#a stiff breeze could indeed knock him over

[marshmellowtea]

somehow i never noticed chris falling flat on his back after catching ruffles in 90 degrees until my most recent rewatch......between that, the bit with trevor knocking him over while sweeping away the cans, and how hard he goes down when robert slaps him i'm starting to think this man has no structural integrity ghlskdajfldsjk

[thedragonnerd]

Ficlet: Forgiveness (Namaari)

(tw: lil bit of violence. Finally managed to finish this!)

The Council of Kumandra has finally arrived at an agreement on article 7, clause 15 of a mutually beneficial trade agreement, when Benja raises his hand, and calls for a break in proceedings.

‘Now is a time for feasting,’ he says, ushering the Council members away from the chamber, and Raya could almost weep in relief. Her boredom had been so intense during the last thirty minutes of the meeting, it took all she had not to fall asleep right in the middle of negotiations.

She pulls herself out of her chair slowly, aiming to be the last to leave the room as she allows the visiting dignitaries to file out ahead of her - sometimes, playing the role of a good host can be exhausting. Her stomach is beginning to rumble loudly, but she’s torn between going to hunt for a plate of food first, or going to search for Namaari, who had been helping to represent Fang’s interests at this meeting, and hence had to sit with their party rather than next to Raya, where they can usually whisper back and forth on all sorts of ridiculous topics.

Although she hides it well, Raya has noticed Namaari struggles sometimes with attending meetings in other lands, especially in Heart where there are curious looks, or sometime downright hostile glares towards her and the rest of the Fang delegation.

It’s with this thought in mind that Raya stumbles out of the room and towards the distant hum of people already congregating for dinner. She bypasses the array of mouth-watering dishes however, nodding at her Ba as he catches her eye. He’s deep in conversation with Chief Virana, so she decides to avoid disturbing them, and focuses on scanning the room with a singular purpose in mind. She cannot see Namaari anywhere, but before she can venture forth to search other parts of the palace, Sisu bumps her shoulder gently.

‘Raya, my girl!’ she says, body curling around Raya slightly, and nose poking against Raya’s cheek. ‘What’s making you so distracted? Was it that long boring meeting? Cos I have to say, I totally dozed off for most of it, so I sure hope Pranee spoke up for us…’

Raya tunes her out slightly as she resumes her searching of the crowd, hoping to see Namaari’s broad shoulders somewhere in the room, until a soft ‘thwack’ of a paw lands on her arm, Sisu’s claws tapping gently on her skin.

‘Raya?’

‘Sisu, have you seen Namaari anywhere?’ Raya asks. ‘I haven’t been able to find her.’

‘Oh, she went outside a few minutes ago,’ Sisu proclaims, flicking her tail in the general direction of the door that leads to the gardens. ‘She said she wanted some fresh air or something.’

‘Thanks, Sisu!’ Raya calls absently over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. The negotiations had gone on for so long that dusk is beginning to fall, and a light breeze sweeps through her hair as the summer heat fades away. Lanterns flicker on as she hurries down the pathway that she assumes Namaari’s taken. Usually if everything gets too much, and Namaari feels overwhelmed, she tends to hide with her serlot for a while. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be there, perfectly fine and safe, but for some reason there is an anxious knot in Raya’s chest…a feeling that she needs to find Namaari now, just to be sure.

As she rounds a corner, she hears raised voices in the distance, and squinting her eyes, she spies a group up ahead. There are five young men – warriors, dressed in the clothes of Heart, Talon and Tail – and they are talking loudly and angrily at a sixth person, their hands already grasping their swords. Raya knows it is Namaari before she even sees the figure dressed in white, boxed in by the men with a large rock wall at her back.

‘’Maari!’ she calls, hastening her steps, but the people before her are too engrossed in their showdown to hear. From the direction of her approach, the men’s backs are turned to her anyway, and whilst she can see Namaari’s face, the other woman has all her focus trained on the threat.

She doesn’t want to spark a fuse by racing in unannounced if Namaari has it under control, but as she hurries along the path towards them, she sees one of the men take a step forwards, waving his sword around dangerously as he continues to shout. Five against one is not exactly fair odds, but Raya knows Namaari can handle herself well in a fight – indeed, has been on the receiving end of some of those punches both in battle and on the training grounds. If something is about to go down, she’s confident that Namaari will be able to hold them off long enough for her to arrive and join the fight.

She’s almost upon the group when it happens. Namaari grasps her two swords, pulling them out with casual ease, and then…she throws them down by her feet, her chin raised proudly. Raya’s blood runs cold as she watches the ringleader lash out, kicking Namaari down to the ground.

‘’Maari, get up!’ she cries out, sprinting the last few steps.

Everything seems to occur simultaneously. Namaari’s eyes widen as she sees Raya for the first time, her hand reaching out as if to stop her from coming closer, whilst several of the group begin to turn around at the sound of Raya’s voice. But Raya only has her sight set on the leader, as his arm raises and she sees a flash of metal swinging down towards Namaari. She desperately launches her own sword towards him, hoping Namaari won’t be caught in the crossfire, and its extended blade wraps around his, pulling his arm back abruptly.

Raya slides across the ground, foot kicking out at the two nearest opponents, and she can see them tumble down out the corner of her eye as she spins around, flinging her into the fight. She’s a skilled combatant herself, with years of being out on the road and having to watch her own back, and she manages to draw blood in the first few seconds of facing down a now rather surprised looking ringleader. But as soon as one goes down, there are two more circling around her. The men are all trained warriors themselves, and she realizes with a jolt that she recognizes several of them, especially those from Heart, making her reluctant to take a kill strike.

One moment of distraction by someone managing to slice her left arm means she is vulnerable, and in the next moment she lands heavily on her back, the breath knocked out of her. The Talon man peers down at her with an ugly twist to his smile, and there is a flash of a weapon coming towards her face before twin blades thrust into view, blocking his attack.

Namaari grasps her wrist, pulling her up with one hand, and then they are fighting back-to-back, a team of flashing swords and bloodied knuckles. Their opponents have no chance, and the five men lie on the ground with various wounds before Raya can even take a deep breath.

‘What were you binturis thinking?’ Raya feels the rage burning inside her as she looks at their prone forms. The ringleader – a warrior from Heart, she is shocked to see – spits blood onto the dirt, and then snarls up at her with red-stained teeth.

‘She’s the one that destroyed the world,’ he croaks, gesturing towards Namaari. ‘And yet now you welcome her here to our lands with open arms? After everything she’s done? We demand blood for blood.’

Six years of surviving alone during the reign of the Druun has made Raya observant and fast with her reflexes; as he pulls out his crossbow and begins to raise it towards Namaari, she has already lifted her foot, stamping down hard enough to feel the satisfying *crack* of his fingers under her heel.

‘No, you almost destroyed the world right now,’ she hisses, a white-hot rage sweeping through her mind. ‘You almost destroyed Kumandra and the peace we’ve sought for so long, with your inability to let go of the past and refusal to remember she also helped save this land.’

Her hand clenches in a fist, and she moves to lunge down for another punch to his face. A muscled arm curls around her waist instead, hauling her upright.

‘It’s alright, Raya,’ Namaari says softly, pulling Raya’s back against herself. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Raya is about to say exactly how worth it she thinks it would be, when they are suddenly surrounded by Ba, Virana, Sisu and other concerned guests, who have followed the sounds of the commotion.

--

Later, they are sat on Raya’s bed in silence.

‘Let me at least deal with that,’ Namaari breaks the stand-off, nodding her chin towards Raya’s arm, where the thin scratch still bleeds sluggishly.

‘I’m still angry at you,’ Raya says grumpily, but shuffles sideways slightly so that Namaari can have easier access to the wound. Namaari says nothing in response, leaving instead to collect up some bandages and a damp cloth, and when she returns, she focuses on cleaning the cut with precise focus.

‘It won’t need stitches,’ she murmurs as she wraps the clean bandage around Raya’s arms, her fingers gentle but firm in their actions. ‘I’m sorry you got hurt for me.’

‘Namaari, do you know why I’m angry?’ Raya interrupts the moment, ducking her head so that their eyes meet for the first time since dealing with the aftermath of the attack. Namaari holds her gaze for a moment, before her eyes slide away to fix on a point somewhere over Raya’s shoulder.

‘That man from Talon…Raya, his wife died in a Druun attack. Not turned to stone, but was actually killed in the chaos. Same for one of your own citizens – he told me his brother had drowned trying to swim away from the Druun in the initial attack. How do you expect me to hear that, and not…’

‘Not what, Namaari? Not hand yourself over for execution, or whatever they wanted to do?’ Raya is unimpressed. ‘Not everything is your fault, you stubborn binturi. And I refuse to let you become some sort of martyr due to some misguided quest for forgiveness.’

Her voice is raised slightly by the end, but one look at Namaari’s troubled face has her sighing deeply. She reaches out instead to wrap her arms around Namaari’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace despite the stiff muscles she feels under her hands.

‘I wish sometimes that you’d simply forgive yourself,’ she confesses softly, the words coming easily. ‘But until then, I guess I’ll just keep reminding you instead.’

She feels arms tentatively rise up and wrap around her waist, and in response, she tucks her face in against the crook of Namaari’s neck. They sit embracing in silence for a long time.

[naussensei]

Attack on Titan College AU

In which Bertolt and Reiner drag Annie into a party.

Once at the bus stop, Annie flinched at the address on her phone when she received Bertoldt’s text. She had never even gone close to that area. 

Bertold and Reiner would have to make up for this, she’d make sure of that.

For a fancy street, the house indicated in Bertolt’s message wasn’t as big as Annie had imagined. The streets were clean and clear of holes, well-illuminated, but the house wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Even so, Annie hesitated another moment before she knocked on the entrance door. She listened to the beating of some rap music slamming the windows, the loud chanting of a group of men, and a chill ran down her spine. What the hell were her friends doing in a place like that?

With a deep breath, Annie knocked, and the door was wide open in a second; a tall man with narrow eyes and a smug smile standing at the threshold with a drink in his hand.

“Hey,” he sneered, scanning Annie from head to feet with a smirk.

“Hi,” Annie’s voice was dry, her shoulders stiff. “I’m looking for a friend.”

“Well, you’ve found one,” he grinned, leaning with a hand over the threshold. “Wanna come in?”

“Hey, horse face!”

Another voice came from behind him; a shorter, angry-looking guy pushed the tall one aside, deep green eyes glaring at him. “Stop letting random people into my house, Jean!”

“Relax, Jaeger, she’s not a ‘random person’. I know Annie, she was in my political science class with Professor Smith.”

Annie couldn’t recall Jeans’s face, yet nodded regardless.

“Just come in,” the one called Jaeger said with a sigh, and Annie followed him. “I’m Eren, by the way. There’s drinks at the bar, make yourself at home.”

“I’m only here to pick up a friend,” she clarified, and dodged a group of people chugging their drinks in a scandalous way.

“Really?” Eren said casually, his mind was somewhere else. Even from a distance Annie could smell the alcohol on him. “Which friend?”

“Reiner Braun.” She looked around searching for her friends, feeling several eyes on her as they walked across the large room, suddenly aware of how her gym clothes were so out of place with the rest of the girl’s outfits.

Eren paid little attention to Annie, too busy keeping watch on his parents’ house.

“Hey! Sasha! Connie! Get off the table!” Eren yelled, alarmed at the sight of two people climbing onto the furniture. He excused himself and rushed towards her.

Annie was then left in the middle of the room, alone with nothing but an awkward feeling. Reiner and Bertold would pay for this, she told herself, looking for an empty corner to stand at and look for them. What did people even do in these parties? She watched more people drinking, some of them dancing. After rejecting drinks several times, Annie headed to the bathroom. If Reiner was drunk and wasn’t anywhere around, it could only mean one thing: he’d probably been sick.

The bathroom door opened, and Annie’s eyes widened at the sight of a short, blonde girl kissing another taller girl. She stood there frozen with a hand still on the doorknob; the girls recoiled as soon as they saw Annie staring at them.

“What?” Growled the taller one, darker skin flushing under her freckles. “You got a problem?”

“Ymir don’t-” The other girl gasped, holding her arm to stop her.

“I honestly couldn’t care less. You do your thing,” Annie said with a straight face now, and closed the door again. Where the hell were Reiner and Bertolt?

After searching most of the house, Annie decided they must have gone out to buy more drinks or something like that. She decided to wait for a few more minutes, and looked for a quiet place to sit. At the end of the living room, a lonely girl sat quietly on a couch with a plastic cup in her hand.

That was it. That was her spot.

“Hi,” Annie gave the girl a brief and polite smile as she took a seat.

The girl’s gaze was lost somewhere. As though she didn’t hear Annie, the girl rose to her feet and moved towards the table. From there, Annie admired her black dress and high boots, as black as her hair and nail polish. A second later, the girl came back with another plastic cup and offered it to Annie.

“Oh, I don’t drink, but thanks.”

“It’s apple juice,” the girl said. Unlike her tough appearance, the girl’s voice was surprisingly sweet. “I don’t drink either.”

Annie thanked her and took a shy sip from it with relief. It was indeed apple juice.

They both continued to drink in silence, awkward at first, then almost comforting. At least they were alone together.

“I’m looking for a friend,” finally said Annie. “Do you know someone called Reiner or Bertolt?”

The girl looked up at the ceiling as if trying to reach for something in the back of her mind. “Oh,” she gasped, and pulled out her phone to show her something.

Annie stared at the painting on the girl’s screen with a puzzled look.

“Bertolt painted it,” the girl explained.

“He did?” Annie’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, and tilted her head to take a closer look. He was actually talented, she hated to admit.

The girl nodded, and scrolled down the screen to show Annie another painting; a completely different style but equally stunning.

“Did you paint this one?” Annie asked, and the girl nodded again; a slight reddish gleam burning on her cheeks.

“It’s nice.” Annie said, and she meant it.

The girl put the phone away, and offered her hand.

“I’m Mikasa,” she smiled, “Bertolt and Reiner are my classmates.”

“Nice to meet you,” Annie shook her hand. For once, she was genuinely glad to meet someone new.

“Have you seen them? Do you know where they are?”

Mikasa pointed to the other end of the room, and Annie followed her finger with her eyes across the sea of people to find Bertolt and Reiner drinking from a keg of beer. Her jaw dropped.

“Come,” Mikasa grabbed Annie by the wrist and dragged her across the room through the crowd.

Annie didn’t protest, but her face became more and more red with every step she took, until she was stomping her way towards her friends.

Reiner was the first one to see her, and his face quickly shifted into one of concern. Bertolt only turned to her when he felt Reiner’s elbow digging into his arm; his face serious now as well.

“I thought you were drunk.” Annie hissed, arms folding, eyebrows raising.

“We are,” Bertoldt rushed to say.

“And yet you keep drinking.” She accused. “So you called me for what?”

She turned to Reiner now, her piercing glare had him shuddering. Reiner had always been the easier one to break.

Reiner gulped, a drop of sweat running down his face. He searched for Bertolt with anxious eyes as though pleading for help.

“He made me do it,” Reiner finally burst out. “He made me lie so you would come to the party.”

“Reiner, seriously?” Bertolt gasped, throwing his hands up in the air with frustration. “You didn’t even try, can’t you keep a secret for once?”

Reiner shrugged and Annie cursed under her breath.

“Whatever, we’re already here,” Reiner said, “Since you are here, too, let’s have fun.”

Annie sighed. As angry as she was, she had to admit this was better than staring at her ceiling at home.

“If I stay, will you promise I won’t have to drag you home all drunk?”

“Promise,” they said in unison, and raised their cups to cheer.

“You can’t cheer with an empty hand,” Jean barged in between the two, handing Annie a cup. She rejected it with an awkward smile, and Jean shrugged before he chugged the cup himself.

“She’s not interested,” Eren said in a condescending tone, patting Jean on the back, harder than he’d meant. Too unstable to keep his balance, Jean nearly fell forward, and a second later they were both exchanging senseless insults and aimless fists until they both landed on the floor.

“Eren, stop bothering him, you’ll get your ass kicked again,” Mikasa ran to restrain him. Another guy pulled Jean to keep him away from Eren.

“Marco, let go!” Grunted Jean, even though the only reason he was standing was Marco holding his arm.

The meaningless argument carried on for another moment, and as everyone’s attention was drawn to them now, Annie used that opportunity to slip away for a moment. Hell, she needed a moment of peace. Through the corner of her eye, she sighted a door that led to the backyard, and with smooth steps she sneaked out.

As soon as she stepped outside, a nice breeze blew against her face; the fresh air filling her lungs, and she sighed in relief. She moved towards the railing of the deck, and leaned against it, looking up at the sky; a perfect clear night above her. What was wrong with her? She wondered. Everyone had been so nice, yet there she was, alone in the backyard with a lingering feeling of unease in her chest. Or so she thought.

“It’s nice, isn't it?” A stranger’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts, and Annie turned to find a young man sitting on the floor. Wide blue eyes fixed on the sky and a warm smile.

Annie followed his gaze to search for what he was looking at.

“Funny how they seem like they twinkle, when it’s actually just the Earth’s atmosphere that makes that illusion.”

Annie said nothing, but her eyes widened as she stared at the brightest, shiniest star she could find. “Even that one?” she pointed, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“You mean Sirius,” he chuckled in amusement, “even that is an illusion.”

Annie now turned to him, watching him get on his feet to move closer to her, carrying a cup with him, eyes still on the stars.

“That other one is Regulus,” he pointed at another star and his smile widened as he stared at Annie with eager eyes, as though waiting for a reaction.

“...cool.”

What else was she supposed to say?

He let out an awkward smile, and his pale cheeks turned suddenly bright red. “Not a Harry Potter fan, I guess.”

What a nerd, she thought.

“Not particularly,” she said instead.

They stared at the sky for another moment, until Annie felt the need to fill that unbearable silence.

“Why are you out here?” she asked without turning to him. “Too crowded inside?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Annie could now feel his eyes on her, and the slightest feeling of unease gathered in her chest. She couldn’t help but to subtly turn to him, only to look away again the next moment.

“Do you smoke?” he offered her a pack of cigarettes, and Annie shook her head in reply.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he sighed, putting them away. “These are Eren’s, really. Mikasa asked me to hide them from him.”

“Mikasa’s a talented artist.” Surely if he knew Mikasa he couldn’t be such an ass, could he? Annie turned to him again. He was close. Closer than a moment ago, and still staring at her, bright blue eyes reflecting the silver gleam of the stars. She ignored the feeling in her guts and refused to look away.

This seemed to amuse him. He lowered his gaze now with a shy smile, and took a long sip from his drink with a deep grunt.

“God, this is so bad. How can people drink this?” He squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips, making Annie laugh.

“It can’t be that bad…” She sneered.

“You see for yourself,” he handed her the cup, eyes still shut hard in disgust.

Annie stared at the plastic cup with curiosity for a long moment.

Was she actually considering his offer?

He quickly looked around, as if expecting to find someone, yet nobody else was around.

“Fuck it,” she sighed, taking the cup and giving in a small sip without thinking about it any further. As soon as the bitter liquid slid down her throat with a slight burn, she regretted her decision.

“So bad…” She winced.

It was now his turn to laugh. A sound so sweet and soothing to her ears, that Annie almost wondered if there had been something in her drink that made her heart skip and her stomach twist. A rush of blood crawled up to colour her cheeks, and Annie now shook in silent laughter.

The stranger now turned to her, and as their eyes met, a sudden spark flashed between them, holding them both in thrall.

Annie’s body loosened, and as the overwhelming warmth faded, she could finally realize what that feeling gathering in her chest was. Fear. She shuddered in fear. Something she hadn’t expecience in a long time. But it was a strange kind of fear, the kind that made her heart flutter and her stomach drop. She moved even closer, as though drawn by some magnetic force, until she could feel his breath on her.

“There you are!”

A sudden voice came through the door and they both recoiled instantly; a drunk Eren struggling to walk straight outside “Have you seen my cigarettes?”

“No, Eren, I have not seen your-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eren lay flat against the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” the stranger excused himself, moving towards his friend. “Gotta go, but it was really nice talking to you.”

Annie watched him pick Eren up from the floor and disappear behind the door. It wasn’t until she saw Reiner and Bertolt come looking for her that she realized she hadn’t caught the stranger’s name.

-

From: When the Stars Blink Twice

Read full chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32434150/chapters/80968576#workskin

[valberryy]

efficacy. — zhongli

hi!! this started out as an oc fic, but i thought i'd convert it to a reader insert!! i tried to change some of the more "explicit" oc info, so hopefully it's fine now!

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions of blood/injury/death, contemplations of/vaguely attempted murder, slight swearing. if these topics are sensitive to you, i'd recommend clicking away.

i. 

[Name]'s life would be nothing without order. They found a certain comfort in routines—working at the bookshop with Jifang in the afternoons, working for their less-than-legal clients once night fell. There was an odd kind of safety they found in it, in completed contracts and crossed-out bounties on a board: as they wiped the blood off their blade at sunrise, they found themself glad they no longer lived at the whims of ice, and snow, and migrating deer.

Tonight was odd, though. 

A dagger twirled deftly between their fingers, and [Name] raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the informant sitting before them. A mask and hood alike obscured his face, and he seemed almost to hesitate slightly beneath their burning gaze—a newbie, then, or a fool.

"So?" they asked, their voice like a whip-crack in the silence. "Don't waste my time."

"Apologies," he said, and [Name] had to resist the urge to scoff. At another raised eyebrow the informant dug through his things and passed them an envelope. 

Gingerly, they tore it open. "...Wangsheng?" they muttered to themself, before glancing back up. "I trust you have the right compensation?"

A stiff, "Of course," was their only response. 

The knife between [Name]'s fingers stilled, before it became embedded in the cheap wood next to their now-client's head.

They stood, gave an almost-mocking flourish of a bow, and walked off without another word.

ii. 

[Name] did not glance up from the shelf they were restocking when the footsteps of another customer coming up the stairs came into earshot, only saying a gruff, "Welcome," as they grew closer.

Their only response was a content hum, and they resisted the urge to sigh in relief that this particular patron wasn't a chatterbox. 

The minutes trickled by in comfortable silence, as the man—for he was a man, [Name] learned, as soon as they looked up and towards his direction—browsed through their selection. The only sounds to be heard were the blowing of the breeze and the idle chatter of people walking past.

"What a fine collection you have," he said, and turned to face the counter they were seated behind. At the sight of his face they were thrust back into two nights ago—an unpleasant evening in a dingy old house, an envelope in one hand and a cheap knife in the other. 

Not now, they thought to themself. Not now, when the blood can seep into the floorboards. The smell will hang for days.

"Thank you," they elected to say in reply. "...Will you be buying?"

He nodded, a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Indeed. The entire stock, actually."

[Name] faltered. "The entire…?" They coughed into a fist, regaining their composure and leaning forward on the counter. "That's going to cost you, sir."

They could almost see the excited sparkles around him as he opened his mouth to speak again, and whatever thoughts they had on how elegant and refined he seemed were thrown out to sea.

"Yes, of course," he began, "there truly is no treasure greater than knowledge, after all—there is a subtle nuance to the art to capturing a moment in time so vividly using just words alone…" 

As he continued to ramble, [Name] rested their chin on their palm. The daggers concealed beneath their clothes were cool and heavy on their skin—a constant reminder, a subtle threat. 

When his voice trailed off they gave a small, polite smile, standing upright again. "If you have the Mora, there should be nothing stopping you, sir."

The faraway, almost dreamy look in his eyes grew lucid at the mention of Mora. "Ah, of course. Mora," he said, and started patting his pockets searching for his wallet.

When neither of them heard the telltale clinking of coins, they glanced at each other almost exasperatedly. 

"My deepest apologies—"

"...No, it's okay—"

The knife still burned against their skin, but they brushed it aside for a moment to grab an unwrapped copy of a book under the desk. They held it out to him, their face blank but the faintest, faintest hints of amusement dancing in their eyes.

He was…interesting. Dead men can rarely boast as much.

 "Take it," they said, simply. 

His eyes seemed to widen in pleasant surprise. "Are you certain?" he asked, and at [Name]'s casual shrug in the affirmative he gingerly took it from their hands. 

"Thank you kindly," he said, raising the package in the air and inspecting it. "I'll have to repay you, for this."

They looked at him again, and thought of the envelope from the other night, thought of how they could almost feel his pulse as their fingers brushed just seconds prior.

"I'll hold you to it, then, sir," they elected to say.

Not now, not now, not now.

iii.

On his lips played a gentle smile that [Name] couldn't help but to distrust. 

"There's a restaurant I believe you'd like," he had said. "Allow me to treat you for lunch, as thanks."

Their head had thus begun to swim with backup plans and what-ifs. Did he know? Was this some elaborate ruse to poison them? Surely not, right? They had been so careful up until now, too…

They blinked away their initial surprise and canted their head to the side. "Where?"

At that he went off onto another tangent, just as long as the ramble he had gone on a few days prior. [Name] found themself zoning out, glancing at where they knew his jugular was beneath his collar—or perhaps poison during their impromptu outing would fare better?

No, they scolded themself, there would be witnesses at a restaurant.

"...Don't worry, of course, I'll be sure to bring the Mora this time around," he said with a velvety laugh, and [Name] suddenly found themself back in the present.

They leaned forward on the bookstore counter, an eyebrow raised. "I don't even know your name, Mister Philanthropist." 

Another smile graced his features, then—apologetic this time, and he outstretched a hand for them to shake. "My apologies," he said. "I am Zhongli, consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."

Gingerly, they took his hand in turn. They could feel the rhythmic beat-beat-beat of his pulse under their fingers.

Soon, they thought. 

"Call me [Name]," they said, and forced themself to smile.

A few days later, it just so happened that both of their schedules were free. 

"Would you still be willing to indulge me?" Zhongli asked—he had been visiting more often lately, and it just so happened that many of his visits happened to be on the days [Name] was there, as well. Jifang seemed curious, and honestly they were as well—did he enjoy their company? Was there something about their short, curt responses that didn't turn him away?

Or maybe he was planning something, too?

Nevertheless, despite their raging paranoia, it wasn't like they were in much of a position to complain. Jifang seemed content at their new, distinguished guest, and [Name] took it as an opportunity to learn more about him for the time being. 

"...If you so wish," they said, plucking the book he was holding out of his hands to wrap it for him. 

"Only if you do, my friend." Damn him and his deflection. "But it is my firm belief that the generous receive what is due to them, in time."

They hummed idly as they thumbed through the book he had chosen—something or other about the natural beauty of Inazuma—and then glanced back up at him.

And that was how they found themself here, they supposed.

