#and how much discord just straight up ignores ANY feedback

[spadaaces]

‘We’ve listened to the feedback’ ‘This’ll be a smooth transition’ my ass. Discord hasn’t listened to Shit and this update is literally the most unnatural feeling thing I’ve ever seen.

[bambheez]

nonsense (s.jy)

SUMMARY: you overhear your best friend and roommate jake talking about his massive dick, so you decide you want to see it for yourself. PAIRING: bestfriend/roommate!jake x reader (afab) GENRE: smut (minors dni) WARNINGS: sub!jake, dom!reader, oral sex (m. receiving), size kink, reader is very VERY straightforward, jake has a huge dick, profanity WORD COUNT: 1.5k A/N: this is literally just pure filth. inspired by this post and ofc ‘nonsense’ by sabrina carpenter. as always, if you enjoyed/have feedback, please reblog/comment or send an ask. my inbox is always open!

“Small dick? Seriously? You know I’m—” he paused, remembering you were in the room with him. He turned around to see you laying on his bed, legs up in the air, eyes trained on your laptop screen.

Your ears perked up at the odd conversation; your earbuds were no longer playing any music, but you gave him no impression that you were eavesdropping.

“Know what, Jake? Cat got your tongue?” Heeseung snickered through his headphones, Jay following with a similar comment.

“Nah, Y/N’s in my room but she’s got her headphones in,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know I’m bigger than both of you motherfuckers.”

Your lips lifted into a smirk at his confession. You could hear laughter booming from Jake’s headphones as you quietly put your earbuds away and moved off the bed toward him.

“How big?” you whispered against his ear.

He jolted in his seat, wincing from banging his toe into the leg of his desk.

“How big?” you repeated, now standing in front of him, blocking his view of the game. You lifted up your shirt to reveal your stomach. “Would it reach here,” you asked, pointing to a spot above your pubic bone. “Or here,” moving your finger up an inch. “Maybe here?” you circled around your belly button.

Jake visibly reddened, even under the faint green lights of his PC. His fingertips—currently resting against his keyboard—jerked back into motion at the realization that Heeseung and Jay were still on the call.

“Sorry, someone’s at the door,” he mumbled into his mic. “You guys play without me, I’ll hop on later.” He closed out of the game and Discord tab before taking his headphones off.

His fingers were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, eyes—avoiding contact with yours—staring straight ahead at his desktop wallpaper.

“You didn’t answer my question, Jake.”

“Stop talking nonsense, Y/N,” he turned to look up at you, your body now leaning against his desk. “Why do you even want to know?” his adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped.

“So you were lying then?”

“No, but—”

“Then show me.”

Jake could feel himself hardening in his sweatpants. As much as he tried to ignore the ache between his thighs and tell you you were insane, the look you gave him—utterly earnest, like you wanted to devour him—made his insides stir.

You dropped to your knees with a thump, rolling his gaming chair out by its arms to face you. A groan ripped from Jake’s throat at the sight. You sat back on your heels to observe his reaction, his lids hooded and lips slightly parted. He nodded at you, watching as you glanced from his growing bulge back up to his eyes.

The imprint of his cock was visible, and your fingers flitted over him, traveling from his thighs up to the strings of his sweats.

He let out short, quick breaths before whimpering “please”.

You held back a giggle. When had he become so needy?

Pulling off his sweats and boxers in one swift motion, his cock slapped against his lower stomach. “Wow,” your mouth watered at the sheer size. And he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

His breath hitched in response, body squirming in your hold. Jumbled thoughts were running through his head at a hundred miles per hour. This was his roommate turned best friend on her knees, ogling at his erection.

You had thought about the size of his cock before, especially when he was lounging around in gray sweats. You’d caught glimpses of his bulge, and the size of it even when he was soft was enough to make your core throb in anticipation. You had thought about how his cock looked, too, and what you saw in front of you now exceeded your expectations in every way. His tip was red and flushed against his abdomen, a lengthy vein ran from his base to tip, and beads of precum were beginning to form at his slit.

You hesitantly wrapped both hands around the base of his cock. “Fuck,” you muttered. Two hands and barely half of his cock was covered.

He felt scorchingly hot under your touch. You squeezed at his base before devouring as much as you could of him in your mouth.

He cried out from above you, hands gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. You could feel your underwear sticking to your folds as you tried to discreetly rock back and forth against your heels, desperate for some friction of your own.

You were bobbing up and down on the top half of his cock, tongue swirling around his tip and occasionally digging into his slit. Jake wanted so badly to keep his eyes open, to see the way you peered up at him through your lashes, but he could feel every inch of movement of your tongue running along his veins that the pleasure was much too intense.

Strings of curses flew from his mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re doing s-so well,” he whined before gently placing a hand on the back of your head.

I can do even better, you thought to yourself as you slowly removed your hands from his base and took him into your throat.

