#and I want to keep poking at the by-less golden route thing to see if I can fill in the two missing months and see how byleth can be sneaky

[alienducky]

I think I need to get a white board so I can write a big list of all the things I want to do, that I can stick up somewhere prominent so I can regularly see it and then when I actually do stuff I can cross it off or rub it out and feel accomplished!

So first thing on my Things To Do list is... make a things to do list

Hmmmmm

[iwriteiguess]

"How Bold of You..."

Thoma x reader

Warnings: peeping tom, upskirting, fingering, public sex, dumbification, creampie, breeding, MDI

You ripped your weapon through the last metachurl. Its body stumbling heavily before falling to the ground and dissipating to black-red ash

"That's the last of them" you say motioning your weapon to disappear into golden flakes.

You had agreed to help Thoma with an assingment from Ayato. Clearing the hilichurl camp was the last thing the two of you needed to do before heading back. You began to brush off the dust and dirt off your skirt. A pretty yet simple skirt down to your knees, but that didn't stop Thoma from using his polearm to peak at your panty-less ass.

You swiped your skirt down looking at Thoma with a burning face. He only smiled at your reponse. "How bold of you," you say with a cheeky tone, "so close to the busy trading routes, and you want to see the result of panty thievery from this morning. You're a pervert, Thoma."

Thoma walked closer to you. His chest right up to face. His hands wandered and trailed to the small of you back. He began to gather your skirt allowing your round perfect ass to be shown to any merchant passing a glance of your ass. Thoma ran his middle finger between the crack of your ass slowly, knowing how well you squirmed under his touch. He knew how to get you begging.

"You're such a good girl you know. Despite all your complaining you know how to put up me well, don't ypu think? Or should I say you know how to handle me we?" He placed a finger into your cunt then fingering you with ferocity. You clamped on his fingers mumbling and drooling for more. Even the kiss you shared wasn't enough. Thoma had it wrong when he said, you could handle him. Satisfy him, yes. But when it came to overall sex, it was Thoma who knew how to get you hot and bothered fast. "You want more?" Thoma asked.

You didn't complain, nor argue. You knew what to do.

You unbuckled and took off the skirt and laid it down so you could pose on all fours to him. You ass pointed up at him for easy access. "Please..." you beg. Your lower half is drooling for the cock that sent you to bed full every time it buries itself within your slutty pussy.

He pushes in easily, the sweat and juices already lubricating your cunt. You squeeze around him instantly. He growls as a response to your twitching. He grabs a handful of hair and yanks you up. Thoma's full length is inside you but he pulls out and pushes back in wildly. He pokes and prods at every corner of your cervix he can. You moan sharply when he finds your g spot, and doesn't hit it again. No, more like hes purposely avoiding it. Only occasionally hitting it several times in a row only for him to poke somewhere else, destroying several rising orgasms.

A couple of men now walk by on the route. You keep your voice to a minimum and hope they don't hear Thoma fucking you. But Thoma notices the tension in your voice and the way you squeeze his cock again. Although do so indirectly, the men were distracting you. He needed to let you and them know that it was cock time. Nobody was going to stop it.

Out of spite, Thoma began to go faster. Rapid movements echoing from where they were. The men almost instantly looked their way to know where the noise was coming from. Only to find the Kamisato clan's househelp fucking a traveler. He used your bra as anchor to give them a clear view of your face. The men and you locked eyes as a flurry of pounds were given to your hole. A flush of red went across their faces when they saw Thoma bend over your face and your face of ecstacy. They quickly scurried away, who knows if they'll keep their mouth shut.

You could feel Thoma giving you that baby he promised from your last sex session. The way is cock switched as warm liquid poured into your cunt. He pulled out letting the cum drip down your legs. Your whole body quivered when Thoma finally pulled out.

Your hands wrapped around Thoma's neck, pulling him close to you. "T-thoma..."

He responds with a hum against your neck. "Yes I saw them. Don't worry, I'll keep 'em quiet. Maybe bribe them with some fun."

[howtobangyourmonster]

TomTom the Minotaur, Pt. 1

Minotaur man with human woman, vaginal fingering

When attempting to traverse an eldritch forest hell bent on leading you astray, it's vital to hire a guide with an excellent sense of direction. It's less vital that he be charming and sexy, but it sure helps pass the time.

“Worth every penny.” That's what his reviews say.

Seeing him in person, I feel less anxious about the journey ahead. Tall and broad, his skin a gorgeous dark brown speckled over in white freckles like stars, horns gleaming and wickedly curved and broad as his shoulders. He'd be intimidating if it wasn't for the kindness of his face. He's damn handsome, but that's not why I hired him. Well, not the only reason.

His mouth curves in an easy smile as I approach. He looks down at me as he finishes rolling the sleeves of his plaid button-down up, revealing the sculpted muscles of his massive forearms. “You must be Stella.”

I shake his hand, my own completely swallowed in his, though his grip is gentle and warm. “Yes, and you're Tom?”

“Yes, ma'am. Your email said this is your first time crossing the Briarwood?” he asks, friendly brown eyes crinkled at the corners in polite curiosity.

“It is, and I'm pretty nervous about it actually.” I admit.

“Understandable, it's a very disorienting place, especially for humans. I'll get you through it, don't you worry. My family has been guiding people through for generations, I practically grew up in there. I've never lost a traveler.”

His confidence is earned; he's legendary even among guides and has the rating to prove it on NaviGate. His services have the price tag to match. Too many people try to cross on their own, or turn to disreputable-but-cheap “guides” who most likely ditch their charges and pocket the money. Disappearances are commonplace. I don't want that to be me.

“I'm counting on your reputation's accuracy, TomTom.” I smirk.

“Are they still calling me that?” he grimaces, one hand rubbing the back of his neck(and putting his glorious biceps on display). “Embarrassing nicknames aside, I don't want you to worry. I'm taking you the safest way though the woods. It's the slowest route, but we won't run into trouble. Should be very boring.”

“Boring is good! I've got all my gear,” I gesture with my head to the large camping backpack I'm sporting. “I'm trying to just think of it as a long camping trip.”

“That's good, that's basically what it is. We're not getting anywhere near any settlements or dens in there, we shouldn't see anyone else the whole time. I hope you brought something to keep you entertained.”

“I've got a bunch of digital books and podcasts downloaded, and a solar battery. And a couple print books.”

“Good call, sometimes the sun doesn't break through the canopy for a few days.” Tom hefts his own massive pack onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps. “Shall we?”

I follow him as we take our first steps onto the trailhead that, with his help, should deliver me safely through the Briarwoods, one month from now.

“I kinda expected it to be more...creepy in here.” I say.

Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. I think it would actually be less sinister if it did look more creepy and dark and gloomy. It's not just that the path shifts and changes, it's that the forest tries to distract you as well as disorient. Like...look up ahead there.”

He points off to the left, up along the trail, to a meadow of golden grass waving in a gentle breeze. The edges of the meadow disappear into a grove of quaking aspen trees, leaves shimmering like golden coins as they catch the light. Suddenly, the whisper of wings reaches me as hundreds of iridescent green butterflies rise from the meadow in a dazzling display of color.

“...Wow.” I breathe.

“Yeah. It's pretty. And absolutely a trap. You set one foot in there, you'll be asleep in seconds.”

I peek into the grass as we pass the meadow, making sure to keep my feet well within the trail. I see bones poking out of the dark earth, and a sunbleached skull staring eyeless at the sky. With a shudder, I turn back to Tom.

The first week of our journey is pretty straightforward. He points out the forest's traps and lures to me. After one incident where I nearly wandered off, following some windswept notes of birdsong(“That wasn't a bird...” he warns), Tom takes to holding my hand as we walk through particularly dangerous stretches of the trail. I certainly don't mind. At night he sleeps in front of the entrance to our shared tent, to keep me from wandering off without waking him. When it happens, he turns me back to my sleeping bag and gently hushes me until I lay back down and sleep. And then teases me mercilessly in the morning.

“If you're so keen on a night stroll, just wake me up, I'd be happy to keep you company.” he winks.

“It's not my fault! It's the damn sirens!” I laugh.

“They're not really sirens.” Tom says. “It's just the forest trying to trick you.”

We're sharing a meal during a lunch rest in a rather lovely spot next to a river. The sun has actually made an appearance today, so I have my solar charger out.

“What's the scariest thing you've ever encountered in the forest?” I ask.

Tom is very still for a while, brow furrowed as he considers his answer. “I think...the scariest times are when the forest has gotten to know you, and it knows what you're afraid of, and it uses that against you.”

He says this very quietly, with the manner of someone who speaks from experience. I don't pry further.

The river is safe, he says, and clear. We take the opportunity to wash clothes and refill canteens.

“Do we have to get back on the trail, or can I wash? I feel pretty grimy...”

“You set the pace, Stella, I'm just here to keep you out of trouble.” he grins. “I wouldn't mind getting clean either. You go ahead first, I'll keep my back to the water, and you just keep talking to me so I know you're alright.”

“Such a gentleman, respecting my modesty.” I tease. I peel off my trail clothes from that morning and give them a quick wash, hanging them up to dry on the line with the other clothes, while I chat with Tom's back. The water is cold and bracing, but invigorating.

“It'll be a few days before we come across another safe water source.” Tom says. “There's a spring we should run into tomorrow but you can absolutely not touch it.”

I drag my nails through my hair, raking the dirt and debris out of it before rinsing it in the river. “Is it cursed? Haunted?”

“It's a mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I dry off with the superabsorbent camping towel I bought for this trip, slip on my pajama shorts and a tshirt, and join Tom where he sits on a log. “Your turn!”

Tom stands and steps back over the log toward the river. I keep my back to him as he strips off his shirt, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back over my shoulder. He bends down to take off his boots, and I take in the sight of his impressive backside straining the seams of his jeans. I'm lost in daydreams when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down around his hips, taking his briefs with them. The lines of muscle in his back, the play of light and shadow over the planes and curves of his body are stunning. He bends down to remove the clothes and catches me staring, doing a double-take at my expression.

“Hey, what about my modesty?” he asks with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.

I whip my head back around, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry, that was...so inappropriate of me!”

He laughs, voice like warm caramel. “Minotaurs bathe communally, I'm not shy.”

I keep my eyes focused on my shoes. “I went to a minotaur-owned bathhouse in Alberta with my mom once.”

I cringe. Why did I feel the need to say that?

“Yeah? What did you think?” he asks.

“It was nice, I really loved the olive oil soaps.”

“I have some in my pack, can you fish one out for me?”

My mind short-circuits for a second. I dig through the pockets of Tom's pack until I find one of the small bars. When I turn to face Tom, my mouth goes dry.

He's standing hip-deep in the river, sunlight reflecting off the water and making his rich sable coat glisten. His head is tipped back, arms up as he arches his back, and it's obvious he's putting on a show for me. So I indulge myself, and let my eyes trail over his biceps, his horns, the thick corded muscles of his neck, rivulets of water dripping down his body. The firm planes of his abs ripple under the smooth skin that replaces the coat of his shoulders and back. Those white starry freckles splash here, too, and I follow their trail down to a thicker nest of hair where his hips meet the water.

When I manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, he's watching me with amusement.

“I love the way your skin pinks like that when you're embarrassed.” his voice is a deep rumble. He tips his head down to look at me, the gold rings in his ears and nose sparkling at me. “Or...maybe you're turned on, not embarrassed at all.”

Feeling bold, I wade into the river, not caring that my shorts and tee are now soaked and clinging to my skin. From the way Tom is staring, he doesn't care either. I hold out the soap.

“Did you need this?”

“Thanks.” he plucks the soap from my hand, lathers it up, and begins working the suds over his chest, never breaking eye contact. “Your clothes are all wet, Stella. You should hang them up to dry.”

I consider the implications for a moment, before deliberately turning away and wading back to the shore, acutely aware of my clothes clinging to the curves of my ass, my breasts. I peel them off, bending at the waist with my ass directed Tom's way, and I'm rewarded with his deep rumble of approval. Straightening, I wring the clothes out and hang them on the line, glancing over my shoulder at Tom. He's washing his arms, flexing them more than is strictly necessary.

In for a penny, in for a pound...

I wade back out to him and hold my hand out for the soap. “Looks like you could use a hand?”

The smile he graces me with is wickedness incarnate. “Obliged, ma'am.”

I lather up the soap in my hands and move around him to his back, running my hands up along his spine and fanning them out over his shoulders, as high as I can reach. He makes a pleased sound, deep in his chest, as I massage the soap into his shoulders, where his coat is thicker. I use my nails to rake the soap through, gratified as his head tips back and he moans. Moving on, I scrub down his back, appreciating how hard his muscles feel under my hands. I palm his firm ass and he laughs over his shoulder at me.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Extremely so. Are you typically so hands-on with your clients?” I ask.

“Are you this hands-on with all your guides?” he counters.

“Only when they're as gorgeous as you.”

“So not frequently then.” he says. I laugh at his brazen confidence, deserved though it is. “Here, let me.”

He gently turns me around and massages the soap into my back, his large hands feel heavenly as they work out the knots and soreness in my muscles from a week of sleeping on a camp cot. I moan and lean into his touch.

“I like that sound. I'd like to make you make it again.” he says, digging his thumb into a stubborn muscle. I moan louder, my knees nearly buckling. I can feel his cock hardening against my back. His voice is low and heavy with promise in my ear. “I'd like to do a lot of things, if you're interested...”

I reach up and take hold of his hands, pulling them around to my breasts. He kneads them, slippery with soap, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.

He reaches one hand down below the water and brushes his fingers between my legs, a tentative questioning touch. I nod eagerly and spread my legs more to allow him access. Tom uses his other hand to guide my arms up around his neck, my back arched and pressed to his chest.

“Hold onto me.” he whispers as his fingers slip between my folds and find my clit. I whimper as he starts rubbing small, slow circles. His cock is hard and hot against my back as I buck my hips into his hand. His other hand reaches under my thigh to lift up my leg, spreading me further. “I've got you, I won't let you slip.”

I let go of his shoulders and grab onto his horns as he bends his head over me to kiss the top of my head. The finger on my clit pauses to push back the hood, then resumes its assault. The increased sensation has me crying out, emboldened by our solitude.

“Fuck, I'm so close, Tom...”

He slips a finger inside me, slowly working me open on his hand, then adds another. The stretch combined with the pressure on my clit is deliciously agonizing. I'm only dimly aware that I'm begging him to fuck me.

“Oh, you're not ready for that, Stella. Not yet.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me with deft turns of his wrist. “Need to work up to taking my cock, don't wanna hurt you.”

I whimper. “Please, I need more...”

Tom works his fingers deeper and faster, dragging them against the sweet spot inside me that has me seeing stars, and I come gasping. He slowly works me through it, whispering how good I feel spasming around his fingers, how he wishes it was his cock, how he wants to watch me ride him.

I'm limp as he lifts me out of the water and carries me back to the shore, the soap long forgotten and lost downriver. He balances me on one of his massive thighs as he digs in his pack for a towel to lay out, then lays me down on it.

“Wait, you didn't come.” I protest, reaching out for him.

“You can make it up to me later.” he winks. I watch him take down our dry clothes and the clothesline, pulling on his fresh clothes and boots. He brings me a change of clothes and helps me pull them on. “How're your muscles feeling?”

“They feel great.” I admit with a lazy smile. “You have some magic hands.”

“I look forward to showing you what else I can do.” Tom helps me shoulder my pack and we continue down the trail, away from the river's edge and into the deeper woods.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

I feel like twst Aurora would meet y/n by walking through the forest. Sorta like when Aurora meets Phillip in the original movie

(*Me, dancing like a duck*)

Twst Aurora/Sleeping Beauty Idea For Anybody To Read

(Song is from Hadestown, Flowers)

(Y/N) was given homework for Mr. Crewels class to find the native flowers of Twisted Wonderland. She would of gone to the botanical gardens for her research. If only it wasn't crowded with other students. So her best bet was either the mountains or the forest. The forest was the best option.

After finding a few flowers and writing them down on the note book she brought with her. Her mind wanders off to Yuu and Grim, hoping they were doing alright with finishing the assignment, if not, she could always share her notes with them.

"I wonder. I wonder... I wonder why each little bird has a someone. To sing to sweet things to. A gay little love melody."

A song starts travel through the air. Soft and sweet, gentle and wistful. It was quite simple and romantic song, the person who was singing was quite good. The song starts to end.

"I wonder, I wonder.. If my heart keeps singing. Will my song go winging. To someone who'll find me. And bring back a love song to me.."

(Y/N) sighs gently at the song, holding her book close to her chest. "Oh, that was beautiful.." She whispers, acting as if she was a maiden in love. Enchanted by the beautiful singing, (Y/N) applauds to the singer. Wherever they may be.

Carefully, (Y/N) gets up from her sitting position and pats down her casual clothes. Nothing too casual though, just a simple white ruffled off-the-shoulder smocked shirt and a (f/c) skirt that went to her ankles. The girl wanted to wear something else, but she didn't have much clothes. So this was her best bet. Hints of dirt smear at the bottom of her skirt, but she could care less.

Heading deeper into the woods. (Y/N) does her best not to trip on some trees roots and killing the urge to jump into piles of leaves. Finding the next flower was easy enough. It reminded her of a song back in her world. Humming the tune under her breath, she said a few peices of the song.

"Lily white and poppy red... Nothing gonna wake you now.."

Humming the instrumental bit, (Y/N) looks over her notes. Nodding at the small flower, she sees a patch of the last flower she needed to find. Poking at one of the small buds, she closes the book after. Placing it down on the grassy floor as she leaned against a old tree. Picking up a red flower from the ground and twirled into between her fingertips while the once crimson petals flutter to the ground, leaving only a stem.

"Dreams are sweet, until there not.. Flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart.. Is anybody listening? I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Nothing, nothing gonna wake me now!"

(Y/N) smiles, that one part of the song always made it harder for her to sing. If only she sang it right the last few times she tried. Maybe she wouldnt have her voice crack from all those failed attempts. 'Oh well,' she thought.

"Flowers, I remember fields. Of flowers, soft beneath my heels. Walking in the sun, I remember someone. Someone by my side. Turned his face to mine."

"And then I turned away, into the shade.." The female puts her hand out to feel the warmth of the sun light on her skin. "You, the one I left behind. If you ever walk this way. Come and find me lying in the bed I made." (Y/N) finished, a reminiscent look of longing in her eyes.

"Well, that should be the last of it." Picking up her book, she stands straight and re-reads through the notes as she walks back to campus. Until she bumps into a tree, not looking where she was going. "Ow." Rubbing her forehead, the dull throb ceases for a little bit.

"I thought I heard something?" A voice said not to far from her. (Y/N) turns around, only to be met with nothing? "I guess it was nothing." The person said sadly.