Their table was relatively silent compared to some others, but it was by no means uncomfortable or awkward. With the idle chatter of other people and the clear sky above as a backdrop, the two dined in comforting silence—only the clinking of ceramic against each other to be heard, and to [Name]'s surprise, no traces of poison to be found whatsoever.

As the sun began to dip down the horizon, and all their food had been finished and the bill paid, the two found themselves taking a stroll down by the docks. Zhongli's gaze was trained ahead, while [Name]'s flitted about cautiously.

"Forgive me if I'm prying, however…" he began, "...But you're not a native, are you, my friend?"

A jolt, then, a bolt of white-hot fear running through their limbs. Did he know? Did they give themself away? 

"I'm not," they said. "I was born abroad." 

A satisfied hum was their response, and when they turned to glance at him, they found the smallest of smiles on his face.

"It's getting late," Zhongli said. "Thank you for today. I'd like to do this again, with you."

[Name] took pause at that. They thought once again of the envelope hidden under their drawers, and the knives hidden under their clothes.

They thought about the way Zhongli rambled on about whatever tale it was the storyteller across the street had spun—how "that indeed is one interpretation of it, but in the original text, the author actually meant to imply that…" 

There was a pang of what almost felt like guilt in their chest, at that. 

"...And I, you," they said, finally, "...my friend."

iv.

Perhaps stumbling into your supposed assassination target's home half-bloody with an arrow sticking out of your side was not the brightest idea, but in [Name]'s defense were two things: first of all, they had no fucking clue it was Zhongli's in the first place, and secondly, they couldn't exactly keep running from their angry former client with an arrow sticking out of their side.

And thus whatever levels of discretion they normally would have had were thrown out the window as they climbed into Zhongli's in the dead of night, and probably knocked something over in the process (if the new bruises were anything to go by). 

(To be fair, they had been calling each other friends for a while now. Is this what friends did? [Name] couldn't be sure—their shady friends weren't exactly the best examples, after all.)

They had just sat up and groaned in pain when Zhongli came in, alarmed first at the noise and then at their sorry state. 

"...Sorry," they muttered through gritted teeth. "Thought the place was empty—ow, shit! I can—I can do it mysel—"

"Nonsense," he said, his voice and hands firmer than they had noticed before. "...I still haven't repaid you for your favour to me, after all."

They stopped for a moment, at that. "...I thought the lunch was repayment?"

Somehow, Zhongli found it in himself to laugh, albeit tensely. From where they were sitting, they could see his face a lot more clearly than they had before—the tenseness in his brow, the flecks of gold in his amber irises, the way his nose crinkled at the density of the smell of blood.

"No," he replied, "that was a thank you."

They hummed, before hissing in pain again. "Pull the other way; the arrowhead went in at an angle—"

"Ah, yes, my mistake…"

[Name] continued, "I suppose this is your repayment, then?"

They only barely hid their surprise when he shook his head again. 

"I'm doing this because I want to, [Name]."

(Somehow, they liked their name better when hearing it from him. Was it the timbre of his voice? Was it the appeal of hearing your name from a man who was supposed to be long-dead?)

"...I see."

As he sealed the last of the bandages and allowed them to adjust their clothes, he helped them over to what they assumed was a guest room, of sorts. He helped them to take a seat on shaky legs, and placed a firm, almost comforting hand on their shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be more careful, my friend."

They glanced away, their face oddly warm. Wasn't blood loss supposed to do the opposite? "I can't guarantee that, Zhongli."

He followed their gaze over to the floor, and then glanced back at them. "If not that, then I'd at least ask you to…rely on me more," he said, and something about the sincerity in his voice struck them as odd. 

They almost wanted to burn that envelope in their drawers when they went home.

[Name] glanced back up at him, forcing themself to face his questioning gaze.

"...I'll try." 

But only for you.

+1.

In [Name]'s life, there exists a line they do not dare themself to cross. On one side stands sweet Jifang from the bookshop, the tenacious Traveller and their friends, and the ghosts of their loved ones from Inazuma; and on the other stands themself and their other shadowy benefactors. 

The first to tread the line between the two was Zhongli—who, despite the bounty on his head, still managed to maneuvre his way into them somehow being able to call him their friend.

Honestly. The Seven damn him and his stupid charisma, and his stupid voice, and his stupid encyclopedic knowledge of silk flowers.

When [Name] woke up, they were not in their home. 

Through their shock they failed to register the bandages wound around their torso, and bit back a yelp of pain as the wound threatened to reopen. In the dark they could see their overwear folded neatly on the bed next to them, and Zhongli asleep, slumped over in a chair.

Suddenly, they were acutely aware of the old bone knife under their clothes—their only souvenir from home, unstained by blood for years, and years, and years.

Would Zhongli be its first, then?

Quietly they stood and dug through their folded clothes until they felt it—the uneven blade, the worn-down grooves near the hilt. They skulked their way over to where he slept, and tried to ignore how painfully peaceful his slow, even breaths were.

His eyes fluttered open just as they pressed the blade to his throat. He seemed too calm, though, not even a twitch of his hands or a hitch in his breath to give away any surprise at all. All he did was place a loose grip on their wrist—a stark contrast to their white-knuckled, shaking hand—and ask,

"What are you doing, [Name]?" 

They grit their teeth. "...I'm sorry," they said, "but I have a contract to complete."

Something in Zhongli's eyes softened at that. This was his domain, they realised—contracts, and contingencies, and wordplay. 

His grip on their wrist tightened, ever so slightly, and he traced his free hand over their clenched jaw. "But so do we," he replied. "I've still never paid you back, after all."

There was a pause, then—a long, pregnant silence. 

"May I kiss you?" Zhongli asked, his voice like a whip-crack in the space between them. [Name] said nothing, but the crease between their brows deepened further. 

The dagger embedding itself into the floor and the soft, firm press of their lips against his was enough of an answer.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 1) Z

This is probably going to be the hardest to shove the MC into to be honest. But I think my premise is good, but let me know what you think!

MC sat on the edge of a mossy cliff that was covered in scrubby, grey grass. Rocks were patched with bright orange lichen that were splashed on like paint. The sea was blue with fresh melt water from the ice caps that defrosted, a pale blue that didn’t quite reflect the sky. You learned that it was the minerals from the earth that gave the sea this unique color. The breeze caressed your dark hair and drew it across your face.

You’re back in Black Swan Bay in midsummer. You feel that it should be night, but like the winter months were dark with the sun never rising, in summer, the sun never set and the sky was always bright. Most people would never understand how a place like this could be so familiar when for them it was like living on an alien planet, but for you, even though the sky was always brilliant in the summer, you could tell the time of day by the level of light in the sky, a technique acquired by someone who grew up with exposure to an eternal day.

You’re not alone. Boots crunched in the pea gravel and approached. They were black, and lined with fur and half covered with a long, black fur lined coat worn by a young man a few years younger than you. He sat down, stretching one leg in front of him and resting one arm on his knee.

He had dark hair like you, but his eyes were a bright gold in his pale face. You always thought they were beautiful eyes, but now you understood what they meant. He had dragon blood flowing in his veins. He turned to look at you.

You remembered him being reclusive, not talking to you much unless it was to exchange witty banter. He was relaxed, always smiling cryptically, never bothered by the nurses or the rules, but never really getting into any trouble either. He knew your name when you met despite never having met you before. He reached up and brushed your hair back with one gloved hand to tuck it behind your ear.

Your expression goes deadpan. “I’m not dead, am I, Z.”

The golden eyed boy’s expression reflects surprise and then breaks into a hearty laugh. He covers his face with one hand while you watch him try to get control of himself, a warm feeling spreading in your chest that teases a smile out of you. 

Z finally stopped laughing and sighed wistfully, looking out over the ocean. “I missed you.”

He turned to you again with a look that was affectionate but calculating, like he was holding in a secret but barely. “No, you’re not dead.”

Your smile fades and you turn back to the ocean. “Why not?”

Z reached to one side of him and lifted a thick book in black leather. On the cover, a golden cross was embossed on it, but the cross didn’t look like a crucifix. Instead, it appeared to be on fire, with the flames appearing to be like a dragon’s wings. Z lifted the golden ribbon that marked a spot near the beginning.

He read from the book, his voice rose over the wind and the crashing waves. “And in very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power…”

“You’re doing this?” 

Z clapped the book shut and it vanished in a haze of golden dust. “I can’t explain everything. The pieces are not in place yet and it won’t make any sense to you. You won’t understand until the very end. That said, I can’t do everything. You had a very close call. So I wanted to warn you not to be too reckless.”

You sit up straight. “You’re alive? Where are you, Z?”

“I am alive but… Like I said, you won’t understand. Just be more careful. Alright?” He’s staring at you seriously. Back in Black Swan Bay, most people ignored his existence, but you felt he was calling you, drawing you to him for some unknown reason. At times, he would just appear next to you, like he was following you around like a ghost. And now you feel lost in those eyes once again in this strange dream world.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Promises are meaningless.” He shook his head. “Just do it.”

You nod again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“One more, hurry.”

“Why me of all people? Why not Renata or Vera? Or Anton or...”

“Because you were the strongest … second to Renata.” The world started to go dark, like a curtain was falling over the sea, the rocks and the grass. The wind grew still and you felt a bit stuffy and tired. Soon all you could see were those golden eyes.

“And well… you make me laugh.”

You relax into the darkness and for a moment your mind goes blank. But then your mind revives again. “...was that a Roger Rabbit reference?”

“Dammit, MC! Wake up!” He says in a harsh whisper.

Your eyes open wide. Lu Mingfei - not Z - is leaning over your head, appearing upside down in your view, arms on either side of your face. You blink wearily. “Mingfei?” Your voice is hoarse coming out a dry and scratchy throat. 

He puts one finger to your lips. “Shhh… You’ve got to stay quiet. No one knows you’re here!” He’s wearing very fancy clothes, the type of suits you see in photos of weddings and official events from magazines that depict life in Moscow. A black suit, a button down shirt with a stiff collar. Diamond studded earrings were in his ears. His hair was swept back and gelled. "If you keep moaning like that you'll get discovered! The walls are very thin and if you’re discovered we’ll be in BIG trouble!" Lu Mingfei was indeed keeping his whisper very quiet.

You’re surrounded by walls on all sides of you, made of dark wood paneling and covered by shelving from floor to ceiling. Your bed takes up the rest of the space. In fact, Mingfei is leaning over you like this because he can’t squeeze his legs between the narrow space between the bed and those shelves. As you look up at him, you can’t help but notice Mingfei’s resemblance to Z. Perhaps if Z had grown older and been able to eat more, he would have grown as tall as Mingfei.

You examine the curve of his eyes and the lift of his nose and squint. You didn’t notice this before because Mingfei does look different, he talks differently, and he acts differently. He doesn’t give off Z’s mysterious, mischievous, and dangerous aura. Z always looked like he had something up his sleeve. It could be good or bad and you didn’t know until you had it in your hand. The way he talked made you want to know however.

Lu Mingfei always looked fearful, reactionary and caught off guard. If Z was the prankster, Lu Mingfei was the pranked. So it was no wonder that you never noticed the physical similarities between someone so different until you woke up from one face to another face.

He sighed, hanging his head. When he looked up again, deep concern was reflected in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I seriously thought you were a goner.. If we hadn’t been picked up and taken somewhere they had a nice kit, you probably would have died out there on the street.”

He lifted your hand. A clear IV tube was running from it to a bag of fluid hanging from a hook nailed into one of the shelves. “Where am I?”

“I.. '' Lu Mingfei’s lips pulled down and he looked ill. “Ugh. It’s better you see for yourself. I don't even know how to begin.”

“Caesar?”

“Oh, he’s fine. And so is Senpai. I’m the one suffering here!” He whispered, casting his eyes to one side bitterly. 

He held a clean cloth to your hand, and removed the IV and bandaged it. “I’ll give you the rundown of the situation because we’re seriously up a creek. The Hydras are labeling us as dangerous foreign terrorists, gangsters, and everything else under the sun. They’re running the news to look out for us 24/7. If we show our faces anywhere we are absolutely doomed. They have the whole country after us. We can’t use any credit cards, we’ve lost contact with the college and as soon as we try to get into contact with them, Kaguya is on us like a ton of bricks.”

Ton of bricks. The phrase reminds you of the fact that you managed to get a bootleg copy of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit'' and watched it over and over on a TV hidden in a shed. If you could get your chores done quickly, you could watch the movie there without being noticed. “Mingfei… have you ever seen ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ Do you like it?”

“What? Are you feverish?” He put one hand to your forehead. “Please try to focus! This is important! None of us can touch the network because we’re traceable. Except you!”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re the only one of us with zero internet presence. You’ve never had so much as an email. Almost all the information on you is held by EVA and not even Kaguya can breach her system so you’re more likely to be able to log in and find some way to contact the College without getting caught, so we need you to stay safe. Got it?”

“Yes, Senpai. I understand.” You nod. Z’s warning to you in a dream seemed even more relevant now. He was protecting you by some form of mystic way, but the danger now was so great that even he had to warn you to be careful. 

Mingfei stared at your deferential response in shock. “Are you sure you’re alright? I expected you to sneer at me.”

“It’s just… you remind me of someone else just now.” You whisper, you lower your eyes. “I’m sorry if I made trouble with you. I had to do it. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

Mingfei took a deep breath. “We’re all grateful for you too, MC. So don’t worry about anything. Senpai told the boss about what you did in the Trieste. He owes you twice now. There’s no way he’d rat you out in the reports. You’re fine with everyone, okay?”

“Even Zihang?”

“Zihang doesn’t take anything personal.”

There’s a stiff knock on a door beyond the closet. “Little Sakura! You’re needed on the floor!”

Mingfei turned around, his voice squeaking loudly. “Coming!”  He turned back to you. “Okay, can you walk?”

He helped you up out of bed. You were wearing a thin nightgown and your feet were a bit wobbly but you could stand on your own. 

“Good, Caesar prepped some clothes for you, but I suggest you stay down here for now. I have to go back to work.”

“Work?”

More knocking. “Little Sakura?”

“Why are they calling you that?” You whisper. 

Lu Mingfei growled low. “Why is my life so terrible all the time? I don’t know!” He returned his eyes to you. “Stay here okay? The Boss will be back once his shift is over.”

He hurried out of the closet. You notice he’s wearing some sort of shiny loafers. The type worn without socks. 

You hear a sliding door open and then shut and then the murmur of a television. Once you were sure everything was quiet, save the very muffled beat of music somewhere above the ceiling, you venture out. 

You peer out from the closet into what looked like a bathroom with wood paneled walls and a tiled floor. Three barrels with metal bottoms were suspended over wood fired stoves. A shower was in one corner. The TV in the other corner was on, likely to mask any noise you might have made while you were unconscious. A woman was sitting behind a desk, speaking Japanese, dressed in smart business attire. It looked like a newsreel of the destruction of Chizuru -- the wrecked streets, the firetrucks and the body bags. 

You start to think maybe you overdid things a bit. Your eyes scan over the date. You’ve been out cold for 3 whole days.

On top of the TV was a small comb that looked to be made of real ivory and adorned with a blue jeweled flower. Underneath was an envelope with your name on it. Inside the envelope was a note. “I hope the offer of lessons over sake still stands.”

You smile. Of course it did.

Hanging behind the TV was another cheongsam, this time, silver and blue with embroidery of flowers. There’s also fishnet stockings and a pair of blue heels. You take the dress off the rack and step into the shower. Once you were dressed you listened hard to the sounds outside the hall and heard footsteps. 

Another knock. And there’s a shouted warning before the door slides open. A short old woman is holding a mop and walks by you as you press yourself to the wall. She’s pulling a pile of logs on a cart. Her ears are stuffed with earbuds and she’s so focused on her work that she walks right by you on the way to the rack where the wood for the stove is held. 

Heart racing, you dash out the door.

Outside is a European style promenade, completely different decor, but with the same level of luxury. The floor was covered with golden teak wood. The walls were covered with paintings of naked young people drawing water from a well. The ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers, one after another.

“Wow.” You whisper.

At the end of the corridor was an elevator with wooden doors inlaid with swirling bronze motifs of ferns. You’re supposed to stay put, but so much for that! You probably couldn’t be seen out in the hall! You pressed the only button available on the elevator - Up - and school your face cool to pretend you belong there.

Already a story is in your head, you’re an heiress to a fabulous estate. You’re orphaned at a young age and just gained your freedom to escape your stuffy household! As the elevator rises, the sound of the bassline of the music gets stronger and stronger.

Your mind is still writing your backstory when the wooden doors part and you’re hit by the bass line full force. The heat from hundreds of bouncing and gyrating bodies rushes into the elevator. Right in front of you, a man is holding up a flute of that golden sparkling liquor - Champagne. His shirt has puffy sleeves and open to reveal dark curly hairs on his muscular chest. He’s surrounded by three women in colorful half masks who are climbing on him, grabbing his hands to get at the champagne. They were all wearing skin tight, sleeveless, low cut dresses and dangerously high stiletto heels that made your demure blue cheongsam look like a formal maid’s outfit in comparison.

“Ladies! Ladies! One at a time!” He’s shouting with a brilliant smile. One of the girls bares her teeth as if she were trying to bite him and you move away.

A crowd of people, women outnumbering men 10 to 1, were all dancing in front of a brightly lit stage that was smoking with dry-ice that poured over the edge.

The elevator doors start to close and you slip out, looking for Lu Mingfei - that is, Little Sakura. Everywhere is more of the same. There’s a circular couch where drunk women were reclining over another man while holding out money for passing waiters who seem to know what it meant. They took the cash from their delicate painted fingers and passed them another bottle of liquor in exchange. All of the women turned, shook and then uncorked the bottle, spraying the Champagne in the air! It all fell in a shower while they laughed and squealed with glee!

You take a breath. You were going to stand out like a sore thumb unless you did something right now. The beat of the music was jarring your rib cage but people were bouncing to it while shouting on the stage. “Ukyo! Ukyo! Ukyo!”

You had no idea what Ukyo meant so you do the same all the while looking for any sign of Mingfei in this scene and realizing he might not even be on this floor.

“Who wants glitter?!” Someone shouts next to you. A man with a bowl of silver glitter holds it up while people stuff money in his low cut shirt and press their hands into the bowl to turn around and smash it into the sweaty chest of another man, leaving their marks on him. Your mind makes a leap to a story you heard about human and animal sacrifices in Satanism and wondering if that was what was going to happen next.

You also realize you don’t have any money. Your voice is trained by terrible punishment to be quiet so you can only let out a weak little “Woo..” and “Yay… Ukyou” while your eyes search the crowd.

What happened next was that the music suddenly ended and the sound of a Asian music, something you might hear played in a period drama, replaced it. Rather than being subdued, the crowd flooded the quiet with screams so loud your ears rattled and you had to fight to keep your hands from covering them and stand out as an outsider. 

The curtain opened and there stood a lone figure on the stage. The lights all went out, leaving a single spotlight descending to illuminate him. He’s in a white cloak with flowy sleeves, with a blue hakama and long hair that covers half his face. Cherry blossoms blow from an unseen fan, fluttering his sleeves in the wind.

[monofpoke4life]

Once Upon a Rooftop

(AN: This originally started as a livewrite on discord with the prompts Roof and Dance, and this is what I came up with. I thought I’d share it here. Note: Dance companies make you sign up for more than one class of different dance styles. Also, you don’t control the outfits, especially for something like The Nutcracker. It’s like a uniform. Lmao, can’t believe I had a review on ff.net that didn’t know that. Anyway, please enjoy).

Zim clamped his mouth shut as he peered into the hallway from inside the vent. His analytical gaze watched closely as a pair of boots passed by. The shadow of his enemy's abnormally large head trailed behind him.

The boots squeaked as they cautiously rounded a corner, ready for an ambush that never came. There was a pause, and the owner of the boots continued forward. Only when he could no longer hear the footsteps did Zim dare to emerge from his dusty, makeshift cave. Quickly taking a moment to brush the dust off, he dashed up the stairs to escape pursuit.

Higher and higher he climbed, never daring to stop in one of the classrooms. That's where the Dib-armadillo wanted him to hide! But as a formidable, Irken war machine, such as himself, the mighty Zim was much too smart for that.

Not to mention he just wanted to desperately leave this citadel full of the stench of humiliation and shame that humans called "Hi-Skool."

It was bad enough that, for the sake of his mission, his presence was required to be here during the daytime, but to stay for research only to end up in failure was even more torturous, especially when Dib started chasing him. 

As his mind reminded him of his failure, just as he swiftly approached the lone, cold door, he channeled all of his frustration into ramming the normally locked door. He was so lost in his ire that he failed to notice the door propped open by a fist sized stone.

"HAHA-" Zim screamed in triumph, bursting through the rooftop doors with a bit of a stumble. It immediately swung back and hit him, knocking him over. Springing to his feet, he screeched at the loathsome thing! How dare it lay its nonexistent hands upon his greatness!

His pak legs sprung free with the ends glowing red-hot, ready to deal the final blow, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"If you destroy it, the alarm will go off."

Zim's fists tightened and his pak legs instantly retreated. His skin prickled at the sound of her voice, and he whirled around on his heel.

"You didn't see anything!" The words belted from his mouth before he fully turned. However, now that he had, and taking in the sight of the Dib-sister, his tirade of insults fell short.

His face frozen in indignant anger as he gawked. The earth's filthy moon bathed her in an otherworldly glow as it reflected off vast expanse of rarely exposed skin and the sheer, white fabric of her pitiful earth attire. As her “long tunic” swayed in the breeze, he couldn't help but think she looked like that white thingy upon Dib-dirt's shirt. Of course, she was much more not unpleasant to look at.

His mind nearly blanked in captivation before her response snapped him back to reality.

"Should've known you'd find me. I mean, you've only followed me for like what? Two weeks?"

"What?! No I haven't! Don't be ridiculous! An Irken as mighty as Zim has no need to follow the likes of you! I have way more important things to do than that."

Gaz narrowed her eyes as he nonchalantly sat beside her, yet she observed his eyes flicking frantically around at anywhere else but at her. His back stiff as a board as he leaned against the air conditioning unit, and claws nervously clicking against the warm roof.

"Okay, let's pretend I believe you. What important things are you doing here?"

The change in his mood was instantaneous as he smirked, and puffed his chest like a proud peacock. "Oh silly little Gaz, isn't it obvious?"

He offhandedly gestured towards her from head to toe, doing nothing more than conflicting his previous words and confusing her more.

Unfortunately, her puzzled glare did nothing more than feed his ego. He sent her a devious, superior grin that made her want to punch him, and made her stomach do tiny flips. "Oh you don't know? Well, I suppose such effects are to be expected from such a powerful form of hypnosis capable of ensnaring the little Gaz."

"Hypnosis?" Okay, now the alien grass stain really had her confused as she let herself blurt her puzzlement. She knew he misinterpreted human things all the time with his logic, or his lack there of entirely, but she could usually make some sense out of his backwards nonsense. Unfortunately, this time she was at a loss.

He nodded, his grin grew wider, as he continued. "Yes, the one you clearly broke out of since you are no longer in the audi-toe-rem with the rest of the frilly filthies. I expect nothing less from someone as superior as Little Gaz."

Gaz bit her lip as a slight heat rose to her cheeks. She normally didn't care much for compliments, but one said so flippantly and without some form of backhandedness was actually a welcome compliment.

However, she couldn't bask in it, nor did she want to, as she finally had some clues to work off of. Her eyes narrowed once more at him as her mind whirled through the possibilities a mile a minute.

"Hypnosis in the auditorium?" As she said it aloud, memories of why she was even on the roof, in this stupid dress, made her fists clench at her side.

Ignoring her knuckles turning white, Zim obliviously elaborated, "Yes, I stumbled across it's magnificent power in the gym two weeks ago."

"Oh what a coincidence," Gaz growled.

Normally, this would strike fear in those around her within a 20 ft radius, but Zim turned to her, unfazed, as he bragged, "I know right? Sometimes my brilliance amazes even me!"

"I suppose somebody has to be."

"At first I thought of how pitiful and weak minded humans were to fall for such simple methods of mind control such as dainty and weak music coming from a rounded box. With they're rapid twirly movements and unnaturally pointed shoes, they all looked like flailing flobblewumps!" He screamed that last part.

At the mention of some creature she didn't know of, he threw his head back to laugh at the ridiculous memory.

"Quit screaming in my ear before I turn you into a flag."

His mouth abruptly clicked shut. He glared at her. She stood up, and he flinched. She smirked at that, before leaning back and hopping on top of the ac unit, ignoring the high voltage sticker.

He opened his mouth once more, but she cut him off. 

"Oh keep bragging about your brilliance and tell me what changed. Just not so loud."

Her "compliment," despite sarcastic, had its desired effect as Zim stood. Brushing himself off of imaginary dirt and congratulating her for finally noticing how great he is, until he stopped as something finally clicked in his mind. "Eh? Change? What change? Zim is still brilliant."

Gaz rolled her eyes at that. "You said the hypnosis was simple and weak. I'm assuming you didn't think it was worth your time, but you're here looking for it, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Then what changed? What made it worthy of the powerful Zim?"

Zim's narrowed eyes immediately lit up at that. In fact, they seemed to glimmer at her like a kid being handed a lollipop, as he bragged, "You finally acknowledge my superiority"

"I never said that."

"I suppose that hypnosis has some benefits. In any case, if you must know, it was during my observations that I noticed among the group was the deadly Little Gaz. Someone as strong in strength and mind would never fall for such a weak hypnosis, meaning it's power was far greater than even my powerful Irken brain meats could fathom! I knew I had to make it my own!"

"I suppose me being in a revealing leotard and tights had nothing to do with it?"

"Eh? You were not wearing any fur?"

"Leotard, Zim. Le-o-tard. Not leopard." Gaz shook her head at this not knowing whether to smile and let the chuckle bubbling up from her throat out or frown and squash it down. Zim's misunderstanding logic was always good for a laugh, yet it unsettled her how easily she could follow his logic. She'd been spending too much time with him.

"Eh?! No that's- I was just testing you! After experiencing such a powerful hypnosis, one's meat functions of their mind might not come back. Just making sure everything was there. It is. You're in top tip shape like a good soldier. Yes indeed ha ha Ha ha ha."

Zim didn't realize until it was too late that he instinctively reached out and patted her head. He'd gotten more "human" and "handy" as of late with Gir, and giving little praises usually involved patting his metallic head. So he didn’t realize he’d done the same to her until it was too late.

The feeling of her soft hair beneath his gloved-touch sent him reeling back. His arm immediately clutched to his chest as if he had been struck by a snake.