“Ah, oh f-fuck!” he moaned. You hollowed your cheeks, placing your hands on his hips to steady yourself.

Jake resisted the urge to start thrusting into your mouth, largely due to his disbelief that you could take him all the way.

You gagged around his length and he nearly choked on his breath from the sensation. Working your way down even farther, his tip hit the back of your throat while you moved your hands to knead at his thighs.

You pulled off of him to catch your breath, eyes twinkling up at him as a string of saliva stretched between his tip and your lips.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he croaked out, throat remarkably dry.

You gave him a small smile. Just you wait.

You took a deep breath before bringing your hands to the back of his hips, slamming his cock down your throat in one go. You repeatedly swallowed around his girth and Jake’s entire body convulsed under you, noises he didn’t know he was capable of making falling from his lips.

You buried the tip of your nose in his pelvis; your head was foggy, throat sore, and eyes watering, but the sight of Jake losing complete control under you made it worth it.

“I-I’m gonna—mmph,” he whined, bunching your hair in a fist.

You could see his abdomen clenching and feel his thighs twitching, signaling that he would cum any second. Jake opened his eyes to peer down at you and he had to physically grab your bobbing head to stop himself from cumming.

The view in front of him was the most sinful yet beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Your lips were slick and swollen, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth down to your chin. Your hair was in a tangled mess from his grip, and there were tear streaks from your eyes down to your neck.

He brushed your hair out of your face and you smiled, humming around his cock. You sped up your pace before wrapping your arms around his hips again, sucking and swallowing around him as if your life depended on it.

“Oh shit, oh f-fuck, I’m cumming, Y/N I’m—”

You pushed your nose forward and took him to the hilt one last time before he was cumming with a shout of your name on his lips. Spurts of his warm release traveled down your throat, and Jake finally grabbed at your head with both hands, bucking his hips up and fucking your face as he chased his high.

Shockwaves of ecstasy traveled through Jake’s every vein and artery. You swallowed drop after drop of him until his thrashing and jerking under you slowed to a stop. His cock twitched in your mouth one final time, beginning to soften, when he pulled you off of him with a pop.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Jake moaned like you’ve never heard a man moan before.

“Such a big, pretty cock”, you gave his tip a quick peck before tucking him back into his sweats. “But it’s a shame you don’t know how to use it”, you chuckled.

He whined at the comment, his finger reaching up to the corner of your lips, swiping at the residue of his release. He thought about your question from earlier, picturing reaching your cervix and filling you to the brim with his cum.

“Please, teach me?” he begged.

read part 2 here

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: weekends aren't for rest, they're for being sick and anxious so Monday will be a treat.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you try your best not to make too much noise. You set the bags down lightly and ease the inner door shut. You can hear your dad and the soft sound of puzzle pieces meeting the table.

“Ya know, thirty years almost, but I can see her just like yesterday,” he says.

Your heart clutches. You never heard him talk about your mom. When you were a kid and didn’t know better, he just ignored all your questions about her. When you got older, you stopped asking. You figured it’s easier for both of you to pretend she never was.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Leslie comforts, “you know, in my line of work, I’ve seen it over and over. It’s a wound you can’t heal.”

“Oh yeah,” he grits, “yeah, I’d say…”

You swallow and lean back on your foot, crinkling the bags behind you. You cringe as you hear sudden movement. You turn and work to slip off the white loafers. You pretend like you weren’t listening as Leslie’s shadow looms from the archway.

“You’re home,” she proclaims, “we didn’t think you’d be so early.”

“Me either,” you say as you face her. 

Her lashes flick and her mouth opens, “oh my, you look so good! Weren’t you working today?”

“Uh, did some work,” you lie, “I got a few hours off so I… did some running around.”

“Oh, gosh, come on, you have to show your dad,” she takes you by the wrist and tugs you around, “Charles, look at your girl.”

She presents you with her hands on your shoulders. You can’t even look at your dad as the couch creaks and he grunts at your appearance. He snorts and pushes another piece into the puzzle.

“What am I looking at?” He sneers.

“Charles, don’t be like that. Look at her hair, and this dress,” she touches your hips, “must be a nice job, huh?”

“It’s alright,” you shimmy out of her grasp, “I just… needed something more presentable–”

“Something shorter,” your father scoffs, “so when she’s bending to tidy the floors you can see right up.”

“Charles, that’s gross,” Leslie reprimands.

“Truth can be like that,” he snickers, “think some man’s buying her fancy clothes so she can sweep? We both know how she pays for you.”

“No… it’s not…” you shrug and give up, “I’m gonna put my stuff away and start dinner. If you want, you can head off early too.”

“Oh, I don’t mind sticking around,” Leslie says as she once more sits beside your dad, “let me know if you need any help with dinner. Don’t wanna get anything on that nice little dress.”