(Y/N) peeks behind the tree she bumped into. A young boy around her age sat underneath a tree. Wearing a simple white shirt with a black buttoned vest and light grey pants. His head covered in curly locks of golden sunshine hair and lips red as a rose. Little birdies and forest critters surround him as he talks with them about a dream he had.

He seemed to be caught up in his own little world. Reminding her of a certain someone back on her college grounds.

Not wanting to bother him with her presence. (Y/N) decided to find another route to get back to Night Raven. The young male starts to hum a familiar tone she heard earlier. 'So he was the singer! Dang, he's got range.'

"You have a nice voice!" (Y/N) said aloud, regret sinks into her gut once she heard him gasp. "Who, who are you? Where are you?" (Y/N) slaps her forehead because of her own stupidity.

"Dammit!"

The male winced at the sound and her voice. "A-are you alright?" "I'm fine! I'm fine! Just.."

"I'm dumb, really, really, dumb." Sighing, (Y/N) apologized for speaking to him and frightening him. Not moving from her spot. "It's, okay. I can tell from your voice that you didn't mean it."

"Oh, good.. But I meant what I said. Your voice is really amazing!" "O-oh? Thank you."

The little woodlan creatures watch the boy, his rosy cheeks reddening. Some of the birdies fly over to where the girl hid herself. Chirping at her in awe, certainly she was fit for him in their eyes. (Y/N) looks up to see the birds and gets the wrong message. "I guess I overstayed my welcome, I should get going anyway."

(Y/N) hums the song she sang before and starts to move her feet. "Wait! Please wait!" Freezes and questions him for why he didn't want her to leave. "You were singing too, right?"

"I heard your voice before. You sang about flowers, didn't you?"

"I.. I did. Why you askin'?"

[Twst Aurora] gulps back his shyness. "I think you have a beautiful voice too." [Twst Aurora] stated, standing in front of the tree (Y/N) hid behind. "..." The NRC student goes silent.

[Twst Aurora] heard a twig snap and looks down to see two pairs of shoes emerge from behind the tree. Slowly looking up, he sees a young girl around his age standing in front of him. A soft grin on her lips. "Thanks, as I said before, your pretty good yourself."

Blush coated the girls cheek as the two were face to face. Wanting to step closer to him, she takes a step back instead. Suddenly, out of nowhere. A few apple blossom petals fell on her hair and nose. Shocked giggles espaces her lips as more flower petals fell on her. Looking up, she sees little birds and squirrels squeezed together as they look down at them from a branch.

The male only stares at her smile and listens to her melodious laughter. A light hearted grin settled on his red lips. His heart fluttering like a birds wing.

(Ask box is open! Dang this is very sappy, someone draw this romantic display! I'm joking lol! Also, the reason why (Y/N)'s words are in bold, and [Twst Aurora] aren't. Is because the songs are supposed to contrast with one another.)

[vs-redemption]

From Cindy: This was written for a Secret Santa event on a Discord Server I’m in. ( @konoblog-simps ) I got permission from the giftee to post this, so I wanted to share it with all of you Bokuto lovers!!!

Perfect Day (Bokuto x Fem!Reader)

If there was anything better than a balmy summer day at the beach, it would be spending that perfect day with your best friend, Kotaro Bokuto. The enthusiastic, lovable guy had been close with you ever since your first year in High School when you’d volunteered to tutor him in a few of his weaker subjects. You could still remember the day you’d overheard your teacher telling him that he’d be forced to take some time away from playing volleyball for the school team if he couldn’t get his grades back up. At first, the thought of helping him never even crossed your mind. He was just a random classmate that you’d never spoken to before, so you didn’t have any personal feelings invested.

There was no way for you to ignore his struggle over the next few days though. You’d never realized how much life and energy he’d brought to your class until the pressure of his grades transformed him into a sad looking puppy dog, slumped over his desk as he tried his best to write down and understand whatever your teacher was lecturing about. His moping was really killing the overall mood of the class. You also noticed that he started staying after school to get help from his volleyball teammates, who were quite hard on him at times. You got the distinct impression that he was an extremely valuable member of the club, and a part of you started to take pity on him. If it were you in that situation, you’d be just as upset if the school was threatening to ban you from participating in club activities.

“So, what subjects do you need help on?” You approach him after school one day after his friends left him to go to practice. You set your school bag down and pull an extra chair up to his desk. Bokuto was a pretty tall and muscular guy, but the way he perked up with his big golden eyes all wide in disbelief was extremely adorable.

“Thanks for offering,” he gives you an appreciative smile, “But I’d feel bad taking up your time. I know you’re on the swim team.” Bokuto had seemed to have a one track mind for volleyball, so it was a bit surprising that he knew which club you were in.

“We don’t practice as much as the volleyball team,” you tell him before pointing to the stack of books on his desk. “Which subject do you want to start with?”

You learned right away that Bokuto was a pretty emotional person, which made keeping him focused and motivated a whole job in itself. He got discouraged easily over difficult problems, but bounced back just as fast once something clicked and he managed to answer a question correctly. With your help, his grades improved just enough to be passable. But more importantly, you and Bokuto inevitably grew to be friends after spending so much time together. Since you had invested so much time in his success, Bokuto began to invite you to his games and would even show up to attend your swim meets sometimes to cheer you on. Over time, you started hanging out on weekends to do stuff outside of school activities, and eventually he just became a regular and important part of your life.

After graduating high school, you both managed to stay close despite having very different life and college schedules. Bokuto had been recruited by a fairly prestigious volleyball college team and moved out of town while you pursued a more academic route for your future. You both stayed in contact though and visited each other whenever there was time. You lived for the days he would video call you after his volleyball games to brag about all the awesome points he’d scored. Those calls always ended with you holding back giggles as his teammates poked their heads in to correct his exaggerations. In quieter times, you’d spend hours on the phone telling him about your teachers and coursework. He hardly ever had any helpful feedback or advice, but he still loved hearing your voice and was happy to know you were doing well. Of course, you wished you could see him more, but you made sure to make the most of the times you could spend with him, especially during long holiday breaks.

“Hey hey hey!!!!” Bokuto thrusts his fists into the air after slamming the volleyball into the sand on the other side of the net with unnecessary force. The group of college kids who had invited you both to join in their game looked to be regretting that decision now, even the ones playing on your team.

“Okay Mister ‘Best ace in the country.’ You don’t have to show off that much.” You tell him with a laugh, “This isn’t a professional game. Nobody’s going to want to play with you again if they’re scared of you.” Bokuto wasn’t worried about the random people standing on the other side of the net though. He was still celebrating the point he’d just earned with that last spike.

“You weren’t kidding when you said he was good,” one of your opponents picks up the ball and tosses it back over the net. “It’s match point now.”

“Your serve!” Bokuto flashes a wide grin and gives you a thumbs up, “don’t forget to hit the ball the way I showed you earlier.”

“Just don’t judge me if it doesn’t go over,” you shake your head while holding the ball out in front of you and toss it in the air. Thankfully, the ball clears the net and a girl on the other side manages to keep it in the air and pass it to one of her teammates.

“It’s coming back over!” One of the people on your side calls out and gets ready to receive the ball.

“Send it over here!” Bokuto calls for the shot once again. The people you were playing with didn’t have the skills he was used to though and the aim was way off. The ball comes straight to you and you put your hands over your head, hoping you’d have better luck sending it to your friend who had that crazy, hungry look in his eyes. He was always so passionate about volleyball, even in a casual setting like this.

The ball touches your hands and you bump it back up into a smooth arc right towards Bokuto who had his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth adorably. He runs and jumps at the ball before slamming it down on the other side, where a few people even flinched away. Bokuto doesn’t even wait for anyone to call the match before throwing his fists up in victory again.

“Yeah!” He turns and practically charges at you with his hands up above his head.

“Whoa! Wait!” You put your hands up and close your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t use too much force. He surprises you though by just opening his arms and wrapping them around you in a tight hug. The college kids thank you for playing, but look slightly relieved when you suggest to Bokuto that you both cool off by going for a swim.

Being in the water meant it was your time to shine, and you couldn’t help but laugh at Bokuto who insisted on wearing blow up floaties on his arms. After you were both tired out, you head back onto the beach to spread out the blanket you’d brought and pull the food out of the cooler which you’d prepared beforehand.

“Ah!” Bokuto sighs and flops back on the blanket once he finishes eating. “I don’t want today to end.” You smile at his words and lay down next to him to look up at the clouds drifting by overhead.

“Liar,” you reply with a teasing tone in your voice. “You can hardly wait to return to school and get back to practicing for that upcoming tournament you’ve barely shut up about this whole vacation.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto turns his head to look at you with a frown. “But it’d be better if I could take you back with me. I always feel so sad when we say goodbye.”

“I know,” you reach over and pat his hand, feeling amused that after all this time he still wore his heart on his sleeve. “I don’t like having my best friend so far away either, but I’m proud of you for working so hard and doing what makes you happy every day.” The praise gives Bokuto a little bit of his spunk back and he looks back up with a grin on his face.

“Once we’re both done with school, we’ll never spend so much time apart,” he declares suddenly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have even less time then,” you point out, the more logical part of your brain kept you from joining in the fantasy. “You’ll join a professional team and travel around the country playing against other strong teams.”

“Then I’ll bring you with me,” he says as if that were obvious. “It won’t be any fun otherwise.”

“That’s sweet,” you can’t help but feel a little emotional knowing that you meant so much to him and his happiness. You had no idea how serious he was or if it would even be possible since you’d have a career of your own, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Once the sun started to set, you and Bokuto knew it was time to start packing up your things and head home. It was a bittersweet feeling knowing that your summer break was almost over and that Bokuto would be leaving soon. You’d had so much fun together, and you couldn’t help but wonder what the future had in store for the two of you. There was one thing you did know for certain though, and it was that you’d be more than content spending perfect days like this one with Bokuto for the rest of your life.

[gumnut-logic]

Who do you save, John? (Bit 10c + The End)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5a | Bit 5b | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10a | Bit 10b  | Bit 10c

Always end up rushed. Didn’t have a chance to edit the end so I’m likely to be swearing at it later. Sorry for the delay, muse crashed and burned on Friday. here’s hoping I’ve resuscitated it. 17,000 words. So much for the under 10K I estimated. Typical.

For @5hadow-alpha​​​  cos they wanted Shopping and a Tracy brother. They got more than one, and I got more than I expected.

-o-o-o-

The next time Alan woke, the room was full of golden family.

The sun was setting through the window, lighting up the room in shades of gold. His brothers were lit up as they clustered around Virgil’s bed.

They didn’t notice Alan, and it gave him the opportunity to both wake up fully and observe his family undetected.

He was feeling much better. His head was a lot clearer and he was calmer.

The reason why no one noticed his wakefulness was because Virgil was already awake.

His brother was smiling and poking fun at a sunlit Gordon near the end of his bed. Gordon appeared to be enjoying it. When the attention drifted away from him and whether or not he was allowed to film Virgil on drugs, the expression on his fish brother’s face was one of fondness and hope. His eyes barely left the prone man.

That fact could have been annoying from a little brother’s perspective, but Alan found himself doing the same thing.

Virgil, who had literally died in his arms, was supported by his bed, sitting up at an angle and talking quite animatedly. There was a healthy flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

John was standing calmly on the other side of the bed, the setting sun catching his hair from behind as it darted through the hospital window.

John had a habit of striking such a pose. It was unclear if he did it on purpose or was completely unaware of his surroundings in those moments.

Virgil had photographed him on multiple occasions for that exact reason, much to the astronaut’s annoyance.

Grandma stood beside him; her arms wrapped around his. That was an unusual sight. But then they had almost lost a brother and the threat had been to John.

That thought led into unpleasant directions so he brought it to a halt.

He could only see Scott’s back, but his brother was gesticulating, making a point about digging up Gordon’s baby videos and broadcasting them to the world if he didn’t behave.

As if Scott would ever do something like that.

Though, come to think of it, the threat at least wasn’t a bad idea. Alan had much less a solid reputation than Scott and could probably carry the threat enough to get some good ones out of his brother.

“How did you know it was a fake detonator?” John’s voice cut across the conversation, his expression puzzled. The question came out of the blue, ever a sign that John’s mind worked on more than one track at a time.

Virgil blinked up at him. “I…I didn’t at first. It was a good replica of a T-325. But I noticed he was holding his hand strangely. The T-325 has a trigger rest here.” His brother held up a hand as if to sketch out the design in the air, only wince and withdraw the gesture.

Grandma frowned at him from the other side of the bed.

“Long story short…if you waved a T-325 around as much as he did, with that grip, chances are we would have blown up long before he had started his second rant. That one is a touchy model.” Virgil shifted awkwardly and Scott laid a hand on his arm.

“Well, I’m glad we had our expert on hand.”

Scott’s smile was reflected in Virgil’s eyes.

“Oh, ho, ho, look who’s awake!”

Trust Gordon to dob him in.

Suddenly all the eyes in the room were on Alan. His father and eldest brother spun, both faces lighting up when they realised Alan was awake.

Alan couldn’t help but grin back. “Hey.” His voice caught and he coughed.

Talk about ruining a moment. Scott was on him immediately, his dad not far behind.

“How are you feeling, Alan?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m good.” He reached out his uninjured arm and nudged his worried brother aside gently. “Virgil?”

Soft brown eyes caught his and his big brother smiled. “Hey, Allie.”

A hand landed on Alan’s leg and he looked up to find a pair of grey eyes peering down at him. Alan frowned. “Dad, you should sit down.”

“I’m fine, Allie. Are you comfortable?”

An arched eyebrow. “I’m good, honest.” And he was. There was definitely still something in his system. It was keeping him quite happy. Too much movement probably wasn’t on the cards yet, but to be honest, the sight of Virgil smiling at him was enough endorphins to keep him going for weeks.

He turned back to Virgil and soaked it in.

The smile turned to a grin and Alan flushed in embarrassment.

But those brown eyes were reassurance itself.

“Hmm, did you two want to be alone?”

“Shut up, Gordon.” It was sharp, but no less reassuring that Virgil could spin the familiar phrase off so easily.

Alan laughed. “Good to see you, Virg.”

Again with the smile. “Likewise.” Those eyes turned inwards for a second before fixating on him. “And thank you.”

The line ‘just doing my job’ climbed onto his lips, but he vetoed it. “Always, bro.”

The room was embarrassingly silent after that and the moment broke.

“Dad, I would rather you sat down.” Virgil was definitely feeling better.

“I can look after myself, son.” It was firm and a touch threatening if Virgil chose to push the point.

But his father took a seat.

Alan shifted position and his arm twinged. He must have shown it on his face, because Scott reached out and touched his shoulder. He looked up to find worried blue eyes staring down at him.

Apparently, he needed to repeat himself. “I’m okay, Scott.”

His brother grunted before letting go, grabbing his plastic chair and dumping himself in it.

The room fell silent.

Turquoise hit him from across the room as the sun dipped behind a cloud and the room chilled.

“So, who was that guy?” Anything to get the conversation moving.

For a second, he regretted the topic as Scott’s lips thinned, but he had to know and clearing the air wouldn’t hurt, would it?

It was John who answered, though. “Timothy was a rescue we were unable to attend. Eos pulled the records and what he said was true. He lost his family. Any other day and we would have been there, but the Tsunami Disaster had all our attention.” A pause. “I am sorry.”

Scott started at that. “Hey, it was not your fault.”

A copper eyebrow arched. “Really? Do you want me to list exactly where our forces were deployed at that moment? It was Day Three. Scott was en route to Tracy Island for refueling, Virgil, you were asleep. Gordon had dragged you to the bunk on Two. He had threatened to tie you down. You were all down for the count. His call was one of twenty-three we couldn’t respond to on that particular day.”

“Johnny-“ Gordon held out a hand.

It was almost snapped off. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“John.” Their father’s voice managed to be both warning and worried at the same time.”

His astronaut brother didn’t back down. “This isn’t out of the ordinary. It happens every day. It is happening now. People are dying because we are not there.”

“We can’t save everyone.” His father’s voice was firm.

“I know that, Dad.” John’s expression was exasperation itself. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

Silence fell again and all Alan could think of was how this whole thing had been aimed at John and how it had obviously reached its target despite Timothy not succeeding in his plan.

Something was burning in his brother. He could see it from here. John was tense and agitated.

It was likely the drugs, but Alan just wanted to climb out of bed and hug him.

“Well now, I think, you could all do with something to eat.” Grandma squeezed John’s arm and he looked down at her as if snapped from a dream. “Don’t look at me like that, young man. I know you haven’t been eating.”

“What?” Scott sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in on his brother. “John?”

The astronaut rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” And Grandma was nudging him towards the door.

His father stood up and followed.

Scott eyed Alan a moment, but stayed seated.

As their grandmother and father herded John out the door, Gordon took the opportunity to steal the chair beside Scott.

“Is John okay?” The words fell from Alan’s mouth before he could think twice.

Scott sighed. “He will be.” There was a silent ‘I hope’ after that.

“Eh, he’s just pissed Eos got found out.”

Alan blinked. “What?”

“Gordon!”

“Just trying to lighten the atmosphere. Cool it, bro.”

Alan frowned. “What?”

“Eos electrocuted a guard with his own comms circuit.” Gordon was smirking.

“What? How?”

“Upped the signal power enough to arc through his baldric.”

Alan stared at his brother. “She hurt him?” He turned to Scott. “She can do that?” To us?

“Don’t worry, it is not happening again.”

“He deserved it.” Gordon snarled the words. “Betraying us for money. He’s lucky it was Eos and not Kayo.”

Scott tilted his head. “Kayo hasn’t finished with him yet.”

Alan’s eyes were bugging out. “Who? And why?”

Scott sighed just a little. “The guard outside the dressing room was an accomplice.”

“One of our own?”

“Yes.” That single word said so much. Kayo wasn’t the only person angry at such a betrayal. No doubt whoever it was would have to face the Commander at some point.

Alan had faced an angry Scott before. Not an experience for the faint hearted.

“And Eos was able to electrocute him with his comms?”

“Brains is working on it as we speak. It won’t happen again.”

Scott would never be entirely comfortable with Eos. Alan had to admit he had a few issues of his own having had to scoop up his astronaut brother as he lay dying in space, because of her.

A hand landed on his. “It won’t happen again.”

Alan swallowed. “Good.”

“Well, we’re lucky it happened this once. John found traces of an alien computer program in the z band network. Brains is having conniptions. This one security breach could have destroyed everything.”

“But it didn’t.” Virgil’s voice was quiet, but strong enough to stop the conversation. “We’re all safe. It’s over.” Brown eyes flickered in his direction.

The same brown eyes that had closed on Alan as his brother died in his arms.

Anger flared up. “So, this security breach let Timothy do what he wanted and Virgil died because of it.” Three pairs of eyes widened at Alan’s sharp tone. “How did this happen? How did he get past all our security checks? Kayo is pedantic to the point that I sometime wonder if I’ll be allowed access to anything. How did we not know?”