Well, definitely something akin to it. The Gaz-beast was quite known for her brutal fists, merciless kicks, sharp nails, and power that could make even full grown human-filthies soil themselves at just a glance. The former three he knew very well from personal experience, so he wasn't wrong to assume what was surely to come. 

After all, nobody touched the Dib-sister without retaliation.

Well, actually there was that one time he…

Zim shook his head to dispel the thoughts from his mind. Something was wrong. He was still able to think. Too many thoughts and not enough pain for someone about to stare into the depths of hell of her amber eyes. He should be experiencing more pain than thoughts right now. So why wasn't he?

Zim opened his eyes, that he didn't remember closing, and found himself still very much alive and still very much not in pain. Also, it was too quiet. He at least expected to hear the sounds of a nightmare world without waking; however, all that met his hidden antennae was the muffled sound of the gentle winds.

Tentatively, Zim glanced out of the corner of his eye. Maybe she hadn't noticed the touch? No! That was impossible! The Gaz didn't miss anything! She must have her reasons.

Feeling braver from his lack of death, Zim turned his head, and found himself transfixed by the wisps of see-through material of her long tunic dancing upon the breeze. A dress, if he remembered correctly. 

His gaze shifted down to the clear outline of white, tight covered legs and those bizarre shoes she wore. Their white, shiny, cloth exterior also shined within the moonlight as they shook.

Wait, shook?

Immediately his eyes flicked back up to the rest of her to find her shoulders shaking as well. Her arms crossed in a manner as if she were hugging herself, and her head was tilted down in a way her bangs hid her more pleasant than average face.

Was she? Was Gaz- No! She wouldn't! She couldn't...could she? Well, she was only human. A regretful feature, but surely...by the Control Brains what should he do?

Tentatively he shuffled closer, clearing his throat like a cat hacking up a hairball. Her shoulders began to shake more ever so slightly. 

He took a long moment looking at anything but her before finally returning his gaze to her once more. "Little Gaz, are you-" He began as he reached out to touch her shoulder.

However, just before his clawed-tips made contact, her body pitched forward and then back. Her head thrown back as she laughed uproariously.

She was...she was laughing?! At Zim?! It was the only reasonable explanation! Others' stupidity and misfortune always made her laugh, and what she said next only confirmed his suspicions.

"You- haha- you thought I was under hyp- hahaha hypnosis because of my recital?"

"Yes!?" Zim yelled quizzically, desperately trying to use his volume and bravado to hide his embarrassment. It made her snicker. She could never take him seriously when he got like this, let alone the hilarity of the situation.

"That's another type of earth hypnosis, is it not?"

"What did I say about yelling?"

His mouth clicked shut, and she snickered again. It was too easy at times.

"No, it's not," she answered simply as she hopped down from the ac unit. Using the movement as extra time to regain her composure.  She was careful not to scuff the satin of her shoes or land awkwardly on the pointes. This night was a shit show enough without her tripping and landing on her face. 

Smoothing out her dress, and finally calm enough, Gaz turned to him as she replied, "A recital is a type or performance, usually for dancing. You know what dancing is, right?"

"Yes I know what dancing is!" He angrily hissed back, still feeling tricked from earlier.

His eyes grew wide for talking back to her, something he learned a long time ago to never do to her. His hand slammed fearfully over his mouth, yet Gaz made no move to maim him.

At his response, she merely shrugged and said, "That was a dick move on my part, so let's call it even, okay?" 

Zim didn't know the meaning of that one word, but he knew the rest and merely nodded.

Whiner. Anything to save his own skin.

She snickered at him again, and he kept himself calm this time, as he elaborated, "Yeah- well- even by inferior, human standards, the clearly superior vision spheres of Zim have never seen this spinning and leaping dance at school dances."

"That's because it's an old, fancy dance. Earth has tons of outdated dances."

"And what is the dance you were doing? The one that makes you look all-" he trailed off as he found himself at a loss for words. He unconsciously began to wiggle his arm in imitation of a snake, or a wave, or just water. "All liquid-y?"

"Fluidly. The word you're looking for is fluidly, and what happened to humans flailing about like a space alien?"

Zim looked away from her. Pfft. Typical. As he cleared his throat once more, and mumbled something under his breath.

"Spit it out, Zim," she hissed, putting extra venom on his name. 

He crossed his arms like a child, kicking a chunk of concrete, before he finally muttered, "You are the least terrible at it out of the group."

Gaz took a deep breath as she fought back the heat in her cheeks, crossing her arms across her chest in what she'd call defiance. 

Others would call it protectively. Of course, those others were wrong. 

"Thanks, I think. I'm glad somebody liked my dancing. Oh, and by the way, it's called ballet."

"But what does this bullet dance-"

"Ballet."

"Have anything to do with hypnosis?"

Gaz wanted to facepalm at this.

"I just said it wasn't hypnosis. It's an after school activity, like Dib and his stupid marching band or soccer."

"But you are not a server drone! You're of much higher quality than that. I can understand an activity that's a competition like with the game of the ball kicking, but as you said this is to perform, to entertain others? Why would little Gaz want to perform for others?"

At this, Zim regretted his choice of words instantly, as it was like a switch had gone off in Little Gaz's head as she immediately reacted. However, unlike the pain he expected, which would be a welcome change at this point, she took a few steps back, sitting down and turning away all in one movement.

In human terms, he had fucked up, and had fucked up badly. 

He clicked his claws together nervously, unsure of his next course of action.

"You...are..." he paused. He needed to choose his words carefully. "You are... unsatisfied?"

"Understatement of the century." Gaz quipped back sarcastically to hide the bubbling emotions that wanted to come to the surface.

"What is it that unsatisfied you, and why are you here and not down there or dooming what ails you?" He asked as he quietly approached. She seemed to be of sound enough mind.

"Zim, if you actually want me to answer then you have to stop asking questions."

He froze in place, just an arms length away. He pondered if he should take a step back, before she took a shuddering breath, and answered, "I'm up here for the same reason I joined this stupid activity."

Finding himself not doomed and nothing was on fire, Zim sat down next to her, imitating her pose of having her knees drawn up to his chest and arms around his knees. He glanced over once more, yet still remained silent.

At his quiet puzzlement, Gaz let out an exasperated sigh as she reflexively covered her face. She didn't want to be here, up here, like this...she should've known better...she did know better, but she left herself hope. Now she was up here with Zim of all people. It was quite ironic if she thought about it. Funny actually.

At the sound of her snicker, he thought she had fooled him again. However, as he turned to face her and to yell, he stopped short as the water droplets dripped down her face.

Zim recoiled as he watched her throw her head back to laugh and cry at the same time. He nervously drummed his claws against the roof tiles, completely unsettled by her insane behavior. Worse still that it was so out of character for someone like her. He merely gulped and remained where sat. Too afraid to move.

"Ya know, it's fucking ironic that the people who like me, aren't even here for me, yet you're here! You! You the alien who hates humans is here for performance and my own family isn't!" Gaz barked out between laughs.

"But the Dib-foot, he is-"

"Is only here because he followed you here. I know. I ran into him before coming up here," she said this time, only a bit quieter as her laughter turned into quiet, choked sobs.

Zim watched her curl herself further into a ball as she desperately wiped at her face, as if just realizing tears were leaking down her cheeks.

Zim looked all around him. There had to be something there to distract the Gaz. Surely something he could set on fire or tip over to cause her devious laughter to spring forth from her and not this crummy...not laughter!

However, he found nothing, and his gaze returned to her once more. What to do? What to do? What to do?!

Gaz stilled as she suddenly felt something touching her hair. It felt like a mix of a pet and a pat like someone who didn't know how to touch others.

She almost wanted to laugh at the mental picture within her head. Even if they weren't the only two on the roof, it was no surprise who this was. After all, nobody else was stupid enough to touch her. Another side of her wanted to break his hand, and the final part of her wanted to see where he would go with this.

"There...there? Yes, there there Little Gaz. Do not fret. Ultra Peepi will live up- Wait-"

Zim frowned and pulled back, rubbing his chin pensively as he realized that was the wrong scenario.

Luckily, despite being unintended, it seemed to work as Zim heard a snicker escape her. His head whipped around to see the liquid had stopped falling, yet she still hid her face from Zim.

Well, it was a start.

There was a moment of silence between them where neither of them dared to say anything. Gaz ran the jagged edge of bitten nail against her shoe, and Zim stretched his legs out, boredly clicked his heels together. 

Although, something had to give. Zim was going bonkers with curiosity as he exaggeratedly fought with himself, internally, of whether or not he should say something or to her or something. 

When he finally couldn't take it anymore with his shuffling antics, he leaned over, claw raised, and mouth open ready to interrogate her for brain worms left over from the hypnosis, yet she beat him to it.

"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" She stated more as a fact than a question.

"Eh? Was I supposed to?"

Gaz merely shook her head, yet it was unclear if she was dismissing his answer or herself for the question. He wanted to ask more, but the white knuckled grip she had upon her shoe ribbons kept him silent.

Good thing too, as she continued, "Ya know how my dad has been home a lot more? He's been trying to do better at the whole being a dad thing."

Zim listened attentively, but he was unsure why. It's not like it was important to him. Then again... that which was important to the Dib-sister must be important; however, he found his gaze drifting to her hands as they roughly began to untie one of her shoe ribbons.

It was best when in the presence of a predator to keep an eye on their greatest weapons. The only reason. Not because of how merciless she made the frantic job of shoe untying.

"He asked us why we didn't participate in any school activities or if we had any other interests." He flinched as he heard the earthly stitching rip slightly at the extra force she used when she said activities and interests.

"He wanted to expand our horizons and to be supportive of us."

Zim lit up at this, having finally found an opening, as he quipped, "And he did unsatisfactory?"

Zim immediately regretted speaking as she violently slid off her right shoe, and threw it at the gate lining the roof, to make sure people didn't fall off.

Zim scooted backwards as it softly bounced back to them, landing right beside his boot.

Although, despite her lashing out, what she said next surprised him. "Oh no. He did great. Wonderful even! He's been there every step of the way with my dancing and Dib's whatever!"

Zim narrowed his eyes at her as she began to work on her other shoe. Her tone suggested sarcasm, yet he could also tell she meant it. She wasn't lying. 

Zim shook his head to ward off his confusion. She was apparently committed to telling him. He just needed to listen.

"But, as you've noticed, he's not here!" 

Another rip of her shoe ribbon.

"He's not here, for once, not because of work, but because he decided to be a normal dad and decided to get here in a normal car!"

Two more rips.

"And a normal," rip, "car can't get by a four car pile up on a freeway!"

She yanked her shoe off and threw it at the gate, as she exclaimed louder than intended, "He's not here like always! I got my hopes up, I was let down like always, but it's not his fault and I can't even be mad at him!"

The final shoe bounced back and landed next to her this time. She paid it no mind as she began to rub at her feet and ankles, sore from the months of practice and from rehearsals earlier that day. "He says traffic is backed up and there's no way for him to turn around, and it's going to be hours before they let traffic through. Which means all of my effort, all of my hardwork to make him proud has been for nothing because he won't get to see it!"

The wind picked up around them, but they paid it no mind. Too consumed with their own thoughts to notice. 

Neither were willing to say anything. At least, not until Zim spoke first. 

"I wouldn't say it was all for nothing, even if it is just an inferior earth activity."  Zim shuddered as she sent him a pointed glare that spoke volumes.

It said, you better have a good point or perish.

He gulped.

"What I mean is that you learned a new skill? One that even a highly advanced creature, such as Zim, must admit is quite amazing." He picked up the nearest shoe, analyzing it, as he pondered allowed, "I mean, how is that you spin on the tips of your hooves"

"Feet."

"And leap so high?"

"Practice?"

"And move like an Irken elite?"

Gaz gave no reply at that, and Zim immediately feared he had screwed up. He whipped his head around to see if he should run, but was pleasantly surprised to see a small smile upon her face.

His squeedily spooch simultaneously stuttered and did backflips at the sight. He nervously drummed his claws against the shoe. Maybe he was not entirely unaffected by the hypnosis as he once thought.

"An elite, huh?" She inquired slyly. Two compliments in one night. A new record. If this were a game, she'd surely have unlocked an achievement of some kind. 

"Y-yes! As a superior Irken Invader, who are only picked from the most elite of the elite, such greatness can't hide from my magnificent vision." 

She smirked at what should have been his clean getaway of his third compliment hidden beneath all of that bragging, if not for the dark emerald fish staining across his cheeks; meanwhile averting any and all eye contact with her.

"Greatness?"

Reeling from realizing his mistake, Zim's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates, and he made a sound that she could only describe as a verbal key smash.

Gaz couldn't help herself as a small laugh bubbled to surface. The sound made Zim's shoulders relax, but also deflated a little. He appeared conflicted, but what he said earlier still rang in her head.

Before she knew it she had picked up the other shoe, and gazed down upon it thoughtfully. "I hate to admit it, but I suppose you're right." She rolled her eyes as he puffed out his chest, before she continued, "I did learn a new skill, and it was kind of fun."

Unfortunately, her better mood turned bitter rather quickly as she gripped the shoe tightly, glaring at it, as she continued, "But what good is a skill if I can't use it? If I can't show it to the people I care about?"

"You can't?"

"That was rhetorical, but no, I can't."

"Why not? Don't human babies show off to their parents units all of the time in their dwellings?"

"Because it's not the same. They can, but, it's not the same as an actual performance. You would lack the tools and the rest of the cast. It would be like a machine missing some parts because it doesn't...fit together."

She reached atop her head, and pulled on a ribbon, setting her hair free from its tightly coiled bun. She shook her head with a scoff, as she remarked, "I guess this skill will just go to waste."

She hadn't really meant it, nor did she mean anything by it. However, Zim didn't get the memo, and sprung to his feet. Ignorant of the fact that he dropped the shoe Zim shouted, "No you can't!"

Gaz's wide eyes quickly turned back to their normal, apathetic facade, as she inquired, "And why can't I?"

"Because the mighty Zim demands it!"

"Yeah, well I demand my foot up your-"

"No- I- Grrragh! Look! You look not unpleasant when you do it, and it makes you stronger for it!"

"But I don't have anyone to wat-"

"You have me! Teach to Zim!"

Okay, now Gaz was stumped. Forget the fact that Zim was asking a human to teach him a human thing, but she didn't even mention teaching.

"Okay, you've lost me."

"Heh heh heh, foolish human-babe-"

"Watch it-"

"-y. I any human can watch another perform a skill, but it takes skill to learn a skill, and Zim is the most skilled of skilled Irkens. Besides, it's best to stay in practice, and will keep you on your toes."

"That made no sense and that last part sounded more like a spar, but I'll bite. So what's the catch?"

"Eh? Catch? Like human germs?"

"Nevermind. Look, just don't screw me over later."

"I would never."

She glared at him as she stood, brushing herself off without breaking eye contact.

Zim cleared his throat. "Starting now, I have never screwed you over."

"Better keep your word, space bug."

"I wouldn't dare risk your wrath."

"Fair point. Now step forward."

"Wait, what about your tippy shoes."

"They're pointe shoes, and I don't need them."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not teaching you ballet."

"But-"

She didn't let him finish as she pulled him closer by the hips, almost slamming into her. She smirked as he squeaked.

"We don't have months, Zim. Besides, ballet isn't the only dance I learned." With that said, she grabbed  his left hand with her right, interlacing their mismatched fingers far easier than she anticipated. "Now put your right hand on my shoulder."

He did as instructed, and she couldn't help but quote her teacher, as she scolded, "Keep it there softly. Don't grip it like a claw machine."

Immediately the pressure relented and she sighed a little in relief. She placed her hand around his waist. Her cheeks began to heat, or they would've, if he didn't look rather smug at that moment. 

It took a second for her to realize, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm only two centimeters shorter than you, ya know?"

"Two glorious units of measurement."

Oh it was on. She didn't give him time, as she jumped right in with the bare minimum of explanation. "Now where I go, you go. Follow my lead."

Zim opened his mouth to object, but quickly found her surging forward, ready to bowl him over. Thankfully, with his far superior Irken training, he swiftly back stepped without falling over...more or less.

"Back, side, forward, other side, repeat." They did it again, and he did rather well.

"Not bad. No stepping on feet and no stumbles, except for that one," Despite her jab at the end, Zim lit up at her praise and puffed his chest out once more like the proudest peacock that ever peacocked.

"Okay, now we do that while spinning and moving in a circle."

"Do wha-" and they were moving again.

Zim stumbled once more, as she purposefully caught him off guard. Couldn't let him get too cocky. 

"And what is this dance called?"

"The waltz."

"Is it also old and fancy?"

"Very old and very fancy."

"Fancier than ballet?"

"No."

He deflated a little at that and she chuckled at that. Zim frowned that she was laughing at his expense, but it wasn't an unpleasant laugh. I'm fact, it was one he wouldn't mind hearing again. They easily fell into a rhythm after that, as they whirled around in their tiny circle like two stars rotating around each other. Lost in their own little world. 

Her wispy skirt fluttered and flared with every movement and dancing upon the occasional breeze. He finally understood the need to make satire out of such flimsy material. 

Not long after Zim made this observation, did he realize another. There was a soft melody in the air that he hadn't noticed before. It was one of the few he recognized from one of her practices, yet it was different somehow. Only when Gaz stepped forward and into his distracted chest did he feel the vibration coming from her, and he realized she was humming.

He found that this was also not unpleasant. 

In fact, many things about Little Gaz were mostly not unpleasant, and that was fine by him.

[ahsokasanity]

Chapter Ten

A Court of Shadow & Ribbons           Wanna start at Chapter One?

                                                            *

Mor apologised the moment they entered the sitting room.

“I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but Azriel knows about me and he…..”

Emerie had not let go of Mor’s hand and as she spoke, Mor found herself being turned toward the female who had captured her attention at the party, and even before that. Mor was staring into Emerie’s hazel green eyes and losing any capacity to finish her sentence.

Emerie said “Now, I know too” and kissed her. Not a passionate kiss, a request of a kiss. Mor sizzled and held tight to Emerie’s hand, putting her other around her waist to hold her there. She didn’t let Emerie move back from that touch, Mor licked her lower lip and went back for a more intimate meeting.

Emerie sighed and felt herself going pliant and loose. She stepped toward the lounge, pushing Mor backwards to sit facing each other, stroking her hands in Mor’s hair, around her waist and over the perfect lines of her cheek and jaw.

“Oh I’ve never known what this felt like”

Mor stopped kissing Emerie’s ear lobe

“Just you wait” she whispered, Loving the shiver that ran through the female with her

“I just want to feel you and have you here with me, but tell me what you want” She hadn’t stopped touching and feeling and kissing, and Emerie’s eyes were closed when she murmured

“More of this for now, please don’t stop”. There they stayed, on the lounge as the sun rose and they discovered each other. Mor stopped at one point to ask if they should move from the sitting room

“Nope, this is it for now, I want to fall asleep here with you Mor” Emerie answered. So they did.

                                                            *

The training ring was pink with the streams of sunrise when Azriel landed. He found the rose with it’s chain in his pocket and strode into the house and his room. He couldn’t believe that Nesta and Cassian had not fallen asleep yet as he heard the low murmur of Cassian’s deep voice followed by a higher demand from Nesta. Mother save him from having to hear much more of that.

The house seemed to respond with some modicum of decency and muted the increasing sounds from their room. As Azriel closed his door, the moaning was left behind altogether.

He went to his armoire and opened the furthest right bottom drawer. In to it, he placed the jewellery beside a small cedar box. The only item that he kept from his childhood – a gift from his mother created when he was discovered to be a shadowsinger. She had placed a few items in it as he grew, even when he was imprisoned and she was unable to contact him. A lock of his hair, a note she’d written and a tiny dagger that she hoped he’d be able to learn to wield as he matured.  

He picked it up for a moment. Re-promising that his children would be loved in person, daily, and never would come to hurt whilst he breathed

He closed the drawer with his foot and changed into training gear. His body screamed at him for some sleep but he kicked back at the need and told himself “after training”.

                                                                       *

Most of the girls were already at the roof by the time Azriel arrived. Emerie was of course not there, nor were Nesta and Cassian. Apparently you do not have to train the day after your mating ceremony. All of the others were there including Lorelei and Roslin who had perhaps drunk more alcohol than they should at the celebration.

Those who had not attended the festivities were happily listening to the stories from the ceremony. Many of them had heard the tale of Gwyn’s singing and were congratulating her as they warmed up.

“Gwyn”. Azriel got the attention of the entire group. He indicated that Gwyn should join him at the front and she was nervous.

“We are a little short on instructors and members today, so I thought it might be nice if Gwyn led us in a warm up”

“Phew” Gwyn sighed inwardly and took a big breath. The best moves that she and Nesta and Emerie had found to get moving everyday were easy. She felt comfortable with the trainees and not pressured by Azriel. She could see him out of the corner of her eye correcting stance and core strength movements.

Everyone was flushed and perspiring by the time Gwyn finished the last rhyme. Azriel broke the females into three groups of three and had them sparring with staves, the third person of each group was the watcher to help with their feet and defence in-case anyone was having a particular problem.

Funnily enough, that left Gwyn and Azriel. Azriel handed her a heavy shield and led her to the area with a little more room.

“Sometimes, you won’t have a weapon but you may have some protection. Learn to use it to stay alive longer against an armed opponent”

Gwyn stood awkwardly holding the wooden metal plated implement on her left arm. Azriel attacked with deliberate slowness, signalling where he was going with each strike of his staff. Gwyn dodged and held, shuffled her feet and moved her weight to take every blow. Azriel sped up and reduced his warnings until they were both running with sweat and one of the other groups had stopped to watch them.

Azriel did not yell as Cassian could sometimes drag on his General’s mask, he merely indicated with a hand and “Ladies” -for the females to gather to watch.

“You see how you can fight without fighting? Defence can be the best way to stay alive until help arrives or until you are able to locate something more like a weapon”

Gwyn stumbled as Azriel spoke, attention lost in a memory of desperately waiting for help to arrive. Too late. Help came too late, even in the form of the winged assassin standing before her now. She dropped her eyes and Azriel continued to address the others.

“Get into a line and you can each have a moment to attack me with your staff, one at a time. Let’s go.”

The Idisi formed up immediately and began an assault on Azriel, giving Gwyn space to step out of the ring to get a drink. Why couldn’t she just get over this? How could the mention of being in danger make her stop thinking? Stop fighting? It had not happened on Ramiel. She thought that she was Valkyrie and unstoppable. Breathe she told herself, just breathe.

Once her heart rate had calmed both from the exercise and the panic, she returned to the line of staff wielding priestesses. It was time to have her revenge on Azriel’s earlier attempts at her. She would not be cowered and would never again be simply left waiting for help to arrive.

Azriel looked pleased to see Gwyn reach the front of the line and the others had begun to stretch and to drink water before the cool down.

“Apologies if I triggered something there, you were doing really well”

Gwyn stepped right then left and slammed the staff toward his exposed left wing. Azriel ducked and laughed at her audacity, but got his shield up in time to block the next blow.

“Now that was serious” – he blocked a third hit, but with effort and when Gwyn spun and angled the staff at his shins, he had to jump back to protect himself.

“You’d better give Azriel, I can do this all day” She grunted as she threw another two-handed attack at his neck and shoulders. Her feet were actually getting faster as she became more comfortable with the longer weapon. Azriel knew he could out manoeuvre her without a time limit, but she was so strong, so resilient he knew working her to exhaustion today would not be helpful. She needed this confidence and she needed more training and further fitness, but Cauldron was she a warrior.

After a resounding clash of staff and shield, Gwyn aimed a particularly good weight at his upper arm and connected. It was not enough to take Azriel out of a sincere fight, but it was a move that deserved reward.

“Give. I give” Azriel admitted freely. He was not winded, while Gwyn was pink and panting slightly. She knew without commenting that Azriel had forfeited. She didn’t mind. She had hit him after all!

They both drank greedily and Gwyn wondered if she was doing anything useful toward gaining Azriel’s affection. He was just the epitome of trainer today, although he’d focused on her a bit more than normal. She looked over at him and smiled, he gave her a nod of appreciation and she lowered her eyes.

“Form up Idisi” Azriel’s voice carried easily across the rooftop.

“Gwyn, please lead the cool down?”

Gwyn stepped out of the line sideways and began the relaxation chant.

Azriel stood sentry still, but took it all in, tensing and relaxing different muscle groups as the trainees breathed steadily and stretched. He was just nodding off, his wings held slightly open and his eyes closed. A stiff breeze nearly knocked him over and he realised that he was asleep. Thankfully he had no more appointments for the day and could just wash and sleep.

The females were saying goodbye and thank you to him and Gwyn was storing the staves and shield and tidying up around the ring as Azriel went to enter the house. He called out

“And thank you Gwyn for your help. And for reminding me to protect my upper arms!” He smiled at her and she grinned.

“Anytime. You are certainly training me to keep up my guard”

He turned again to look at her and she made a face like she had not meant to say that.

“Oh. You’re doing really well, so, you ah, you should feel good about that. I’ve gotta go, I haven’t been to sleep yet. See you tomorrow”

Gwyn nodded and headed off, embarrassed that she had dragged that information out of him. Where did he go after he dropped her here? He must have been back by dawn, he had got changed for training. Did he go to the nightclub? Did he hook up with someone? Gwyn cursed herself for a fool. He’s an experienced male who is your trainer. Why would he curtail his fun just because you spent some time with him? Why indeed when she’d given the gift back?

                                                                                   *

She used the library to forget all about thinking and re-thinking through last night and her memories of Azriel. The other priestesses, especially Merrill, wondered where she got the energy to run from place to place and help others with heavy tomes.

She just wanted to be exhausted by dinner time. Just wanted to sleep with no tossing and turning.

Azriel slept. No dreams, no startling awake. He drifted off hearing Gwyn singing in his head and woke up having barely moved. It was pitch black outside so night had fallen, but it was hard for him to surface from the total relaxation that he’d found. He merely checked his windows and his connections to Rhys – no emergencies, and stretched his wings. Laying on his other side, he fell right back to sleep.

                                                                       *

[sneezehq]

Eye for an Eye

Tyrian makes good on his offer to Cinder.

Why is this guy attacking them? What does he want with her? Why and how is Qrow here? And if their attacker isn't working for Cinder, then who is he working for?

Ruby's head is spinning with questions, but there's no time right now to ask any of them. There's no room for anything right now besides fighting for their lives.

The faunus laughs again, and Ruby grits her teeth. His crazy shrieking laughter is starting to grate on her nerves. And really, Qrow expects her to just sit back and watch while he and her friends fight for their lives? Not on her watch.