You nod and hesitate. You can’t tell what she means by that. For as much as she can call out your father, she often speaks with an edge of her own. Just like the cigarettes, she must assume his insults are your fault.

You leave the room and grab the bags. You carry them up the stairs to your room. You shut the door and sit on the end of the bed. You bend and cradle your head, trying to set it straight after the dizzying day.

👠

The bus provides a momentary break from your hostile world. There is no safe place for you. Home is barely that and work is… confusing. Your only escape is to focus on your tasks and get through them. Get through Mr. Laufeyson’s list then come home and the chores left untouched. 

Your look at the time on your phone and black the screen. You get a glimpse of your reflection off the glass as you do. You didn't do too bad with the makeup. It looks okay. You tried not to use too much as you recalled Eliana's instructions.

You shake off your doubts and airy feeling around your legs. You're not use to the skirt or the pretty fabrics. You feel overdressed and out-of-place, but the latter is so new to you.

Through the gate and along the edge of the drive, you hear your name flutter in the air. You stop short as you see Frigga strolling along the hedges, caressing the petals of a rose. She draws away and strides towards you, an ivory skirt paired with a golden brown blouse and nude heels.

“You do start early, don’t you?” She approaches and takes your hand, “come, let’s have tea.”

“Oh, uh, I…” you let her tug you along the walkway towards the front door, “the carpenter is coming today–”

“Ah yes, Loki mentioned you were working on restoring the gazebo. That’s lovely. We used to have tea there, me and… his wife. She was a laugh.”

“Mm,” you hum. Whoever this woman was, she must’ve been very special. You imagine a beautiful woman with silky hair and long legs like Frigga. She must’ve fit right in.

“I suppose if it was meant to be, it would be. I only hope my son can find happiness again,” she squeezes your hand before she lets you go. 

She opens the door and waves you in ahead of her. You slip out of your flats much easier than your usual lace-up sneakers. She steps out of her heels and sighs.

“That’s his problem, you know? He’s lonely but too proud to admit it,” she sidles around you and leads you down to the kitchen. You follow and watch as she goes to the counter and pours from the waiting teapot. “Though I haven’t seen him today. I suppose he’s sleeping in, it is the weekend.”

You tilt your head but don’t comment. For as long as you’ve worked for him, not very long at all, he’s never slept past your arrival. Well, not so far as you know.

“I do love this skirt,” she comes back around the counter and touches the tweed, “wonderful pairing,” she touches the blouse with the petal shaped cutouts around the high-collar, “you’re learning.”

“Um, yeah, all the clothes are so pretty,” you say.

“Please, have your tea. I’m sure you have time before the carpenter,” she urges.

“Right, er, I’ll just take my bag upstairs first,” you say, “out of the way.”

“Sure,” she accepts with a kind smile, “how about I take this out to the patio, we can enjoy the sun?”

“Alright,” you agree and hike up your bag, “thank you.”

You quickly flit off and head upstairs. You weren’t expecting her to be there. You just hadn’t thought of it. You only dreaded facing your unbendable boss and his persistent stare.

You go into the library and tuck your bag under the writing desk. You double check the schedule in your phone; Ronan, 10. You have an hour before he arrives.

Your mind is already on the gazebo as you scurry back into the hall. As you shut the door gently, you hear a groan. You peer down towards the unusual noise and blink at the slightly ajar door. The main bedroom. Mr. Laufeyson’s. It rises again before a drawn out exhale, his timbre rumbling low.

You quickly set back to your path and flee downstairs. Maybe he’s talking in his sleep, or more likely, stretching out a few kinks. Your curiosity quickly dissipates as you pass through the dining room and out into the patio.

Frigga sits with large pointed sunglasses over her eyes. She tilts her face up to the sunlight as you sit before the other cup of tea. You pull it close and look out at the yard. A streak of green catches your gaze.

You watch the hummingbird hover over fuchsia petals. You stare dreamily, lulled by the peace of the moment as Frigga merely sips and basks. This isn’t so bad. The bird zips between flowers before disappearing behind a tree. In his stead, the skittish chipmunk scrambles along the railing of the patio. You smile at his fluffy tail.

“I’ll be off tomorrow,” Frigga states, “my husband will be expecting me. Oh, but I’ll miss you, darling.”

“Is it very far?” You wonder.

“Four or five hours,” she answers, “not very far but enough. It’s so lovely up where we are. I wish you could see. Perhaps one day. When things are better.”

Before you can answer, there’s a subtle click behind you.

“Morning,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is unleashed onto the scene as the patio door swings inward, “mother,” he pauses before he enunciates your name, “beautiful day out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and nearly touch your ears as you sit straight. He pulls out the chair at your other elbow and sets down another teacup with a clink. He sits and smooths back his dark hair, tucking the spiralled ends behind his ears.

“Late morning,” his mother remarks, “any tea left?”