“Allie, it’s okay.” Again, Virgil’s voice was soft. “We’ll fix it.”

“You died, Virgil!”

“No, I didn’t.” Those eyes blinked slowly.

“You did!”

“Alan!”

And he found himself breathing fast and hard. Scott was holding him down. Gordon had a hand on his leg.

“Calm down, Allie.” Intense blue eyes caught his. “Virgil is safe. You are safe. We will fix this.”

Alan stared up at his big brother, soaking in the reassurance Scott was broadcasting. A deeper breath and he willed his heart rate to slow. He swallowed and managed the briefest of nods.

“The guy had money and resources. Kayo will, no doubt, rake our entire security force over hot coals. We will learn from this experience and it will not happen again.”

“It should not have happened in the first place.” Alan found his voice cold and as Scott flinched, he knew it had hit home.

“Allie…” Virgil looked half asleep and Alan realised that he probably was. “We’ll fix this.”

Alan pressed his lips together and glanced between all three of his brothers before once again fixating on Scott.

“We better.”

-o-o-o-

Jeff dragged John out of the hospital room with the full intention of cornering him. The fact his mother came with them was only an inconvenience.

“Mom, could you run ahead and dig up some menus from the cafeteria and perhaps let the nurses station know that the boys are awake?”

His mother eyed him and arched a silver eyebrow. “Certainly.” A flick of that gaze at his son before she turned and walked off.

No doubt he would be paying for that one later.

But first he wanted to speak to John.

“Walk with me?”

The astronaut frowned at him, but nodded once.

Jeff cursed being so slow, but he led his son down to the hospital garden. Security made itself known as Iz appeared from nowhere and he caught a glimpse of Leone not far off. Kayo was laying it on thick, but he couldn’t blame her.

The garden was a small one and this late in the day, quite dark and empty. Most patients had been hustled off to bed and their visitors went with them.

If Iz was seen to lock the door behind them and secure the green patch for them alone, Jeff wasn’t going to argue, just this once.

He found a bench under a large shrub that gave them some privacy and ushered John to sit down beside him as he lowered himself on to the seat.

“Dad, I’m okay.”

“That seems to be a theme in this family even when it is a blatant lie.”

That shut his boy up for a moment.

Jeff sighed. “John, when I sent you up there, I knew it was going to be hard. I am sorry.”

“No, Dad. I knew what I was getting into. This is not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? Aren’t I hailed the creator of International Rescue?” He tried hard to catch those turquoise eyes, but John refused to look at him.“Pfft. The media. What do they know?”

That got a reaction. Copper eyebrows arched and his son looked up. Jeff took every advantage.

“I may have taken the first steps, but it is you boys who have kept it all going. Lived it. You’ve lived it for ten years. That is four times as long as I have and, trust me, I have guilt for those numbers.”

“Dad-“

He held up a hand. “No. This is where you listen, John.”

Something flashed in those eyes and Jeff’s lips twisted in response. “I set you boys on this path and you have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. You have made both your mother and I ever so proud.”

John just stared at him, eyes a little wide.

“But there has been a cost. You carry scars that have me questioning every decision I ever made.” He swallowed, all of it suddenly threatening to overwhelm. He shifted in his seat. “John, I know you sit up there day in and day out with lives in your hands. I can see that every life lost has as much effect on you as it does your brothers and often even more so because you see more of them.”

Jeff paused and tilted his head. “What’s the average number?”

John blinked. “Excuse me?”

“How many lives are lost per day because we can’t respond?”

There was a flicker of the professional emergency responder and his son’s face fell calm. “Ten to fifteen. It varies. The number includes rescues that fail due to local authorities incapability, situations that become more severe than predicted on initial assessment and situations we can not attend simply because we do not have the resources.”

“And what do you tell these callers?”

“What I can.” John’s voice grew quiet. “We do our best, Dad.”

Little more than breath. “Exactly.” He held his son’s eyes and couldn’t help but see the young man he had once been during that cyclone all those years ago. That same youth and concern. That care for those he couldn’t help.

“What’s the average daily rescue count?”

John blinked. “Uh, it varies between ten and several hundred.”

It was Jeff’s turn to blink. “That many?”

John shrugged. “Well, the statistics were blown during the asteroid crisis with Fischler and the aurora generator was full of hypotheticals.” His son was frowning, his hands expressive.

Jeff grabbed them.

“If you had a choice, all over again, as to whether you would take this path or another, what would you choose?”

The frown he received was castigating. “Dad, that’s asking the ridiculous.”

“No, who do you save, John? Them or yourself.”

“That’s a stupid question. Of course, I, we, choose to save everyone we can. We do it every day, Dad.” His son looked offended.

“Even despite the cost?”

“Of course.” The offense turned to an expression questioning Jeff’s sanity.

“Why?”

“Because it is worth it, Dad. When someone calls for help, they have to know there is someone out there who will answer. That’s what I do, Dad. I’m The Voice Who Answers.”

Jeff couldn’t help but smile. His boys made him so proud. Worried, yes, but so, so proud. His own words from so many years ago, echoed back at him by the very son who enacted them on a daily basis. The son who sacrificed so much to be up there, apart from his family, apart from the world, just so he could do exactly that.

The Voice Who Answers didn’t even consider the question, a question.

Who do you save?

Everyone you can.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[king-finnigan]

I'm week for historic au stuff. Like Geralt becomes a retired soldier and Jaskier is a scholar type thing and they keep meeting through the ages stuff? Just me? Feel free to ignore me 😖

Actually, I really love that, honestly. I wasn’t sure whether I would write it like a reincarnation AU, or if Geralt would keep living while Jaskier kept getting reincarnated, but I decided that that’s simply too sad. So I went for a Good Omens type thingie! (featuring: enemies to lovers)

Disclaimer: I don’t know anything about history, so there’s a big chance I’m being very very inaccurate!

EDIT: I couldn’t help but make it a little sad at the end, but it’s just bittersweet.

---

They first meet during the Hundred Years’ War, in England.

Jaskier is a monk, transcribing Latin scrolls in the dungeons of the castle for a living. Really, he never wanted to be a monk, but it was the only way for a farmer boy like him to learn how to read and write, something he’d always been fascinated by.

He writes. It’s what he does. No matter how cold it gets in the dungeons during the winter, no matter how much his hand cramps up after a few hours, no matter how many times he has to start over when he makes a mistake. He keeps going, keeps writing. 

It’s what he does.

Autumn, 1438. After a particularly long day, writing down biblical text after biblical text, he’s climbing the stairs of the castle, walking through the long hallways to the monestary. That’s when he sees him for the first time.

The most insufferable person he’ll ever meet.

He’s standing by the door that leads to one of the conference chambers - presumably where the King must be at that moment. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, snow-white hair tied behind his head. Amber eyes look at Jaskier suspiciously as he approaches.

He gives the man a curt nod and a tight smile, sighing when the guard flings an arm out, stopping Jaskier in his tracks. 

The scholar rolls his eyes for a split second, before turning to the guard. “Is there a problem, sir?”

The knight cocks his head. “Who are you?”

The scholar frowns. “I’m Jaskier. I’ve worked here for twelve years. And you are?”

“I ask the questions. What are you doing here so late?”

Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes. “I was busy transcribing in the dungeons. It gets very hard to tell the time when there are no windows, and I accidentally worked too long. As for why I’m here, specifically, this is the shortest way to the monestary. Now who are you? I haven’t seen you before. Are you new?”

The knight clenches his jaw. “Like I said, you don’t get to ask questions. Now move along before I make you.”

Jaskier scoffs, continuing his way to the monestary. After a few steps, he stops. “You know,” he calls over his shoulder, “monks are well respected here, and I don’t think the King will appreciate it if he finds out one of his guards has been talking to a monk like that. Just something you might want to keep in mind next time.”

He looks back for a second, smirking at the glare the knight gives him, then turns back around, continuing to the monestary. 

***

They continue like that for the next few months, exchanging quips whenever they pass each other in the halls.

The knight asks him what he’s doing in that specific part of the castle, Jaskier tells him it’s none of his business and asks who he thinks he is, the knight says that Jaskier doesn’t get to ask questions, Jaskier threatens to tell the King.

Of course, he doesn’t mean a word of it. After all, it doesn’t really matter if the knight keeps asking him what he’s doing there, and it doesn’t matter that Jaskier never gets to learn his name. It shouldn’t matter, at least.

He’s started asking around for the whereabouts of the King every morning, changing the route he takes to the monestary depending on what the servants say. He’s doing it to make the days less monotone and change things up a little. He does not do it to make sure he passes the knight every evening.

And when the King is called away a few months later to France to lead their army in the war, taking the white-haired knight with him, Jaskier is not disappointed.

And when he has to move away a few years later to a different part of the country when he realizes the hairs on his head aren’t greying and there are no crows’ feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, he does not feel sad that he didn’t get the chance to see the white-haired knight again.

***

Autumn, 1605, Florence. He’s in the city library, picking book after book on the human body from the shelves, the pile in his arms growing ever higher.

197. That’s how old he is, by now, and he still doesn’t know why he’s been blessed - or cursed, depending on which day you ask him - with a long life. He’s fallen in and out of love countless of times, seeing the beauty in every person passing him by, and he’s had his heart broken twice as often. Death, sickness, growing apart - all normal things in life, but when your life is unnaturally long, those things start weighing on you.

So, five years ago, he went to Florence. He’d heard of the impressive library the Italians had collected, and he had decided that, if he wasn’t going to die a natural death, he might as well find out why.

Except he hasn’t, so far. He’s looked through these books countless of times, thumbed through the pages night after night, coming up empty-handed. There aren’t exactly many books on immortality, and the ones that he did find mostly seemed like a bunch of philosophical nonsense - nothing he could use to figure out why he was the way he was, anyways.

So, now, as he piles the same books into his arms as always, he can’t help but feel a little hopeless, and he knows he probably won’t get the answers he needs. Not anytime soon, at least, and not in Florence.

He reaches up, trying to take the last book from a high shelf, but the pile he’s carrying with the other arm wobbles dangerously, and he almost loses his footing.

Suddenly, a strong hand wraps around his upper arm, stabilizing him, another reaching over his head to grab the book for him, putting it on the pile. Jaskier turns around carefully. “Grazie-” his voice catches in his throat, as he meets the amber eyes of a silver-haired man.

“You,” he breathes out, when he recognizes him, seeing recognition in those golden eyes as well. “You’re the knight-”

The man blinks, then frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turns around, stalking away from Jaskier.

The scholar deposits the pile of books on a nearby table, ignoring the dirty glances the other scholars shoot at him for not putting them back on the shelves, as he hurries out of the library, into the afternoon sunlight.

He looks around, spotting the white-haired man weaving between the people, disappearing into an alley. 

“Hey! Wait!” Jaskier yells, running after the knight. “Wait!”

His chest is heaving by the time he catches up with the man. He grabs the knight by the wrist, forcing him to turn around. “You. I know you, you were in England,” he almost swallows his next words, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “a hundred and fifty years ago.”

The man clenches his jaw again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you do,” Jaskier hisses back. “I know you recognize me, I know it’s you, and you know it’s me.”

The man looks around, then leans in closer to Jaskier. “Fuck off and leave me be.”

He makes a move to get away, but Jaskier grips his wrist tighter. “No! You haven’t aged a day. Why?”

He startles as the man’s other hand comes up, grabbing him by his throat, pushing him against the wall. “Keep your voice down,” the knight hisses at him, and Jaskier glares at him until he loosens his grip a bit.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m not going to. Now fuck off and leave me be.” He lets go of Jaskier’s neck, stalking through the alley to the city square. 

“Wait!” Jaskier calls behind him. “What’s your name?”

The knight is long gone, disappearing into the crowd.

***

Autumn, 1718, well... wherever, really. Somewhere between Britain and America. He sighs, the slight swaying of the boat making his stomach act up, and he has to swallow a wave of nausea.

He’d heard a lot about America, heard about people finding their luck there in the new cities and large fields. It would be a new chance for Jaskier, another place for him to build a life before having to abandon it after a couple of decades, when his lack of aging starts to grow suspicious to the people around him. 

Well, at least it’ll be something new, after all these years. He’s getting tired of Europe. 

Tomorrow is his 310th birthday, he realizes, though it brings him no joy. It’s been a while since he’s celebrated his birthday, celebrated the end of another year on this cursed planet.

He’s tired, so tired. Of having to scrape together money, day in, day out, year after long year, decade after long decade, before having to take off again, leaving his life and home behind, after twenty or thirty years.

It’s been a while since he’s had any close friends or relationships of any sort. He can’t risk getting close to people he knows he’ll lose, eventually, inevitably, and he can’t risk them finding out his secret. Because they’ll either claim him insane, putting him in an asylum, or he’ll become a shiny new test subject for scientists to poke and prod at. No thank you.

So, off to America, he went. They’re expected to arrive in a week or so, and he’s looking forward to the moment he can get off this blasted ship that’s messing with his stomach so much.

He perks up as he hears a few men shouting on the top deck, and gets to his feet as he hears the loud pangs of gunfire. He reaches for his own weapon, a dagger strapped to his hip. Though, he realizes now - probably too late - that it won’t do much if someone tries to shoot him.

The door slams open, and he takes a step back, holding his meagre dagger in his shaking hand. He nearly drops it, mouth opening in confusion and realization.

“It’s you again!” he shouts, hand clenching around the hilt of his weapon. “Seriously?”

It’s the white-haired knight again, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding a gun. He looks confused and annoyed, amber eyes fixed on Jaskier. 

The scholar lowers his weapon. “You’ve really fallen far, sir. You were a knight three hundred years or so ago, and now you’re” he gestures vaguely with his hand, nose scrunching in confusion “a pirate? I really expected better from you.”

The white-haired man lowers his weapon as well. “Gotta make a living, somehow.” He shrugs. “The world doesn’t need knights anymore.” And, bless all the angels in the heavens above, he smiles. “At least I’m doing something different with my life. It seems like you haven’t evolved past ‘pansy little scholar’.”

Jaskier gasps in mock offense, laying a hand on his chest dramatically. “How dare you? I may be a pansy scholar, but I sure as hell am not little, sir knight.”

The white-haired man chuckles, rolling his eyes a bit. Footsteps barge down the stairs, and the knight turns back to one of his fellow pirates. “Just people, no valuable cargo,” he tells the other man, “let’s get out of here.”

The other pirate looks a bit confused, glancing at Jaskier. “You sure you don’t want to eliminate any witnesses?”

The knight shakes his head. “No, it’s good. He won’t talk, will he?” He looks at the scholar.

Jaskier shakes his head quickly, hands in the air. “No, won’t say a word.”

The other pirate nods, content, heading back upstairs, the knight following closely behind. Jaskier lowers his hands, eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Shite,” he mutters to himself, “I still don’t know his name.”

***

Autumn, 1915. He hadn’t wanted to go back to Europe, but he didn’t want to not serve his country in the war. So, he had gone back to England, and had enlisted to go to the front in Belgium.

The training officers command him for his fighting technique and quick learning skills, and Jaskier has to swallow back a comment about how it’s easy to pick up a thing or two about fighting when you’ve lived for 507 years.

He spots a familiar head of white hair in the trenches, but it disappears behind a cloud of mud and dirt when a shell explodes between them. After that, he can’t find the white-haired man anymore.

***

Autumn, 1941. He’s standing outside when Japanese planes fly over, dropping bombs on the ships in Pearl Harbour. He spots a familiar form with white hair on one of the ships, and he tries to shout to the knight, but he’s blown to the ground by another bomb.

After that, he has to flee. He doesn’t get the chance to search for the white-haired man between the dead, the day after.

***

Autumn, 1945. He’s sitting in a movie theatre, watching the news about the end of the war. They show the celebrations in the major cities, and Jaskier sighs in relief as he spots a broad-shouldered, white-haired man in the crowd in Times Square.

***

Autumn, 1985. He’s dancing at a club in New York, lifting his hands above his head as he lets the music flow through him. It’s always fun to discover new things after being on this mess of a planet for 577 years, really, and the ability to simply lose himself in the deep bass and steady beat of the music seems God-given, at this point.

He’s tired. Tired of the years weighing down on him, tired of not being able to get the rest he so desperately wants, tired of being pushed down by the heaviness of the ages, yet floating through the years, flitting from place to place, not being able to settle down.

It’s become so hard to hide what he is, with the upcoming digitalization and registration of everyone’s date of birth, place of birth, etcetera. He can no longer just move to a different town and call himself a different name and start a new life. It doesn’t work like that anymore, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until he’s found out, until someone realizes he’s not who he says he is.

The worries weigh down on him, so he loses himself in the music.

Someone bumps into him, and he shouts in annoyance as they spill their drink all over him. He turns around, ready to curse out whoever is so stupid enough to do this, but he freezes, mouth open slightly.

“You again?” he breathes out, and before the white-haired man can say anything, Jaskier takes him by his arm, dragging him out of the club, into the side alley. He turns back around, facing the man, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Before you say anything, what is your name?”

The knight- pirate- soldier- man furrows his brow, shaking his head slightly. “Geralt.”

Jaskier throws his hands up in exparation. “Fucking finally! Do you know how hard it is to try to find someone for 500 years when you don’t even know their name?”

Geralt frowns at him. “You’ve been trying to find me?”

Jaskier shakes his head a bit in confusion. “Yes, of course! You’re like me! You don’t age, either, do you?” Geralt shakes his head. “Exactly. I wanna know what the hell is wrong with us so I can finally just die. I’m tired of this planet.”

“I don’t know why we don’t age, though.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaskier leans against the wall, head in his hands. After a few moments, he lifts his face up to Geralt, who’s gone to stand in front of him. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we die? And why do we keep running into each other? It’s a small world but not that small, right?”

Geralt shrugs again. “I don’t know. All I know is that I keep seeing that pansy little scholar everywhere I go.” 

Jaskier snorts. “And I keep seeing a thick-headed old man everywhere I go.”

“I’m not old.”

“You’re 500 years old.”

“You’re 500 years old as well, what's your point?”

Jaskier laughs, shaking his head slightly. Geralt smiles back, and something ancient flutters in Jaskier’s chest, which he recognizes as the thing he had felt when he had traded insults with Geralt in the castle hall, when he had seen him again in Florence, when he had been spared on the ship, when he had seen white hair in the heat of the battle, when he had spotted him on Times Square.

He recognizes it as the thing he had felt every time their paths had crossed.

And maybe, for the first time in over 500 years, he realizes what it is. 

Love.

They both lean toward each other at the same time, lips crashing into each other, hands tangling in each other’s hair, noses brushing, breaths intertwining.

And Jaskier can’t get enough of this feeling he always gets when he’s close to Geralt, willingly loses himself in the warmth that spreads through his veins, lifting the heavy years off his tired shoulders, in the fluttering in his stomach that sets his soul alight.