Still, she tries to keep her distance, taking shots and sniping wherever she can, making use of any openings she can find, and flinching whenever one of her friends take a hit. But then, she sees an opportunity, a weakness, and even though she's supposed to staying out of reach, she acts.

Vanishing in a blur of rose petals, Ruby zooms away from her vantage point on top of one of the abandoned houses, and re-materializes almost within arm's reach of their opponent. As soon as she's able to, she takes her shot—and hits her target dead on. His tail falls to the ground with a few drops of blood, and Ruby allows herself a glimmer of satisfaction as Tyrian freezes, letting out a shriek of rage and pain. There, that should do it.

Faster than she can even think, though, he twists around and lunges for her. Before she can even think of fighting back, or using her semblance to get out of the way, the left side of her head explodes with pain. She falls to her knees, screaming, and her hands fly up to clutch at her face.

"An eye for an eye," Tyrian chuckles, before . . . turning to walk away?

She feels blood trickling between her fingers and lets out a sob, but crying only makes the pain worse. There's a rush of noise as her name is shouted and panicked footsteps rush to her side. A pair of hands on her arms shakes her gently and a deep voice that sounds like her uncle is barking orders. Ruby finds herself drifting despite the commotion, wanting to get away from the pain.

It feels like she drifts in the darkness for a long time.

When she wakes up, she's covered in soft blankets, and the surface she's laying on is too comfortable to be a sleeping bag in the middle of a forest. Opening her eyes, she finds herself in a bed in a cozy-looking room. The windows are open, letting a breeze drift in with the sunlight. She can hear people outside. It sounds like they're in a fairly big city. Judging by the bright skies outside, it's daytime, but that doesn't help her figure out how much time has passed, or where she is, or what happened. Something about the room seems off, too, strange, almost like there's something wrong with her eyes.

Pushing herself to sit up, Ruby spots her uncle sitting in a chair next to her bed, slumped over and sound asleep. Her body feels stiff and sore and she groans. Qrow's eyes fly open at the noise. "Hey," she says, clearing her throat when her voice comes out as a croak.

"Hey yourself, sleeping beauty," Qrow replies, smiling tiredly. He looks like he hasn't slept for a couple of days. "Good to see that you're finally awake."

His comment does not ease any of her worries. "How long was I out? What happened? Are the others okay? Where are we?"

"We're in Mistral, to answer your last question. As for the others, they're okay. They're here in the house, resting up."

"So we made it," she breathes a sigh of relief. "How did we get here? What happened—" She cuts herself off as she tries to scrub at her face, only for her left hand to catch on a carefully wrapped bandage. "What?"

"Hang on a second." Qrow strides over to a small door that must lead to the bathroom. He comes back over with a small hand mirror and holds it out in her direction. She takes it automatically, face scrunching in confusion. "This might be easier to explain if you can just see for yourself. They said you can take the bandages off, by the way."

So Ruby slowly begins to unwind the bandages from the left side of her face as Qrow talks. "Tyrian fled, and we managed to stop the bleeding, but infection set in pretty quickly. We booked it out of there as fast as we could, and by some miracle we managed to get picked up a couple of airships passing through the area. They rushed us here and they were able to treat the infection, but." He trails off as Ruby finishes unwrapping the bandages and sets them to the side, gesturing for her to look in the mirror.

"Uncle Qrow, what—" The girl that stares back at her in the mirror looks just like her, but there's a jagged scar where her left eye should be. Ruby feels numb. "Oh." She brings a hand up to touch her face, carefully brushing her fingers over the scarred skin. Her reflection copies her. This isn't a dream, then.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. If I'd gotten to you sooner, or realized that Tyrian was after you before he attacked, then maybe I could have prevented this."

Ruby forces herself to snap out of her troubled thoughts. "Uncle Qrow, that's enough. This isn't your fault. I knew the risks of what I was doing when I set out on this trip." She tries for a reassuring smile. Judging by his expression, it comes off as more of a grimace. "Although I do want to know, why were you following us? If we were all traveling to the same place, why not just travel with us?"

"That's actually what I've been wanting to talk to you about. You and your friends. I'm afraid it's a bit of a long story though, so I'd rather only tell it once." He sighs, getting to his feet and running a hand through his messy hair. "I know you're probably still exhausted, but how does getting breakfast sound? I'm sure that everyone will be glad to see that you're awake, and we can talk about it over some food."

"Breakfast sounds great," Ruby replies. "But, is it even still morning anymore?"

"Eh, it's the first meal of the day, so it's breakfast. I'll leave you to get ready, let the others know that you're up. I hear that Ren makes good pancakes."

"He makes the best pancakes. I'll see you in a little bit!"

It takes her a little longer than usual to get ready. She finds her gear easily enough in the closet, and slips it on without too much trouble. She'll have to thank whoever cleaned it for her. Her legs are a little shaky, though, and she feels off-kilter and clumsy in her movements. As she brushes her hair and splashes some water on her face, she keeps finding her eyes (eye) drawn to the scar over her left eye in the mirror.

She runs her hands through her bangs and arranges them carefully so that they cover where her left eye should be. Problem solved. Out of sight, out of mind.

With a deep sigh, she braces herself to head out of the room and face everyone. She finds herself glancing to the left frequently as she makes her way through the hall and down the stairs, turning her head to make up for her new lack of sight on that side.

"Ruby!" She hears Nora squeal as soon as her foot hits the bottom step. The redhead rushes over to hug her, almost knocking her over. "I'm so glad that you're okay!"

"It's good to see that you're awake, Ruby," Jaune says, stepping forwards to hug her when Nora finally releases her.

"Indeed," Ren nods and hands her a plate of pancakes. "Why don't you have a seat? We've all been very worried."

"I knew she would be fine," Jaune insists.

"You should have seen him pacing!" Nora exclaims, bouncing over to sit on the couch next to Ruby.

"So, what happened while I was out?" Ruby asks, taking another mouthful of pancakes.

Jaune and Nora take turns on filling her in. They tell her about rushing to Mistral after she was injured, splitting up, and fighting the Nuckelvee. Surprisingly, Ren insists on chiming in for the last part.

"And then the airships found us, and brough us here!" Nora finishes her story with a dramatic flourish. They fall into a shared silence.

"Where did my uncle go?" Ruby asks, glancing around to make sure that he's not hiding in the corner or something. "I thought he wanted to talk to us about something."

"I think he said he was going to refill his flask, something to do with not doing this sober?" Jaune shakes his head.

"Of course," Ruby sighs.

"So, Ruby, I'm thinking you should get an eyepatch!"

Ruby isn't following. "Nora, what are you talking about?"

"You know, for your eye!" Nora says, gesturing to Ruby's face. "You could be like a pirate!"

"Oh. Yeah." Ruby swallows hard against the sudden lump in her throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

Nora pumps her fist in the air with a victorious grin, but fortunately Qrow interrupts before she can ask any more questions.

"It's way too early for you kids to be this loud."

Ren blinks. "It's—" He checks the clock hanging on the wall. "2:30 in the afternoon."

"Uncle Qrow, didn't you say that you had something to tell us?"

"Yeah, yeah." He takes his seat in the armchair across from them, taking a swig from his flask and looking at them warily. "Tell me, what's your favorite fairy tale?"

[random-imagines-blog]

Issues {Charles Xavier x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3868 Summary: After a long-term abusive relationship, it’s hard to feel comfortable in a safe space. You are tempted to leave, but Charles wants you to stay. Notes: Descriptions of abuse. May be triggering.

Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngster’s was your sanctuary against the darkest times in your life. “Please, make yourself at home,” Charles had said when he had brought you to the school after finding you beat up in your old apartment. “I can assure you, no one will hurt you here.” So you had - you had a bedroom all on your own that you didn’t have to share with anyone, for the first time in your adult life. You could stretch out, cuddle the pillows, hog the blankets, and not have to worry about any repercussions. You had a dresser with clothes - not many, mind you, only what you had managed to salvage - that you could wear without criticism. You didn’t have to worry about being called frumpy, ugly, too sexy, too cute, you could wear a dress without your ex-boyfriend screaming, asking who you were dressing up for. You had your own bathroom where you only kept a bit of make up - absolutely no concealer since you had no need for covering up bruises anymore. You could take a long bath without your ex storming in and asking who you want to be so clean for. His insults never echoed off of these walls - it was a fresh start. A new beginning.

Charles had even set you up with a job to keep you busy throughout the day. You acted as a mentor to the few students that you had, giving them guidance on how to make it in the world outside of this school when they were ready to graduate. You only had to hope that they wouldn’t get themselves into the unfortunate circumstances that you had out there.

“I think that you have a really bright future out there, Sean,” You smiled at the red haired boy. His smile was beaming bright. “You just have to work on your confidence, but I’m sure that you’ll manage that just fine.”

“Excuse me,” Hank’s head popped into your small office, glasses slightly askew. You nodded to Sean, who got up to leave the room, his appointment being over anyhow.

“What is it, Hank?” You asked with a smile.

“You have a phone call,” He said, pointing to the phone that was on your desk. Indeed, as you took a look at it, there was a redlight blinking, meaning that someone had been put on hold.

Something about it felt wrong though, and you stared at that light, even as Hank left to go about his business. You never had a call before, no one knew that you were here. Your ex had severed your relationship with your parents, and they had moved on without you. It just didn’t make sense, so in order to solve the mystery, you lifted up the phone and pressed the button.

“Y/n,” A heavily panting voice came through the receiver. Your heart was already starting to pound when you heard that you had a call, but hearing your ex’s voice was enough to make it go into overdrive.

“Why are you calling me?” Firstly, your voice came out far more confident than you felt, and secondly, you sat frozen in your chair, every part of your body stiff and rigid. “I thought that you were told to never talk to me again.”

You knew the story, as far as Charles had gently told it to you over a cup of tea the night you arrived here. When he and Erik had tracked you down using Cerberus, they had knocked on your door just as your ex was opening it to leave you bruised and broken once more. Erik had gone after him while Charles had gone to your side to help you up to your feet and help you pack your few belongings to take you out of there. Even if he hadn’t shown you his powers, even if he hadn’t spoken into your mind about how you were going somewhere safe, you would have gone with him simply because he was better than staying where you were. And according to him, Erik had 'told your ex to leave you alone’ but you had the feeling it was not that simple. It’s never simple when Erik was around, especially when he was in a temper.

“Why, didn’t you miss me?” You could hear something in the tone of his voice, but you weren’t sure what it was. “Those men that separated us - they blocked my number, I had to drive to a restaurant across town before I finally got through.”

“It’s for a good reason,” You said, shakily, feeling the need to explain yourself, and your friends, through habit.

“Y/N, they’re trying to turn you against me baby, I know that you miss me and that you still love me - please, just come home.” Oh, how that made your heart go into overdrive, because despite the bruises, despite the yelling, he did always find a way to rebuild your fragile state. “Nothing can keep us apart, you know that baby, come on, tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up - I only know it’s a New York area code.”

A throat clearing sound came from the door, which made you nearly jump out of your skin. Charles stood, leaning against the doorframe of your office, looking at you with grave concern. Your ex continued to talk on the phone, taking your silence for disobedience.

“Really, I’ll come and pick you up now if you tell me where you are and the punishment for leaving me will be very minor. If you tell me right now, you may be able to leave the house in days instead of weeks.”

A chill went up your spine as his tone changed from something friendly into coaxing an animal out of hiding with intent to kill. You stared at Charles, not sure what to do, frozen in place.

When Charles looked into your eyes, he saw the pleading look behind them -  he didn’t have to read your mind in order to get that. During the beginning of the phone call, he had heard the echoing of your ex’s voice in your head as he had been strolling by, and he knew that he had to see if you were okay.

“You can put down the phone, y/n, he won’t hurt you,” Charles said, slowly. You knew he wasn’t in your head, he wasn’t commanding you to do something, but nonetheless, you brought the phone down and returned it to the cradle, cutting off your ex in mid-word.

Within a moment, Charles was next to you as the tears started to flow down your face and you curled into your chair like you were a small child. You’d never act this way in front of anyone, especially someone like Charles who was both your employer and your dear friend, but your ex always managed to bring it out of you. “I don’t think he’s ever going to stop calling me, Charles, I should just give up.”

He ran his fingers through your hair, removing the strands that stuck to the moistness of your cheeks, and offered the handkerchief that was in his pocket. “I don’t think you should do that, love, you’re stronger away from him. If you go back, things will only be bad, I don’t need to see into his mind to tell you that much.”

You took the handkerchief and wiped your eyes, a bit of mascara coming off onto it, and you made a note to wash it for him. “I don’t want you to get involved in this Charles, he might try to hurt you too.”

The handsome young man backed away from you after you had said that. “I’ve been involved since the moment that I found you,” He told you. “As long as you’re here, you’ll be safe, but if you are back with him, I cannot make any guarantees.” He left you on your own, handkerchief in hand, and closed the door so that you would not be interrupted. However, he did linger by it, his hand on the knob, wondering if he was doing the right thing by leaving you alone to decide what to do. He had to talk to someone about this, and immediately set out to find Raven in hopes that she may be able to help.

-

You managed to recover, and did an appointment with Alex before you went to the laundry room and hand washed the beautiful handkerchief that Charles had loaned you. As you scrubbed at the mascara stain with a small bristle brush, you saw the small details, such as his initials embroidered in the corner in blue thread. Leave it to Charles to have such expensive things.

You hung it to dry for a little bit in the sunshine, and as you laid out on a chair to watch as the breeze blew it dry, you did some thinking. Oh, you knew that Charles had a point, that your safety wasn’t guaranteed if you left the school, but his would be. He didn’t know what your ex was capable of. And besides, at best, if you went back to him, you would only have to put up with it for another couple of years until he finally killed you. You would go, you decided. Tonight. You knew that there were enough problems with Erik and his obsession over Shaw, and the training of the students - and what exactly they were training for.

You took the handkerchief off the clothes line once it was dry. You could smell the faint sent of flowers that the breeze had carried over, and embedded within the fabric. Charles hopefully wouldn’t mind that, and you returned to the interior of the school to return it to him.

He was busy, though his office door wasn’t entire closed. You peeked in and saw that he was sitting with Raven, his arm around her shoulders in a very brotherly way, and they were talking in low tones to one another. You were always jealous of the way that Raven got on with others, even though like you, she wasn’t the most confident person in the world.

“You were right, y/n has to make their own decision,” Raven was saying, which made you step back behind the door so they wouldn’t see you eavesdropping. “I know how you feel about them but... you can’t control the people that you care about. It’s not right.”

It was more of a shock hearing this than it was when your ex managed to call the school.

“There’s no way that y/n would go back, right?” Charles asked, sounding insecure. It wasn’t very often that he didn’t know the answer to something. Raven leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“Probably wouldn’t if you told them how you feel,” She suggested to him.

You took a couple of steps back, then ran towards your room, having heard enough. Charles had some sort of feelings and that cemented everything for you - you were going to go back to your ex. Nobody else would think that way, you knew that, because anyone would be lucky to have Charles care about them. He was handsome, kind, had an adorable accent, very intelligent. He could have anybody that he wanted - and he deserved better than you. You started to pack as quickly as you could, throwing everything into your bag. As you did so, you started to think - you would walk to the city, or even hitch-hike if the weather took a bad turn, catch the first bus home. As soon as you made it back to your city, you would call Charles and apologize for leaving so quickly, but it was something that you had to do to protect him. To protect everyone in the school, because their powers would only go so far against your ex’s anger. Perhaps he was a mutant too, and his power was rage, you didn’t know.

You ran a brush through your hair before tossing it into your bag. It wasn’t a necessary item but it was the first gift that you got after arriving here - it had been Raven’s and she gave it to you on the first day of your job. You made your bed, so as not to inconvenience anyone, then snuck out through the door while you assumed that everyone was at dinner.

But not everyone was. And it was the person that you wanted to see least - not Charles, but Erik. He stood by the door with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed in front of him as if he had been waiting for you.

“You being here has been good for everyone, what possible reason could you have for leaving?” He asked you, looking taller than ever in the way that he looked down upon you. He waited for an answer, but you had none, you just stood there, holding onto your bag, your eyes pleading with him to please move. “I’m not a mind-reader like Charles, but I can tell you that your ex-partner means you harm.”

So news had gotten around that he had called you. The only person who knew who it was on the other end of the line was Charles, so he must have told. He shouldn’t have.

“You’re not Charles,” You agreed with Erik, “so you can’t understand my reason for leaving - please, let me go. You two told me that I was free to leave at anytime.”

“I didn’t think you would go back to that situation when I said that,” Charles’s voice joined the conversation, coming down the hallway as if he had been listening the whole time. He never could help himself from eavesdropping, you had noticed. In his hands, he had a clear container of food - whatever had been for dinner, it looked like. You could see potatoes, and carrots, and who knew what else. “Of course we can’t stop you, darling, as much as we both want to.”

“Do you really?” You asked, looking at him. You couldn’t voice the reason you wanted to leave - to protect him, because it sounded so incredibly weak when it was put into words, but you thought it loud enough for him to catch onto it. He blinked, then wiped a tear out of his eye that you had not been expecting.

“You know that everyone here would stop him, even using our powers if necessary, if he found out where you were.” He said, moving in between you and Erik, who duly stepped away to let the two of you talk. The air felt cooler now that he was gone, because the tensions began to grew. There was something about being alone with Charles - it made the hair on your arms stand up, it made your heart beat fast, it made you have to lick your lips because they were constantly tingling in his presence. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, you’re more powerful than he is. If you only knew-” “I’m not afraid of what he can do to me, I haven’t been afraid of that in a long time.” Charles’s mouth closed as you started to finally speak. Of course, once you started, it was hard to stop. You had been holding things in for a long time now. “Everything that he did to me, I - I could take it. You don’t understand, if he hit me ... he was paying attention to me and ... and I needed that. You’re perfect Charles, and you’ll never understand that feeling of loneliness. And when he isolated me from my family, when he made me turn all of my friends against me ... he made sure that I only had him. It’s going to happen again, whether I go back or not. Leaving now - at least I’ll have some control over it. He can’t take the control of this decision away from me. You’ll either hate me because I leave, hate me for some reason I can’t control, or hate me because he’s going to come and try to hurt you and I - I’d rather just rip off the bandaid now, Charles, because if I spent anymore time around any of you, I’ll never be able to leave.”

Charles stayed quiet, both hands on the tupperware container full of food, squeezing it until you saw that his knuckles were white. “Because of some reason you can’t control?” He asked, looking at you with confusion. Your words were echoing in his mind, but those in particular. “Why don’t we go into my office, y/n, and we can have a talk about this in a more private setting.”

You looked outside the windows and saw that the sky was steadily darkening. It was getting later, which meant that dinner was about to be over and the students would be walking around, trying to burn their energy before bed. Weakly, you nodded and followed Charles towards the office that you had been outside of just a short time before. Confusion was still evident on his face as he took a seat, not behind the desk, but on the comfortable looking couch, and he patted next to him. You set your bag down by the door before joining him, but after everything that you had just said, it was hard to look him in the eye.

Charles lightly rested his hand on your knee which made you breathe in quickly. “Even if you were to go against us, there is no way that I would hate you,” He started off by saying. His eyes, far bluer than any eyes should be, were heavy on you until you looked right back at them, and saw the honesty, the emotion behind them. Charles is a mind reader, but he is not a deceiver. “If that is one of your fears, then we can work on it together. That’s the only way that we can prove to you that we’re not going to hate you. Even if you leave, even if he comes here, there’s nothing that can happen that would make me turn my heart on you.”

You noticed that he had switched from 'we’ to 'my’ for the last bit there. His heart. That was enough to get yours going. And once more, but in an entirely different way than before - you broke down. Instead of blabbering on and releasing the thoughts, you released your emotions. Your head came down on your shoulder as you began to cry, and he gently patted your back. You noticed after a few moments that your whole body was now pressed against his because he had pulled you into a hug. His face was remarkably close to yours, and you could hear him whispering into your ear.

“It’s all going to be alright, whatever you choose, it’ll be alright, I’ll always be with you.”

It was the first time that you heard something like that. Nice, kind, comforting words without there being some sort of threat behind them. A few more minutes passed until you felt exhausted from the emotional release, both emotionally and physically. It was hard to tear yourself away from Charles, in more ways than one. The tears had made his shirt stick to your face, and you had to peel yourself off slowly. Once you were away, you held your head in hands, realizing that you probably looked a mess, with the tears running down your face, the snot, the messed up make up.

“My bathroom is right through there, you can go clean yourself up and I’ll get your dinner ready,” Charles said, softly. He was so courteous, though you realized he probably read your thoughts about how you looked. You nodded slowly, and got up, going into the bathroom to wash your face, blow your nose, and generally try to make yourself look less puffy.  Before you left the small room, you paused in front of the mirror and forced yourself to smile. Charles had given you all the confirmation that you needed. This, now and forever, was your home. Perhaps you wouldn’t be hated after all. Perhaps - perhaps, you might find the opposite of hate.

You left the bathroom feeling much better than you had when you went in. Set out on Charles’s desk was dinner, still in the tupperware, but it was open and he had folded up some tissues to use as a napkin, and rested a fork and a knife on it. He wasn’t in the room, but he was just walking back in with two glasses of water. “You look better,” He said with a smile, setting the waters onto the desk. He pulled out the chair behind it, offering it to you.

You stepped towards him rather than towards the chair and pressed your hand to his chest tentatively. You could still feel the wet spot that you had made. “I will stay and wash that for you,” You told him, feeling bad for ruining his shirt.

He rested his fingers on your wrist, then rubbed your arm down to your elbow and back up. “Just stay - please. I want you to stay.” He said, his face completely serious. It was the same expression that he had when he pleaded with you to come with him in the first place.

“Believe me, I want to stay too,” You said, closing your eyes, focusing on his touch. Charles had slightly rough fingers - perhaps from years of holding a pencil and writing all of those notes that helped his advanced education.

You felt it before you sensed it. How his breath was against your lips now, your whole arm was against his chest rather than just your hand because he had moved in forward. A second passed before there was contact, his soft pink lips brushing against your own. Quickly, you moved into it, giving him the kiss that the both of you seemed to desire more than anything else. It wasn’t a long kiss, but just enough for you to feel like your entire body was filled with electricity. It must be how Havok felt when he was about to use his powers. You smiled and moved your hand up to Charles’s shoulder.

“Where was I going again?” You asked with a small smile. He looked at you with those amazingly blue eyes, the corner of his lips turning upwards in a crooked smile.

“To my desk, to eat your dinner, then off to bed. You have some unpacking to do in the morning.”

[thepilgrimofwar]

Bad Influence

Whistling a jaunty tune, Vissehn hip-bumped his way into Stenden’s office. Despite the late hour, he knew the young Lord would be awake. “Goooood evenin’ my fine friend, how is th’Lord of the Emberglades after sucha fine war-meetin?” He waggled a pair of bottles towards Stenden.

Having changed out of the stiff formal wear, he wore a loose grey tunic with the sleeves torn free, exposing the pale copper of his arms and the multitude of freckles, and the musculature that had been gained in the Phoenix Wars. His feet were bare and his hair wild as he closed the distance. Sliding onto Stenden’s desk, he flopped onto his back. “Celebrate wiv me!”

Stenden squinted at his friend, and then sniffed his friend to check exactly how much of his bottle had already been emptied without him. “You’re drunk,” he said, almost redundantly as Vissehn slid across his desk, knocking over miscellaneous papers and stationery of no great importance. 

The Lord of the Emberglades considered chiding him for a moment but chose to lean back into his chair instead. “But I suppose today’s proceedings are worthy of some celebrations,” the boy reached out for the other bottle. He had enjoyed his fair share of alcohol in his time, just never straight from the bottle and never unsupervised. But this week had been full of many firsts for him as Lord of the Emberglades. Why stop there?

“I’m not yet piss drunk, so I’ve got aways to go!” He laughed and pushed off another stack of envelopes, cat-like in his destruction. When the bottle was taken from him, though, he crowed and sat up, lifting his own in victory. “Yeah! Yer a Lord now, sometimes ye gotta take the wins when you gottem!”

Taking another pull, he bounced his leg. “There’s gonna be more’n a fair share of moments where there’s naught to celebrate, so we’ll enjoy this one.” He clinked his bottle against Stenden’s. “So, hows a Lordling celebrate wivout his friend Fish around normally?”

Stenden initially takes a sip, then, once that initiation was passed, he took a swig and wiped his mouth on his arm in a manner that he thought what rougher men would do. The look did not fit the soft spoken boy, but it did not stop his enthusiasm. “I don’t, typically.”

He does a small elbow pump at his waist and did a small jig of success, “that’s about it really. Apart from- you know- smiling the rest of the day.” The boy shrugged. “But this is good, an appropriately bigger celebration for a big win.”

Once Judereth came in to meet with him on the morrow, it would be likely that the rebellion would be down to just Arenias himself. Forced to fight on two fronts with Muroco Rockhoof, an esteemed warrior by reputation alone, causing as much chaos as physically possible on one of them. The war had turned in his favour and for the first time in a week, he breathed easy. Anxiety in his chest had begun to loosen its grip on him.

Vissehn grinned at the boyish victory dance, and a laugh poured from him. “D’aww, yer grandmarm’d be proud, you such an unstandin’ young lad as all that.” He snorted and sat up straight, even though it caused the room to spin. “Near enough I reckon, though, yer old enough to be livin’ life the way us -adults- do.”

He waggled his brows, knowing how short the stretch of years between them was. Nevertheless, he made a show of pulling himself to his full height. 

“Now, as yer agent I am here for -you- in all ways, so, how’s our Lord of the Emberglades wanna spend his evenin’ of victory?” He laughed delightedly at the sound of the words. “Say it, and it shall be done, assumin’ it don’t require sobriety.”

“Well,” Stenden began, putting in some pre-alcohol induced thought before his senses fully left him. “You climbed through the window here. Think you could make it onto the roof?” The boy paused. “Do you think I could make it onto the roof?” Based on his tumble and shove from a few days prior, he certainly had the training for it. But perhaps not the lack of restraint that had stopped him in the past.

The youths eyes grew wide with delight, pupils blown wide. “Lookie there! Ye do have somethin’ yer age behind those eyes.” He leaned forward and stage whispered. “I have climbed all these roofs, an’ if yer as light an’ quick on yer feet as that shove says you are, well, you too can be King of the Mountain on this here manor.” 