“Some, shall I–”

He puts his hands flat, moving to stand but she shoos him as she’s quicker to rise, “I’ll get it myself. And you darling,” she dips her chin in your direction, “more?”

“Oh, no thanks, I’m still… working on mine. Thank you, Frigga,” you say, mindful of each syllable.

She leaves and the door clicks shut behind her. You stare at the brim of your cup, turning it slowly between your hands as Laufeyson raises his own to his lips. He drinks carefully before putting it down again.

He’s quiet. He shifts and plants an elbow on the table. He turns his attention to the yard and watches. You dare to look up as well, the chipmunk poking his head out from the bush where he hides. He ran away at Mr. Laufeyson’s arrival.

“Cute little fellow,” he remarks as he faces you again. You quickly lower your eyes.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Mmm,” he drones and taps his fingers on the porcelain teacup, “you… that’s a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” you lift your cup and drain most of it, gulping painfully as you put it back down, “I should go start. Ronan will be here shortly–”

“The carpenter?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I have him penned in–” You explain.

“And? He is a carpenter, he knows what he’s doing. I doubt he needs you watching over his shoulder.”

“I know, uh, but I should be there to let him in,” you slide your cup off the table.

“You’re not even done your tea.”

“I’ll finish on my way in–”

“You’re avoiding me,” he accused and you wince.

“What?”

“You’re running away? Why?” He challenges.

“I’m not, I– I have work to do.”

“Work I give you. I’m your boss, you may sit and finish. I’ll permit it.”

You falter and set the cup on the table. You lower yourself back to the seat and fold your hands. You look at your lap and push your shoulders back. He is back to his haughty demands, you find that part of him easier to handle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I wasn't running away.”

He scoffs thinly and his nostrils flare as he stares off at the hedges that edge the patio, “I wonder why you can be so quick to flee me when you sat and let my brother feel you up.”

“Huh?” You blanch, stuck by the accusation. “Mr. Laufeyson, I–”

“I know him well and I’m not as blind as my mother. I saw it. You didn’t say a word. You just let him do it,” he clucks, “why?”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. You nearly choke, the acidic flavour of the tea drying on your tongue. Was it that bad? You tried not to think about it, to let it affect you, even as the memories flashed in your head, you just tried not to feel anything about it.

“I didn’t… well… he’s your brother, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t want to assume… to offend–” you stammer.

“So you let him do what he wants?” He snarlss as he turns his sights on you, a brow arch tritely. “You do not work for him, you work for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” you sputter, confused by his anger. “I tried to…”

Your voice trails off. No, you didn’t try. You were too afraid too. He’s right, you let Thor keep touching you and you didn’t say anything, you didn’t move, you just froze up.

“It makes me wonder,” he cups his chin, leaning on his elbow, “how far would you let him get, hm?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you whimper, “I’m sorry–”

“Did you like how he touched you?”

“N-no, Mr. Laufeyson, no, of course not,” you plead.

“You do not want him to touch you?” He prompts.

“No, I… didn’t know how to say—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, lifting his chin from his hand and pressing his finger to his lips. He pulls his hand away to point at you, “I’ve a better question…” He reaches towards you and you flinch. You quiver as he traces the cutout along the top of your blouse, “how far would you let me go?”

You squirm as he hooks his finger inside the teardrop window in the fabric. His fingertip brushes you as he gives a slight tug, looming closer as he draws you towards him. He smirks as you stare dumbfounded. What is he doing?

“My brother will not touch you again,” his voice is low and rocky, “I will make sure of it.” He tickles you slightly and rescinds his hand, “and you will make sure to remember who you belong to.”

He sits back and hooks his fingers in the handle of the porcelain mug. As if on cue, the french doors open behind you and Frigga trills as she emerges, “oh, just enough tea,” she announces, “I added a dash of honey this time.”

She places the cup by her empty chair but does not sit. She twirls and paces around the patio, going to the flower boxes along the rail. She leans in to examine them.

“Perhaps the carpenter could have a look here, it’s crooked,” she declares. “And I dare say the guest room has a loose floorboard right near the bed.”

“Mm, perhaps, mother,” Laufeyson drawls as he once more raises his cup, his eyes stuck on you, “my house manager will be sure to ask, won’t she?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you wisp out through your constricted throat, barely registering his command. 

You can only hear his previous words echoing, over and over; remember who you belong to. Belong to… No, you only work for him.

[solavelyan]

3, 5 & 22 for choose violence!

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

lkaj;fdsf god. i think the most recent one was someone speculating on why of all the inquisition love interests, blackwall isn't as popular, and one of their guesses was that people don't like him as much because he's available to dwarves and qunari. as if people are so comically "prejudiced" against dwarves and qunari that the love interests that will fuck them are somehow tainted. that was pretty fucking stupid.

but one of the ones that really stuck with me was someone who said that... if you dislike cullen, you actually hate drug addicts in real life and you're a bad person. as if that's the only reason he might not be your favorite. pffff.