They pull back after a few seconds, foreheads leaning against one another. And maybe, Jaskier realizes, suffering eternity won’t be so bad if he’s got Geralt by his side, this time around.

***

Though, he knows that won’t be necessary, when he discovers his first grey hair, fifteen years later. When he finds his first wrinkle, a few years after that.

When he finally, at last, starts seeing the effects of time appearing on his face. When he sees the lines in his love’s skin.

When their bones start creaking and aching. When their voices grow hoarse and their sight blurry.

And when they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, sixty-four years after their first kiss, he feels perfectly at peace.

[forkanna]

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

WARNING: A little NSFW.

NOTE: Welcome to July! I went nearly a week with no internet, but I have returned and I intend to start jamming this fic through to the end. We're essentially entering the last "arc" of the story now and I hope you're all ready for it. Thank you for the reviews and continued readership, I appreciate that so much - especially when I'm taking forever to get this finished.

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

"Aww, c'mon, why am I the only one excited about this?"

The rest of the gang sort of shrugged noncommittally. None of them seemed to want to say aloud that the reason they couldn't summon the same level of anticipation as Yosuke was that they were still missing Narukami. Chie was staring down into her usual bowl of meat, stirring it distractedly.

"Not even you, Satonaka?!"

"Why me?!" she protested grumpily. "Like, single somebody else out, you jerk!"

Wilting in defeat, Yosuke leaned back against the railing around the school roof. "Ugh… you're all impossible."

"It's just Golden Week," Yukiko protested with a slight squirm. She wanted to be kind, to resist the temptation to pop Yosuke's little bubble of joy. But she also wanted to be realistic. "I agree, it would be wonderful to have a little vacation, but if we can't agree on where to go, and aren't that excited as a group…"

"Come on, we shouldn't have to give up that easy." Rise shrugged and hopped up from her seat. "Why don't we just do Okinawa? It's far enough that it's a vacation without being so crazy that all our time would be taken up by travel. I mean, unless we have to go all the way to Hawaii or something to have a good time."

The floppy-haired boy looked at her like she was the coming Messiah, drifting down from upon high to bless him with her presence. "Bless you. Absolutely bless you for saving me! I could kiss you!"

When he started to approach, she held up a hand palm out. "Try it and I will be wearing your teeth as a necklace." As he deflated, she turned the charm back on and pressed her hands together on one side of her face, smiling a dazzling smile. "Okinawa it is! We just need an adult to accompany us, or we're gonna get hassled a lot."

"Hmm, good point," Naoto said. Then the group as one looked toward the unsuspecting Kanji.

"Huh? Wha- I'm younger than most of you guys!"

"Yeah, but you look older," Chie pointed out with a thoughtful expression, tapping her chin with her index finger. "Do you think we could pull it off?"

While the taller boy was very clearly fuming that they thought of him as an old man, Yosuke put his fists firmly on his hips. "Yeah! I'm liking this! Next stop, the island of Okinawa!"

                                                        ~ o ~

Of course, even though at that time Rise was overjoyed, there would be complications. And one of these was pointed out to her by Ebihara after school, when they were stopping off at the Shiroku store just to take a poke around.

"Why didn't you suggest everybody go see Narukami?"

Rise stopped dead with her hand halfway reaching toward a candy bar. "Oh… I… wow, that is a really good point."

"As if I make any other kind," Ai scoffed with a half-smirk. "But yeah… probably a little late now, since you have everybody amped up to go to Okinawa. But hey, there's always summer vacation."

"Yeah, that's true… but I feel incredibly stupid. Seriously, why didn't I think of him first? We all miss him… me most of all, since he's my boyfriend."

The taller girl rolled her eyes as she picked up a bottle of green tea. "Are we going back to that? You can't do anything about it publicly right now, anyway — since the entire world is convinced you're having a 'Class S fling' before you grow up."

The words hit her so hard she had to brace against the wall to keep from pitching over. "You saw that one, huh?"

"All over every tabloid. They really like that outdated way of thinking; like girls can't legitimately want to be with girls for their whole lives. To be honest, I'm a little shocked you aren't being hounded by paparazzi at this exact second. We don't exactly have a lot of LGBT idols."

"Yes, well… there aren't any pictures, so technically, it's just a bunch of gossip from teenage girls. Only had a handful of phone calls about it, and saying 'no comment' to all those seemed to actually stop them. Pretty weird."

"That's because you're all washed up, Kujikawa," she sighed, smirking hard at her. "Yesterday's news. Retired before your time."

"Stooop! Why are you so mean to me?!" She slapped her a few times on the arm, and Ai laughed and held it up to shield herself a little better.

"Kidding! God, take a joke, bitch. But for real… maybe the word isn't out about your comeback yet, so they don't think you're worth being headline news. It will get a lot bigger when you get a lot bigger again."

At least that was a less bleak spin on the situation. Rise smiled over at her as they paid for their odds and ends and headed out. "Fine. I just don't know what difference it makes to you where we go."

"Hey, maybe I want to see Okinawa just as bad as you. Why are you the one that gets to decide everything without my input?"

"Oh, don't be such a…" Then it caught up to her, and she turned with raised eyebrows to look at her girlfriend. "What?"

"You're the one who can't finish her thought. What what?"

"I didn't think you would want to come with us."

Ai scowled as they came to a stop in the middle of the main street, hands on her hips. "You really think you're going on a big Golden Week vacation and I won't want to go with my supposed romantic partner?"

"No, not… I didn't think you would want to go with them. After what happened."

"Mm. I mean, clearly they are complete morons. But… being with you trumps having to put up with their idiotic antics. Besides… you gotta."

Jutting out her chin, she said, "Hey! I don't 'gotta' do anything but stay cute and talented!" Ai only laughed, so she stamped her foot. "Don't you laugh at me!"

"Why not? You're adorable. And anyway, I meant because I'm your giiirlfriend, so how would it look if you showed up there without me? Or if the town spotted me wandering around this week while you're out there living it up. Face it, you really painted yourself into a corner this time, Kujikawa."

Still pouting, she muttered, "Fine, senpai. I guess you know best."

"I do," she replied, mussing her hair up. Rise slapped at her hands and she laughed, and eventually Rise couldn't help laughing as well. "Sorry, I know that's a pain in the ass to fix. But you're just too cute!"

"I am," she admitted with a sigh. "And you're right; I did this whole 'public relationship' thing to get you to listen to me, and it was a dirty trick. This is my punishment. I must accept it diligently."

"Who the hell are you supposed to be now? Wait, you know what? Don't tell me. Let me just believe you lost your goddamn mind." That one earned her a lot more smackings.

                                                        ~ o ~

Everything bumped along easily enough through to the following Saturday. The minute their classes let out, the whole gang was racing home to their already-packed bags, ditching their uniforms, and hopping the train to a bus, to the airport. It was a mess of changeovers and stress, but Naoto had mapped the perfect route that would limit their time spent travelling without costing them extra. Without her, they would have been sunk.

The trip itself took the entire rest of the day. By the time they dragged themselves into their rooms in the rustic inn, they were all ready to fall immediately into bed and be dead to the world for several hours so that the next day they could enjoy themselves. The problem was…

"Wait, where are our beds?!"

Yosuke wasn't wrong. The traditional-looking room most certainly didn't have beds at all. The boy pouted as he dropped his duffel bag and clutched at his hair, scanning every nook and cranny as if one would jump out at him from the shadows.

"This does seem to be very traditional," Yukiko pointed out, scanning the room again. She immediately crossed to the closet and yanked open one of the sliding doors. "Ah! Futon."

"Futon?! Aww, I thought they'd have Western beds! We're on vacation, for cryin' out loud!"

"Don't be such a baby," Chie sighed, stretching her limbs. "Feel more sorry for those of us who don't like sleeping with a bunch of nosy jerks so close to each other. Like you."

While he was pouting and grumbling, Rise glanced between her and the dutiful Yukiko, who was already laying out the futons for everyone without prompting. Falling into her usual job. Chie probably meant that she was upset she wouldn't get much "alone time" with her girlfriend while they were all lying on top of each other. That really was too bad; even if she had barely tasted true love with Narukami, and seen hints of it in a certain affluent team manager, she knew that being kept away from it would likely be as agonising as it sounded.

And speak of the devil…

"Sucks to be you guys."

They all turned at once, and Rise cringed when she noticed everybody else froze. So she tried to be quick about announcing, "Hey, Ebi-chan! You made it!"

"Thank you, Welcoming Committee Of One," she snorted as she glanced around at the rest of them. "And you guys, too. Really doing a great job of making me feel like this trip was worth it."

"You don't have to be here," Chie muttered.

"What's that? It almost sounded like you had something to say, Bowl Cut."

Said bowl cut almost seemed to bristle as Chie rolled up the sleeve of her green jacket and started to stomp over toward her. But Kanji grabbed her by the neckline to hold her back. "Can't you guys save it till tomorrow?" he yawned. "I'm beat."

"Please?" Rise insisted. The tomboy looked like she wanted to protest, but she dropped back to fold her arms over her chest sulkily.

"Beautiful," Ai snorted. "I've just come to collect my property and then I'll head back to my room."

"What property is that?" Rise asked. When Ai pointed at her, she gulped and whispered, "Oh."

"I don't think that's very nice," Yukiko remarked with a slight frown.

Summoning a smile wasn't exactly easy when she was dealing with all those butterflies in her stomach, but Rise managed. "She's kidding, Yuki-chan. Thanks, though."

"Who says I was kidding? If you want me to keep playing along with this media circus, you're my bitch. Get used to it." Then she smirked at the others. "I promise to return her in good condition. Slightly used."

As they headed out, Rise bowing slightly and apologising, she overheard Chie muttering "The nerve of that guy" before the door shut behind them. Great.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yep."

"I'm really sorry. I tried to explain ab-"

"I don't give a shit what Bowl Cut thinks about me. They can all think I'm some drag queen if they want; there are worse things in the world. Like bigots."

"Y-yeah," she laughed nervously. "But I'm kinda hoping… we can all get along during this trip. Maybe they can even be better than-"

"Don't hold your breath."

"I will," she told her, a little frustrated with being cut off so many times. "I'll hold my breath until Golden Week is over if I want to, you aren't the boss of me. No matter what you just told them."

Finally, Ai turned to smirk at her as they walked along toward the other hotel room. She had flown ahead, given that she had access to more swift modes of transportation than the plebs; Rise could have done the same, but she wanted to hang with the group. "Oh, we'll see about that, bitch. But not tonight. Everybody's exhausted."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." However, she changed her tune quick when Rise turned on her heel and started walking back the way they came. "Wha- hey!" She jogged a couple of steps to catch up. "Where are you going?"

"Back to crowd into that shitty little room. It's better than being called your bitch every five seconds."

"Hey, whose fault is that? And do you really wanna have a public fight where the paparazzi can see us?"

"I don't even care. Maybe that would be for the best; then it's a public end to the public thing, and you can be an asshole to… to whoever you want, on your own time! So just leave me alone and go… to…"

The hand clamped onto her own gave her pause. The touch was firm but not rough; just enough to keep her from storming any further toward where her friends were getting ready for bed. When Rise didn't try pulling away, she caught up enough to place her other hand on Rise's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Wow, you really are a jerk." Ai swallowed hard before continuing, "I'm sorry… for being so… ugh. This is a pain in the ass."

"Then I guess I'm not worth it to you."

"Wow, loaded statement much?" No response, so she pressed ahead, "I'm trying. Okay? I'm just a bitch by default, you know that — and you did some fucked shit to me. Let me work through it if you want to get anywhere."

Rise turned and buried her face in Ai's chest, nuzzling against the side of her neck. The taller girl's breath caught and held fast. "Just be nice to me. Try?"

"Rise…" After a second, her hand drifted up to press into her back, holding her there. "Come on. Let's go get some sleep."

"Yeah." They parted, turned to head for Ai's room… but weren't walking nearly as far apart this time. That was marked progress.

                                                        ~ o ~

The next morning was a lot more interesting than that evening. They were so dead tired that they only got about half their clothes off before crawling into the futons Ai had set up — right next to each other. Her rationale was that if anyone checked the suite, it would support their claim that they were a hot-and-heavy couple. Rise found it hard to argue with that.

However, waking up with a decent-sized boner digging into her hip was a fine hello.

'Oh GOD,' she squealed internally. 'This can't be happening! Ai is all horny and too asleep for me to be able to ask her to cut that out!' In fact, she had tried to dig her elbow into her side, just enough to rouse her; no luck. If she did more than that she was afraid of robbing her of her sleep, or waking her up in a bad mood that might persist for the remainder of the day. Or worse: waking her up and embarrassing her, which she didn't want to do, either.

Then again… she couldn't pretend some part of the reason she didn't wake her was interest. What was it like to touch her directly? Not just petting along it with one finger for half a second — or through underwear and a long t-shirt; she already knew what that felt like, given that she had been dealing with the sensation for about fifteen minutes by now.

The worst part was how her own body was reacting. At first, she was just nervous and maybe a little creeped out, even though her curiosity was always there. But by now… she felt her heart pounding, throat dry, and tingles in places she had rarely felt tingles before. All thanks to a rigid little monster hiding in her girlfriend's panties.

"Wakey-wakey, Ebi-chaaaan," she whispered to the figure slumbering against her side. She really did look so sweet there. So pretty… she wanted to kiss her again. But that wasn't okay! She was asleep. Even though she knew it was a relatively harmless thing to do, she still didn't feel quite right about it.

Maybe she should try to slide out from under her. Yes, that sounded like a much safer idea. Nobody would feel like they had been violated this way. So little by little, she began to inch away from her, keeping her eyes on Ai's flawless features…

"Nnnhh…"

"Hey!" Rise squeaked when the sleeping girl redoubled her grip on her. Shit! She bit her lip, trying to ignore how much closer to a certain area that firm presence was now. Could she find no relief from this personal hell?!

This was supposed to be Narukami. Oh, she had dreamed many times about waking up beside him, letting him see a glimpse of a sexy shoulder before she pulled her kimono on and went to get breakfast. Sometimes, he dragged her back to bed, began to ravage her with kisses. And sometimes…

Well, no, she didn't really imagine sex. That part wasn't as integral to her fantasies; she just wanted to enjoy the physical and emotional intimacy. The act itself might be fun but she wasn't as concerned with that. But from time to time, she did imagine Yu kissing all over her neck, or-

OH NO. Now she was even more tingly and right up against the thing that had instigated these tingles in the first place. This was getting bad! Ai was groaning a little from all the movement but not quite rousing from her slumber. So she was still stuck fast.

"Ebihara, please," she hissed, pushing at her shoulders slightly. The noises got louder. "Hey! Are you in there, somewhere?!"

"Mhhh?" she asked as her hips began to grind a little — and Rise could swear she was seeing stars. This was awakening her body for the first time and she was just starting to wish that this wouldn't stop. "Who… wha?"

When Ai's eyes slit open and she saw Rise was beneath her, she blinked a few times. Rise gulped and grimaced. Then the teen queen began to frown down at her pop star girlfriend as she struggled to come up with a proper greeting.

"Oh. I uh… good… morning?"

                                                                To Be Continued…

[sugarandspace]

Mangoose

Summary: All warlocks have an animal form. What happens when the Circle uses new technology during a battle that forces the warlocks fighting alongside their Shadowhunter friends turn into their animal forms?

A/N: This is silly. Inspired by a conversation we had at the Malec discord server (join us. everyone is so nice. and we do talk about less ridiculous things too)

AO3

Alec shoots another arrow and it pierces the head of the Circle member who was getting a bit too close to Jace. It’s a tough fight but they are holding their own against the twenty or so Circle members. They had found out that some of them still tried to keep the movement alive, even after Valentine was gone for good. They had assembled their own team of Shadowhunters and had ambushed them during one of their meetings, their goal to capture them so they could be sent to the Gard. Only it looked like they weren’t willing to go without a fight.

Alec is standing on top of one of the smaller buildings in the area, looking down at the fight and assisting with his bow and arrows. Among seraph blades and Izzy’s whip, he can see flashes of red and purple where Magnus and Dot are fighting alongside them. They happened to be at the Institute when they planned the mission and they wanted to help, eager to bring the last parts of the movement down.

The shrill sound takes them all by surprise. Alec turns his attention to the direction of the sound and notices that one of the Circle members is holding some kind of a machine that’s the source of the noise. Alec turns his attention back to the battle before getting too distracted, his vantage point at the roof giving him a perfect view of the whole fight.

At first, everything seems normal.

Then his eyes find Magnus.

Magnus is covering his ears, seemingly more affected by the noise than the others. Alec looks at Dot to find her in a similar state. The machine must be doing something to the Warlocks.

Alec shoots another arrow and the Shadowhunter holding the machine is dead, and the machine falls to the ground. Unfortunately it doesn’t break, and the noise continues to ring in the air.

He looks at Magnus and notices that his magic is flickering, and in a blink of an eye, he’s changing form. Instead of seeing Magnus like people are used to seeing him, now in the middle of the fight stands a foot and a half tall mongoose, also known as Magnus’ animal form.

As Alec looks to the other side of the fight he can see Dot in her own animal form, as a dark owl. It’s clear that the machine did something to mess up with the Warlocks and turned them to their animal forms without their consent.

Alec had always known that each Warlock had an ability to turn to an animal, but only a specific type of animal that was determined by their magic and heritage. He had not known what Magnus’ animal form was until the man in question had told him himself.

Magnus didn’t spend much time in his animal form, since being a human was usually more practical than being a mongoose. Magnus had told him that mongoose form had very little perks compared to the human one. At first, he’d been hesitant to tell Alec about it and had played along when Alec had assumed that his golden eyes were that of a cat’s.

Had Alec been surprised when he found out that it was a mongoose? Yes. Had he thought any less of his incredible boyfriend because of it? Absolutely not. He actually thought that Magnus looked rather cute in his animal form, but he had a feeling Magnus wouldn’t appreciate the comment, so he’d kept it to himself.

Magnus didn’t like spending time in his animal form among strangers, and he’d definitely benefit from his human body in a fight, so when he had not turned back to his human form yet, Alec assumed that he couldn’t.

Alec shoots more arrows and he sees that Dot is making use of her form, using her long and sharp talons to attack the Circle members’ faces, careful to not let them hurt her in the process.

Magnus, on the other hand, looks to be in trouble. Being a foot and a half tall in the middle of a fight might not make you an easy target to the weapons since it makes you nearly invisible to everyone who’s focusing on bigger threats, ones on the same level. But as much as that invisibility is a blessing, it also keeps almost resulting in Magnus’ death as he keeps dodging all the feet that are constantly threatening to stomp on him.

Alec jumps down from the roof and pulls his blade out, making his way towards where he sees Magnus, standing on his back legs and looking every which way for a safe escape route. Just like that Alec’s previous goal of killing or capturing the Circle members has switched to getting Magnus out of there alive.