Flinging himself off the desk, he almost started for the window before sticking one hand straight up. “Ah!” Turning his back to Stenden so the other youth wouldn’t see exactly where it came from, Vissehn reached between the slim space at the front of his binder and withdrew a small, wrapped object. Traipsing to one of the candles, he lit the end of it and let it hang off his lips as he then bowed to Stenden.

“Lords first, afterall, yer the victor tonight.”

Stenden took another swig from his bottle and then with a small amount of flair, he tucked the drink into the band of his belt and climbed onto the window sill. He reached up, felt a grip at the upper end of the frame, and pulled, clumsily at first.

“How’d you make it look so easy?” His legs dangled at the window, kicking as he lifted himself and got a better grip on the wooden supports of the roof above.

“Practice!” Vissehn stepped in behind Stenden, and offered his shoulder for a boost. “Just put yer hips an’ arse into it, ye’ll get it!” He took a puff of the bloodthistle.

When it seemed the young lord had a good grip, Vissehn slipped under his legs and put one on each of his shoulders, pushing Stenden up higher. “There ye go, just haul yerself up right nice, and we’ll have our victory on the roofs!” He patted Stenden’s thigh as the other moved up.

Once Stenden was most of the way up, Vissehn scrambled after, all ungainly elbows and knees. He was quicker at it, from practice, though the liquor in his veins made him less graceful and more squirmy.

With Vissehn’s help, the boy scampers onto the roof, flopping forward on his belly until he finally lay flat. Stenden then rolled on his back, uncorked the bottle once more and took a big swig while watching the skies above. It was a cloudless night, and though there was a chill of midnight breeze rushing by him, the alcohol kept him warm.

“Victory,” he muttered as he raised his bottle towards the stars.

Vissehn reached to the back of Stenden’s head just as the lad was flopping over, and pulled free the tie holding back his hair. “Come on, yer on a roof with a good bottle and a fair friend, let this go.” He twined the ribbon around his fingers, about to toss it into the wind… before thinking better of it. He slipped the small cloth into his pocket instead and took a swig of his own bottle as well.

Staring up at the stars, he sighed happily. “Now this is the life. Big open sky, good booze, good friend, nothin’ but endless tomorrows an’ new things to come.” He lipped the joint briefly, before plucking it up and offering it towards Stenden.

He squinted at it, then took a deep breath and almost immediately started hacking like a cat with a hairball. It burned at his throat, and reflexively attempted to wash it down with alcohol that simply made the sensation worse. Stenden laughed, coughed, laughed, and hacked again as the alcohol began setting in.

“Indeed!-” he exclaimed between heaves. “This is the life.” Stenden’s hair whipped about him in the wind, and he tucked it over one shoulder to keep it tame. “The future used to scare me. Endless tomorrows had always meant endless dangerous, endless challenges, and endless duty. But this? I could never have predicted this lay in my future. And this isn’t so bad.”

Vissehn snickered at the youths attempt. “Not bad-- your first try?” He took a puff, letting the smoke curl away after a moment, pursing his lips so it made a pretty trail in the air. “Ain’t no reason to fear tomorrow. It’ll come, fear or not, and it only carries promise. You fucked up bad today? You got tomorrow to fix it up. There’ll be challenges, but somethings are wonderful an’ they’re just a moment, somethin’ you’d miss if nothin’ changed.”

Glancing at the younger boy, Vissehn’s gaze softened and he took a long slow drag, letting the bloodthistle burn in his lungs. “And this ain’t so bad at all.”

Humming the tune he’d created, he washed away the burn with the liquor, smacking his lips. “So, Stenden, if this ain’t what you predicted, tell me what future ye saw for yerself the moment Sederis kicked it an’ you were given the Emberglades-- what endless tomorrows did you see afore you that made you so scared of ‘em?”

“With how the war was going at the very start of the Phoenix Wars?” He took a more relaxed breath of the joint, letting it in and then exhaling sharply. “The Alliance marching down the passes, and the Glades arming every man-woman-and-child to resist. Dame Everleigh would not have wanted to cause a massacre, but we’d force one on her. Then, Nelio Goodember possibly ceding to those blue flags in exchange of occupation for peace.”

“That hung over my head for the opening months, until their attention was pulled elsewhere. Then tomorrow brought the risk of famine, as the crops failed from winter. Then the risk of the population growing weary of the war, and rising up in arms.”

“Then after the War ended, tomorrow brought the risk of the war we’re fighting right now. Arenias was always going to move once the war was done. I just had never expected him to be stupid enough to attempt such a thing during my Uncle’s funeral- With all his friends from the Guard present.”

“Hey, tomorrow brought th’worst it could-- grandpap tried to smother ye in the cradle while yer uncle went to th’grave. An’ look how its going for him!” Vissehn jabbed at the air, shifting on the roof as though he were in a boxing match. “Fuckin’ with th’best-- and me-- The Sunguard had to offer, losin’ allies, losin’ neutralities. He’s on the backfoot, an’ you’re pressing the advantage! 

His voice changed as he cupped a hand around it, growing higher but threadier-- a goblin announcer voice. “Look, Stenden’s goin’ in for a hook! Arenias takes it like a stiff, and oh Light lookit that footwork from the boy-Lord, by gold, he’s goin’ in for a takedown! Arenias won’t have seen that coming, and there he goes down, down!”

Reaching over, he grabbed Stenden’s arm and made him lift into the air while he slapped the tile roof with his other hand. “One-- Two-- Three!” He crowed, and mimicked a roaring crowd. “And that’s the match, folks, our new Lord of the Emberglades, the golden boy with a heart of fire, pretty as a picture an’ twice as heartless, the one, the only, STENDEN EMBERHEART!”

He roared the name to the night, and then dropped Stenden’s arm as he was wracked with giggles.

Stenden laughed into the night, letting it rise into the night sky without a care in the world. His friend was right of course. So far, his tomorrows have meant new challenges to rise to. New ways to prove himself. At every turn he had been undermined and underestimated. No doubt because they thought he was weak- the boy who’d hide behind his mother’s skirts as a child. But when given the chance to stand on his own two feet- Without Solendis guiding his every move- Without Relriah to shield him from the world- authority seemed to suit him. Though, perhaps not the bloodshed done in his name.

“Viss,” he cut his friend’s name short, as the concoction of alcohol and bloodthistle began to mix and muddle. “You’ll be sticking round after this is over aren’t you? You said you’ll give a pass to a parcel of land when I first asked for your help.”

The youth looked over at Stenden, shaggy hair falling in his eyes as he watched his friend laugh. In the light of moons and stars, Vissehn was written in softer lines, the curve of his smile less biting, the lean length of him rendered young and unfinished rather than the slim assurance of him.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he snorted. “Ye can’t be rid of me that fast, a war ain’t enough to scare the likes of me away. I might have short ears an’ blue eyes but I know a friend when I see one.” He punched Stenden’s shoulder affectionately. “I’m a rover by nature, but I said I could sit a spell here, didn’t I? I meant it.” 

He grabbed the bottleneck and shook the remains. “With such a staunch pal as yer ol’ Fish friend, I think I’ve earned the last of this bottle.” Vissehn downed it rapidly, trying to soak in the cool night, the warm burn of liquor in his belly, the presence of Stenden and the chill of the roof beneath. 

A life always changed, he knew, and he wouldn’t stop it-- but this moment, he knew, would be precious someday. In the way a sculptor can feel the shape of the masterpiece in the marble, he felt the nostalgia blossom from his thoughts, making the night hazy and gilded while at once being so stark as to cut through all thoughts of anything like tomorrows or the future.

“So long as ye got a space for me, I think I’ll linger on.” Vissehn drawled low and slow. “Just don’t be forgettin to make a space, else you’ll be losing me.”

Stenden watched as his friend downed the last of the bottle, then staring out into the stars. “I will,” he promised- he wished. Not knowing if life would accommodate it. “You’re the first real friend I’ve had Viss. I’d spend the holidays in Dawnveil, playing with the other children of the servants there. But they were always distant the way that acquaintances are since I came and went with the seasons.”

He rolled over to his side and gave a wry smile. “Thank you,” said the Lord of the Emberglades, who had been reminded what it was like to be his age. “You’ve kept me sane in these wild times- and I’m not sure if the manor would be as tolerable without you around to spruce up the place with your spirits.”

After he had said his peace, Stenden finally began to relax again, letting the sombre lows turn back into a contented high as he watched the clouds begin to roll through the night sky. Committing the moment to memory as well. A small respite from the decorum of nobility. A chance to be a boy, even for just a moment.

--

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 63: Final Exam part 5: Final Essay

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!   Please note, this chapter may undergo more extensive editing before it gets posted to AO3/FF.net, as there’s a lot of fight scenes that may need clarity editing.

Earlier chapters can be found here

At the last moment, before Kamuy had launched her shockwave, some instinct had prompted Izumi to throw up an ice shield.  Desperately, faster than she ever had before, she’d leached heat from the air, forming a protective wall in front of her, reinforcing it even against the shockwave that had followed.   She regretted immediately that she was unable to extend her protections to Chihiro or to any of her other classmates.

When the ringing in her head cleared and she was able to see again, a moment of fear touched her heart, an icy stab into the heat she had absorbed and that suffused her body. Chihiro, Ojiro, Aoyama, and Asuka were all on the ground, alive, but very clearly knocked out.  As skilled and powerful as her classmates were, against such overwhelming force, they had no defense.  She had hoped that Asuka’s Frog-Shadow might have been able to protect her, armoring her as she had during the Sports Festival, but such, it seemed, was not to be.

And all Izumi had done was protect herself.  Her teachers, as well as Katsumi, would say that insuring her own safety had meant she could continue to act and protect others.  But it did nothing to ease the guilt she felt.

Kamuy, it seemed, was still standing, admiring her handiwork.  She’d lost a bit of mass from expelling her accumulated energy, but still remained a large and imposing foe.  That she seemed to be able to hold onto the energy she absorbed until she needed it was enviable.  The bands of Izumi’s regulator rig were screaming an angry red, a sign she needed expel heat and expel it quickly.  

“Still standing?” Kamuy taunted.  “Pretty impressive.  I wouldn’t think a little twig like you would last this long.”

With some amount of satisfaction, Izumi realized that Kamuy was a very big target indeed.

“But a twig, properly propelled,” she said, bringing her hands up, “can pierce even the mighty oak.”

Izumi reached inside herself and found the heat she had been storing, like a crimson hot core inside her. But instead of changing it into fire, she put to use the training that Uncle Denki had helped her with, expelling the heat directly.  The very air in front of her turned wavy and shimmery, refracting from all the heat she was putting out into it.

“Hey…” growled Kamuy, “what’re you doing…?”  Already the big woman was sweating so hard it was pouring off of her and soaking through her clothes. Her breaths coming in ragged gasps, each one clearly a struggle. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, as though a stiff breeze might soon blow her over.

“Whatever you’re doing… cut it… out…”  Kamuy took a few ineffective swings as thin air, as though that might stop the heat assault.  But as addled as she was, they were clumsy, weak, and ineffective, with no power behind them.  Izumi knew she was threading a careful line.  Too much heat could kill a person easily and she had no desire to be a murderer, especially given that this was only an exam.  But nor did she wish to give Kamuy a chance to recover and possibly hurt her or her friends.

Kamuy began glowing and steaming again, losing mass as she poured her energy into resisting Izumi’s attack.  Step by step, she pushed her way forward, even as the concrete beneath her feet began to soften from the heat she was enduring.  That was unfortunate.  Processing this much heat as once, pushing her Quirk as far as it would go, Izumi could feel the strain upon herself and she did not know how long she could maintain this level of exertion.  Her knees were starting to feel weak and even keeping her arms up to keep pointing at Kamuy was beginning to become a strain.  Her arms traced small circles in the air as she failed to hold them straight.

And still, Kamuy came closer.  The Villain took step after step after step, her face twisted in a grimace as she fought for every inch.   But Izumi would make her fight for that, even if it cost her dearly, even if she collapsed.  Because every second this woman spent fighting her was one that gave her classmates and friends time to overcome the other Villains.

They were counting on her. Everyone was counting on her.  She could not, would not, be the reason that they failed!

And still Kamuy came onward, trailing steam like some ancient and slow moving train.  “You… gotta… be… just… about… out… kid,” she hissed. “Those damn… blinky lights… are a dead… giveaway.”

Damnation, she was right! Izumi was just about out of heat to throw at her, the crimson hot core she’d been drawing on depleted, the bands of her regulator rig showing a green that would have, in any other circumstances, been reassuring.  

Now, it was a little terrifying.

The wave of heat stopped abruptly, as she exhausted her last reserve.  The change in the air was immediate and Kamuy instantly stood a little taller, a little stronger, though it was clear surviving the assault had cost her dearly.  Her own reserves must have been nearly as depleted as Izumi’s were.   Though that still left her a large and muscular foe. She could still overpower Izumi. She was a fit girl, especially for one with her chronic health issues, but there was no comparison.

So she had to end this now.

Kamuy rushed her, fist draw back to strike, and Izumi acted on instinct, her body and Quirk moving before she even had a chance to think.  Thick ice shot up around Kamuy, covering her body and lifting her off the ground in an instant.  On her regulator rig, the bands changed from a safe green to cautionary orange without ever even passing through the alerting yellow.  The temperature around her had dropped by several degrees, enough that, for a moment, Izumi could see her breath on the air.

But when it was done, Kamuy was entombed in a pillar of ice, only her head and fingertips poking out. She hadn’t frozen her solid, so there was probably minimal risk of cell death.  But she had beaten her.  She had won.

And still she remained standing.  Izumi had pushed her Quirk and pushed it hard.  But she had not given in to her weakness, had not fallen.

But she could not celebrate her accomplishments, not now.  Not when the others were still battling.

She would celebrate when they won, but the personal victory would lend her strength to continue the fight.

***

Things, Katsumi thought, had pretty much gone to shit.  The Villain called Jawbreaker had grown to monstrous size and mass, towering over all of them by more than a meter.  More than that in her case; height was not her friend.  Now made of metal, rock, and concrete, he was shrugging off everything they could throw at him.  She still ached from where he had hit her, with a fist that was nearly as big as she was tall.

But she’d be damned if she was going to go down without a fight, even if she was completely out of ammo for her disk-launchers.  She hadn’t backed down in the face of a damned Nomu, she wasn’t about to back down in the face of some Villain Aiazwa had gotten from somewhere to play rent-a-goon. Some part of her was afraid though. Not for herself, but for Izzy. She knew she shouldn’t be, knew that Izzy had more than proven she was capable of taking care of herself, but the thought still remained.  She pushed it down, channeling it into something she could use.  The sooner she clobbered this guy, the sooner she could check on her.

Jawbreaker let out a laugh, his punch connecting solidly with Toshi.  Toshi had amped up his gravity enough that he was starting to sink into the ground, but the blow was still enough to push him back, gouging deep troughs in the street.  A second blow hit even harder, sending Toshi smashing into the side of a building again. Above Jawbreaker, the Iida twins swooped down again and again, ineffectively striking against him.  The Villain—though faster than he looked—was still not fast enough to catch them.  Both broke off the attack.  Sora to check on Toshi, Tensei to get space to think through his next move.

“Okay, you two,” she told Shinso and Haimawari. “I’ll knock him off his feet, you know him down. You’ll know it when you see it. Jetset!  Give me a distraction!”

Haimawari nodded. “Got it.  Bring the boom.”

Shinso nodded rapidly, head bobbing like it was on a spring.  “Got it!” he said.  “Going to have to hit him *really* hard though!  He’s tough!”

A grin spread across Katsumi’s face.  “Ain’t nothing tougher than me.”  She cracked her knuckles.  “And Newb? Only I get to bring the boom.”

“Arms!  Rocky!” she shouted.  “Clear the way!  Big boom coming through!”

At her shout, Shoji and Koda backed off from their assaults on Jawbreaker.  Koda had fast grown a thick redwood tree and Shoji had used his incredible strength to turn it into an improvised club.  It hadn’t done any good.  Jawbreaker had ever taken a big bite out of it, added hard wood to his make-up as well.

Tensei Iida swooped down from the sky, smashing both fists into Jawbreaker’s skull.  There was a metal on metal clang, but Jawbreaker wasn’t hurt in the slightest.  He swung wildly at Iida again, and this time he Iida was just a little too slow.  Jawbreaker’s fingers closed around his legs and he slammed Iida into the ground again and again.  With a grunt, he tossed the boy over his shoulder.  There. She hadn’t meant for that to happen… but that was her opening.

Katsumi slapped a palm on the ground, extending her explosive power through it, triggering a series of increasingly large explosions in a rapid-fire, firecracker line that lead straight to Jawbreaker.  She concentrated, putting as much power as she could into the last one.

KABOOM!

For just a moment, the explosion caught Jawbreaker off-balance, sending him teetering on his feet. “What the hell…?!”  the Villain cried out, arms swinging wildly.

“Now!” Katsumi bellowed.

For all the times they’ve bugged the hell out of her, Shinso and Haimawari are good at following orders. And more importantly, they can hit hard. Shinso sucked in a breath and unleashed another blast of sonic force, her own proximity to it making Katsumi wince from the noise, while Haimawari braced himself and unleashed another blue-white blast.  Both attacks struck Jawbreaker dead on, with enough force to land him smack on his back. It made a sound somewhere between a building collapsing, an avalanche, and a trash can rolling down the stairs.

“Rocky!” Katsumi shouted again.  “Tie him up!”

“I am on it, Bombshell,” Koda said, tossing more seeds.  They began growing instantly, ensnaring Jawbreaker with thick, thorny vines, weaving all around his body and limbs.

Jawbreaker was already struggling against them, even as Koda tried to keep the pace, growing them as vast as they were destroyed.  Dammit. Koda’s vines alone weren’t going to be enough.  Time for what was usually her Plan A:  Overwhelming Force.  “We hit him,” she said.  “Hard. Now.  Everything we’ve got.”

It was already too late. Jawbreaker let out a laugh.  “It takes more than that to keep me down,” he said. He was already getting back on his feet. Vines snapped like twine.   “We’re in the home stretch too.   That means the kid gloves come off!”

He lashed out and despite having seen it several times over, she still couldn’t believe how someone that big could move that fast.   Koda and Shoji, the closest, paid the price for her few seconds of hesitation.  Shoji threw himself in front of Koda, using all six of his arms to block Jawbreaker’s strike, but jawbreaker brought his other arm around and slammed it into Shoji from the side.  He went flying and when he landed, he did not get up.

Koda lasted only a moment longer, trying reaching into her pouches for more seeds.  She fast-grew a circle of trees around Jawbreaker, briefly trapping him, until he simply punched his way through and took her down with another swipe of his massive, multi-element fists.

It had all happened so fast, she hadn’t even had time to move.  But now, she was spurred into action.   “Get that fucker!” she shouted, rushing forward.

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of Shinso and Haimawari firing again, their blasts sailing past her to strike Jawbreaker.  She had to trust that they were going to do their jobs, because the bad guy in front of her was all that she could see.

Fortunately, Koda’s failed attempts at containment had provided her with plenty of ammunition. She quickly grabbed shards of the felled trees and tossed them at Jawbreaker, peppering him with small explosions.  Even putting everything she had into them… it wasn’t enough.  Nothing left to make a big enough boom with.

“Hey, ugly!” she shouted, grabbing a handful of splintery pieces of wood in each hand.  When he turned to look at her she tossed them all at his face, letting them explode like little firecrackers.

Here, he actually screamed, one hand going to cover his face, the other swinging wildly and easy to dodge.  As his hand swung by, she slapped it with her own.  The material of her gloves now let her channel her explosive power through them directly, and the explosion she created charred his transformed flesh.  

“Yeah!” Shinso cried out. “We’ve got him now!”  He hit Jawbreaker with another sonic scream.

“”Blast now, brag later, Shinso!” Haimawari called out.  He was zipping around Jawbreaker’s other side, his feet and one hand on the ground, his other hand in the air and unleashing a barrage of low-powered blasts. They weren’t strong enough to do much—if any—damage, but they served as yet another distraction.

“Katsumi!”  a voice—Toshi’s—cried out.  “Give me an opening!”

She grinned again, slapping both hands on the ground again and setting off a powerful explosion. This close to it, the explosion left even her ears ringing, but it did the job, further throwing Jawbreaker off balance from already having been temporarily blinded.

She heard the roar of Sora Iida’s engines before she saw the two of them, zooming towards Jawbreaker and Sora carrying Toshi by the wrists.  At the last second, she released him and judging by how big of a clang the impact of Toshi’s body made with Jawbreaker’s, he must have gone about as far up on his gravity as he could.  He pushed off the Villain’s body and landed next to her.  The blow managed to stagger the giant for a moment, at least.

“About time you stopped loafing around,” Katsumi said.  

“Give me a break,” Toshi replied.  “I’ve been hit a lot today.”

Jawbreaker reared up and was ready to strike again.  Some guys just took a lot of hitting, it seemed.

***

Before Jawbreaker could strike again, a blast of fire hit him square on, setting fire to parts of his body that were made of wood.   He let out a cry of alarm and smarted smacking at the burns, trying to smother them. Thick ice walls followed, briefly blocking him off.  Toshi risked turning his head to find the source of the blast and was greeted with the sight of Izumi propelling herself along an ice slide to meet them.  

“Glad you could join us, Iz,” Katsumi said.  

“Well, someone clearly has to keep you out of trouble,” Izumi replied.  “As always.”

“Was that a joke?  You pick now to start telling jokes?”

Izumi’s arrival meant good news and bad news.  It meant they were down to one just one Villain to deal with.  But it also meant…

The sound of fists on the ice wall told him they didn’t have much time.

“The others?” he asked.

Izumu shook her head. “All defeated.”

They were it then.  Six of them against a Villain who just kept taking whatever they had and kept coming back for more.  It was only then that Toshi realized there was a question he’d been reluctant to ask.  He shouldn’t have.  One of Dad’s often told stories was how Grandpa Might and he had first met, when Grandpa Might had smashed the Sludge Villain to pieces…  

It was an extreme solution. One he hadn’t wanted to suggest they try.  

“Shota,” he said quickly, as cracks were appearing in the ice wall.  Maybe just a couple more blows.  “Has Jawbreaker ever been smashed or broken by a Hero?”  

Shota’s purple eyes went wide.  “Oh, a bunch of times!  Sometimes, he just eats more and it grows back, and sometimes he gets so smashed up it makes him change back, but all his people parts are still there!”

“Saying we should go all out, Midoriya?” Haimawari asked. Between his goggles and bandanna, his expression was almost unreadable, but Toshi could hear the doubt in his voice. “That’s a lot to throw at a guy who’s just testing us.”

Toshi nodded.  “The real world’s not a test.  You hold back too much there… Villains like him will kill you.”

“Okay then,” Haimawari said. “I… might have something.”

“Make it quick, Newb,” Katsumi said.

Haimawari told them his idea.  Toshi had to admit, it was a pretty good one.  “Then we’ll do it like that then,” he said.  And then there was no more time.

The ice wall shattered, Jawbreaker breaking free.  “That really hurt, kid,” he growled.  Patches of wood on his body showed deep burn marks, but he seemed just as large and stroke as eve.  “My turn!”

“Hit him!” Toshi yelled. “Everything you’ve got! Izumi—containment!  Everyone else… hit him!”

Izumi was first, unleashing a powerful wave of ice that entrapped Jawbreaker from the waist down, trapping his lower body in a block of ice.   It was already cracking against his great strength.  But Izumi was hardly alone in her attacks and it only needed to give them an opening.

Shota hit him with another sonic blast.  It shattered the rest of the ice, but it hit him hard, kept him off balance.  He must have taken in a pretty big breath beforehand, because the beam was strong and sustained.  Haimawari quickly zipped behind him, then powered up for a focused, intense blast.  He couldn’t sustain a single beam like Shota and required a moment to charge up a stronger shot, but he was bringing everything he had.

Sora hammered him with a series of rocket propelled blows, raising a small series of cracks on Jawbreaker’s body, never standing still for a moment.  With what had happened to her brother, she wasn’t letting up at all. Bombarded already by Shota and Haimawari, he stood little chance of catching her.

Katsumi, freed from any need to hold back, went all out, tossing whatever she could at him, hitting him with explosions big and small.   She kept herself light on her feet, never staying in one place for long, but steadily getting closer. Dodging under one of Jawbreaker’s strikes, she reached up and slapped her hand against his arm.

KABOOM!

Jawbreaker let out a scream as his left arm exploded.  The sight and sound of it was more than enough to give everyone pause.  Even knowing he had asked his friends to go all out, Toshi felt guilty for it.  It looked like it had to hurt.  

It was also the opening he needed.   Toshi forced himself not to think about the harm that he had done and took a couple steps back, canceled his gravity, and jumped, launching himself at Jawbreaker like a missile.

But even in pain, Jawbreaker was ready and swung a massive arm.  He hit Toshi full on, just as Toshi had shifted to full gravity.  There was a satisfying sound of cracking, but so powerful was the blow that Toshi went flying anyway, smashing into and through the building across the street.

As he landed, Toshi heard a rumble and struggled to stand, but couldn’t get his feet under him.  The building creaked…

And came down on him.

***

 “Toshi!” Sora Iida screamed, dropping to the ground with far less grace than usual.  She tapped the side of her helmet.  “Toshi, come in!  Speak to me!”

No response over the comms wasn’t good.  It meant Midoriya was unconscious or hurt or…   No. Isamu instantly pushed that thought aside.  The teachers wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.  They were monitoring them, of course.  Watching them.  If Midoriya were really hurt, they’d have stopped the test, gotten Doctor Izumi out. Hell, his grandfather would probably have already been out here, digging through the rubble.

It didn’t mean Midoriya was going to be rejoining the fight any time soon though.   Which was… not good.  Deprived of one of the strongest Quirks in the class, it left them were a lot fewer options for fighting Jawbreaker.

“Word of advice, kid?” Jawbreaker said.  “Don’t take your eye off the Villain!”   He lashed out with his remaining arm and struck Iida hard, seeming not to notice the spider-web of cracks that spread up his arm from the blow.   The red and silver armored girl went flying and did not get up when she landed.

Jawbreaker dug his fingers into the ground, breaking up the street to shovel more pavement into his mouth. As he did, his left arm started growing back, now being made entirely out of pavement.   Isamu wasn’t sure how much time they had left in the exam… but he was certain having a Villain like this still rampaging about wasn’t going to do their scores any good.

“And you shouldn’t take your eyes off me!”  Kirishima-Bakugo, now behind the Villain, shouted.  She once again placed both hands on the ground and channeled a powerful explosion through it.  The ground around him exploded in a series of bangs that were more flash than flare, momentarily stunning him.  