5. worst discord server and why

the one i'm not in anymore. :3

okay but realtalk, i'm not quite high or brave enough to give a specific name, but i will say that i think it's easy for writing-focused discords to get into a sort of feedback loop that it turns out i just really don't enjoy. some of that is definitely me, but i think i have similar feelings to some other people who were on the same servers as i was and left (the feeling of some spaces being a popularity contest, being unsure of how genuine feedback was at any given time because it could feel transactional, just not necessarily vibing with the sort of unspoken preferences of the group wrt canon interpretation/fanon/etc.).

i also just don't like servers that get above a certain member count because they're too active and i feel obligated to read everything and know everything and then i get anxiety lmao. my ideal server size is like... somewhere under 100 people, probably realistically somewhere south of 50. so that's just me.

most of my fannish group activities before 2022 were either just out in the wild on tumblr, or RP circles in IJ, so i had a bit of a discord culture shock after keeping to myself for so long. and i will say that while some people who are loud about being "live and let live" and being open to other people's opinions are being genuine, functionally... yeah, any contained group of people that gets to a certain size is going to start emulating the behaviors of wider fandom, but in ways much more specific to the driving personalities of those servers.

so you end up with some really wild, overly dramatic discussions of "fandom problems" that functionally only affect the 5 people having that discussion and the maybe 3 or 4 other people that got under their skin about it, so you end up with takes like... well, like in my last question, proposing that a straight white man love interest in a fandom historically pretty friendly to straight white men must be unpopular because he's marginalized somehow, and not because his competition was Ex-Templar Fandom Has Been Thirsting Over Since DAO, What the Fuck Do You Mean That's Freddie Prinze, Jr.?, Charismatically Voice Acted Gay Magic Man from Cool Fantasy Rome, and Tragic Elf Man Ianto Jones. people were just not as into burly bearded dilfy types in 2015 as they are now. it's not a mystery, but if your fishbowl is curved enough, it sure looks like one.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

oh, this is probably small and silly, but that bit of flavor text at the beginning of Inquisition for the human pc mentions that trevelyan is from a huge family with close ties to the templar order, is the youngest child of multiple siblings, and was expected to go into service to the chantry, either as a templar or in the clergy. i've seen a lot of religious trevelyans, but i rarely see them portrayed as templars or chantry clergy or something. i'm honestly really surprised, given how popular some of the templar npcs are, that we weren't awash in templar ocs during inquisition's heyday.

i don't mind feeling relatively unique (i think i've only seen one or two other templar trevelyans but that's about it), but this is one of those things that always surprises me when i'm the only one rocking up with an ex-templar oc in a given group. they're so interesting! i would totally read someone else's take on the concept.

[ from the choose violence ask meme ]

[dramarising-replacement]