He makes it to Magnus and scoops his boyfriend up, not even thinking about it before he’s placing Magnus in is quiver with the few arrows he still has left. When he no longer needs to worry about Magnus, he’s able to focus fully on the fight.

The loud noise is still ringing, but it’s merely background noise to the sound of metal hitting metal and screams of exertion and pain. It doesn’t take long before Alec can feel tiny feet on his shoulder, Magnus’ head next to his. Alec lets out a breath that’s almost like a laugh. He should have guessed that Magnus wouldn’t want to stay hidden, even when he can’t really do anything to help.

The fight goes on and on, and every now and then Alec can see flashes of orange hair or a glint of an electrum whip or the wide wings of an owl. He’s fighting back to back with his parabatai as the amount of Circle members gets smaller and smaller.

He finds out that he doesn’t need to worry about dropping Magnus who’s alternating between having his front feet on his right shoulder and having them on his left shoulder. Magnus keeps the lower half of his body securely in the quiver, while the rest balances perfectly with the fast movements Alec is forced to make.

Alec winces a little when he feels sharp claws in his scalp, as Magnus climbs so that his head is on top of Alec’s, his back legs on the back of his jacket collar, the claws brushing the back of his neck. He gets that Magnus is most likely trying to find a position where he’ll be the least distracting but where he’ll be able to keep an eye on the fight but this particular position is proving to be a bit uncomfortable for Alec.

“Magnus,” he complains but he doesn't have time to move him away as the fight keeps going.

It ends up being a good thing when Alec feels a pull in his hair a moment later, the pain forcing him to turn his head a little to the left, which allows him to see the enemy that had been approaching without him noticing.

He kills the woman with a well-aimed swing of his blade.

“Thank you,” he says to the mongoose that’s still holding on to his hair, albeit not as painfully anymore.

The fight starts slowing down after that, their numbers bigger than those of the remaining Circle members’. Alec manages to go on the rest of the fight without any more hairpulling, and after a while, Magnus retreats back to his place over Alec’s shoulder.

Alec pulls his blade out of the last Circle member he killed before looking at the fight around them. Everywhere he looks he can see his friends and colleagues aiding each other to kill the remaining enemies.

His attention is turned to Magnus when he feels the weight of him leave his shoulder as he hops to the ground and starts running. Alec’s eyes follow him, curious to see where he’s going. He leaps over bodies and discarded weapons on the ground until he reaches the machine. Alec watches as Magnus bares his teeth and bites into the wires of the machine, and it doesn’t take long until the noise cuts off.

With the noise and all the sounds of the fight gone, the place is eerily quiet.

As soon as the noise is gone, Alec watches as Magnus turns back to his human form, dressed up in the fancy clothing he wore before he got forcibly turned. He looks around to see Dot landing on the ground before turning back to human.

“We did it,” Jace says and Alec turns to look at him. He’s sweaty and has specks of blood on his face, and Alec assumes he looks about the same. He’s about to reply before he hears a familiar voice from behind him.

“Jace,” Magnus says, his tone polite and matching the smile he wears. “Can I borrow your brother for a moment?”

“Sure,” Jace says. “Just don’t disappear anywhere, we still need to clean up this mess. If you don’t come back in ten minutes I’m going to come and get you and I do not want to witness anything that will scar me for life.”

“Oh Jace,” Magnus replies. His smile turns from polite to teasing and Alec is slightly afraid of what he’ll say next. “If I wanted, we could be done in five.”

Alec closes his eyes and groans at his shameless boyfriend. Nevertheless, he takes the offered hand and follows Magnus a bit further away from the bodies, to the area where they can’t be seen or heard.

His slight hopes for Magnus living up to his words are instantly killed when Magnus looks at him with a serious expression and speaks.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” he starts and Alec is instantly on edge. And not in a fun way. He looks with wide eyes as Magnus points at him with a finger and pokes it to his chest.

“I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn! You do not pick me up while we are working!”

Alec knows he’s playing with fire, but he can’t resist the opportunity.

“But when we’re not working?”

The glare he receives as the response is so strong Alec is surprised it doesn’t physically burn him.

He lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Fine,” he says. “I promise not to do it again.”

“Thank you,” Magnus replies, and Alec can see that he’s fighting a smile. He knows that Magnus didn’t like what happened, but he also knows that he’s not nearly as bothered as he pretends to be. If he were, the glint Alec can see in his eyes wouldn’t be there. Alec likes to think that he’s learned to read his boyfriend pretty well, and would know if he truly were upset or angry.

Alec thinks the biggest reason for this conversation is that Magnus wants Alec to know that he doesn’t have to be helped, that he would have been able to handle the situation on his own as well. Mongoose might not be the most dangerous animal to have as your animal form, but centuries of living with it have taught Magnus how to use it to his advantage. Alec knows that he would be useless if he turned into something that didn’t have thumbs.

When they walk back to the others, Magnus’ sure steps take him towards the machine still on the ground. Magnus glares at it and with a dramatic wave of his hand and a bright flash of red magic, it’s nothing but a pile of smoking ash.

When Magnus turns his head to look at the others who have turned their questioning eyes towards the sudden flash of red they saw, Alec does his best to hide his smile.

He truly loves his boyfriend, both in his human form and as a mongoose.

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

nine - a cult and a spy

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

ALEXIOS SEES TO a number of Perikles friends to garner the leader's trust and favor but finds himself returning to Irene after his tasks are complete instead of the Adrestia. Once he finds her in the market, buying tiganites from a street vendor for a group of children –Phoibe is among them. Another time she is buying a ream of blue-green linen from a weaver. The next time he sees Phoibe running through the streets, she is wearing a new tunic of the same color. Other times he finds her in the villa –tending to herbs or flowers.

He returns as the sun is setting, having delivered two Spartan seals to Demosthenes as proof his task had been completed. Irene is not to be found on the lower level of the villa, but there is a long shadow on the roof. The Eagle Bearer climbs the white column closest to the pergola, opting for a shorter route than stairs.

The princess jumps –hand going to her racing heart as he pops up over the railing. "Alexios!" She scolds. "Stop doing that!" He's made a habit of surprising her, whether he climbs to the roof or drops down from it. One time it just might make her heart stop. The misthios chuckles as he sheds his weapons and armor. He reclines beneath the pergola. After a long day, it is good to have somewhere to rest his head.

Irene pushes a platter of fruit, soft cheese, and bread between them. "Herodotus mentioned your sister," she says, watching his expression. She and the historian had spoken briefly over a light meal earlier in the day.

Alexios' jaw clenches. "Kassandra. The Cult of Kosmos must have taken her," he explains. Somehow his sister survived the fall too. The Pythia and ephors had condemned Kassandra to death when she was still a suckling babe in the name of Sparta. It was only meant to be Kassandra who died that night on Mount Taygetos, but he had died too –and came back a blade with no name.

Whispers circulate about a Cult –Irene has never taken the rumors seriously, but she has come to see the errors of her ways, especially after the dire news Herodotus had shared. She looks down into her cup of watered wine and lets out a slow breath. "It seems every corner of the world has cultists crawling about," she remarks offhandedly -thinking about the Order.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

Irene pulls a shawl around her shoulders –the thought of the Order of Ancients chills her to the core. They were the reason she had to leave Ephesus. The reason Hydarnes was dead. The reason she'd never known her mother or father. "In Persia the Order of the Ancients controls everything." Achaemenid kings were nothing more than puppets to promote chaos.

Theramenes had come to see her that morning. A member of the Order had been caught in Boeotia by the Athenians –the letter he brought was filled with dire news. The Order had taken her childhood and now sought to take her life.

"They search for the Tainted Ones," she explains. She wasn't sure what it meant exactly and neither her brother nor the old general ever explained what it meant to be one. "Hydarnes thought I was one of them. The Order must have as well because they want to kill me." An expression most akin to defeat crosses over her fair features. "They've been hunting me since I was born." And one day they'll likely find me.

Alexios wants to say something –to stop despair and resignation from taking over her, but he cannot find the words. Instead, he reaches over gripping onto her hand. A silent gesture that means more to the princess than words ever could.

IN A RARE occasion, Alkibiades is both clothed and sober when he arrives at Irene's villa. He has come bearing gifts of wine and cheese –for there is much he wishes to discuss with the wayward princess. Athenian gossip had been rather dull as of late, even if most of it was about him.

He reclines beneath a canopy in the courtyard and cuts into a ripe fig. She leans back against the fountain, dipping a hunk of brown bread into a mixture of olive oil and herbs. "Some little birds have told me Kleon has taken an interest in you since your return," Alkibiades remarks idly.

Irene frowns, crossing her arms. "Not again." The demagogue has repeatedly shown interest in her. Often sending lavish gifts or paying to have poems written. Irene has always given away such gifts to those less fortunate and leaves the poems to burn -unread. Kleon is one of the reasons she leaves so often and remains away for so long.

"Perhaps if he saw you and the misthios together-" Alkibiades words and mind wander off. It wouldn't be a terrible sight to witness, both she and the mercenary are attractive enough. Irene shakes her head –of course, that would be the first place his thoughts go. "-though unfortunately, I doubt a standing relationship would deter the likes of Kleon."

The princess frowns -one day she hopes to see Kleon's body strung up from the city walls for the atrocities committed under his command. Perhaps then she could finally be free of his lingering shadow and unwanted attention.

Alkibiades tires of conversation soon after the wine is gone and rises to his feet unsteadily. Irene grips onto his elbow to keep him from tumbling into the fountain. He pokes the center of her chest. "You owe me for covering the trail of bodies you left on Chios, by the way," he tells her. His little birds had told him quite the tale about the bloody path she'd carved through the Forest of Tears. The vultures and crows could feast for days on the mangled corpses of bandits left in her wake.

He is mostly self-serving, but he has always had a soft spot for Irene. Perikles' ward is perhaps the only person in all of Greece who knows the extent of her escapades. He's never considered himself a warrior, but she has always been his blade in times of crisis. In turn, he is more than willing to aid her however he can.

"Thank you, Allie," Irene says with a reserved smile, placing a chaste kiss upon his cheek. "You are a true friend."

Alkibiades' smirk is charming, if not somewhat irritating. "Only for you, sweetling," he purrs over his shoulder, sauntering off to whatever debaucheries await him at the early hour.

"Phoibe!" The princess exclaims after nearly tripping over the girl -not having seen her dart into the courtyard.

She is unbothered and holds out a scroll, smiling. "Aspasia sent me!" Irene takes the message, breaks the beeswax seal and skims over the lines but then notices the young girl is still looking up at her –a hundred questions dancing on the tip of her tongue. The princess rolls the scroll back up and tucks it into her sash -taking a seat at the stone edge of the fountain. "How do you know Alexios?" Phoibe asks once Irene's attention returns to her.

"Ikaros decided to eat his evening meal next to me on a beach," she tells the girl. Had it not been for the golden eagle, it is likely their paths never would have crossed.

"I have a pet eagle, too," Phoibe says -pride lacing the words. "Chara, I gave her to Alexios before he left Kephallonia." The toy eagle was the only thing she had left of her parents, of Athens -until now.

Irene has seen Chara before. It the wooden eagle she has seen Alexios look at before. The one he often sat on the ship's railing so it could fly too, like Ikaros. "I've seen her. He keeps her by his side." Hearing that makes the girl smile. "Phoibe," the princess beckons her over to sit at her side on the edge of the fountain. Phoibe takes a seat and dips her hand into the cool water. "Can you do something for me?" Irene inquires.

The girl nods –always up for a new adventure. "I have suspicions about Kleon. If you notice anything strange, will you tell me?" Irene sees the glint of mischief budding in the girl's eyes –reminding her of herself at that young age and the trouble she used to get into. "But no spying," the princess warns, "I've been told you need to stay out of trouble." Irene winks with her own sly look and the girl's smile grows wider.

Phoibe decides then she really likes Irene. "Can I come back later?" She asks but is quick to amend the question. "As long Aspasia doesn't need me."

The princess nods. "Of course," Irene tells her, sending her off with a smile and a wave.

[mythiica]

Reader x Kenshin Uesugi - Salty Onigiri

Title: Salty Onigiri

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Kenshin Uesugi

Genre: romance + slow burn

Warnings: ??? i mean very minor spoilers about his route, but everything after getting out of the.. Place.. Is completely fictional!

Intended Gender Audience: Female audience

Word Count: 2367 words its a thicc boi

Other comments: this is kind of a continuation of my pickled plums thing LOL; there will be a part 3 (angst) and a part 4 (hardcore smut), so keep an eye out for those~  you can reach each part as a one shot though if you’re not into a series, but I do recommend reading them all! For now, enjoy^^

As the days pass, someone has been leaving pickled plums within arms reach of your cell as you sleep. You assume it’s either Yukimura or Sasuke helping you through this unfair treatment, and you promise yourself that you’ll thank them when they stop by or when you get out. Whichever comes first… and at this rate, you’re not sure which one will.

          You’re finishing a plum and reading a basic book about the geography of the land when you hear someone descending into the cells. Wiping your finger on your clothes, you hide the jar and lie down to make it appear like you had been sleeping.

         Kenshin clears his throat when he arrives in front of your cell, but you remain motionless. He scoffs and kicks the bars, sending a rippling wave through the walls. It shakes you as well; a display of his overwhelming physical power. You sit up straight suddenly and shoot him an angry glare. “So you’re alive,” he deadpans, crouching to meet your eye level. His eyes are cold as ever, but there seems to be a slight spark of curiosity – the way a hunter would admire his prey.

         “Yes,” you reply through your teeth.

         His eyes flicker to the slight glint on the embroidery in your kimono. He smirks slightly upon realizing it is juice from the pickled plums he had been leaving for you. However, you knew not about the stain nor the fact that Kenshin had been providing your midnight snacks.

         As silence crept between you, and Kenshin mentally declares the moment a victory over you, but then he wonders why he is so preoccupied with thinking about it. You’re his prisoner.

         However, Kenshin had betrayed his thoughts and you could read his expression plain as day. “What is it?” you ask.

         He shakes his head and stands up straight. “You are no longer required to stay in here. I’m letting you free.”

         “Free?”

         Kenshin opens the door, and it swings open. You’re tempted to make a run for it, but you know that he could cut you down before you’d make it past him.

         “Free to walk around the grounds. Should you attempt to escape and violate my hospitality… I won’t hesitate to send you back to Nobunaga… in pieces…” His voice is low and threatening, so you know he means what he’s saying.

         You linger in the cage, considering his offer. To be honest, you’re not sure if he’s lying or telling the truth.

         “If you want to stay in here, I have no problem with that-”

         “No! I’m coming out…” you say as you stand up and gingerly exit. You watch his body for any sign of movement, but he remains perfectly still. Accepting this as a sign he is telling the truth, you look towards the door and see rays of sunlight poking from under it. Not thinking about Kenshin, you make a run for it, bouncing up the stairs and into the fresh air as fast as you can.

         The passageway opens up to an outdoor hallway, so you leap forward, off the wooden boards and into the sun. Bright light blinds you momentarily and Kenshin shouts after you, but you’re focused on feeling the daylight on your skin. As you bask in the sun, he stumbles out after you. Kenshin is about to grab you, but he watches you twirl in the light, and his breath is taken away.

         As you spin, the golden light reflects on your hair and face, illuminating your silhouette from behind. Your laughter fills his ears, and he doesn’t know how to react in the moment as he is completely awestruck.

         He did not understand how you could find joy in something as trivial as the sun. Tipping his head to the side slightly, he watches you waltz in circles. Kenshin only breaks out of the trance when you call out to Yukimura, who has turned the corner and is walking towards you.

         He waves and smiles at you, asking if you’ve escaped or if you have been released.

         Kenshin watches from the shade like an afterthought, and his heart sinks for some inexplicable reason.

         “Thank you for bringing me the plums, Yukimura! They really kept me going there, especially when I thought that I would be spending the rest of my life in that cell.”

         Yukimura beams and rubs the back of his neck. “It was the least I could do. Happy that you’re out though, even if you’re still a prisoner.”

         Kenshin blinks and his hand lands on the hilt of his sword. He relaxes and shakes his head, wondering why a spell of anger overtook him. Sure, he had been the one to give you the treats, but he did not understand why it bothered him to hear the young vassal taking credit for it.

         Dismissing the situation, Kenshin takes his leave. You only see a flicker of blue from the corner of your eyes when he turns the corner.

“Tell me, why have you come to me of all people? The only reason you dare speak to me is if there is an emergency,” Shingen teases as he takes a sip of his tea. “Could it be that the God of War as developed emotions but does not know how to handle them?”

         Kenshin fumes and considers leaving, but he simply crosses his arms. “Never.”

         Shingen raises an eyebrow. “Does this have to do with a certain little nightingale that you’ve recently released~?”

         “I simply do not understand why I find myself so concerned about her whereabouts.”

         To this, Shingen laughs heartily. “My friend, has she really managed to touch your heart in so little time?”

         Kenshin wishes he had a bottle of sake with him. He could drink it and hit Shingen over the head with it. “We are not friends. And if you continue to laugh at me, I will leave.”

         “Why not go spend time with her? She’s rather lovely, especially when alone~”

         “Have you been with her alone?” Kenshin inquires, a pang of worry plucking at his heartstrings.

         Shigen smirks dangerously. “Of course I have!” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back. “I must say… her voice is ever so sweet, especially when it’s the only melody you listen to~”

         Kenshin growls at the comment, but Shingen waves his hand to dismiss anything he might be thinking. “Go to her. She should be in the kitchens. Apologize for treating her like a common prisoner. Women like to be swept up off their feet.”

         “Says you, Womanizer of Kai-” he mumbles in response as he stands up. Before he exists the room, he calls over his shoulder, “For the record, I’m doing this because I have manners. Not because you suggested that I do.”

         “Ha! Of course, Lord Kenshin,” Shingen says with a wink.

Just as Shingen had said, Kenshin finds you in the kitchen. The sleeves of your kimono are rolled up and your hair is loosely tied back. Strands of your bangs curl over your head, matted down by the slight sheen of sweat that reflects in the light as you move gracefully.

         You curse under your breath when the bamboo wrap slips from your hands. As Kenshin moves forward, you squeal in surprise as you had not noticed him earlier. “Lord Kenshin!”

         He grunts in acknowledgement before looking at the mess of rice scattered across the table. “What are you doing here? Besides destroying things.”

         Averting your gaze, you look down. “I was trying… to help…”

         Kenshin raises an eyebrow. “I release you from the cells, and instead of doing whatever you please, you task yourself with manual labor?”

         “Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

         He takes the knife from your hand and cuts the balls of rice into half. “You are using far too much. How do you expect the seaweed to hold it properly when you have enough to feed a soldier in this ball?”

         His comment makes you laugh. Taking another wad of rice, you break it into two. “Like this?” you ask.