“I think I have done just about all I can,” Izumi announced.  “Katsumi, gentlemen, if you would?”

“What the hell are you talking about, kid?” Jawbreaker snarled.  “Haven’t you seen yet that none of you are beating me?”

“Yeah, well,” Isamu said. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“We tricked you!” Shinso shouted.  “We tricked you good!”

“What are you…?” Jawbreaker began, and only then did he notice all the spider-web cracks that had appeared all over his body, all the places he had hit and been hit.  At the layer of shining frost that had formed all over his body.

When Shinso had mentioned that Jawbreaker could be shattered and reform without killing him, Isamu’s mind had kicked into overdrive.  Short of Shinso’s disintegrating scream thing or Kirishima-Bakugo pumping out way more explosive power than he’d ever seen her do before, none of them could have possibly done enough damage to him to completely slow him down.  They could blow off limbs, as Kirishima-Bakugo had managed to do, but that was riskier and required more precision targeting.  And as they had seen, he could just consume more to regrow them.

Instead, while the rest of them kept him distracted, Izumi had slowly been leeching heat from the material of his body directly, slowly freezing him up little by little. Midoriya should have been the one to deliver the final blow, but…

As realization dawned on Jawbreaker’s face, they let him have it.  Kirishima-Bakugo unleashed another wave of explosions across the ground, Shinso screamed and unleashed a powerful wave of sonic force, and Isamu put everything he had into his blast, firing his repulsion force outward in one massive shot.

The attacks hit Jawbreaker all at once, exploding the majority of his body into a shower of frozen shards.   His head and shoulders hit the ground with a groan, still very conscious.

“You kids haven’t won yet…” he growled, trying to tilt so he could begin eating the street again.

But then Izumi acted again, shooting a pillar of ice up beneath him that then wrapped around the head, completely encasing it in ice.

There was a long, quiet moment before any of them could even breathe.

“Did we… did we do it?” Shinso asked.

“I, ah, I think we did,” Isamu said, scarcely believing the words out of his own mouth.

“Damn right we did,” Kirhsima-Bakugo said.   “Thanks to Izzy here.”

Izumi bowed her head, then held up a hand.  The bands of her uniform were glowing orange and perspiration covered her face, but she was still standing strong.  He’d been worried that she might have to push herself too far with his plan, but she’d offered herself up for it anyway.  “A group effort.  I am owed no more praise than any other.”

Another quiet moment followed, as the rush of battle began to wear off.  Isamu was already thinking they needed to check on Midoriya and the others who’d been knocked around over the course of the exam.  Which he would do.  Just as soon as his heartrate returned to normal.

“But,” Shinso said, “then why isn’t anyone telling us it’s over.  Shouldn’t there be a bell or alarm or something.”

Damn.  He was right.

“Looking for this, Heroes?” a voice called out.  Across the street, in the shadow of a building, was Shadow-Thief.  And she was holding Recovery Girl.  Or rather… Doctor McGuffin!  “Guess you’re too late!”

She disappeared again, reappearing in the shadows further up.  Isamu had a good eye for distance.  They’d been told they couldn’t allow Doctor McGuffin to get more than 100 meters from the shelter, or they’d lose.  He estimated she’d already made it 50 meters…

“Put me down, you hooligan!” Recovery Girl snapped, smacking her fists against Shadow-Thief’s head and shoulders.  “Kids these days, no respect for their elders!”

“Ow!  Ow!  Stop hitting me, old woman!  You’re supposed to be playing along!” Shadow-Thief vanished again, disappearing and reappearing even further away.

Too far for anyone to blast her, too far for Izumi to trap her with ice, all of which were too risky to begin with.  Too far for anything.

Anything but him.

Isamu threw himself forward and called upon his Quirk.  He thought he’d put everything he had into that last blast again Jawbreaker.  He turned out to be wrong, blasting himself forward with reserves he hadn’t thought he’d had.

It hurt, like a burning sensation in his hands and feet, and he could feel exhaustion threatening to claim him the longer he did it, buildings speeding by as he pushed and pushed and pushed every ounce of repulsive force he had left in his body.

Shadow-Thief was still getting away.   Twenty-five meters until the boundary.   Twenty meters.  Fifteen. Ten.   He was getting closer…  so close….   Five meters…  He just needed one last push!

There were no shadows big enough left, forcing Shadow-Thief to try and run the last five meters. Isamu unleashed every last ounce of energy within him and shot forward like a paperclip from a rubber band.  He smacked into her legs just before she made it the final meter.

Recovery Girl went sailing into the air and he desperately disentangled himself from Shadow Thief, getting under the elderly woman just in time to catch her, sinking to his knees.

Somewhere, an alarm sounded, signaling the end of the three hours of their exam.

It was the last thing Isamu heard before he passed out.

[into-crazy]

Man Under the Makeup Pt. 4

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Female Reader series

Warnings- Cursing, Arthur's condition, pure sweetness towards the end

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “Man Under the Makeup” tag lovelies!💘

Riding through the city with Joker at this time of night felt strangely nice. Seated in the backseat, windows cracked allowing a cold breeze in. He sat by the window, you were close to him in the middle seat. Giving each other a rather respective space. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel one another's warmth.

Some blocks were relatively calm, where there weren't any of the usual riots shutting down routes. Then there were the wilder areas, accompanied by angry citizens flooding the streets. Damaging public property, and shouting demands for change. A few cops scattered, failing to gain control of the crowd. These are the patches he seems most keen of. You, on the other hand, were a little uneasy at the start. However, since Joker wasn't at all worried- you eased up on it. Paying close attention to how his eyes light up at the ravenous sights outside.

Your driver slowly cruising by, upon his boss's request. Joker blew the smoke of his cigarette out the small opening of the vehicle as you both quietly watched the commotion. His followers would recognize him, cheering and showing their support as the car goes by.

"Isn't it beautiful?" He admires gazing about the madness. A satisfied grin across his face.

"It's so.. wild.." that was all you could conjure. It was a lot to take in, with these being the type of things you'd normally avoid. Mad crowds, loud chanting. Looking at it from this perspective was definitely something different nonetheless.

Discarding the cig out the window, he turns to see your speechless expression. Having no clue what you're thinking. Do you love it? Hate it? Hate him for causing all of this?

"Is it too much for you?" His question grabs your attention.

Blinking out of your haze, you glance at him. "Huh, oh no! No, it's not. I'm just not used to all of it." Placing your hand over his in attempt to show you're indeed fine. At first he tensed upon your touch, then shifted his arm so his lay comfortably interlaced with yours.

Reaching the end of the block, it grows quiet as the recklessness fades. Joker clears his throat before speaking, "A-are you having a nice time?" He nervously asks. Hoping that you are indeed enjoying yourself just as much.

Giving him a tender squeeze, you rest your head on his shoulder. Taking notice to how stiff he's sitting. Like he's worried about messing up somehow. He must always be hard on himself, second guessing every action. You want him to relax, ease up. Even assuming that you tell him, you sense it would be better to show him. "I am. I'm having a great time with you.." you respond, softly nuzzling him. His shoulder bone digs into the side of your face. He feels kind of fragile?

"It's getting late," he acknowledges, "would you like a ride home?"

Sitting up, you consider the offer. "That depends. Can I trust that my address will stay safe?"

He shifts uneasily at your question, dreading the familiar fit making it's way up his throat. "You don't trust me?" He's able to conjure before bursting out the suppressed laughs. Hunching forward, coughing into his hands while trying to regain control of himself.

Given the impression you might have offended him, you quickly add, "No, that's not what I meant. Of course I trust you." Great, now he thinks you don't, way to go. The driver inspects through the rear view mirror, you wave away his concern. "Take your time, breathe," Placing your hand on his back, you wait for his fit to pass. Rubbing smooth circles on his back. Focusing on calming him down. Once he sits back up, you continue. "I'm aware you have the city's eyes and ears on you. I just don't want anyone to come knocking at my door. Reporters.. officers.. detectives.." you distinguish with him. "My home is my safe place, I don't need that getting out. Least not right now."

With the Joker being a wanted man, no doubt he has the law after him. They might not have caught up to him yet, but they're trying. If any information about you gets out, the police would probably try to use you to get to him.

Joker nods his head, grasping the concept which you're getting at. The last thing he would want is to bring any unwanted attention towards you and your private life. You don't deserve that. Although, that information could get out no matter how careful he'll try to be. He can't promise it. As much as he wants, he knows he can't. But he wants you to be able to trust him wholly.

There's a brief pause before he responds, "I understand. I hope to keep it between you, me and the driver.." Disappointment leers in his tone, in himself.

He sincerely means it, you believe he does. You're well aware of the risks that could- WOULD- come amidst your relations with the Joker. You just need time to prepare for it. For what's to come. Like calm before the storm. If this means getting to spend quality moments with Arthur, then you're willing to go the extra lengths to make sure it happens.

Fuck it.

Going against what others would call "better judgment," you give him your home address anyways. Resting back comfortably against the soft fabric of his suit, and the both of you don't say a word the drive there. Including the sounds of a sweet, soothing tune coming from the radio. He's content in the calm bit he's spending with you. Not wanting this night to end, instead wishing he could stay this way, close beside you forever.

Pulling up to the apartment building which you live, the driver parks by the sidewalk on the other side. Like the majority of the buildings in this part of the city- yours is large, containing many compacted apartments within. It is pretty worn down, the power would occasionally shut off. The lobby and hallways had awful smells lingering sometimes. Neighbors were noticeably rude and unpleasant. Safe to say it wasn't the most pleasant place in the world but at least it isn't a complete shit hole.

It was apparent Joker already knew this just looking over the building from the outside. After all, he's lived in one to recognize one.

As you sat, the silence remained, and it started to get a little awkward. Light from the street post barley peeking in the darkness of the enclosed space. Glancing at his face, you see he's growing more and more strained trying to figure out what to say to you. Overthinking himself, he doesn't know what- Should I say good night? Do I kiss her? No. What if she doesn't like that? I might not do it right. Will she invite me in, should I ask? No, no! It's too soon. Just play it cool. His legs start to shake a little bit as he grows anxious.

You decide to say something, reaching for your coat beside you. "Well, looks like this is my stop."

Relieved you broke the ice first- and bringing him back into reality- he breathes out, "y-yeah.."

You lightly pat his thigh in attempt to calm his nervousness. He admires your patience with him, peaking at your kind face. It seems to work as his shaking subsides.

Even as the Joker, he's still the same shy man from before. Underneath the image he's still Arthur. He can't hide that from you. And you've taken a liking to his timid nature. You since been infatuated with it the moment you met him on the sidewalk as Carnival.

It's obvious he's never been familiar with this amount of kindness, unable to process pure affection. Taking this into consideration, it's the reason why you're going about it slowly- not wanting to overwhelm him. Which raises the thought.. you holding back like this might end up driving him away. He could take it as you don't really show interest in him or his feelings. Which is not what you're trying to get at.

"I enjoyed our time together," he states, "I hope I can see you again soon. Would you like that?" The shy tone in his voice earns a sweet chuckle from you.

"Most definitely Arthur, yes! Oh, wait." You nod digging into your coat's pocket. Pulling out a small card with your phone number written down, you hand it to him. "Here is my number."

He glances at the digits then flips the card over. Revealing a signature red, kiss mark on the paper. He happens to notice it's the same glossy shade which you're wearing right now.

"You can call me anytime," you assure him.

"Oh I-I will, I'll do that." He smiles putting the card in his pocket.

Getting out of the car, he glances around. The street is dark and quiet, not a single person outside. Good. He motions for your coat, which you hand him before stepping out. He takes the liberty of helping you put it on, such a gentleman. With the door of the vehicle still open, he hums to the tune of the song playing. You thank him sweetly, then lead the way across the lonely street.

The clicking of your heeled boots echoes along the silent air. Halting at the bottom of the steps, you turn towards him. "I want to thank you for tonight," you point out, shivering from the freezing air. "I hope to hear from you soon?" Placing your cold hand into his warmer one. It came out as more of an ask rather than a statement.

"You can bet on it." He smiles running his thumb over your smooth wrist.

"401.." you whisper meeting his admirable gaze.

He wrinkles his nose slightly, "I'm sorry?"

"That's my apartment number, 401," you repeat, "I'm on the 4th level, take a left off the elevator. You're welcome to come by. You know, if you ever need anything.. to see me, talk about something, maybe a place to hide." You merrily remark earning a soft laugh from him.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, good night Arthur," you lean in, placing a delicate peck on his white painted cheek. His makeup is rather dry now, starting to crackle along his forehead and cheeks. He's left stunned with the sudden action, but he immediately gets a bolder idea.

Releasing his hand, you turn to walk up the steps. Before you do, Arthur regains your wrist, gently tugging you back around on your heel. Placing both of his hands on each of your soft cheeks, he brings you in. Locking your lips, giving you a proper kiss.

Overcomed by his swiftness, you give in. Shutting your eyes as your arms move to hold him back. His tongue lightly brushes over your lips, asking for access. Which you grant, allowing him to slip his tongue in. Your lips had a cherry taste to them, it's hard for him to not lick off the rest of your tasty lipstick. Though it is tempting. He doesn't shove far in and greedily dominate your mouth, instead moving gradually into your mouth. You love every second of this. Absolutely adoring how he's savoring your shared moment. Very much filled with that emotion he's been holding out on. Gently exploring over each other's personal boundaries. It's pure, heavenly bliss.

After what feels like a beautiful, short eternity- he slowly pulls away. Staring deep into you, noticeably left in a blushing haze. Half lidded eyes, refocusing on him. His thumb traces by the corner of your slightly smeared lips. Wiping away the mix of his and your shades of red. "Good night, y/n." He whispers charmingly.

You struggled a bit trying to walk up the steps as gracefully as possible. The kiss had you flushing like a high school girl. You managed, however. He waits til you make it safely into the building. Offering a wave before straightening his jacket then heading back to his ride. Overlooking the area as he gets into the car. Still able to taste you on his lips. He cues the man to drive, riding off in the middle of the night.

End of part 4.

[sabraeal]

Thaumaturge

Part of the Ascend (Series), inspired by @onedivinemisfit‘s Concubine AU

Written for the obiyuki kiss-a-thon, and massively, massively late. YET STILL JUST IN TIME. The prompt was Jealous Kiss

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades while Shirayuki talks with Miss Kiki, heads bent and voices low, one he knows won’t be satisfied with a scratch. It’s got nothing to do with the way his coat stretches over his shoulder, or the way his muscles long for a good spar, and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t belong here.

Oh, Master might have given him a fancy title, and His Majesty might like dressing him up for these soirees, but none of that makes him one of them, a peer, and everyone knows it.

Sir Hisame smirks at him over the rim of his wine, angling himself closer to Kiki’s side. Obi frowns. Some more than others, it would seem. Doesn’t help that this monkey suit isn’t his, no matter how nice the tailoring. He’s not the sort of man who touches this much cloth-of-gold unless he’s stealing it.

He bites back a smile. Oh, to see the steward’s face when he learned that tidbit. The man wouldn’t put him in a room with so much silver, that’s for sure.

“I see.” Kiki settles back in her hips, mouth bent thoughtfully. “So you’re here to see Lord Eisetsu.” She flicks a wry look at him. “An unusual matter, indeed.”

Hisame hums beside her, wearing the sort of look a cat gets right before you smell the bird on its breath.

“Well now, Miss Kiki,” Obi drawls, “speaking of unusual matters...I’m sure the prince wasn’t invited, but that doesn’t explain the two of you.”

“When Lord Eisetsu visited Wirant to convey his regards, I was at home.” To his horror, Kiki exchanges a look with her...fiancé. “It seems he extended this invitation once he heard of our engagement.”

Once he suspected that Master had lost his long alliance with Seiran’s daughter, more like. “And are the Bergatts here?”

What a party of traitors that might make. Obi restrains himself from slanting a measuring look at the Vice Captain.

“They are not,” Kiki tells him, idly waving the fan in her hands. “Neither Lord Tsuruba nor Sir Tariga.”

“Even if they were invited, they wouldn’t attend,” Sir Hisame says, illustrating his most definitive quality: insinuating himself where he’s least wanted. “They are beyond the pale, so to speak. The only person who could publicly engage with them now is the prince himself.”

Not including the Bergatt staff, of course, or the pages that Tsuruba would be rubbing elbows with in Wirant. Funny how so little people seemed to count for personhood these days.

Obi knows better that to remark on it, not in this crowd. “That’s our young master for you,” he drawls, making a show of mulling over the Vice Captain’s words. “So majestic.”

Sir Hisame’s smile wears thin on his lips. “Quite.”

“And what about tonight?” His gaze cuts to Kiki, serious. “Has anything strange happened?”

“Hard to say.”

The last time a man spoke for Miss Kiki, she had laid him out on the dirt, standing over him with that calm smile of hers as she said, I know how to speak for myself. But the Vice Captain forges ahead, unmolested. A pity. “Although I will note, this is the first time since my debut that no young ladies have approached me.”

Obi knows that Kiki always fights her own battles, but maybe this once--

“Jokes aside.” Hisame’s expression shadows, growing sharp. “You should be aware that even though you have the power of the royals at your back, the fact that you are clustering at the edge of the floor is no doubt sowing seeds of suspicion around you.”

Obi stiffens, casting his gaze around the room. He’s annoyed to find that the Vice Captain’s observation is true; though the glances are surreptitious, tendered over champagne flutes or behind fluttering fans, nearly every lord and lady not occupied with the dance is watching them, watching-- her.

His wife.

“My lady--” he starts, reaching out a hand--

Only for it to be knocked aside by a shoulder. “On that note, Lady Shirayuki.” The serpent bares his fangs as he offers a hand. “Are you able to dance?”

Every line of Shirayuki grows tense, wary. They had met Hisame at a ball like this, years ago, when neither of them were worth more than a pithy comment about the prince’s new pets and an all-too knowing look he dragged up her body. His wife may be forgiving, but it seems she has not forgotten that particular encounter, not even for Miss Kiki’s entirely reformed fiancé.

Her hands curl into stiff fists at her side. “Pardon, my lord?”

“I thought we might emulate Their Majesties--” his hand slithers around hers, pale skin pressed to kid glove-- “and light up the floor with our majestic presence.”

He turns his back to them, ignoring Shirayuki’s stammered protests. “We’ll be back, Miss Kiki.”

And with only that, Sir Snake sweeps his wife out onto the floor, the skirt of her gown belling out behind her. She’s a vision beneath the lamplight, the chandeliers making the golden thread on her dress sparkle and shimmer, as if she were little more than a flame herself, guttering in the breeze.

She casts an alarmed glance over her shoulder, but it is not to beg him for help-- oh no, she spares it only for Miss Kiki, who waves her off with a bored expression. It seems Lady Seiran feels no particular proprietary sense over her snake of a fiancé.

He could stop this himself, of course; he’s her husband. He’d have every right to cut in, to demand this dance, but--

It would cause a scene, one that might make a lord think twice about entering into an already risky venture. Jealous husbands seldom made for easy negotiations. Especially with a man who already showed such enthusiasm for dressing the wife.

So instead, Obi grinds his teeth, watching a gloved hand slither about her waist, drawing her close. Too close. Leave it to a serpent like Luigis to steal a man’s wife for a waltz.

Sir Hisame lifts his chin, meeting his gaze over her shoulder, and-- and smirks.

Obi startles as a hand falls on his wrist. “Careful,” Kiki drawls softly, never taking her gaze from the pair, “that’s crystal.”

He eases his chokehold on the glass. “You’re not going to stop him?”

“He’s right.”

Obi nearly does a double take right there in the ballroom. Kiki Seiran, saying that this man had a point--

“You were drawing attention hovering at the edge of the room like that,” she continues, gaze fixed to where the dancers float across the floor, faint smile firmly in place. “Though I suppose the honeymoon might be over, after--”

“I just don’t like this,” he interjects, darting a pointed glance at the young boy between them. Ryuu’s not paying attention of course, only worrying the sleeves of his borrowed jacket as he eyes the crowd warily, as if someone might ask him to dance at any time. “It’s all a little...neat.”

Her gaze drags to his for a long moment. Sir Hisame, so recently embroiled in the Bergatt incident, now in the room of a man avoiding royal attention. She couldn’t miss the implication.

“He won’t do anything to her,” she says, looking back out to the floor. “It wouldn’t behoove him to lose his fiancée’s good graces so soon after he has won them, would it?”

He grunts into his wine. “Goodness, how highly you think of your betrothed.”

Her mouth hooks into a sharp smile. “He’s only slightly more likely to attempt something than you are.”

His jaw drops. “There’s a child here.”

Ryuu frowns. “I’m not a child, I’m fifteen.”

He has a point, but Obi knows exactly what he was doing at fifteen, and he wouldn’t discuss any of that in Ryuu’s hearing either.

Kiki’s brow arches, too amused. “Oh, is that the excuse you’re using now?”

Obi’s tempted to open his mouth, to inform her that she must have old information, for not only has Shirayuki been in his bed, but also--

Also, he knows the softness of her skin and the way she whines as his hands roam across it, how her breath goes shallow when he kisses at her thighs, the precise shape of her mouth as he licks between them, tasting the sweetness that lies there--

His breath huffs out harshly. He really shouldn’t be thinking of any of that right now. Not when he needs a clear head.

“In any case, he’s the safest partner in this ballroom tonight.” Kiki cuts her gaze toward him and Ryuu. “Present company excluded.”

“I’m not worried that he’s going to whisk her away,” he grumbles, taking another sip from his glass. His aching jaw can attest to how little Shirayuki has to complain. “I’m worried about the sort of poison he could spit in her ear.”

You might try searching a bed for your next assignment. It’s been years since the words were spoken, but they scald him still. That little prick of a clerk is clear in his mind, wielding gossip like a blade, trying to draw first blood. Too bad a clerk did not need his wit so sharp as a concubine in the harem; he’d think twice before trying to cross blades with Shirayuki again. But the Vice Captain...

Well, if his time at Sereg was any indication, Sir Hisame could wield more venom than one inconsequential clerk. And he had Shirayuki at the perfect distance to sink the knife in, with no one being none the wiser.

“Master Ryuu, Sir Obi.”

He doesn’t startle, but it’s a close thing; only the fact that he is here as a knight of the royal circle keeps his heels firmly planted to the parquet.

It does not seem to fool Lugilia’s steward. When he turns to face him, his smug smile is already in place. “Sorry to have kept you.”

He might be new to this whole knight thing, but he’s learned a thing or two from watching Master. Obi lets the apology hand in the air, getting heavy, stale, awkward.

Shou’s smile practically creaks from the weight of it. “He’s had many people keeping him occupied.”

Obi isn’t in the habit of pulling rank-- that’s a good way to get spit with your tea in the morning-- but standing here, dressed in this gaudy monkey suit at a party he’s been press-ganged into-- by proxy, no less--

Well, he’s quickly running out of fucks for this man’s tender feelings. “Meaning we can speak with him now?”

“Indeed.” He mislikes how amused the man sounds. “In fact, he’s already headed Lady Shirayuki’s way.”

“What?” Obi whips his gaze to the floor, but it’s too late, far too late. The band still plays, but the dancing has stopped, every guests’ eye drawn to where a young lord stands at the center of the floor, his arm outstretched--

Holding a flower. A rose, though its crimson petals pale compared to the hair of the woman he offers it to.

His glove creaks at his side. he’s an idiot, letting her leave his side. The steward had tried to separate them once before, back when he got them into these costumes, and Obi’d been wise to it then, but then he let that serpent just take her--

“Who is that?” A lady not far from his squints through the dancers. “That red-haired girl?”

To his other side, a man murmurs, “Does she know Lord Eisetsu?”

Shirayuki is no stranger to this sort of attention; her harem mask is well in place, smile welcoming and body open. But the rest of her is frozen, coiled for flight, like a vixen cornered in her den. And this particularly canny hound has no intention of letting her slip past.

“She must, she must,” laughs a woman, words pitched soft, “or at least, she will by the end of the night.”

“Oh?” It’s a man who answers, confused. “I thought she was already on someone’s arm tonight.”

With a hand that doesn’t shake, she accepts the rose.

“What does that matter?” snickers another guest. “A girl like that couldn’t do better than Eisetsu, and I’m sure her husband knows it!”

Obi shakes himself, loosening his fist. Let them talk. In a few months, all these old dogs will be saying her name like a new trick, this whole night forgotten like a bad dream.

Eisetsu looks up as she cradles the rose to her breast, meeting Obi’s gaze over her shoulder. He expects a nod, a polite acknowledgement of their connection, a tacit question about this approach--

But instead that horse-faced fuck smiles, smiles, like a man who’s already won, like she’s some sort of prize.

“Trust him,” Kiki murmurs, and for a moment he wants to ask her if she’s gone mad, if she can really tell him to trust the man who thinks Shirayuki is an object to be passed from man to man--

Until Hisame steps between them. Or rather, behind Shirayuki, his hand laid protectively over her shoulder, blocking Eisetsu’s gloat.

“He knows how to handle this sort of thing,” Kiki tells him, smoothing down his sleeve.

“I suppose he’d have to,” Obi mutters, “this is just the sort of move he loves to pull.”

Kiki’s mouth tugs into a smile. “Hush.”

Despite his timely help at Sereg, and the miraculous way he has wormed himself into Wistal’s good graces, Sir Snake could only be trusted as far as his leash. A length, Obi thinks, should only be long enough for him to hang himself with.

But he trusts Kiki, and if she thinks they can rely on slithering fiancé for this, well, he’ll--

Call her a fool, because there the fork-tongued little cuss is, fleeing away from the scene as Lord Eisetsu sweeps his wife from the ballroom.

“Son of a bitch,” he hisses. “That rat--”

“Obi, just wait. I’m sure--”

“Oh yes,” he shrugs off her grasp, stepping away, “looks like he clearly has it handled. You should marry him for that display alone.”

She casts him a warning look, arms folded tight against her chest. “Obi...”

“Ah, Sir Obi!” Hisame hails him with a raised hand as he weaves through the crowd, mouth quirked into a smirk. “Just in time. You should--”

Obi shoulders past him. “I don’t need to be told how to deal with my wife, sir.”

The snake’s mouth snaps shut, but there’s no time to enjoy his speechlessness, not when Eisetsu is nearly out the door, tugging a reluctant Shirayuki behind him.

“My lady,” he calls out, unclasping his cape. It slides easier than his others, he notes with no little annoyance. If he makes it through this, he’ll have to ask a man about some clasps.

Shirayuki spins on her heel, relief plain on her face. “Obi!”

He gives her a tight smile, just a bend of his lips. “My lady, you’ll be cold out there.”