G1 Hoarder Revamp and the Mountain of Salt

Can we all just acknowledge how much of a total fuck up the new G1 ping system is? I feel bad because they obviously went through so much work and beta testing for this system but it’s absolutely garbage in practice. This isn’t meant as a huge roast (even though I do think the creators could do with getting knocked down a few pegs given how poorly they’ve treated people through this entire process, oops) but I hope they at least see this and see things that they can work on. Obviously, going to them and sharing this stuff in person isn’t possible since L from arcane is notorious for gossiping and overall not super trustworthy, so anon route we go. I’ll give credit where credit is due: they definitely tried to go on the right path and the coding is good in theory. The big issue here is that they tried to fix something that was not great but worked with something that is not great and barely works. Sure there are some good things about the new ping system: if it’s not busy it’s not longer than six or seven minutes to do all of it for a few dragons, which, compared to the previous method? Pretty good timing. Helps automatically tag some colorgroups without having people confused about if their dragon counts or not, and uh... probably something else. The cons far outweigh the pros though: -sheet can only be used one at a time: terrible in theory, terrible in practice, there’s no queue system either so you’re not even guaranteed to go next even if you’ve been waiting ages. This becomes a nightmare around any holiday, as we’ve seen around notn, since everyone flocks to the ping generator and then quickly abandons after seeing the mess there. This should have been something that they found a way to work with from the start, especially since the previous spreadsheet, despite how long it took to sift through if you were actually assed to do all the specifics, could still be used by multiple people. -userface issues: going into the spreadsheet and it may all just be blank, does this mean someone’s using it? Someone isn’t? If you go ahead and assume not you’re going to get warned that you overrode someone since they get the ID to your dragon, if you don’t assume then you end up waiting for ages like an idiot and someone else swoops up the opportunity. The loading bar on the side doesn’t help give that info either since it constantly reloads due to the poorly planned code. Where users have their cells selected also doesn’t help since that isn’t always accurate. There are many times where the loading bar isn’t seen going, there isn’t any visible text on the screen, no comment in the box, but it’s still in use. This isn’t viable for anyone, especially not people who don’t fully understand how the system works. If you’re going to make it for only one person’s use at a time, you need to ensure it’s easier to see what’s going on for everyone. -laggy as all get out: sure, I don’t have to go through 15 pages of different types of pings on the old G1 pinglist and shovel through all the duplicates and specifics list people, but having more than 13 dragons or even doing a bigger lair sale (or even just anything during notn) means you get to wait for the program to chug away for ages (as well as the easy chance for someone to just cut in halfway through a load and have you start all over again or wait) and hope that the three people behind you don’t get impatient or angry as you have to do three separate input sessions rather than massing them all together as you could with the previous spreadsheet. -poorly designed aesthetically: maybe this may sound petty to some, but the design of the system is pretty terrible in terms of layout and color choice. This isn’t to say it’s just ugly though; after speaking about it with people who aren’t neurotypical, have disordered thinking processes, and/or have generalized issues reading things (autism spectrum, dyslexia, semi-visually impaired, etc.) it’s pretty clear that the entire thing is not accessible whatsoever for anyone who can’t immediately decipher what anything is. Black text on bright red is not a good thing for most people beyond old MySpace edgies. If you, as someone without reading or comprehension difficulties, are having a difficult time focusing on it: maybe consider how difficult it’d be for anyone else. The way the rules or tutorial section is laid out also does not help in terms of accessibility! It’s clunky and hard to read, does not flow well, and doesn’t explain as thoroughly as you may think. If you’re someone who uses coded spreadsheets often? Yeah sure, it might be understood. If you’re not? Welp. Good luck kiddo. -very poor user help: this is on the mods or creators more than the spreadsheet itself. If someone has a problem, the first thing you should do is talk with them to find the difficulty and tackle it from there. I’ve seen, multiple times now, where either N (plague) or L (arcane) straight up tell people that they can’t help them and that they should just read the guide on the front page. Like sure, they read them, but something is tricky for them and they’re asking for help. They can read the rules and guide again but without outside help, guess what? Not gonna help them. If you just keep linking them the forum or telling them to read the first page it won’t actually help anyone! One of your jobs as the creators here is to help the community that you made it for, not just parrot that they need to read. Be better. Add that to a system which is not forgiving of any mistakes whatsoever and it becomes a terrible little cocktail. Also does not help that, despite their sugar attitude about having people test it in discord servers, the creators l and r/p (both arcane) don’t actually help people who need help using it. -wait times/queue: this ties in to an earlier point, but there’s no way to organize who goes next. Sure, it might sound strange, but when you have to wait ages to get access despite you being there ahead of anon llama/drama/dingdong/animal because they can all hop in ahead of you, it becomes frustrating. People don’t always type in that itty bitty box to say what they’re doing, and people easily erase it or write over it, or they just outright ignore it. Obviously not everyone is going to do that, but it’s way too easy for people who are greedy/entitled to step over those who are being polite and patient. -no quick ping options this is also kind of minor, but at least with the old spreadsheet you could just click in and say “okay, I just want to ping XXY general for this because I have a quick sale.” Guess what: nah. You have to go through the entire chugging process and queue and everything else just to get that snippet of information on who to ping. What once took maybe five clicks is now five minutes to thirty depending on how many people are using it. Wanna quick check if a dragon with XYZ colours you hatched is one that someone wants specifically? Nah, fuck you. You have to input all the data and wait instead of just doing what was once a super easy quick search. There is so much other shit wrong with this system and I’m honestly surprised N (plague) allowed them to do this. Sure, the old pinglist could have done with some updating, but that should have been done in the form of clearing redundant double pings, maybe a way to sort through specifics like ‘male only’ and mass copy names there. Quality of life things, not this just... total mess. I understand that L and R/P got it into their heads that they needed to fix it and that they wanted to take over the entire system themselves, but they should have kept their pride out of it for once. The sheet to input what dragons you want is also another entire nightmare. It’s frustrating to go through the google poll a dozen times to say exactly what colors/eyes/gender/pasta-shape/siesta-fiesta under the sun you want rather than have a quick way to input it by drop-downs or even just a text based option like the old one had. It’s so easy to forget what you put in or which one you want to put in this time, so easy to end up making mistakes that you don’t see, etc. It’s just not an effective system. It’s great in theory, and sure, it’s all sparkly and new, but it’s like admiring an aluminum trash can. Shiny and sparkly under the sun, still holding a whole lot of hot garbage though. I understand that some people may find it easier, and that’s great! I’ve used it for a few things and yeah, it’s okay, but I wish the old one was back given all the grief and frustration this one has caused. Obviously I’m not in the place to be like DO THIS OR DO THAT since I’m not the one making the sheet here, but I do feel like the people who use it have every right to give commentary and feedback where possible. Even moreso when the creators and team aren’t actually as welcoming as they try to appear to be. As much as it sucks, a lot of L and R/P’s (primarily L) false niceties have kind of come to the surface lately which makes this whole situation just that much more awkward. If people don’t feel like they can approach you because they know you’ll rip into them here or on the anon site immediately, maybe you shouldn’t be a main creator of something for the user base or a mod for a bigger group. Just some side-thought to all this other stuff. Big post, big rambles, I can’t bring myself to organise it though because I’m pretty fed up and tired. Take from this what you may, but basically fix your shit new G1 Hoarder peeps.