         “Yes. Now shape it with the end of the blade.” Kenshin lines up the rice and presses the metal against the sides, forming them into roughly the same size triangles of rice. You follow his steps the best you can, but yours look less equal compared to Kenshin’s. Upon seeing the disappointment on your face, Kenshin takes a bite from one. “It takes practice.”

         “Yours are perfect. How did you do it?”

         “I’ve known how to make onigiri since I was young.”

         Interested by this comment, you press further. “You know how to cook?”

         “Any man should. In the case they find themselves unable to communicate or in a situation where help is limited. Of course I do.”

         Is there anything he can’t do? you ask yourself.

         The two of you reach for the washcloth, causing his hand to brush over yours. Kenshin reels back almost immediately, and allows you to take it. Bowing his head slightly, Kenshin clears his throat. “It was not right to keep you in the cell,” he begins, catching your attention. “I should have put you to work instead.”

         “Is that supposed to be an apology?!”

         Kenshin turns away. “Name it what you will.”

         “Wait!” you call after him as he leaves. However, he escapes before you have the chance to speak to him more.

Tensions between you and Kenshin lessen as time passes, and one day Kenshin sees you admiring the garden in full bloom. He wishes to join you, but Shingen is by your side before he has a chance to go to you. His blood boils when he sees Shingen making you laugh, so he storms off.

         However, he did not hear what actually transpired between you and Shingen:

         “What a beautiful flower, no?” Shingen comments suavely as he meets your pace.

         “Where?” you ask, turning in circles to look for it.

         “Well, surely I am referring to you.”

         Looking down, you tuck your hair behind your ear. “Ah…”

         “Tell me, how do you like it here?”

         You inhale the fresh air and smile. “It’s beautiful… yes. But I do miss the Oda castle. All of my friends are there. I’ve become close with some of the maids here though-”

         Shingen nods and smiles as your face lights up. The two of you walk a few paces forward before Shingen introduces a new conversation. “I do believe that Kenshin has taken a liking to you, my dear.”

         This makes you laugh. “Lord Kenshin?”

         He nods.

         “I doubt it-” you reply swiftly as warmth spreads to your cheeks. “He kept me as a prisoner. Albeit, he made sure I was accommodated, I cannot forgive him for that.”

         Shingen ponders for a moment. “Are you aware that he left pickled plums for you after catching you eating them?”

         “I thought-”

         “And he let you,” Shingen concludes.

         Before you can reply, you see a streak of blue zip around the corner.

         “Oh no…” you whisper to yourself, realizing Kenshin had been watching you.

A few days later and you still feel guilty for upsetting Kenshin. He barely showed himself, and the few times you caught a glimpse of him, he would refuse to look you in the eye. It bothered you that you had become relatively close… if that was even possible… to Kenshin, but now he cut himself off from you.

         Determined to make things right, you go to the kitchens to prepare a special dinner for him.

         It’s hard to knock on his door as you hold the tray, but Kenshin opens the door just as you’re about to call out. In fact, he nearly runs into you, but he stops himself at the last moment.

         “What are you doing here?”

         “I brought you some onigiri. And plums!”

         Kenshin looks at the tray and the words roll off of his tongue. “For me?”

         Rolling your eyes, you let yourself inside. “No, for Shingen.” You set it down on the table and wait for him to return from the door. When he lingers, you laugh and add, “Yes, it’s for you. It’s kind of… a way to make amends? He told me that you left the plums for me while I was in the cell.” But then, you cross your arms. “I wouldn’t have been in the cell in the first place if you hadn’t locked me there, though.”

         He looks at you with a blank expression, and you jump slightly. “I-I’ll go…”

         As you leave, Kenshin catches your wrist. “No. Stay.”

         You sit opposite from Kenshin and wait for him to eat something. After a few minutes of silence, he takes one of the onigiris and bites one of the corners. You expect him to comment on good it is, but instead he spits it out.

         “Did you use an entire salt mine on this?!”

         Relaxing, you howl with laughter.

         Kenshin does not find this funny, and takes a long swig of sake. “How dare you?!”

         “I’m sorry!” you manage to hiccup between bursts of laughter. “I must have accidentally put too much.”

         He does not believe this, and instead thinks you’re trying to poison him. Kenshin attempts to eat a different one, but it has the same issue of being far too salty to consume. You find this hysterical, so Kenshin huffs with annoyance.

         “You’re having far too much fun with this-” Kenshin complains. “Share my fate, then.” He sits up, leans over the table, catches your kimono with his fingers, and pulls you forward.

         Your breath is trapped in your throat as he presses his lips against yours. Kenshin’s tongue invades your mouth, bring the overwhelming taste of salt with it. Despite this, you melt into the kiss, enveloped by his musky scent in addition to the salt. You press your fingers to his jaw – a sign to show you accept his kiss. Had the table not been there, Kenshin would have welcomed himself to pin you under him.

         He leans back and a sly smirk captures his lips as a dark blush spreads across your cheeks.

         Indeed.

         The onigiri was far too salty.

[roonilwazlibb]

KEIYNAN LONSDALE? No, that’s actually HARRY JAMES POTTER from the GOLDEN TRIO ERA. You know, the child of LILY POTTER (NEE EVANS) and JAMES POTTER? Only 22 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as an AUROR (FOR NOW) and is sided with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. HE identifies as CIS MALE and is a HALF BLOOD who is known to be MERCURIAL, BULLHEADED, and PRIVATE but also EMPATHETIC, BOLD, and SELFLESS. — &&. ( LIZ, GMT+2, SHE/HER, 22. )

pinterest.

Instead of writing the longest intro possible I’m just gonna ignore Harry’s background BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW IT ALREADY !!!!!!!!!! thx

depression tw, death tw, war tw, PTSD tw

AFTER HOGWARTS.

So, the war is over ( a war that Harry has grown up fighting, mind you, the boy hasn’t had time for much else, has he now ? ) and people look to a teenager to continue being what he has been for the last seventeen years ( but what they’ve also rejected, when it suits the current tide of war ). But Harry James Potter doesn’t care much for being a beacon of hope ( of clarity, of light ), anymore. He’s not their symbol ( but at the same time, he knows that he will always be just that ).

The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts itself is a blur, for him. Tugged in every direction. Not so much a man, more of an object, something that his entire world feels entitled to. But he’s exhausted ( has he been able to breath properly for the last year, at all ? ). It’s too much for any seventeen year old, yet people expect him ( the boy who lived, never just Harry ), to carry it with gratitude, with a smile, with bravery. 

The days after the final battle, he feels very little, barely anything at all. All he really does is sleep.

The mark on his back is gone ( the one on his face isn’t ), but it doesn’t feel like it. Sure, he doesn’t have to fear for his life anymore, but the crowds are relentless. Suffocating him. He’s grieving, and all the masses ( the strangers, people who think that they know him because he’s famous ) want to do is hug him, shake his hand, clap him on the back. He tries to be understanding ( they’re grieving too, logically, he KNOWS that ). But by now, Harry is growing a little bit tired of being everyone’s emotional-support-boy-who-lived.

Anyways, a few weeks after the war ends, Harry falls off the map. Disappears from the grid. Could not be found, through any means. Some of his friends say that he rented a muggle car and drove through Europe. Others say that he just slept, refused to leave his house, so exhausted and depressed that he couldn’t be reached. Others are firm in their belief that he was busy hunting down the last of the Death Eaters. No one truly knows what Harry did, during those months. Only those closest to him have a vague idea.

He eventually returns, a little bit better. The weight on his shoulders lighter. Back to his former self ( though, he’s not quite sure who that was, this war has tried to consume him since boyhood ). His smile comes easier, it’s less weary. He has that Potter sparkle back in his gaze ( the one that makes his eyes look less like Lily’s, more likes James’, despite what the color might tell you ). He’s not at peace yet, but he will be ( his scar hasn’t hurt in months, that’s a start ).

Harry finds solace in his friends, that much has not changed. It was them he fought for, and it’s them that he continues to live for. The war never changed Harry’s capacity for love.

So, he’s back. People still look to him ( and they think that they know what he will do, ALWAYS always, always ). He can’t escape their eyes, their whispers, how they think that they know him. Most of the time, he hates it. But he’s also the type of guy to poke fun at it, doing his best to not take himself too seriously. Everything’s easier, that way.

Maybe he does it out of habit, or out of duty, but he does what he thinks will make the most people happy and joins the Aurors ( they had been nudging him in their direction ever since Voldemort fell, who wouldn’t want the famous Harry Potter in their ranks against the dark? ).

But Harry is just Harry, and Harry is so tired of being Harry Potter. For the first year after the war, the poor guy could barely go out for a drink without being mobbed, you know? The excitement eventually ebbed out ( thank god ) and became less exhausting, but it was still there, in smaller waves.

ANYWAYS ---- so he’s an auror. He doesn’t hate the work by any means, but he feels as though he has just gone from fighting one war, to fighting another. Which is really the last thing he needs right now? He still suffers from night terrors, about his friends dying, about Voldemort ( not so much Voldemort as other people remember him ----- in his dreams, Harry sees the Voldemort in limbo, at King’s Cross ). Eventually, those will go away too. Partly.

The Wizarding Wars have taken a lot of things away from Harry, and for that he is silently angry, a little bit, all the time. The war he fought may have ended —— but it’s still taking things from him. His agency, for one thing. Did he want to become an auror? Well, it would have been ONE possible path, but perhaps not the one he would have chosen first. Ever since the war, everyone just keep looking to him, to have him continue being the symbol of hope and greatness that he was during the last year of the war. But Harry is just Harry, you know?  Not much has changed since that evening when Hagrid came to get him, all those years ago. But people just assume to know what The Chosen One will do next, and Harry’s just sort of…. along for the ride, for the most part, when it comes to that and his public image. Right now, he is just doing what he thinks is right, for the greater good. He does what he thinks is expected of him, what he thinks will make the most people happy. He’s not thinking of himself, at least not yet. I don’t think Harry even realizes that he has grown resentful, a little bit bitter, angry. 

With that said, I really like the idea of post-war Harry as the biggest troll possible when it comes to the media. All those ridiculous rumors you read in the papers about The Boy Who Lived are often started by Harry himself !!!! It’s his way of gaining some of that agency back but also he just thinks it’s a fucking blast. 

Constant bad jokes about how 'he didn’t die for this’ and ‘did we really defeat Voldemort so that you could’.... are PRIME coping mechanisms too!!!! 

Never actually finished school but totally got away with it because he’s Harry Potter. Finally some perks, am I right.....

Overall, Harry IS concerned with being a good role model for the younger kiddos, but that year after the war? Harry was in a dark place, not fit for returning to school. Not fit for returning to anything, really.

Harry is a really good teacher and we ALL know this, so why isn’t this man teaching? It would be much better for his mental health too. Damn it.

With that said ----- I think this version of Harry will either continue down the auror route, eventually become head auror, but devote his life more to teaching the new aurors and reshape the auror department. BUT I have also always adored the idea of Harry returning to Hogwarts as a professor, taking up the position as the Defense against Dark Arts professor. We love full circles in this house !!!! I also think that would be really good for Harry, to be surrounded by kids ( who wouldn’t have really lived through the war, the boy who lived would just be a myth to them, it would be less dramatic, they’d soon forget that Harry has ever been anything other than their professor ).

Never really replaced Hedwig. These days, Harry uses various messenger birds and owls, mostly borrowing those of his friends. He did adopt a dog, though. 

I don’t think Harry will be fully at peace until more time has run its course. He has been through so much trauma, way more than any man ( much less a boy ) should ever have to experience. The scars may fade ( no, not THAT one ), but they will never quite heal, not for him. BUT he will be at peace, eventually.

TLDR: Harry is an auror, right now. He hasn’t washed off his past, but he has come to terms with it, in a way. 

PERSONALITY & OTHER FUN STUFF.

Harry Potter is compassionate, selfless, kind. Good at seeing the good. But also petty, impulsive, seething, moody. Bad at letting things go.

So incredibly brave, but shouldn’t have had to be? An eleven year old should not under any circumstances be led into the lion’s den and that’s that on that.

Has a hero complex, but it’s one that was forced upon him ( do not get me started on Albus Dumbledore, it will take up the rest of the intro ). Harry was LITERALLY just Harry, until suddenly, he wasn’t. 

The sheer dumb bitch energy of this man sometimes....... Thank god for Ron and Hermione is all I’m gonna say.......

Masks a lot of his trauma and pain with bad jokes, sarcasm and a seemingly carefree attitude. Tries his best to play down a lot of things ( his pain, his fame, his trauma, what he did during the war ). But he has a really serious streak too.

With that said, Harry does struggle with PTSD and survivor’s guilt. 

A total smart ass ( there’s no need to call me sir, professor? ). Harry has a sharp tongue aND is often much sassier than he should be, especially when challenged / when he sees something as unjust / when there’s someone that he just doesn’t like. But that sharpness can seep into his everyday life too.

Like I mentioned earlier, Harry is a total troll and will leak the most outrageous rumors that have 0% truth to them to the press. It’s all in good fun. Most of the time.

Honestly that thing Dan Radcliffe did when he wore the same shirt everyday for a month so that the pictures of him would all be un-usable is peak Harry behavior.

Harry would ultimately LIKE to forgive the remaining Death Eaters, the ones who has repented ( eg. The Malfoys ), but he is having a hard time with it. He is prone to spite and pettiness, and forgiveness ultimately doesn’t run easy in his veins. But the attempt IS there, and he doesn’t want to live with a sliver of bitterness in his heart, you feel?

The war hasn’t so much hardened him though, as it has softened him. Sure, it has made him weary, careful, closed off. But it has also made him kinder, more empathetic, more understanding, stronger in his sense of self.

Isn’t as rich as he used to be. Used a large chunk of his fortune after the war to help victims of the war to get back onto their feet. Anonymously of course. Harry has no desire to make headlines, ever again.

Refuses interviews. Most of the time. Only The Quibbler will get an ounce of truth out of Harry.

TIME CLASH.

Harry has always had a family ( a found family, his friends, family doesn’t end in blood ), but suddenly everything has been amplified, he has his parents back, his godfather, their friends. But they’re all his age, they don’t recognize him ( but he barely recognize them, either ---- if it hadn’t been for staring himself blind at their photographs, he wouldn’t know them ). It’s basically like The Erised Mirror Extreme Version, for Harry.

But there are also The Death Eaters ------- and the fear of having to go back, be the figurehead of yet another war that he has to sacrifice EVERYTHING for. Frankly, Harry has had quite enough. He doesn’t want to be their Atlas, anymore. But at the same time, his parents are back. And he doesn’t want to lose them again. AND he knows that they’d fight this war for him. Which makes him want to fight this war for them. Can you see where I’m going for this? It’s a really tumultuous time for Harry, he’s confused and just a little bit lost.

AND then there are the KIDS !!!!!! HIS KIDS !!!!!!!!! It’s a total mind fuck, Harry doesn’t feel ready to be a father, nor does he feel that the world is ready for him to have children. But his children are all grown up and from the future. He wants to protect their future, their peace. 

It’s a little bit selfish too. Harry wants that peace for himself. He wants all to be well, you know?

[ikesenhell]

Courage

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 5. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Mildly traumatizing content? Implied gore and suicide? It isn’t too bad I promise.  Thanks to all my readers who stopped in and @velociraptor-detective​ for always line editing.

They started the meeting with the usual things that were always discussed when it came to Waŋblí Hoȟpi; food, storage, transportation, the recreation of the rail lines, so on. Masamune didn't know why he’d been summoned until the tail end, when Ieyasu smacked down a tiny mechanical thing in front of him.

“Ieyasu,” Mitsunari squeaked, “I appreciate your fervor, but please be more careful with it, it did take a while for me to fix that--”

Ieyasu pointedly ignored him. “If you really want us to track down where your ghost ship goes, you have to do something stupid, apparently.”

Masamune poked at it. It looked almost exactly like a box, except with a small slot on the front, a little lense, and a few buttons. “What is this, pre-war tech?”

“Yes.” The blonde returned flatly, crossing his arms. “It is, and it took me forever to find the damn thing, so you’d better keep good track of it. It’s a Polaroid camera.”

“No shit. Huh.” Masamune picked it up and pretended to fumble it, catching the device a half second later and relishing the look of horror on Ieyasu and Mitsunari’s faces. Mitsuhide hid his face behind his jacket sleeve. “What do you want me to do with this?”

All eyes turned to Mitsunari.

“Well,” Mitsunari started, slower and less enthusiastic than usual, “You see, we did develop a map of possible patterns and pathways the ship takes. It appears to be pretty consistent, according to the reported sightings.”

Masamune seriously considered juggling the Polaroid and stayed himself. “Okay. What’s this got to do with the camera?”

“Further research is necessary. If we know where it is, then it would behove us to find out… well… what it is.”

It all clicked at last.

“You want me to photograph this thing.” Masamune paused. “Is that what’s going on?”

“Yes!” Mitsunari brightened up. “Preferably from as many angles as possible. The Uesugi-Takeda settlement is coming for talks, and they have an excellent mechanical engineer who I want to take a look at it--”

“That’s a hard no from me.” Masamune pushed the device into Ieyasu’s arms. “You want me to get near the mystery murder boat that happens to have a cult of devotees? Are you insane?”

“Told you,” Ieyasu muttered to the camera. It remained stubbornly mute on the subject.

“You asked us to locate it,” Mitsuhide pointed out reasonably. “And along the route, there’s a fair chance that you might find something of value. We are talking about kidnappings, after all. We did our part--”

“Your part involved being around a fucking table, not chasing down the goddamn--” Masamune sputtered for words. “Ghost scurvy ship!”

Nobunaga, who up until now had remained utterly silent behind his table, finally spoke up. “Would you rather we get someone who isn’t already on the cultists radar? I’m certain if I asked Hideyoshi nicely enough, he’d put himself in the line of fire.”

Masamune shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Maybe Mitsunari? He certainly seems game. Or perhaps your precious shopkeeper--”

That was enough. Masamune drew the machete and leveled it at the other man. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Nobunaga just shrugged. “I never implied it was.”

“Don’t--don’t ask her,” Masamune pleaded, lowering the weapon. “She’d do it, too.”

Silence. Mitsunari wilted. Masamune seriously considered blowing up on the spot. “You asked her anyway, didn't you?”

“Well, I asked her first,” Mitsunari confessed, pushing his fingers together. “Since she also seems so invested in this problem. She said she would, but wanted to have you with her…”

Fuck.

“Give me that,” Masamune snapped, snatching up the camera from Ieyasu’s arms. “Does it come with a goddamn harness, or should I just wave it at the death ship freehand?”

“It has a harness.”

“Give it to me.”

They handed it over without commentary. Steaming, Masamune stalked from the room.

---

She was already waiting by the motorcycle as he exited.

“They hassled you about it?”

“Sure did, Kitten.” He sighed raggedly, sweeping past her and into the house. She followed. “Are we really doing this?”