With a flick of his wrist the cloak settles on her shoulders, smooth and even as if it had been hers to begin with, another part of her glittering ensemble. He takes a step closer, hands splaying out over her collar, feeling the way she trembles beneath them. “Please wear this.”

“Obi...” she breathes, heat fanning over his lips, and he lifts a hand, curling a smooth, kid-clad finger beneath her chin. Her mouth parts, just slightly, and--

Well, he knows an invitation when he sees one.

His lips brush hers, and that’s all he means it to be, a soft touch to let Eisetsu know that she was not some neglected noble wife, eager to let a more passionate man roll her, but--

But Shirayuki turns into him, clutching his tunic with her kitten claws, and whimpers.

This is, by all accounts, a formal occasion, a private soiree where the guest list has been scrupulously maintained to assure only the outcome most desirable for its host. Obi isn’t sure what they’ve done to earn their place among its honored press, what strange whim has seen them thrown into this kettle of conspirators, but whatever Eisetsu has planned, it can’t have involved a no-name knight and his wife sharing a passionate kiss in front of an utterly silent ballroom.

Good.

His arms cinches around her waist, drawing her tight against him. Her lips part on a gasp, leaving her soft, pliant, and it’s too much to ask him to behave when he remembers how she had looked in the lamplight of his bedroom, head thrown back in abandon as she chased the pleasure only his hands and tongue could give her.

His glove slips from her chin, the whole of his palm sliding along her cheek until he can tangle his fingers deep in the mass of her hair. It’s done up tight, a proper twist for a lady, but in his memory it’s loose, a shining sea of copper curling down the pale skin of her back, and he wants to lose himself it in it, in all of her.

It’s her that opens her mouth, that lets the tip of her tiny tongue dart out, insinuating itself between his lips, and oh, he should have done this sooner--

Someone coughs, awkward. Ah, right. They have an audience.

He steps away, taking in her flushed face, bruise lips, the way her hair has nearly come loose from its clip-- her clip, the one they’d bought only a day ago-- and it takes everything he has in him not to pull her back to him.

“Well.” He retreats another step; a safer distance with the way his blood is thrumming so headily beneath his flesh. “I’ll be waiting inside, my lady.”

She blinks, the heat banking in her eyes as she realizes that they are not alone, that only steps away is the man she needs convince of the Phostyrias’ usefulness. Which she can’t do if her mouth is occupied with his, unfortunately. “T-thank you, Obi.”

He turns to the lord, mouth curving into a satisfied smile as he takes in Eisetsu’s deflated posture. “I leave my wife in your care, Lord Eisetsu.”

The lord startles, giving him a wary, wide-eyed stare. “Yes. I’ll....be sure to get her back before she catches a chill.”

He lets his smile go sharp. “See to it you do.”

[ckret2]

Conversational Pteranodon 101

Rodan is getting frustrated with Ghidorah’s inability to understand that he’s inviting them into his nest, so he’s got no choice but to teach them the local language.

By throwing rocks at them.

This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots; but tbh it pretty much stands alone, no need to read the others to get this one. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

The red sprite spoke to them sometimes.

They had no idea what he was saying. They could tell it was language—the sounds he made were short, shifting, and warbling—but they didn't understand a word of it. Couldn't even tell where the words divided.

They'd never let being unable to understand the aliens around them bother them before. Indeed, they'd found some sadistic pleasure in their detachment—a sense of smug superiority in the knowledge that those around them were trying to communicate with them, perhaps desperate to do so, but they could not and would not give the little aliens the satisfaction of being understood. They were unstoppable, inexorable, and implacable, because they could not even comprehend the pleas and bargains being flung at their feet.

But now the red sprite was talking to them, in bursts of words and long expectant looks; and for the first time they could remember, it bothered them that they didn't know what he was trying to convey.

He'd recovered nicely from the wound the bug had given him. He flew around the island from time to time now—not far, and not to go anywhere, but flying a long loop over the sea to the east and continent to the west. Most days, when it was clear, he never left their sight. They'd usually watch him fly.

For a while, when they saw him coming back, they flew up to meet him so they could steer him toward landing on the north side of the island, where the breezes he stirred up wouldn't disturb the machine makers on the south side of the island, until they’d trained him to do it automatically. This planet didn't have the most advanced machine makers that they'd ever seen—but in the short time they'd been in ice, this new crop of machine makers that had sprung up out of nowhere had already learned to fly and make weapons that stung deeply. So they weren't going to take any chances in letting the red sprite accidentally get on their bad side.

While the red sprite flew around, they didn't. They had nowhere to fly, nothing they wanted to see. Third thought they should. Sometime. Soon. Even if it was just aimless exploring. If they were staying on this world a while, they ought to get to know it a little better. Second argued that he had a point, and First reluctantly conceded that further exploration would be necessary soon; but they could start to get to know the world from the island, where they could also watch over their red sprite.

There wasn't a lot of room to crawl around—a bit to east and west of the volcano, a medium patch of land to the north, a much shorter patch to the south before the volcanic rock ended and what remained of the machine makers' buildings started. But, they had been engineered to live in confined spaces, and even after taking proportionate sizes into account, this wasn't the smallest place they'd ever lived. Coastlines felt far freer than walls, anyway. They were content—for now, anyway—when they forced themselves not to remember how ephemeral this all was and how they should be burning down this world—they were content to crawl around what space on the island they had. There were strange plants to sniff, with green petals on tall stiff stalks; and there were machines that the machine makers left on the edges of their new territory to peer at, examine, and toss into the buildings where they belonged if they seemed too threatening.

They could be content with this for a little bit.

The red sprite, apparently, couldn't.

His attempts at communication came more frequently now—sometimes while he perched in his volcano and they curled around the top near him, sometimes when he hopped down to meet them in the plants, sometimes when coming and going from the island. He called out in words they couldn't understand; and when that didn't work—how could it? they had no context to learn what the words referred to—he started hopping in front of them or beside them, expectantly, like he wanted to direct them to something, but when they waited for him to push them toward whatever he wanted to show them, he didn't.

Eventually, he got fed up.

Which was why, one day, while First was nudging over a dead dolphin Third had found on the beach for them all to examine, a rock smacked Third in the head.

They whirled around, hissing, wings raised high to frighten back their assailant. Second jerked forward, snapping at the air. The red sprite hopped back a couple of steps and ducked his head. Him? They lowered their wings, confused. Why did he attack them?

Once they'd folded up their wings and settled on the ground, the red sprite carefully picked up a chunk of rock from the base of his volcano, expertly flipped it into the air, watched it as it fell, and then head butted it at them. This time, it hit First's neck.

They drew back from the red sprite, deeply offended. What in the world was he doing? What was this pathetic excuse for an assault? Was he trying to say he didn't even consider them worth fighting properly? After they had blasted him into the ocean on his own home turf?

The red sprite clearly enunciated a sound. Stared at them patiently. And then picked up another rock and repeated the process. This one landed between Second's eyes. He snarled at the red sprite, electricity dancing around his teeth. The red sprite hopped back another step, and repeated the same sound.

Another rock went up. They slowly started to lift their wings again. But this time, when the rock came down, the red sprite smacked it high into the air with his beak. They all watched as it arced into the air and landed in the volcano. Was it supposed to do that? Had he been aiming for that?

The red sprite looked back at them, and clearly enunciated a different sound.

Oh—oh. Third snapped at First's horns. Words! He was teaching them words. They dropped down to all fours again and took a few steps closer—not hissing this time. Okay, they got it now. They'd be an attentive student.

This time, when the red sprite knocked a rock at them that landed on their wing and rolled to the ground and repeated the first sound, First attempted to repeat it back. His tongue felt thick, too long, and unwieldy; his jaw wouldn't move to make the sound he wanted, and felt like it stubbornly refused to slide into the position he wanted. He rubbed his face against Third's neck, as though that would help. The problem was that it had been whole solar systems since they'd last spoken in any way that needed their mouths. The songs they sang to sway minds came from their chest, lungs, and throats. All they needed to do with their mouths was keep them open. Why did they need words when they could talk to each other with a thought?

Unsatisfied with First's out of practice croak, red sprite repeated the sound several more times, as they each tried and failed to say it to red sprite's satisfaction. Eventually, they got it through Second making the long rasping part that started down in their chest while First contributed the rising trill in the middle.

The red sprite looked between the two of them, like he was trying to figure out if they were cheating; but they repeated it, this time Third singing the high part and First singing the low, and the red sprite was apparently content that the trick, if not fair, was at least consistent. He knocked the rock into the volcano and they repeated the process for their second new word.

It wasn't until they'd mastered "volcano" that they realized, with a collective jolt, that the first word he'd taught them had to be his name for them.

They had a name, now. All together, all three of them. They had a name. When was the last time they’d had a name?

Lesson concluded, the red sprite picked up another rock—were they going learn another word?—knocked it into their chest, hopped forward and picked it back up, and knocked it into the volcano. Then he said their name, said "volcano," fluttered to the top, settled in the lava, and looked at them expectantly.

Oh. Ohhh, did he want them to—? They climbed up and paused just outside the remains of the machine maker structure circling the rim of the caldera. The red sprite shuffled back, leaving as much empty space as possible. He did. Why? Did he think they were cold? Did he want them to be more comfortable? Did he want them to be closer to him? Did he want—?

Their heart pounded faster. Their tails twisted and untwisted. Did he want...?

They climbed into the caldera.

The lava was barely on the tolerable side of hot, as long as they kept their wings out of it. Now that they were in the caldera with him, the red sprite visibly relaxed—but remained near the rim. They tried to settle down in the lava, letting it ooze around their legs and the bases of their twisted tails.

This wasn't actually very pleasant, they decided.

They continued sitting anyway, waiting to see what exactly the red sprite wanted to do with them now that they were in the lava. They had theories—a theory, anyway—a theory that tied them in knots.

Before they'd gotten frozen at the tip of the world, they'd occasionally seen other red sprites. Back then, they'd never paid much attention to the red sprites—but they had seen that each had its own private nest at the top of a volcano. They had seen that this was one of those planets where the animals by and large reproduced in pairs. They had seen the occasional pair of red sprite perched together on top of one's volcano. They hadn't watched to see what the pairs did—but they could guess.

And now, they desperately wished they had bothered to watch, just so they'd know what it looked like.

They even more desperately hoped that their red sprite only wanted to nuzzle. Because that was all they were physically capable of offering him.

He watched them keenly from where he huddled, sitting near the rim, legs and the bottom of his wings in the lava. After a while, though, he stood and shook off the excess lava, flinging drops of liquid rock off so that as it dried on his wings it formed streaks. Then he hopped closer to them, looking up at them, gaze darting between their eyes. Expectantly.

They could feel their heart pounding in their throats. They wanted to.

Second corrected: First wanted to.

Third re-corrected: Third kinda wanted to, too.

But it didn't matter, if they couldn't. And they couldn't. How did they show him that? How did they indicate to him that they would accept if they were able (probably; depending on the one holdout), but they weren't? That this wasn't a rejection, but an impossibility?

How were they supposed to tell him that they did want him when they couldn't show him with their body and when they only knew two words?

He continued to stare at them. But he didn't make any other moves—didn't come closer, didn't gesture, didn't speak. Maybe he was waiting for them to make the first move.

Finally—perhaps once he’d decided they weren't going to do anything—he shuffled back from them and settled more comfortably in his nest, sinking down into the lava until only his shoulders, chest, and head were visible.

They needed to be able to communicate with him. They had to understand each other. Two words weren't going to hold them very long.

Third stretched over to the rim of the volcano, broke off a crumbly chunk of warm rock, and dropped it on the red sprite's head. He blinked and shook his head to get the crumbling pebbles out of his eyes, then looked up at them attentively.

"Red sprite," First said. Even speaking their most familiar language, his voice sounded wrong.

The red sprite fluttered his wings. "Respite!"

"Red... sprite."

"Raw... spit."

Second snorted. Well, they could work on that.

The red sprite picked up another rock, burst out of the lava and into the air. As he flew in a tight circle around them, he tossed the rock up, let it bounce and roll off his own back, and let out a long, carrying cry. Oh. Yes, of course—he already had a name of his own, didn't he? They didn't need to give him one.

Could he only say it while he was flying? They watched silently, hoping he would say it again; and after a moment he did. His name was synchronized with his flapping cycle, beginning as his wing reached its peak, extending in a long cry on the downstroke, fading on the upstroke.

They copied it as best they could—all three singing it together—lifting and lowering their wings enough to kick up dust along the volcano's sides but not enough to lift up. For them to truly say his name would require enough of a flap to risk kicking up a tropical depression.

The sound was apparently close enough to satisfy him. He landed in his nest again, settled down, and chirped.

It was a start.

The red sprite wasn't chasing them out of his nest, so they assumed they were still welcome even if they weren't doing whatever it was he was hoping for. They folded their wings in, curled in a crescent around the red sprite—their upper body tracing the circumference of the rim, legs in the caldera, tails wrapped loosely toward the middle where the red sprite sat.

They started brainstorming a list of other words they'd need to learn.

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome & encouraged! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of Ghidorah-centric and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

[platypan]

Greg is a Chaos Fairy, Wirt needs to learn to Say No, and Sara's day just got Cursed With Being Interesting--complete!

Chapter 7: All's Well that Ends Well

To Sara’s right, in the darkness, the barely-visible phosphorescent bridge suddenly lit in a whirling column of green light. The darkness withdrew to show a black horse with a mane and tail of smoke, and coals for eyes--standing stiff as a plastic model--Wirt, half off the horse, some extra mysterious flailing appendages, and in the middle of everything, the goblin priest. Wirt and the appendages fell to the cobbles at the end of the bridge with a metallic clatter, and Sara began trying to inch around towards him.

“You dare much, Priest,” said an echoey voice.

“Jacqueline la Corriveau!” he laughed. “I have your cutlass, and your horse, and your love--”

The little pile of appendages and Wirt disentangled, and a very small person in a nun habit dodged around the priest’s arm and on to the bridge, the cutlass flailing in one hand behind her. “Oh, my darling,” she cried. “Jacqueline!”

“You do not have my love, it appears,” said the voice, and a dark arm, green-tinged, slapped over the edge of the bridge. Its knuckles whitened. The nun dropped the cutlass and ran to throw her tiny weight into helping, but washed back in a surge of river water that covered the bridge, and slapped them all with icy spray. When it ebbed, and they wiped their eyes, a woman in rags stood in the center of the bridge. She looked as though she’d been formed of black marble, her hair in a sweeping bun of dangling braids, her jaw defiant, and her every motion graceful. Sara’s spine straightened of its own accord.

“Are you well,” the nun threw her arms around the spirit’s waist.

“Well, I’m dead.” She held the nun, stroking the head of her habit. “Where have you been.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” the nun started to sob, and the spirit rocked her, eyes fixed on the priest. The whirlwind of green light whipped their clothes around.

“What do you do here, godless man of the church?”

“Even in death, you are indeed a beauti--”

“Do not continue,” she advised. “Why have you taken my old friend captive?”

Sara edged along the edge of the path, as far as possible from the bridge, the green windy light, and Deckenbrode. She crept around the front of the horse, having a vague idea about the danger of kicking hooves, and grabbed Wirt’s shoulder. “Are you alright?!”

“Are you? Where’s Greg?!” he whispered back, reaching out, and then yanking his hand back. “I--I think we both--” he oofed as Greg scuttled under the motionless horse to throw both arms around him. “Greg!”

“You guys have to stop wandering off,” Greg whispered, grabbing for Sara, and the three of them squeezed each other for a few seconds before Wirt and Sara leapt away, blushing hotly.

“What’s going on,” Sara jerked her thumb at the bridge. “I mean I’ve met Deckenbrode, but what.” Her hand accidentally brushed his, and they both jerked away.

Wirt pointed, shielding his mouth. “That’s the priest?!”

“Yeah, he attacked a witch,” Sara whispered back.

“She’s so much better than our witch, Wirt,” Greg sighed.

“Anway!” Wirt flapped his arms, quietly, to himself. “The priest is evil! He framed her--” here he pointed at the taller woman on the bridge, “--That’s Jacqueline, the ghost, la Corriveau--for murder, and now she haunts the bridge--”

“Oh, we’ve heard about her,” Greg nodded, holding his frog up to see over the bridge railing they were crouched behind.

Wirt pulled him back down. “Yeah, okay, the person hugging her is her ex-fiancee, the nun, Henriette-I-did-not-get-a-last-name, and this is her horse--friend--the orc is controlling it with some--some God thing--” he knocked on the statue-like leg they hid behind, “--and the orc priest’s trying to steal her pirate treasure, from when she was a pirate.”

“Pirates,” Greg bounced on his toes.

“What in heaven’s name,” Phoebe landed on Sara’s head. “He is rather an orc, isn’t he.”

“This is Phoebe,” Sara waved upwards.

“I am a ruby-crested kinglet,” Phoebe announced and Wirt’s eyes narrowed as he mouthed it, nodding.

“You will submit,” the priest was shouting, his tiny tail flicking back and forth in excitement.

“That orc’s tail’s got a blue bow on it,” Greg pointed out, fascinated, and Phoebe blinked.

“That it does.”

“Why are you even here,” Jacqueline la Corriveau called back, her rags and hair wafting around her.

He made a slavering noise around his tusks. “I won’t give your horse back until you tell me the secret.”

“What bloody secret,” the column of green light whipped faster.

“Sara,” Phoebe cheeped, flitting to land on the horse to see what was going on. “Wirt, also, sorry--I think we should either be on that side of the bridge, or we ought to leave now. Deckenbrode is worse than--”

“I know!” Sara whispered, leaning out between the bridge railing and the horse.

Wirt swallowed, eyeballing the middle of the bridge, “...that huge goblin man is taking up this whole end of the bridge. We could get a rock, and--” he set his jaw, swallowing.

“Okay!” Greg leapt to his feet, and Sara grabbed them both back.

“Calm down!”

“I got this,” said Phoebe, whipping in to scratch Deckenbrode’s face, and Sara grabbed Greg’s hand, he grabbed Wirt’s, and they dashed onto the bridge and across to where the nun was finally pulling away, wiping her eyes. She beckoned them close, and stood in front of them, holding the cutlass.

The priest roared, swiping the air with his four-inch claws, but Phoebe dodged his flailing, yanking hair out of his ear with her beak, and flitted over to land on Wirt’s hat. “It’s certainly a good thing kinglets are such agile fliers,” she panted, as he stomped around, shaking the stonework of the whole bridge. “Holy tomatoes.” She exchanged an indignant chirrupy noise with Sara’s fierce nod, turning in a little circle around Wirt’s hat to catalog Greg, Wirt, and Sara safely in the middle of the bridge. Jaqueline and Henriette stood before them, and there were at least a couple of yards of bridge between them and the roaring priest.

“The treasure, spirit,” he snarled, smacking the Cheval Gauvin on the shoulder. “Surrender it, or I order this demon to kill that disobedient sister.”

“There is no treasure,” Jacqueline le Corriveau screamed back, her eyes lighting with green fire from within, and her arms stretching toward him.

“I think there is,” said the nun, touching her shoulder, holding out the cutlass between her forefinger and thumb.

“Henriette,” Jacqueline paused. “My love. No. She sent me the Cheval Gauvin, and the cutlass.” She smelled of sulphur, but considering her state of being, thankfully nothing worse.

“There is more to the cutlass,” the nun sighed, pulling out a pair of glasses and squinting at the hilt, before tucking them away again.

“--don’t cut yourself--” Jacqueline reached out, and Henriette took her hand and held it.

“With this salt water I summon thee,” she rubbed the butt of the cutlass up her cheekbone, and then knelt, and slid it spinning along the ground at the goblin priest. He snatched it up, holding it over his head, as the edge of it burst into black flame.

Jacqueline yelled “Henry, what are you doing?!” --and the goblin priest screamed.

The flames flared up in lines over his arm, and body, then vanished in smoke. He smacked at his face as it distorted, choking and gagging, until a watermelon-sized glob of smoke bounced out and spun in place at the foot of the bridge, before forming into a sinuous column of smoke, vaguely-human shaped, with horns, or maybe antlers.

“Wowza Fudgesicles,” Greg whispered to Phoebe, who had beeped, startled.

“Let’s just step back a bit further,” she suggested, and Wirt and Sara hauled the struggling Greg back another few feet along the bridge.

“...hello, my Jacqueline,” the new horned smoke-creature hissed, its voice all gibbering echoes. Sara shuddered, suddenly nostalgic for Auntie Greenleaf’s calm chorus. “My love, my--”

“You,” Jacqueline stepped back. “I owe you nothing, you set me free with no--”

“I will have your heart one day,” the shadow grew, spreading. “Its brilliance shall burn me.”

“Why can’t these people keep their feelings off you,” Henriette frowned, stepping in front of her.

“She is really pretty,” Sara touched her curls, frowning, and Wirt closed his eyes, flailing his hand at hers a few times before successfully grasping it. He gave it a squeeze.

“Just as--you are--pretty as--” he tried. “Oh my god.”

“Do you think so?” she grinned, watching as Jacqueline la Corriveau stood shoulder to shoulder with her nun, holding hands.

“Where is my treasure,” the priest roared.

“Oh, that,” the smoke-creature sighed. “Are you prepared for the trade?”

“What,” Jacqueline frowned, raising her hand again.

“The trade, of course, I’m not a storage depot,” it sighed, and the breeze blew hot dry air enough to dry everyone’s eyes.

Jacqueline frowned behind her at Wirt, Phoebe, Greg, and Sara, drawing her nun forward, so the two of them were braced between the shadow-creature and the children. Phoebe flitted forward to land on the nun habit. “If we need to, I can distracted him again while you go for the cutlass.”

“We were not aware of a trade,” Jacqueline told him.

“And yet you are here, with my horse, and the cutlass on which I inscribed my sigil.” It sounded doubtful.

“...the Cheval Gauvin is yours?” she asked shakily, and Deckenbrode stepped in front of it.

“My shadows, in trade for precious matter of your world,” the smoke figure agreed. “I see it has not become any more of a conversationalist.”

“No, it has,” Jacqueline’s eyes shone. “It is only controlled, right now.”

“Take him back, and bring forth the treasure, I command you, spirit!” the orc-priest brandished his cross, and the shadow-creature focused on him without turning, growing to loom over his head.

“You command me,” it whispered, the strange echoes of its voice giggling and sobbing. “You, a--” the side facing Jacqueline leaned closer, separating from the rest. “What is it, actually?”

“A fallen priest,” breathed the nun. “A murderer, and a thief. Transformed to a goblin, for giving insult to Auntie Greenleaf.”

“Oh. She does tend to do that. Quite large,” the segment of shadow looming over Deckenbrode leaned closer, many of its echoes sounding pleased. “A fallen priest, you say. How interesting.”

“You can’t have Cheval Gauvin,” Jacqueline whispered, then took a deep breath. “You can’t. You can keep the treasure.”

“I demand you release the treasure!” Deckenbrode swung at the shadow, and passed through, and it wriggled.

“It would never do to inconvenience you, my sweet Jacqueline,” it giggled with a thousand voices. “I will take this befouled man of god in his place, he looks...delicious.” It whirled around Deckenbrode, who shrieked, before both vanished with the sound of a thunderclap. The Cheval Gauvin came out of its daze with a prance upon the cobbles, nearly sliding into the river as it shook itself thoroughly. Jacqueline ran to throw her arms around its neck, and it nuzzled her braids. Where Deckenbrode had stood were chests, and sacks, a pile of scrolls, and books with worked metal covers stacked high as Sara’s waist. Phoebe flitted over to investigate. “...there’s a bag of durian fruit here. I see why he gave it back. I say, your majesty--”

“Oh, don’t,” Jacqueline sighed.

Phoebe hopped around among the bags, and tugged at the buckle closing a book. “We were aided by Auntie Greenleaf, and aided you in turn. Could you speak to her? Offer her--something?”

“Certainly, I have no use for it,” Jacqueline hugged her horse friend tighter.

“The treasure.” It nosed at Jacqueline’s face, lipping at her hair. “I am...forfeit, then?”

“No,” she rested the flat of her hand against its nose, rubbing gently. “No, it--it took Deckenbrode.”

“...that was an option?”

“You knew there was treasure,” Henriette approached, frowning. “Why didn’t you--”

“I knew I had been traded,” it shook its head, snorting. “You overestimate the intelligence of a lopped-off pile of shadows. It took time for my queen to teach me speech.”

Henriette reached out to it, then patted Jacqueline’s shoulder instead. “You’d have been --absorbed?”

“The marvelous Cheval Gauvin would have been no more,” it hung its head. “Do not throw yourself off the bridge, however, for--”

“You are well,” Jacqueline stepped back, smiling. “You will remain well, for I do not believe you can take ill, and I doubt you’ll age.”

“Oh bells,” the nun sighed. “Neither of you two beauties will, but I certainly shall.”

The shadow-horse huffed, sidling restlessly, then butted her with its nose. “Of course I shall fetch you,” it said stiffly. “When you die. As I did my lady.”

“Oh!” Jacqueline and Henriette both started to cry, throwing their arms around its neck, and it flicked its tail.

Wirt rolled his eyes. “Look how self-satisfied it is.”

“Wirt, you were riding a horse,” Greg gasped. “We had to rub magic tiger juice on our feet and it didn’t even turn us into tigers--”

“And you met that orc, oh my god, I’m the worst brother ever--” he grabbed at his hair, yanked on the hand Sara was holding, looked at their clasped hands, and stalled out, eyes wide.

“I kept an eye on them,” Phoebe flitted over and bumped his cheek with her head.

“And I have not been introduced to all of you.” Jacqueline smiled, wiping her eyes, one arm around the Cheval Gauvin, one around Henriette the nun. “Are you four all right?”

“Don’t forget my frog. He’s named Sara,” Greg waved him overhead, and Sara punched his shoulder. “We are all fine!”

“I am Phoebe Snetsinger,” Phoebe poofed up again to twice her size, then fluttered her wings and tail, preening. “Thank you for your assistance.” She sidled along Wirt’s shoulder to see everyone.

“That one’s Wirt--” Henriette pointed.

“Hullo,” Wirt waved worriedly.

“I met him when your horse asked him to rob my church.”

The Cheval Gauvin snorted. “Just as well I did, Henry, or Deckenbrode would be here yelling at our pirate queen, and she’d be trying to tug him into the water--”

“He was so heavy,” Jacqueline sighed.

“Oh no,” Henriette sat down, abruptly, in the middle of the bridge. “He’s dead, or as good as, oh no!”

“Oh, she’s a nun now,” Cheval Gauvin leaned his head down, and Jacqueline sat next to her. “She feels bad about things like murder!”