[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.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Kitsune | ii. winter

Jung Hoseok/Reader [F]

Genre: Demon Hunter AU, Action, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Japanese Feudal Era

Warning(s): Contains Violence & Blood (Semi to Graphic Depictions)

Words: 11.7k

Summary: Demons: man-eating, murderous monsters who would kill anyone for the blood of humans: be it man, woman or child.  They have no need for comrades. Known cannibalize and kill other demons if they so choose. Demon Hunters are tasked with eliminating any and all demons without question, but what would come to pass if they were told that a demon saved a human life? Views, values and relations become altered and absolutely nothing seemed human anymore.  Never sharpen a blade too much, lest you become the wounded. 

Series Index | i. demon 

a/n: you would not believe how long it took me to edit this (and I'm sure there’s still errors RIP) Kudos to my gf who were on discord the entire time while I complained about proofreading LOL.  However! Here is the second installment of Kitsune! I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and please please please tell me how you felt about this chapter!!! Feedback is key folks *clicks tongue*

t.list: @kathrynwynterbourne @tiredjedi @kaekae-93 @multycoloredtaco @sunshinechim-98 @baojinnie @perpetually-single @lexi-tries-art​ @fallingjungwoo​ 

It’s been a year since Hoseok had brought you- a demon- back to the home of his superior Lord Fuuta.  In that year he has also not once come back to that manor.  He never knew what became of you, or of that old man who was on his deathbed; in fact, he pushed you both so far back into his mind he had forgotten after so long.  He wasn’t aware of Taehyung’s actions or assignments.  The only words he exchanged with his lord were short messages of demons that plagued areas that came to him on the talons of crows acting as messengers. 

It was the dead of winter once again in Japan.  Hoseok had hardly changed when it came to his mindset and his all-around opinions. Physically, his hair had grown enough for his dark bangs to brush annoyingly in front of his eyes.  With traveling and battling being his day-to-day occurrences, he began to grow more fit as time passed.  Still wearing his keikogi and crimson haori.  His eyes also withstood the trial of time; remaining as cold as they did for as long as others could remember.

He was currently sat at a small stand selling fresh dango and tea.  Pulling one of the three dumplings off the wooden skewer, he ate silently at the bar on a wooden stool.  A clay, green painted mug of steaming tea sat to the right of his small saucer- the warmth of the beverage chasing away the winter cold. ��

The stand itself was a small one- hardly the capacity for the treats to be made behind the countertop and just big enough to squeeze in four stools- making a successful business a hardship. It was located in the middle of a busy city street.  The city he was located in was far busier than any he had come across in the region alone.  

Buildings that varied from small to large with at least four stories to them. All strung with lanterns and candle lights every which direction to light up the bustling, frozen, dirt roads. Travelers trotting through the city on horseback.  Women in loose yukatas- despite the freezing weather- to tempt men and women alike into the brothel in which they were employed. Shops and stands of all sorts; from foods to antiques that were filled with items that were more than obviously fake; sellers only looking for a pretty penny for worthless trash. 

Scamming was a whole trade in itself these days it seemed. 

Fabric shops, sit down places for dining, tea houses, smiths and weapon trades, even sexual desire personified existed in the city- if you look for the right part of the city that is. The city was filled with any one person’s wants and needs if you knew just the right places to look for them. 

Hoseok hated cities.  

He hated how his senses dulled because of the constant noise and movement around him.  He had to always be on edge because even big ‘safe’ cities like this one were exactly the place where all the right things start going wrong. Population does not equate to safety; a fact that most people ignore like fools. 

If he had it his way, he would already be long gone.  However, Fuuta had contacted him via his ever-familiar crow and requested Hoseok to come to this city in the first place as well as a stay until further notice. Fuuta even prepared Hoseok room and board in an inn that was acquainted with the lord. 

Fuuta never explained why Hoseok was to come here and sit on his rear end in a waiting game with no visible end in sight.  He angrily bit and pull off his second dumpling off the skewer at the idea that this could have been an ‘order’ for Hoseok to relax from fighting.  Hoseok wasn’t one to care for himself- pushing himself over and over with injury or illness.  Some might say he was devoted to his work, others- more specifically Fuuta and Taehyung- called him a reckless idiot for never knowing when to stop.  

Taehyung used to often reprimand him for pushing his limits constantly.  Beating him to a bloody pulp in training and literally trying to beat into his head some sense.  It never worked, however.  Hoseok wasn’t always so stubborn, but after an event that sent him reeling inwards in trauma, he’s changed drastically. 

