larger than hers, which, oops, maybe she should have brought more supplies. She has money, at least, and Genji murmurs, “You are far too recognizable. We’ll have to stay off of main roads, probably, at least until we get further out.”

“If you have maps, I can guide us,” Angela says, going up to him and nudging him with her elbow.

He gives her an almost sour look. “I am not incompetent. I can lead us back home.”

“I never suggested otherwise,” Angela says, eyebrows raised. She is entirely unimpressed, and it shows. “By all means, lead on, prince.”

“... I would need to look at the maps, first.”

“Then perhaps we should do so before we set off,” Angela says with a smile that’s more tooth than mirth, and Genji huffs a laugh, properly chastised, reaching into his pack and drawing out a square of heavily-folded paper, unfurling it in such a way that she could peer at it over his shoulder. She reaches out a delicate hand and points to the city, easily identifying it even on a foreign map in a foreign language. “If we are here, then – we have quite a bit of travel ahead of us.”

“We’ll want horses,” Genji says, tracing his finger across the main roads leading east. “Do you know where we could get some?”

“I am afraid I do not,” Angela says, and at his incredulous look she admits, softly, “This is the first time I have left the city. From here on out, I can do little to advise.”

“Oh,” Genji says, dropping his hands, and consequently the map, to his waist. His head turns to look at her. “You have never left?”

“The risk was too great. As it is now,” Angela says, and then she shrugs. “Still, I am not useless. You have a very distinctive Shimada accent, and so long as my hair is covered, I am not as easily recognized as you would think. This should ease our passage to some degree, at least.”

“I did not say you were useless,” Genji murmurs absently, and Angela casts him a curious look as he draws up the map again. “Regardless, horses. Then it will only take a number of days to reach the border if we travel fast and light. Perhaps... ten days?”

“Less,” Angela says, and at his glance, she says, “Mercy is on our side.”

He lets out a startled laugh. “Are you basically a good luck charm?”

“So long as you refrain from reducing me to an object in the near future, then yes,” Angela says, “I suppose I am. Let’s not waste time. You know where we need to go?”

“I need to see the stars,” Genji says, “Just a moment.” He hesitates. “You can – do you wish to join me? It will be faster in the trees.”

“As you say, prince,” she says, quirking a smile, and he returns it for once and for a few short heartbeats he looks – at ease, almost, though it fades and soon he’s grappling upwards with serpentine grace.

She flies up after him, and hums a song of hope under her breath as they go.

The golden light will fade and hope will take flight, far away and out of reach.

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