“Masamune. We went stalking around a corn field at night and nearly got shot by a bunch of shotgun-wielding yokels, and you laughed.”

What could he even say to that that wasn’t so close to the truth? He fetched a glass and wriggled it at her, an understood question of do you want something to drink? She shook her head. He puttered around the kitchen, moving Ieyasu’s seedling peppers out of the sink and onto the windowsill for sunlight, and tried to buy himself some time.

It wasn’t enough. He could practically smell the gunpowder. He could hear his father in the quiet echo of his pulse, in the empty space where his eye once was.

“How much did I tell you about how my dad went?” He asked at last.

She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it, and finally allowed, “Not much. You weren’t really coherent, and then you just…”

“Took off,” he completed for her. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Silence. He paced around the table and ignored the glass of water he’d poured. “Dad saw the ship first, you know. He wasn’t really a superstitious guy, but he was getting up there and losing it a little. Grandad had dementia, so I think that was kind of starting to kick in, you know? He--he was always so strong. I can’t explain what happened. But the ship--the ship just punched the wind out of him somehow.”

She said nothing. He stretched out his arms as if physical exercise would chase the ghosts away. It didn't. Talking faster--like that would hurt less!--Masamune continued. “And like, you know, it only gives you a week. That’s what the legend says. You’ve got a week. We didn't really tell anyone at the time, cause he was a silent type and I was not really that spooked, right? But it got to Dad. I think he thought if we could get through the week, it would all be okay. He started staying up real late and drinking coffee all the time, maybe some herbal stuff. I don’t know what all he did. He didn't want it to get me.”

“Right,” was all she murmured. “I remember that.”

He pushed on, trying to punch through the burning in his eyes. “I just watched him--I watched him dissolve. He turned from my dad into some fucking stranger in a matter of days. It ate him alive. At the end of it, he couldn’t have told me what was sane and what wasn’t. All he thought was that--he thought that taking me at his own hand was mercy. He thought it was cleaner. He thought--”

Could he even say it? Masamune buckled onto the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. How could he articulate being on the wrong side of a gun, when the man behind it was his father? How could he describe the madness and fear in his hero’s eyes? Losing his sight, losing the rest of his family, losing his home in one fell swoop--

“I always say,” he managed, ignoring the tears on his cheeks, “that the ship didn't take him, he took him. That’s a damn lie. The ship took him. The ship took him, and he just finished the job for it. And I’m fucking terrified that if those shitbags out there in the prairie don’t get you, the fear will.”

Wind rattled the house siding. He rubbed stubbornly at his face, willing himself to stop, willing her to stop looking at him. She didn't. Instead she rose and crept to his side, settling down in front of his knees.

“Ah, Kitten,” he forced, “I’m not looking too cool right now.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she demurred, wiping his face with her fingertips. She smelled like lavender oils. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

He lowered his face into her hand and shut his eye, letting the scent waft over him. Away went the lingering taste of gunpowder. Away went the vision of what little remained of his father. All that was left was her--her and the creaking floorboards and the soft rush of air outside. She danced the other hand through his hair and despite himself, he moaned soft appreciation.

“We’re going to stop it.” It wasn’t a statement, but a declaration. Her voice almost echoed in the space. “We’re going to do it. There won’t be anyone else taken by the fear--not you, not me, no one. No more.”

---

He donned his lucky gloves the next day and zipped his jacket up to the hilt. She was waiting for him outside the shop when he pulled up. Wordlessly, Masamune offered her the Polaroid.

“It has a strap,” he indicated. She raised a brow at him.

“It’s bright orange. I can see that.”

Shit. He’d sounded just like Hideyoshi then, hadn’t he? Covering for it, Masamune grinned. “Just thought I’d point it out before Ieyasu kills me. Ready?”

She exhaled and pulled back her braids. “As I can be. Move up.”

The sun was setting in the distance, a golden globe radiating across the plains. In his travels, he’d never seen a more beautiful sunset. Out in the east, the eerie fallout glow caused too much fog and polluted rain to really enjoy it. In the south, the land was too barren to risk being out during the daytime. But here? Oh, he relished having her clutch him tight as the wind whistled around them.

“We’re gonna follow around the trail they marked,” Masamune shouted back to her, “They said it shows up around nightfall. You ready?”

She just lifted her thumb in assent.

The grasses bent sideways, flaming orange in the sunlight. And then--

“Holy shit!” She shouted.

Masamune chanced a glance back in a mirror and his blood ran icy cold. There it was. Behind them and moving fast, the ghost ship sailed silently over the grasses.

“Hold on!” He commanded, kicking the engine into the next gear. “And get those photos!”

“On it!”

Not even the new muffler could stifle the roar of the motorcycle. The prairie transformed into a yellow blur, air deafening him. Even then the ship pulled alongside them. Its perfect mast soared overhead, no colors flying, just its sheer surface coloring the whole landscape green. The bare timber sides grew closer and closer as it edged toward the road.

This was it. This was the moment. If death awaited them, it came now. Masamune held his breath and tried to urge the motorcycle faster, but it wasn’t enough. The ghost merged and came level, holding steady mere inches from them.

It won’t hurt anyone else.

In a moment of insane bravery, Masamune thrust his hand out and plunged it into the side. It wasn’t cold or solid, but just--nothing. He waved his palm back and forth. Only air greeted his fingertips. He flapped his arm.

“What are you doing!?” She shouted.

“Fuck you, ghost boat!” He bellowed. “You ain’t shit!”

“You’re insane!” But her laughter was unmistakable. “I can’t get a good shot if you keep doing that--”

Courage flooded him like hot water. “Then try it like this!”

Without warning, Masamune veered sharply to the side, bringing the whole motorcycle inside the ship. She screamed and clutched at him. All he could do was laugh--laugh at the terror he’d held on to for years, laugh at the impassive thing that had taken so much from him--and let it out into the world they tore through. It didn't shift in its course. And at last--at last, when he was certain holding onto the speed would hurt the bike, he slowed and let it overtake them, sailing on. They puttered to a halt and watched it move into the distance.

“Oh my god!” She staggered off the bike, shaking her limbs. “Oh my god!”

Masamune leaped off the bike. “First things first; are you okay?”

“Y--I think so!” Her staccato laugh echoed all the fluttering in his stomach. “I can’t believe we just did that--I can’t believe you just did that--”

“It isn’t shit,” he affirmed, breathless with energy. “It can’t touch us. It isn’t going to ever again. You’re right.”

Oh god, when she smiled like that, it almost took all the breath he’d gathered back up and crushed it out of his lungs again. And she was so beautiful, with her braids cascading down her shoulders and her dark eyes crinkled in the twilight sun, all the stars that hadn’t yet started glowing reflected there, and--

“Come here,” he commanded.

She took one step forward. That was enough. He closed the distance between them and crushed her body against his, pressing a fierce kiss to her mouth. She gasped; he pulled back only a second before she tugged him back in by the jacket.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, and hitched her up under her thighs. She obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him back in, her mouth lighting-spark hot. Everything he had ever seen and done fell away. What else could compare to this? What else could compare to her?

He’d spent his life running, and he’d never managed to leave her behind.

“I think I love you,” he breathed against her. She just grinned.

“I know you do.”

[pixiestickers]

@rayllum-week prompt: Fireflies

This will likely be my only entry for the week as school is still going strong and taking up most of my time. This is essentially a flashback scene for my fic The Relief Next to Me from a chapter that isn’t finished yet. But it works as a oneshot here. 

Traveling through Xadia, Rayla took familiar routes. Ones she’d grown accustomed to using during her life as an assassin. A life that seemed so far away and yet still proved useful. It was absolutely essential that they avoid detection, and Rayla knew which hills to climb, what dirt trails to trek, and all the deep forests they could hide in. Sometimes they traveled by day. Other times at night. It all depended on the landscape and those occupying it. And as their unlikely trio of elf, human and dragon moved along, making as little noise as possible, she experienced a vague sense that the world was uninhabited. That they were the last of their kind. Just her, Callum, and Zym. It went on like that for weeks.

Until it didn’t.

They happened upon a stream. Rayla waded through it, moving around a bend and out of Callum’s eyesight so she could clean off some days old grim from the underside of her uniform. Sweat and dirt were now old friends that she tolerated, but wished would visit less often. Lowering her top, she let the cold water lap her exposed skin, and savored the feel of it, knowing the musk she’d been suffering through for far too long would finally be carried away by the stream. This was different than the large bodies of water that provoked her gag-reflex. A simple slow moving current was a welcome comfort, and Raya relaxed, dipping her head underwater for a moment, but making sure to keep every sense attuned to the world around her. The birds singing. The song of the stream as it glided around her. The soft buzzing of insects.

And the pixie wings fluttering.

That, she hadn’t been expecting. Rayla glanced around expectantly, but the small golden creatures were nowhere to be seen and she felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. She’d only witnessed them once before but never forgot the sound- tiny bells tinkling in the wind- and was eager to marvel at their unique allure again. Pixies were good omens and also rare. So where were they now?

Something told her to look further upstream where she’d left Callum and Zym. It didn’t take long for realization to dawn on her that the reclusive pixies weren’t the only ones coaxing her to leave the water. Instinct, as sharp as a knife, told her something was wrong. Quickly, she pulled her top back up and touched one of her blades, then readjusted it. Walking out onto the embankment, she listened and waited, the pixie wings growing louder in her ears. Moving on the balls of her feet, Rayla drew both blades from her belt but kept quiet. Voices drifted her way and then a growl, followed by a scream.

Rayla no longer worried about stealth. She ran, the rocks under her feet creating a commotion to match the garbled yells and grunts of a struggle. The attacker spotted her too late. His hands left Callum’s neck, but her blade was already thrown his way. He fell down on top of his victim who struggled underneath the weight. Rayla hurried to retrieve her blade and rolled Callum’s assailant off of him. Seemingly gone from this world, yet aware enough to recognize another elf, confusion drew his brows together before he gasped. Violet eyes grew wide then closed. His breathing weakened and seconds later it stopped completely.

Callum sat up, coughing. Reaching around his neck he rubbed the area the elf had squeezed. His face contorted in pain and Rayla frowned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling him into her. Still wet from the water, her body soaked his clothes. “I shouldn’t have left for so long.”

“He wanted Zym,” Callum said, his voice raw from the crushing his throat had taken. “Called me a filthy human for stealing baby dragons. I tried to explain, but he’d already made up his mind.”

She glanced at the elf, blood pooling on the rocks surrounding him as if he were laying on a gruesome blanket. He had the markings of a Moonshadow elf, which made sense. They were in the vicinity of her homeland. A fact she’d been actively trying to avoid acknowledging. His clothes marked him as unimportant. No uniform or weapons beyond his hands. Just a common elf out for a walk who’d spotted what he thought was a dragon thief. She suddenly felt extremely tired. Rayla had never actually killed anyone before, especially not anyone of her own kind. Her training had always placed humans in the line of attack. Not elf. And not one who thought he was doing the right thing.

She looked back at Callum, his lips a pale blue, but slowly regaining color. Her eyes filled with tears. Zym ran up next to them and licked her face. “Zym gave him a good bite though,” Callum said. “Got the guy to scream.”

“That’s what made me run to find you.”

That and the pixies.

Rayla wanted to pat Zym’s head and rub his belly. That would’ve been a typical reaction to him doing something good. And protecting Callum was the best thing he’d ever done. But her heart was heavy and wiping away her tears, she said, “I’m just happy you’re both safe. I don’t know what-”

But Callum drowned her out in a fit of coughing and Rayla went to retrieve him some water from the stream, but not before washing the blood from her hands.

                                                   ~***~

In the hours that followed, Rayla thought over and over about taking the elf’s life. He likely wouldn’t be missed by anyone, but her reaction had been so forceful after catching Callum struggling with him. “I don’t think you murdered him so much as you saved me,” Callum said after she’d finally admitted the reason behind her disquiet.

He was right. But still, the elf’s death haunted her. “I saved your life, but I also took a life, and it wasn’t planned. I reacted to the situation with pure emotion, not instinct. I went against all my trainin’. I could’ve knocked him off you. I could’ve explained who we were. But my only thought was- save Callum.”

“And you did,” he replied, threading his fingers through hers. “Those few seconds it would’ve taken to rush up to us and explain might’ve been one too many. I’m here because of you.”

Guilt swelled inside her. Callum had nearly died and here she was, having a moral dilemma instead of comforting him. They held hands for a while and Rayla tried to think of anything other than the tang of blood still trapped in her nose.

                                                     ~***~

“Huh, that’s weird. Don’t fireflies only come out at night?”

Rayla flicked her eyes away from the ground and at Callum. Over the past hour, all her terrible efforts of trying to keep images of her blade protruding from an elf’s back had failed. But when she saw where Callum was pointing, a lightness rose in her chest. Pixies. It hadn’t been her imagination back at the stream. “Silly human,” she replied, smiling for the first time since the tragedy at the stream. “Those aren’t fireflies.”

“They’re not?”

“No, they’re pixies,” she repeated in a voice that was meant to playfully mock. “Magical creatures that mean good luck.”

Callum was skeptical. “What? I’ve never heard of pixies before.”

“And why should that surprise you? Humans are always gettin’ things wrong about us magical creatures,” she replied. “I’m gonna go see what good luck I can find. Maybe they know somewhere we can stay tonight.” When Callum’s brow furrowed in disapproval, Rayla grasped his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re comin’ with too.” She arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” he moaned, and she laughed. Callum hated this part of traveling with an elf but always willingly obliged. With a yank of his arm, she hoisted him on her back and he hitched his legs up over her hips. Then off she ran, following the pixies with Zym close behind, enjoying what he thought was a race. She pursued their golden trail and only stopped when the land did, skidding to a halt on a small cliff above a lake.

Pixies hadn't led her to anything she needed. A lake wasn’t somewhere they could stay, and it was definitely wasn’t something she wanted to cross. They were off the trail a bit, but Rayla knew this land well enough to recognize the body of water. It was one she’d actively avoided as a child. With a heavy sigh, she let Callum slide down and then kicked her foot in frustration against the ground. Only instead of a few clumps of rocks dropping into the water, a huge chunk broke free from the ledge. The surprise nearly made her lose balance. She fell backward into Callum’s arms just as a splash indicated the broken piece had met the water. Wincing over her mistake, she did a quick scan of the area to see if there had been any witnesses. No one. Just the three of them. She didn't smell anyone nearby either, but that was mostly because the tang of blood still saturated her senses.

It was nearing dark now. Soon the sun would be unable to guide her way. That was fine. Her vision worked well in the dark. But tonight wasn’t one for travel. And it would’ve been nice if her good omen had lived up to its supposed potential.

"Looks like the fireflies wanted you to take a swim," Callum said, chuckling.

Rayla leaned back hard against him, her weight making him stagger backward. Then turning on her heel, raised a finger and poked his chest. “Better watch it or I’ll send you in for a swim.” There was no truth behind her words. Callum knew and just grinned that sly grin she hated but also loved.

"I’m sorry for leading us on a wild chase,” she apologized, then paused to exaggerate a groan. “It’s just … seein’ those pixies got me giddy and after the day we’ve had … I just needed to look for something good."

Zym made a little whine of agreement or maybe he just missed the chase.

“But you did find something good,” Callum said in such a way that indicated there was a tease soon to come. “Any time you can force me to ride on your back is a good time for you to bring it up later and make me feel inferior.”

Rayla snorted. “And what about you? What good do you get out of all this?”

“Are you kidding?” He sounded exasperated. “You saved my life today. I think it’s worth one embarrassing piggyback ride. And besides, I always enjoy your company, no matter what my mode of transportation is.”

A lump grew in Rayla’s throat over how cavalier Callum was being. Here he had almost been snuffed out by the hands of another today and his only concern since had been to cheer her up. How could she be so wrapped up in her own moral crisis to not recognize that he was putting her needs before his? She didn’t deserve him.

And it was then she understood. That it was possible to survive. Her taking another life had altered something within and she’d likely carry that heaviness inside her from now on. It was a part of her just like Callum was. The dark and the light. But she’d never let the dark hold her hostage when the light was nearby trying its hardest to pull her from its depths.

It was becoming a theme with them. The light and the dark. Where one was, the other followed.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she said, taking Callum’s hand and pulling him in closer for a quick kiss.

“Your idea is to kiss me?” he asked. “I’ve gotta say, it’s one of your better ideas.”

Rayla despised the girlish giggle he drew from her. Only Callum could make her shy this way. “No, you dummy. My idea is to find a way down to that lake and get some dinner for you and Zym.” Rayla refused to eat fish- anything that lived in water really- but could forage for berries along the way.

Callum tapped his chin as if he were thinking. “Not as good as your first idea, but I still like it.” He turned to Zym, asking “What do you think?” And the dragon yipped in reply.

By the time the three began walking again, the pixies were long gone, but Rayla had an inclination that despite what she first assumed, they’d worked their magic for her today after all.

[lalunaunita]

Missing Pieces (Death Race 2050)

Hey! So this is my first bad movie fic, written for the 2017 film Death Race 2050 (sequel to 1975's Death Race 2000).

PLEASE READ THE TAGS if you haven't already. Rating: TEEN and up

I don't recommend watching any of the Death Race movies unless you like gore and lots of it. I tolerate gore for the action scenes, the dystopian settings and characters, and the political satire. In addition to gore, there's lampooning of political figures, toxic masculinity, people who hide their intelligence, and the tendency of the masses to be sheep when entertainment is involved (could this film even be poking fun at its own audience? probably).

I was pleasantly surprised with the cast in this film and I loved Annie Sullivan and Frankenstein. So here is a "missing scene" on the second night of the race, after Annie has a change of heart and decides to help Frankenstein instead of kill him.

Tags (from Ao3):

addition to the film 

Child Death 

mention of a child getting killed 

takes place during the second night of the race 

annie and frankenstein get to know one another better 

no beta we die like men 

Not Beta Read

Summary: Conflicted about her role in the attempt on Frankenstein's life, Annie chats up Frankenstein after Jed Perfectus attacks him in their hotel room.

Missing Pieces

Annie's hands stung with the force of her blow to Jed's head and she dropped the fireplace poker she held. Jed Perfectus fell to the floor like a sack of wet cement. Beyond him, in the darkened hotel room, Frankenstein stood with his chest heaving. Annie surveyed the scene, rubbing one wrist. She'd obviously interrupted at exactly the right time.

Frankenstein said nothing. He grabbed one of Jed's shapely ankles and dragged him, unconscious, into the hall. With a final grunt, he dropped the leg of the nearly-naked man in the middle of the hotel hallway. He stomped back into his room, Annie wisely slipping in ahead of him, and slammed the door. She melted into the shadows as the cybernetic racer lifted and threw an antique wooden demi-lune against the opposite wall, shattering it into matchsticks.

"Asshole," he muttered to himself.

Annie could almost believe he'd forgotten she was there, but then he turned to her.