“Not that, I mean, he was terrible, I wouldn’t have killed him, but--”

“I would,” muttered the horse. “I still think he publicised Jacqueline was hiding here, somehow. How did pirates keep finding her? Did he take out an advertisement? I’d certainly have killed him.”

“I tried my best, he weighed a ton, I couldn’t heft him over the edge--” Jacqueline told it, behind her hand. Phoebe chirped sympathetically.

“Not that--” Henriette rolled her eyes. “He was also blackmailing people--I’d almost gotten at his records, when he got thrown out of the church,” she sighed, waving her hand at the treasure pile. “Now there’s all this money, but I don’t know who to give it to, and they aren’t likely to tell me!”

“You were investigating him?!”

“Well, of course, I wasn’t called to love God, I was called to love you,” she bit her lips, then leaned up and kissed Jacqueline’s cheek. “He was hunting you! My mother did set me on course for the Church, but I...I waited by the window, hoping you’d ride by, ready for the evidence I had compiled. And then I hear you’re married-- ”

“Well,” Jacqueline ducked her head, clearing her throat. “That was actually…”

“He told her he was my queen’s second mate,” the horse’s face lowered into the conversation. “To share in the treasure, he needed only her name on a paper, he said.”

“Of course he comes to call and thinks I’m hiding it somewhere,” Jacqueline leaned her face in her hands. “He tore up my floor.”

“He threatened her with an axe,” the horse clacked its shoes against the cobbles, huffing. “And that priest kept lurking around--”

“You poor child,” Phoebe scuttled over to Jacqueline’s hand.

“We brought his records!” Sara clapped, and they all turned to stare at her, waving with one hand, the other rifling her bag. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you two have oh, just, so much to talk about! But--we do! Have it!” She held up the book they’d stolen from Auntie Greenleaf.

“How on earth,” Wirt blinked.

“We got sent to steal too,” Greg patted his leg. “We’re just a family of bandits.”

“So,” Wirt settled between Sara and Greg, blushing as Sara’s shoulder brushed his own.

Greg shivered. “I’m not cold,” he announced, but after Phoebe flitted up to the ear of the Cheval Gauvin, it huffed a snicker. Its hooves rang against the cobbles as it walked carefully over to them, and dropped its butt to sit just behind Greg, radiating heat like a hot coal. Wirt edged closer, and the horse leaned to nudge Sara after him.

“Thank you,” Wirt looked up, slowly reaching out to pat a mostly-substantial leg. “Uh, so,” he tried again, looking over at the ghost and the nun, who were leaning against each other. “Um, would--how did--we’re really confused.”

“Yeah, how did you lose your pirate treasure but your girlfriend knew where it was all along,” Greg’s lips firmed disapprovingly.

“I was never a pirate,” Jacqueline scoffed--the horse raised its head, and she narrowed her eyes at it. “I--I am, I admit, in a way...the Pirate Queen.”

Wirt opened his mouth, frowning, and met with a peck from Phoebe, and a swift elbow from Sara and Greg. “Hush, Wirt, she’s a queen.”

“I am hardly that, in reality,” Jacqueline sighed, and Henriette laid her hand over Jacqueline’s softly glowing one, as she continued. “This all started when I was born, at sea. My mother went into labour out of fear, they told me--there was a storm, at night, and she wasn’t used to the rock of the decks. And then the ship shuddered--we’d been boarded, and, we learned later--”

“I love this story,” said the demon horse. Its eyes flamed attentively, and Jacqueline reached up to rub its nose.

“We were boarded, as I say. The crew said the pirate captain walked across to us, stepping from chain to chain after the volleys of grappling hooks. Her coat flapped in the wind, her hair was shorn to her head like a prisoner--and that’s what she was, we were told, later. She began her career sinking a ship transporting slaves to the New World. They say she used her chains to tangle the former captain’s fine leather boots, and swung him so hard out to sea he skipped across the surface of the water for three whole days, until his clothes had been torn from his wrinkled white body, and the hot sun of the equator set him in flames.”

“What was her name?” Sara blinked eyes wide as Greg’s.

“She told my mother it was Jacqueline,” Jacqueline sighed, and used her torn sleeve to buff the edge of the cutlass. “As my mother laboured belowdecks, my cries drew the attention of the pirate captain--”

“Were they singing?” Greg asked.

“What? No,” she blinked, and the whole bridge went a little dimmer as her eyelids flicked over the flames in her sockets.

“They weren’t real pirates, then,” he put his hands on his hips. “I know a better pirate story--a cabin boy--”

“Greg, stop,” Wirt hissed out the side of his mouth.

“He drills the side of a ship and sinks it,” Greg glowered back.

“It’s a good idea,” Jacqueline sighed, leaning into her nun. “I almost wish your cabin boy had been there.”

“Oh, no!” cried the nun, clasping the damp, forest green glowing hand in her own. “I can’t wish that.”

“Sometimes, I have,” Jacqueline sighed, but squeezed her hand. “Their captain broke through the wall of my mother’s cabin with an axe, and her high heeled boots, and we were struck dumb with terror...until she bent to pinch my cheek, and I screamed with such force her large hat flew out of the porthole.”

“Oh, no, her hat,” Greg clasped his hands over his mouth.

“Then...she said she would let us go.”

“Whaaaat?” Greg and Sara gasped, Phoebe bounced in place, and the horse huffed.

“She said she had always wanted a child, except for the mess, and the noise, and the very long time it takes us to become reasonable.”

“That’s all so true,” Wirt nodded, and Greg frowned over.

“So she would not sever our screaming heads from our bodies, she said, provided--” here she laughed, leaning her head in her hand. Greg, Sara, Wirt, the Cheval Gauvin, and the nun leaned in, holding their collective breath. “--provided, she said, I became her daughter. I was to take her name, and captain her ship--”

“Holy moly,” Greg put in, and she nodded. Wirt and Sara, both observing the ghost and the nun’s interlocked fingers, glanced sidelong at each other, and then stared at the ground, cheeks flushed.

“Of course,” she sighed, “--my mother agreed. What was she to say, to the woman who cut off her own arm to commission one with knives for fingers and two muskets for bones? Who used a lead ball instead of a glass eye, so if she ran out of shot, she could pull one last deadly round from her face? She, who tied a string of fuse to her heel so her body could be set as a bomb to cover her ship’s retreat?”

“She sounds terrifying,” Wirt squeaked, grabbing at the shoulder of Sara’s coat, and she clasped his hand, swallowing.

“Oh, she was,” Jacqueline sighed. “Mother said the lace of her jacket was smoldering, and occasionally she’d glare down, and the flames would pause.”

“She kinda sounds like a pro wrestler,” said Phoebe, and Jacqueline’s flame-eyes shuttered again in a startled blink.

“I--I suppose. I pity her opponent, in that case.”

“Anyway,” the horse put in, blowing its lips.

“Anyway.” She nodded. “She obtained my mother’s family name, and town, and as she left, flung the smoldering coat at the head of our first mate. It flared into an inferno the moment it left her hands--”

“Was she a demon,” Sara frowned at the horse.

“--and my mother lived in fear of the day she would visit, and claim me for her own, unknowing whether it would be my fifth birthday, or my fifteenth, or a dying, bedside request--that I come, and be her pirate daughter, and do howsoever she willed.”

“I have a couple relatives like that,” Sara muttered, and Wirt glanced at her wide-eyed, then muffled a giggle. She turned red.

“Wirt’s girlfriend--” Greg put his hands on his waist, ignoring their sputters. “I want to hear about the Pirate Queen.”

“She died,” Jacqueline stared into the darkness behind them. “I understand she dueled a cannon.”

“A what,” Wirt blinked.

“Wow,” Greg breathed.

“We do meet the most interesting people,” Phoebe whispered to Sara, who covered a laugh.

“She had told everyone where to find me--” Jacqueline swallowed hard, and the nun gasped, pulling her into a hug. “--and they came looking.”

“That’s when she met me,” the Cheval Gauvin wriggled, marching its front hooves against the cobblestones of the bridge. Greg and Phoebe yelped, and it snorted.

“She bid her steed bring me her cutlass,” Jacqueline nodded. “How she rode a horse on a pirate ship I don’t know--”

“I am no common horse,” put in the horse. “She rode me along the chains, over to the ships they attacked, and bullets passed through me like smoke.”

“Also terrifying,” Wirt whispered, then swallowed as Sara squeezed his hand.

“While she fought, I kicked down doors, freeing prisoners and claiming treasure.”

“This treasure,” Jacqueline sniffed. “I received only the cutlass. I knew how to use it--my mother did that much, for her promise, she found me teachers, and made sure I could ride, fight, shoot, and do sums.”

“Oh!” Greg nodded. “For the treasure.”

She nodded back. “She was uncertain what a pirate queen would need. I had a great many singing lessons, of course, and chemistry, in case she made her explosives herself.”

“Talk about me again,” said the Cheval Gauvin, and she sighed.

“...she had told everyone I would inherit her empire. Her ship--”

“It sank,” the demon horse put in helpfully. “But we can steal a new one!”

“--her treasure, which she failed to include instructions for--”

“Mostly she freed slaves,” it flicked its ears.

“In the end, all I had were a cutlass, the Cheval Gauvin--” it edged away from its pile of children and pranced in a circle, “--and a whole lot of pirates who thought she’d somehow given me a massive pile of gold.”

“Oh no,” Sara breathed, as the horse carefully eased its way back between them.

“Indeed,” Jacqueline laughed, her smile as lit from within as her eye sockets, bright in her greeny-brown face. “They came in ones and twos at first, and sometimes they were polite. They tore my house apart, hurt my family--so I left that place, that none should be hurt for my sake, and came here. I was suspicious of everyone…”

“Understandably, my dear!” Phoebe cheeped.

“--and eventually, they found me again. I would see them following, and we would lead them to places where the bank of the river was weak, or out into the bogs, where a cart and four oxen can disappear from this world in the time it takes to draw breath to scream. Sometimes, I took up the cutlass, and fought them myself.”

“I want to learn the cutlass,” Greg announced.

“No, Greg,” Wirt said automatically, and Greg dropped to the ground with a long sigh.

“I met my love, when her mother saw me riding into town, and asked that I lure her from her novels--”

“I didn’t read so many novels,” the nun ducked her head, her cheeks already too dark to see a blush, but Jacqueline pretended to touch one and be burned.

“Oh, the heat!”

“Hush, you,” she hid her face in the rags of Jacqueline’s shoulder, not appearing to mind the sulphurous smell.

“I’m glad to see the pirates didn’t get your girl, at least,” Phoebe fluffed up, her tail twitching.

“They did not,” Henriette beamed up at Jacqueline. “And with your book--” she beamed at Sara, who was smiling vaguely at Jacqueline, “--we may pay back the people Deckenbrode has harmed, and make ready for the new priest. She should ride in in a few days--she was very concerned at my account of the people here.”

“We might rebuild my house,” Jacqueline sat her chin on her hands.

“But aren’t you a nun?” Greg frowned at Henriette. “Can you just--move out, like that?”

“I haven’t actually taken vows,” she shrugged. “But they can try and stop me.” She leaned into Jacqueline, who bent her head to kiss her cheek, then her mouth, then her forehead. Henriette giggled.

“Actually,” Phoebe fluttered to Wirt’s knee, the most central of leg options. “It’s about time for us to go.”

“But it’s dark,” Sara frowned around in the dim green light of the ghost lanterns.

“Yes,” said Phoebe, “But we’re nearly out of time.”

Wirt frowned at her, then blinked, and stood up, brushing himself off. Greg hopped amiably to his feet, and collected his frog--it had decided to stare at Jacqueline too, after she caught it a large fly with one swift wave of her hand, and held it out by the wings. Sara got up to shake hands with Henriette and Jacqueline, and accept a nuzzle from the Cheval Gauvin. His whuffed breath felt like she’d waved her hand under a broiler.

“Thank you,” Henriette told Wirt, and then Sara, and Greg, before drawing them all into a hug.

“From I also,” Jacqueline stepped close to Sara, narrowed her eyes, and then awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Thank you for obtaining the book. It will save Henry, and the people of this village, much heartache.”

Sara nodded, wide-eyed.

“Would you like to kiss my frog?” asked Greg, of Jacqueline, and Henriette dove between them, while Phoebe ji-ji-jeeted what sounded like cackling laughter.

“No! No kissing of frogs! I just got her back!”

“I do not...usually kiss frogs?” Jacqueline blinked as Henriette flexed her muscles at the frog. She was barely taller than Greg, when he had the kettle on his head.

“Well, he didn’t say he wanted to be a prince anyway,” Greg huffed off toward the end of the bridge.

The Cheval Gauvin nudged Wirt. “You were much more helpful than the other children I kidnapped. You may go home.” Wirt stared at it, tugging at Sara’s sleeve, and they backed away from Henriette, who was waving, with big tears running down her cheeks, and Jacqueline, who was hugging her, face buried in her hair. The Cheval Gauvin was nuzzling Henriette’s other side, and she hugged its face.

Phoebe flitted to Wirt’s head. “It isn’t actually that far,” she chirped, and Greg nodded, trundling along.

“I guess it’s just as well we came?” Sara glanced over at Wirt, grimacing. “I mean. They needed that book. People were being blackmailed.”

“I’m so glad you came,” Wirt beamed at her, stumbled, and turned the color of communion wine as she caught him around the waist.

“It’s dark, maybe we should, um,” she held out her hand, and he approached it with his own like her thumb had a mousetrap mechanism. When they finally connected, they both stumbled, and Phoebe hopped off to land on Greg.

“It’s okay, they’re just gross like that,” he told her.

Greg’s natural pace wasn’t hurtling, exactly, but they were making fairly good time when Phoebe’s feathers caught Sara’s attention. “Uh, Phoebe?” She held out her hand, and Phoebe fluttered to it. She was nearly weightless, the only reminder of her presence her tiny claws. “Um, are you--are you glowing?”

“It looks rather fetching, doesn’t it?” she preened, her quick motions leaving silvery afterimages as their eyes tried to adjust to the dark.

“It looks like some of you is floating away,” Greg squinted in, and she cocked her head.

“Well, yes, there is that. We should keep walking, before I’m gone.”

Wirt swallowed. “Are--are you the bluebird?”

“What a limited imagination that woman had!” Phoebe fluttered indignantly. “A kinglet, I told her. I grew up around kinglets, they make me think of home.”

“You’re dead?” Greg asked, catching up to proceedings, and she chirped.

“In life, I was an ornithologist. Phoebe Snetsinger. I was the first person to spot over 8,000 different bird species. When I found myself here, I--it was fascinating, being a bird. Even if wasn’t a kinglet.”

Sara kept walking, uncertain what else to do. “...I guess you really won’t perch on my head in class, or come to the window when I sing,” she laughed, sniffling.

Phoebe flitted to her shoulder, and fluffed, butting her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the entire truth, Sara. I thought it might--undo me, you know? I quite liked being a kinglet, and traveling with you.”

“Snetsinger’s a good name,” Greg whispered, wide-eyed.

“Wirt,” she flittered her tail. “Thank you for your help. I found your friends, and guided them, protected them, and gave them good counsel.”

“Thank you?” he swallowed.

“Yes, thank you, Phoebe,” Sara nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. Wirt smacked Greg in the kettle.

“Thank you, Phoebe. Say goodbye, Snetsinger.” Greg held up his frog, and said goodbye again, in a deeper voice.

“Greg, and Sara, the funeral song was very nice. You were very good with that bottle, Sara. And Greg, I’d be honored to be the momentary namesake for your frog.”

“Maybe I should name him all the good names together,” Greg cocked his head in thought.

“Well, I’m not quite gone,” Phoebe fluttered her wings, checking. “How about that song, Greg?”

“I’ll finish singing it, then,” Greg glowered up at Wirt, and his frog started singing in harmony.

“There was a ship that sailed

all on the Lowland Sea,

and the name of our ship

was the Golden Vanity

and we feared she would be taken

by the Spanish enemy

as she sailed in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

as she sailed in the Lowland sea.

Then up stepped our cabin boy

and boldly outspoke he

and he said to our captain

"what would you give to me

If I would swim alongside

of the Spanish enemy

and sink her in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

and sink her in the Lowland, sea

"Oh, I would give you silver

and I would give you gold,

And my own fairest daughter

your bonny bride shall be,

If you will swim alongside

of the Spanish enemy

and sink her in the Lowland,

Lowland low

And sink her in the Lowland sea.

The boy he made him read

And overboard sprang he

and he swam alongside

of the Spanish enemy

And with his brace and auger

in her side he bored holes three,

And he sunk her in the Lowland,

Lowland Low,

And he sunk her in the Lowland Sea.

Then quickly he swam back

to the cheering of the crew

But the captain would not heed him

for his promise he did rue,

and he scorned his poor entreatings

when loudly he did sue,

And he left him in the Lowland,

Lowland, Low

And he left him in the Lowland Sea.

Then quickly he swam ‘round

to the port side

And up to his messmates

full bitterly he cried,

"Oh, messmates, draw me up

for I'm drifting with the tide,

And I'm sinking in the Lowland,

Lowland, Low

I'm sinking in the lowland sea."

Then his messmates drew him up,

But on the deck he died,

And they stitched him in his hammock

Which was so fair and wide,

And they lowered him overboard

And he drifted with the tide,

And he sank in the Lowland,

Lowland, low

And he sank in the Lowland sea.”

���Thank you for that entertainingly horrible song,” were Phoebe’s last words, as the faint breeze blew away the last of her glow.

“They did try to sink pirates,” Greg rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Phoebe!” Sara yelled.

When they crested the hill, they could see the parking lot of the school just over the ridge. Wirt and Sara boosted Greg and his frog up, and then Wirt quailed at Sara’s approach, so she hoisted him around the waist, and pushed up on his shoe as he scrambled. When he flailed his arms down for her, she felt her cheeks heating. She set her shoulders and took his hand, scrambling up. In her backpack, the gollywhopper egg cracked.

The first bell of the day was ringing.

[fanficslutforsmut]

Weak Moments: Three

"You did what?" Olivia asked. She stood up, her hands going to her hair.

"Alright Roslyn, I just really need you to tell me everything that you remember about how you got away okay, everything you can," Sonny said, putting his hand on my knee to steal my attention away from Liv. I looked at him, his eyes so blue like the ocean I was always drowning in. I just nodded feverishly, moving my knee from his grasp, he put his hand back onto his own lap.

"It was this morning, he finally let me out of the basement. I was in there for days, no food, no water. It was a prison in there, Liv. I tried so hard to leave but I couldn't, but this morning he let me upstairs. I was cleaning when he wouldn't stop yelling at me, he just kept saying how I was never good enough to be Molly, that I would never be her. He said he needed a new Molly, a better one. I was at the fireplace when he grabbed my hair. He grabbed it so hard he pulled some of my hair out," I touched the bloodied patch in the back of my head. I watched as Sonny grimaced and Olivia brought her hand to cover her mouth, eyes flooded with tears.  

"I was so tired Liv, I didn't want him to beat me again." I cried. "But he did, he wouldn't stop Liv, he kept hitting me over and over and over again, left me on the floor when he was done." I paused, afraid of Olivia's reaction to my next words, the confession to my own crime.

"Then I-I just grabbed the fire stick and hit him with it, over and over again, until he was on the floor, he-he didn't say anything Liv. When he fell I grabbed his keys and ran, I locked the door and got in his car, the smelly one. God, I hate that smell so much." I cried, itching away at my skin, it was like the smell followed me everywhere, the smell of dampness and medicine.

"I took his phone and looked you up, how to find you at your work, I just- I needed you Olivia, he would have killed me." I yelped, reaching off the bed for her, needles ripping out of my skin, the blood flowing free from my arms as I wrapped then around Liv. I winced at the feeling but ignored it because the only thing I wanted or needed, to feel was safe around Olivia, like no one could ever hurt me again.

"Ross please, you'll hurt yourself." She claimed, walking us back towards the bed, Sonny's head was already peaked out the door looking for a nurse. Someone came in, watching me wearily before reattaching me to the IV, putting a bandage on its old place on my arm. We all sat quietly for a moment, taking the time to process all my words, Liv and I content with just staring at each other. It was only quiet for a few minutes when someone slams the door open, an older angry man staring Olivia down.

"Olivia, I need you out of there right now." He huffed, his face red and breathing hard.

"No, wait she can't leave, stop I need her," I yelled, my hands grabbing at her arm, pulling her to me. "You can't take her, stop please don't take her," I screamed, my heart rate erratic at this point, the noise on the monitor tightening together. The pace my heart was going made it hard to concentrate, I could feel my muscles tensing up, afraid I'd be left alone again. My face felt hot.

"Ross, Ross? Hey, we need a doctor in here!" She yelled, I laid back, my body stiff as my heart continued to beat rapidly in my chest, it all felt so constricted. My face was hot and I couldn't catch my breath, the fear of someone taking Olivia away from me crippling me completely, I couldn't take my eyes off hers as nurses pushed everyone out the door. Tears were streaming out of my eyes, down the sides of my face as I laid back, into my ears. This was all worse, a bright light was shoved into my face, a breathing mask over my mouth and nose. I cried hard now, letting everything out, I coughed up my emotions, barely breathing through the mask. That's when I felt the pinprick of the needle jabbing in my arm, it was all hazy again, the monitors quieting down while I could feel my muscles relax for the most part.

My eyelids were so heavy, I fought the tiredness off as much as I could, turning my head to see out the window, except this times the shades were drawn and I could only see the barely there reflection of myself on the bed. I looked a mess. I just looked back up, my eyes hooded and barely open, my body entirely limp now. I let the sleep overcome me, almost welcoming the peace and quiet this sleep would bring.

* "I need you to call me when she wakes up, I'll let Liv know." I recognized the voice as Amanda. "She's benched on this but Finn and I are going to check out the house and CSU are on the car at the station, collecting everything right now." She told him. I kept my eyes shut while they talked, letting everything go on without me as I had done to Mathew on multiple occasions. I could always feel him standing in the doorway while I was 'sleeping', waiting for him to finally close the door and leave me be before I let sleep consume me.

I was in and out for the most part of the next few hours. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton by the time I felt well and energized enough to actually wake up. My body still felt tight and tense when I tried to pull myself up, forcing my eyes open, squinting at the bright light that the window let in, an unfamiliar view of outside.

"Ah you're up, can I get you anything, Roslyn? Water, juice, pop, something to eat?" Sonny asked, his tone quiet and sincere, he helped me sit up by propping a pillow behind me and hitting the remote on the bed to pull it into a sitting position. I looked at him questioningly, I was so unaccustomed to this, having this genuine man offer me whatever I wanted.

"Water please, "I answered, my throat raw and aching, I paused to rub at my throat, instead, feeling the dried dirt and blood that stained me. I watched as Sonny went to the small sink in the corner of the room. I looked around before realizing this wasn't the same room I had originally been submitted to. This one was nicer, bigger, and even homier. Sonny laid the cup on the table next to me and sat back down, watching intently as I sipped on it.

"Ross," I whispered.

"Hm?" He asked, not quite sure what I was getting at.

"You can call me Ross," I said, still not looking at him. My ears turning red and my face glinting pink with a light breeze of blush. My hair felt horrendous as did the rest of my body, dirty and grimy.

"I need a shower, please Sonny, I haven't had one for days," I asked. I knew that I smelled, that I must also look disgusting. He nodded sympathy in his eyes again. He put up a finger to me and got up to leave the room.

"Wait, where are you going?" I yelped, not ready to be alone in this room.

"Ross, it's okay, I'm just calling Liv, maybe she can bring you some things." He said, shaking his hands, he sat back down slowly. "I'll call her here ok?" He asked, hoping I was calmer.

"Please don't leave, I don't want to be alone!" I sobbed. He nodded, quickly complying, he got his phone out and started dialing.

"Hey Liv, I was just calling to say that Ross is up and awake, she wants a showering so I was just wondering if you could bring anything here for her." He questioned, looking away from me while on the phone. I couldn't hear whatever she was saying but in a second he looked back up to me. "Oh, alright I understand, I'll ask Amanda if she has anything, alright thanks bye." He nodded to himself.

"Is she coming?" I asked, interested in being with Olivia again.

"She can't right now. She has to talk to some people about you and then maybe she can, but I'm going to call Amanda and ask if she can bring anything over for you." I nodded, looking away at him and toward the window. I was disappointed and you could surely see it on my face.

Minutes passed before someone knocked on the door, me huffing slightly when it was only Amanda coming in, she held a bag in her right hand and closed the door with her left one.

"I didn't really know what size you wore so I just got you these, and Liv said these were your favorite." She claimed, removing the contents of the bag onto the bed. A pair of grey fleece sweatpants with a matching sweatshirt, a red t-shirt, some underwear, a pair of soft fuzzy socks, and finally soap. It smelled of vanilla, indeed it was my favorite. It was even the same brand she bought me when I was younger, the same shampoo and conditioner too, a loofa and a razor. I nodded, thanking her quietly. It was an awkward moment of silence before Amanda spoke again, to Carisi this time.

"I can trade you shifts if you need to leave-" "No!" I cut her off. "Please stay, "I begged. "It's fine Amanda," Sonny told her, she looked at me skeptically and walked away and out the door, leaving Sonny and me in comfortable silence.  

"Can I shower now?" I asked him, touching softly at the clothes in front of me. "I'll ask the nurses real quick, I'll just be right out the door ok." He told me, walking to the door, barely popping his head out. "Excuse me ma'am, I have a victim in here needing a shower, is it ok if she takes one?" He asked quietly, his accent was nice, like a melody to my ears.

"Well her chart her does say she still hasn't taken a rape kit, could we do a one over at her really quick before a shower, do you think?" She asked, poking her head past him to look at me, giving me a sweet smile. He gave her a 'one second' look before turning and walking back towards me.

"Alright so I'll make a deal with you alright Ross, you let this doctor look at you for a few seconds alright and I'll get you that shower, and some food to alright." I thought over his offer. I hadn't eaten in what felt like days and the IV hadn't done much to help with anything. There wasn't anything that could hurt me by complying, and I knew how much the testing meant to Liv.

I nodded sheepishly, the nurse came in with some instruments, sitting on a stool next to me, pulling the curtain around us, between Sonny and I. I closed my eyes and let her do all the things she had wanted, taking all the photos of me, I cried silently when she inserted things inside me. It hurt just a bit and I yelped at the sharp stinging but it was all over after that. She smiled sweetly at me before grabbing her things and pulling the curtain back, leaving the room.

"Shower?" I questioned.

"Shower." He nodded back at me.