"I suppose you want a thank you," Frankenstein said, lifting murderous eyes to hers.

She shook her head. "No, we're all good."

The corners of his mouth turned up in an unlikely smile. "Good, then. Why are you here?"

He didn't speak harshly, despite having thrown her out less than two hours ago. She didn't blame him for that. She had tried to assassinate him earlier in the day. She wondered if she should be scared of him. Frankenstein wasn't the least bit enervated, even on the back end of what had clearly been an energetic altercation with Jed. Annie considered her answer, the alcohol she'd consumed down in the bar burning in her gut and her veins.

Swaying a bit on her feet, she answered, "I want to help you win the race."

A glass of water and a couple of butterfly closures later, the pair sat quietly on a king-sized bed they were meant to share. Frankenstein waited patiently as Annie picked through the repair kit he kept for his cybernetic hand. Punching Jed sure had felt good, but it hadn't done the mechanisms any favors. He hissed as Annie tightened a screw, but relaxed as she adjusted it further. It was just his luck that a Resistance plant would turn out to be mechanically inclined, too. She inserted a pair of needle nose pliers and he felt sensation return to his fingertips. She glanced up to find him watching her.

"So how did you lose the hand?" Annie asked.

Frankenstein grunted a laugh. Blunt.

"Racing, of course. How else?" he answered, quirking an eyebrow.

She returned her attention to the open wrist before her, awkward silence descending. "Oh."

Frankenstein shook his head. "No, it was a childhood accident. The Chairman likes to play it up as a race injury - maintains the allure or something. Funny enough, it is from getting run over - but just the hand."

Curiously, Annie winced. "I'm sorry."

Her reaction puzzled him. "Why would you be sorry?"

"That's a hard thing for a kid to go through, Frankenstein. I'm sure it wasn't fun. Still isn't, by the look of things. How many times have you had it replaced?" she asked as she set the screwdriver aside and picked up a soldering iron.

She handed him the pliers, which he held in place as she soldered down a wayward connection. The knuckles of his hand involuntarily flexed. Ah, that was it. With her lips pursed, she took back the pliers then closed up the seam in his arm. Distracted, Frankenstein almost forgot she'd asked him a question. He cast back into his memory.

"Once every two years until I was full grown. Now it's about once every five years unless I can keep up the maintenance, which is hard to do one-handed. Free cybernetic care from the government is one of the 'perks' of being a racer, but God help you if you need a quick appointment. You know how it is." Frankenstein finished.

He lifted the newly functional hand between them and balled it into a fist, then flexed the fingers to full extension. Annie nodded approval and rolled up the toolkit.

"Thanks," he said. "Truly."

"It'll do for now, but you probably want to get that appointment request in," she replied with a smirk that morphed into a yawn.

"It's late. You should get some sleep," suggested Frankenstein.

Annie shook her head, her blond hair falling into her eyes. "I'm still too amped up. I might wander around the hotel a little more. Had a good conversation with Minerva down in the bar."

Frankenstein stared at her. It was Annie's turn to quirk an eyebrow.

"She's not what you think she is. The inscrutable 'Frankenstein' isn't the only facade being used around here." She didn't elaborate further and Frankenstein was too tired to press it further.

"Why did you join the Resistance?" he asked instead, and saw that he caught her off guard.

"I...um. It's a long story." Annie sank back onto the edge of the bed.

She was silent for a bit and Frankenstein wondered if he'd pushed too far. Then she straightened with a sigh.

"Believe it or not, I used to cover the Death Race. It wasn't my favorite assignment, but reporters go where the boss tells them to. I'd go to towns on the Transamerican Route - on purpose - and I would find a place to hunker down. I'd watch the action and try to turn it into a newsworthy article."

"Going to a city on the route during Death Race is potentially suicidal," Frankenstein commented.

Annie shrugged. "I thought it was worth it. Then about three years ago, I was perched safely in the third story of a hotel on a main thoroughfare - perfect place to watch the racers come through. Or so I thought. Instead, I saw a toddler wander out of a house across the street. She wasn't even wearing shoes. Mom and Dad were busy watching Death Race on VR. The racers came blasting through, and..." Annie clenched her eyes closed against the memory and brought trembling fingers to her mouth.

Unexpected sympathy welled up in Frankenstein. "You don't have to tell me."

Annie gave one sniff and shook her head. When she opened her eyes, they were clear. "I followed up with the mother a year later. Convinced my editor it would be a good human interest piece. I don't know how I got him to agree, honestly. The mother surprised me. She spent six straight months in VR on opioids after her daughter's death. Then one day, she woke up and decided she didn't want any part of her life anymore. She stopped watching TV altogether and got clean. She got sterilized. She didn't want any other kids, she just wanted her daughter back. She knew it could never happen. I asked her what she was living for now. She said justice for her child, and preventing any other innocent deaths. She inspired me. After that, I stopped watching the races too. She recruited me into the Resistance... and you know the rest."

Frankenstein nodded and stood. Annie clutched the bed's comforter against the sudden shift in weight.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Somewhere the other racers are less likely to find me. Now that my hand's in good working order, I don't really feel like throwing down with anyone else tonight," he replied. "Lock the door behind me."

This time, Annie didn't resist the huge yawn that overtook her. "Okay, Frankenstein. I'll check on you later."

Frankenstein exited the hotel room. He stepped carelessly over Jed's sprawled form, still embarrassingly clad in golden shortpants and not much else. His face was purpling beautifully to contrast with the ensemble, or lack thereof. Frankenstein was nearly ready to count Annie as a friend instead of a foe, but he'd have to wait and see what tomorrow would bring. No matter her loyalties, he'd still win the race. At any cost.

~You can read more of my work on Archive of Our Own - username is lalunaunita~

[mysamcedesmadness]

Steerio Hearts Stuff & Stuff

White Devils and the Demons They Serve (Chs 15-17)

I was gonna do two seperate posts, but you two are the ones who do most of the reading and y’all actually read EVERYTHING, so I figured, even if it’s as long as a chapter, y’all would’ve read it anyways.

@sweetiedee85

Stevie can’t even sniff his fingers with Bukowski breathing down his neck. What is Bukowski up to with Cheerio? 

I. Am. Still. Crine. Over this comment. That is all. (Because, you just found out in Ch 17 what Bukowski was up to.

But I guess it’s the devil you know versus the devil you don’t.

Even though this is regarding Tesla, this is actually a fantastic summary of most of the characters in this story, hell - in the series. People often accept what their life seems to be instead of fighting for what it can be. That DEFINITELY happens in the context of having a mental illness, because everyday life can be overwhelming enough, so taking extra risks and chances are sometimes astronomical.

What’s sad is they would rather do that than come see their child. Time is more value, and we see they don’t care enough to spend any with her.

The Robinsons are the worst. I just have no other feedback of them for right now. Radja more than Champ - but they are a team and that team should’ve included their daughter and never does. In fact, I have a little arc that involves Radja coming up shortly and yes, she’s just the worst in it. 

But then those dang nightmares and training haunting the poor guy. I know it’s something he struggles with even after their married. He has triggers, and they usually lead to him growing and learning something different about himself and the way he views things. It seems that this is only the beginning of that journey.

Stevie sometimes suffers from psychosis, so he’s forgotten a lot of things that he’s been exposed to, because his brain was just unable or unwilling to process the trauma - much like his breakdown after Mary died. This is why later he still has repressed memories punching him in the gut and why it’s important to him to be a realist. He seems like an asshole a lot, for “Just being realistic,” but he knows himself (particularly after he’s out) and he just wants to make sure he’s trying to assess things normally and naturally, so that he doesn’t unintentionally wind up in a state of psychosis... Now, WE know that sometimes, it’s going to happen, anyway. But, these glimpses into his episodes are here for me to try to explain why Stevie is such an “asshole,” OUTSIDE of his racism. That’s a completely different issue which I’d never justify. Lol.

I do wonder if Tesla wants this footage. I doubt Bukowski has any good in him so is it his self need to have every part of Tesla in his grasp, under his control? Will she be somehow grateful he’s gotten this back? Idk but just the thought makes me sicker.

Tesla does NOT want this footage, wants no part of this footage, was alarmed by Bukowski and Stevie even MENTIONING this footage, and has absolutely no need for this footage. This is primarily about Bukowski’s control, and also his fetish. He enjoys watching. He enjoys knowing things. It makes him feel powerful to know things and to be able to see things. She MAY be grateful that he’s gotten it, but honestly, she’s still suffering from the damage of the event. She knows that it has already been done, and whether or not there is footage, she’s already suffered and has to live with it. Be sick, be very sick. It’s meant to be deeply sickening.

Anyway, Stevie is out of control lol threatening Derek was un called for. We know at this point she’s the one exception to that word, and that’s recent so I wasn’t surprised when he said it. I thought Cheerio would at least consider turning down Stevie’s offer but nope lol She just as toxic in love as him, and she sees beyond his training. I doubt I could have it in me.

Stevie is often impulsive in his decisions, but sometimes, they’re premeditated. Sometimes, he thinks things out, knows that his decision isn’t great and does it anyway. He gets so much better about this as he ages, but Teenage Stevie is deeply territorial and no matter what he says, he feels like he owns Cheerio.

And, no ma’am. I can’t relate to her, in that regard. A chick called me “Kunta Kinte” in 2007. I tried to beat her with a beer bottle in her own trailer, had to get dragged out of there and brought home and I still will call her a bitch, if I see her today.

  Angelwings

Ok... Who is Bukowski even using to make Tesla (Ally) jealous? I mean agh.

This had me cracking up SO HARD. You would be surprised the kinda pink dick pandering out there on the innanets. Whenever I had a successful porn blog, right here on Tumblr, I seen some shit. And there are folk less attractive and less charming that can somehow manage to get little sex games going with people, especially if they’re in a fetish niche (which gingers are).

ok so Tesla told her to have sex in the shower? If she's in the bathroom they accept verbal... side eyeing and looking all squinted eyed trying to imagine how they WON'T get caught.

This is because the orderlies won’t generally just burst into the bathroom while a resident is in the shower if the resident seems fine and is willing to peek out and show their face. They’ll only barge in if the resident seems off (trying to pretend that they’re fine) or is not responsive. They want to value their privacy to a certain extent, but not to leave them vulnerable, if they somehow got hold of a weapon or something.

It just goes back to what Stevie says to Sam. He has to constantly battle with his thoughts. At least he does that.

I touched on this a little bit with Dee. Stevie HAS to do this, to make sure that he keeps himself grounded. His triggers are so dynamic that they literally take control of his mind, for a time. He wants to not have to experience that, and he never wants to hurt the people he loves because of some type of break.

Hmm so Dani is trying to work at a library. That's kind of perfect. Hope she gets it and keeps up her therapy and stuff. It always makes me upset to see any hospital release patients before they are ready. I really hope Dani can transition back into society.

Oh, no - she’s not trying to work at the library. The library is one of the few places that poor people can have access to the Internet and by this time, even though the story is set for several years ago - a lot of the jobs and such are available to apply online. Dani would most likely apply online, because she knows that she might appear to not be normal when going in to get applications and people might “fire before you hire” her upon seeing that she’s not very normal. Sorry, I didn’t explain that. I know that the Texas Workforce Commission has access, but I didn’t feel like researching how unemployment works in Ohio, so I just went the library application route. Dani’s story isn’t over yet, so you’ll definitely find out how life went for her.

They function as a community, one for all and all for their cause. People can do anything when they work together even create monsters and killers.

People who lead abusive lifestyles often see their behavior as normal. Hence arguments TO THIS DAY of “My mom beat me and I turned out fine” or “People are this way because they don’t get beat enough.” Contrary to the cases upon cases of research and information that hitting children only causes trauma. Now, generally - children of abuse do NOT turn out to be killers and horrible criminals. Some go on to be kind humans and productive members of society... But even those generally have to address the trauma that was caused by their toxic environments.

Inevitably we know the fate of the hospital but in the other stories we never hear of the other characters. I hope they get the help they need wherever they go.

I have stories plotted out for most of the ones that we know. It’s gonna be a moment to get to some of them, but I’ll try not to drop the ball, completely.

Stevie was angry with Bukowski for hurting his Bust it Baby- learning so much. I had to look that up. That is Cheri by every definition if not now then later. She is well on her way. That exchange was cute the way Cheri acted. 

Bust It Baby Pt 2 was ONE OF MY FAVES in the club. (Telling my age, now. LOL) But, THEY would have been teens/kids around that time, so I didn’t feel bad referencing that mug. Bwahahaha. Cheri DEFINITELY becomes all of that for Stevie. But, yeah - she was a little bashful about it being said in a group setting.

Even Tanisha had to tell him about himself with Stevie. It's like Stevie was punished for all the children, well Mary got to Stacey but Sam was golden. Some couples should not procreate. 

I think it took a while for Dwight to comprehend that just because Stacie and Sam ‘turned out okay,’ that didn’t MEAN that he had been blameless in helping to shape Stevie the way that he did. He never saw himself as having anything against Stevie, because he loved him as much as he did the others (or so he thought - he just wasn’t CLOSE to him). And Mama T was able to see that Dwight’s not being close to Stevie affected how he handled him, whether or not he did love him - which she believed and trusted that he did, but she needed him to get that STEVIE needed to believe and trust it.

This Entire Review: I Have a Lot of Responses, Love

Bukowski is blinded by crazy. Any half decent individual would see red flags. DANGER! DANGER WILL ROBINSON! What an idiot. Poetic justice would be if Tesla killed his awhen he drugged and kidnapped her or whatever his chosen crazy decides to do. I just don't see him living after he knocked on that door.

Unfortunately, Bukowski’s time is not yet up. But, he has definitely poked a bear by reaching out to Max. Stevie making deals in an institution with a demon eww. Stevie has his number already, is he blinded by the vajayjay?

Stevie is blinded by both the caviar and his inability to access, the way that he would like to. He’s a teenage boy trying to squeeze quickies in all day in between heavily monitored times. That argument between Stevie and Cheri was like imagining popcorn pop. You know the explosion is coming. When it does your like damned that's some Good popcorn! I kept saying Oh, and scrunching up my face like Stevie's next words are gonna get him smacked and then he did it. He said the ultimate, ONE word that is complete Taboo in anger no less. *SMACK* ! Round two lol!

Stevie often feels attacked when nobody is attacking him. I blame Dwight for this, because Stevie spent most of his life feeling like he had to explain and defend himself, to the point where his mentality is paranoid and he thinks that he has to fight whenever a conflict or challenge arises. Cheri is not a violent person, but whenever she gets angry (Teenage Cheerio) will lash out, because she’s in a position where she can’t just go to the spa or have a smoothie. She’s relaxed more later because she has the freedom to simply escape for a moment. Here, she’s a caged bird. Cheri is hella patient with him and I get it. I have had to explain blackness to other races, as if EVERY race and EVERY culture and EVERY class does not have their own innuendoes and humor. Even his Arian idiot family. Like the lady at work told my coworker with at straight face 'Don't all y'all like fried chicken? I said what did you do? My coworker said I took a deep breath and saidNo! And what you just said is considered racist. Of course she asked how? My coworker said she just walked away. I probably would have a. been patient and broke it down, or b. said ungh hungh just like all y'all like caviar and filet minion. Just would depend on my mood but Cheri is time enough for Stevie. Most of how she handles Stevie I agree with.

I don’t. It’s not my job to bear the burden of educating people who (if they gave a fuck) could access resources to educate themselves. I made those mistakes when I was younger, and that shit was nothing but additional emotional labor added to the constant processes I had to go through, throughout the day in my black ass skin. I watch racists getting beat up for being trash on YouTube all the time. That’s handling that I agree with.Lol. Now there is no way in hell any man would not take Derek's behavior as a challenge or threat. I felt like he was trying to purposely show Stevie he could reach Cheri in a way Stevie could not and do things with Cheri that Stevie could not just to put it in Stevie's face then try and hide behind a smile and laughter like he didn't have an agenda. Even if he doesn't like her like that he KNEW Cheri was with Stevie. He should have acted accordingly. I think Derek was trying to be sneaky. Yes Stevie is a jelly monster and he is territorial and possessive but that is Stevie. Like Mason calling Cheri Ri Ri then correcting himself in front of Stevie. Mason is not deliberately trying to poke the bear. He calms all that down in front of Stevie and Stevie eventually learns that Cheri has to have other friends. I don't think that was Derek's mind set, befriend Cheri and Stevie. He just liked having the attention sounds like from everyone, in a mental hospital. Stevie is not stupid. Cheri is a little Naïve I think, especially when she meets Max. To me she made a couple mistakes with that. Trust no one. Describe new people in addition to looking up tags. 

This is highly problematic, in my opinion, for many reasons, all of which - I’ll respectfully address. Firstly, any man or person in general that takes the friendship of someone else with their partner as a threat is toxic, and possibly abusive. Control and possessiveness are not key points of love. They are key points of obsession and obsession is almost always dangerous when it involves people as the object.

I don’t think that I wrote anything to indicate that Derek was in any way trying to challenge or compete with Stevie, so that feeling seems to be some internalized antiblackness or at the very least, sympathy for the devil - in this case, that’d be Stevie. Because HE was wrong and he reacted. There is nothing wrong with a black kid getting attention from people or trying to impress or please people, so I’m not sure why that would be considered poking the bear or purposefully trying to upset Stevie. 

They are ALL in the mental hospital, and while Stevie definitely isn’t STUPID, he certainly is psychotic. He’s not always right. Even his instincts are frequently off, at this juncture of his life and it isn’t the responsibility of a black boy, who is here for his own mental health to coddle Stevie and think about all the ways that he may or may not be offending him by being generally friendly to everyone around him, which is literally all Derek does in this chapter. I only wrote him making jokes and being jovial, up until the point that Stevie threatened him, out of paranoia, after being told multiple times that he shouldn’t bother with it.

And Cheerio is definitely naive, but that also doesn’t mean that she should have had all the answers as to why not to suspect everybody that she met. She did her part to try to keep herself safe, and of course, Max would have had avenues set up as to not tip her off. He’s been trained to deceive. Saying that she made some mistakes sounds a little bit victim blaming to me, especially considering that she followed the rules that were given to her, and whenever she was abducted, she was run off of the road and taken. She hadn’t met up with him in the woods, or something. 

She was extremely paranoid (affecting her mental state and her peace of mind), because of everything that they had told her and she had no way of knowing that someone who’s information came back clean was someone else. I feel like this must be stated - Max doesn’t just LOOK like Max Giardi when he greets her. He’s not going up to her looking like somebody that she could Google and she’s just put her thumb in her butt and calls it a coincidence. He’s tactical. He purposefully entered her world. He wouldn’t do it in a way that any normal person would notice that anything off, much less someone that he would presume has been told to look out for him.

Bonus Face Claim:

Ashlee Brian as Derek (Originally a dance crew member in “The End of Twerking” episode.