Finishing the third dumpling of his last skewer, he sipped down the rest of his tea.  Standing and ruffling out his haori to let it lay on his back with ease as he placed down yen coins as payment for the small snack os sweets.  Slightly raising the short Noren hanging on the low ceiling of the stand with the back of his hand, he left the stand behind him and headed out into the busy streets. 

It was frosty out, but no snow was coated on the ground nor was it fluttering down from the sky.  Breath chilled in clouds and the frozen dirt crunched under the straw waraji of Hoseok’s.  Ice formed in puddles of discarded water that was thrown out from shops and merchants- begging for a child to run in a playful frenzy and fall on the trackless trap. This winter wasn’t nearly as harsh as the previous had been with nearly constantly snowfall.  However, that could always change. 

Hoseok walked, weaving pass and through the tresses of people.  Holding his swords at his hip, pulling the hilts of them up towards his stomach to straighten how they sat on his side- allowing the tail ends of the scabbards to avoid unnecessarily whacking into anyone.  Any accidental confrontation with humans didn’t interest him; picking fights with people just wasn’t his thing. 

Finding his way and walking into the aged inn he had been staying, he strode through the entrance and down the halls, up to the set of wooden stairs to the second floor.  The only other floor beside the ground level the inn had. Heading down the hall he recognized the room he was provided with days prior.  Pulling the key to the room from his neck that he kept looped on a chain and slotting it into the door, he entered.  

Shutting himself inside, he was met with his room and an open window that most definitely wasn’t open when he left.  Someone, or something, must be in the space with him hiding in the shadows and doing a damn good job of it.  

Keeping his back straight as he walked further into the room with slow steps, he stopped in the center.  Keeping his movements calm, he moved his arm across his torso to grip the hilt of the one sword he always drew.  Holding the top of the scabbard with the opposite hand, he extended his thumb to click the blade out only an inch. He slowed his breathing- now stuck in a game of patience.  The air buzzing in silence as he strained to hear something- anything to alert him. 

Springing from the dark shadow of his room directly below the window, someone charged at him.  Hoseok gasped, hissing through his teeth lightly at the speed of the attack.  He wasn’t even able to draw his sword, the perpetrator’s hand clamping down over his own- pushing the blade back into its scabbard. Grabbing Hoseok’s keikogi at the shoulder with one hand, the other keeping his sword sheathed they began to overpower the hunter. 

Overwhelming Hoseok as they took steps forward, they backed him into a corner.  The mystery figure was cloaked in dark all around and a mask hid their face. Their hair was as dark as their clothes.  Only their eyes remained visible as the dim light that leaked inside reflected off them.  Hoseok’s back was pushed against the wall, the attacker’s leg hiking to push the ball of his foot into the tail ends of the scabbards and closing the distance between the two to avoid any chance of Hoseok drawing.  

Moving the hand that once held Hoseok’s shoulder, they moved to grip his shoulder and quickly stepped back and knelt a fraction.  Twisting around, they pulled on Hoseok’s collar so his chest slammed into the attacker’s shoulder before Hoseok was being flipped over their body and his back slamming into the room floor.  Hoseok sputtering in gasps as the attacker then climbed onto his chest and pressed a knife above the hunter’s eyes.  

A knife Hoseok recognized.  

He let out a breath somewhere between the lines of a gasp and a choke when his body relaxed. He coughed lightly when the attacker also began to relax.  Lifting their knife away from Hoseok’s face and moved to squat above his chest rather than pinning him down.  Twirling the weapon before sheathing it in its small sheath on their back. They chuckled above him, pulling their mask down, letting the black fabric rest around their neck. 

“You really are a pain in my ass,” Hoseok grumbled, finally gaining back his voice after the previous assault upon him.  “What the hell was that for, Taehyung?” 

The light outside shone off of Taehyung’s face.  His hair had grown far longer than the year of last, resting between his shoulder blades, twisted in a braid that threatened to unravel. Face squaring out into a more mature one of a young man.  His birthday running around in the winter season, much like he always seemed to be when the two meet. 

The younger man stood before stepped over and off Hoseok completely, leaving him to finally sit up and rotated around his shoulder and rub at his chest where Taehyung’s shoulder slammed into him.  He winced in slight pain and major annoyance.  Taehyung had moved to light the lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling before sitting himself down in a cross-legged fashion.  

It was odd to see Taehyung in his gear, but no armor.  His completely black yoroi hitatare gear and extremely fine waraji looked empty without the cover of his armor. From a sarashi belt to his yugake gloves- all was there as he sat like he didn’t completely jump his lower-ranked ally only a few moments ago. 

“Lord Fuuta will be holding a meeting with the main leaders of each branch soon,” Taehyung started out of nowhere.  “He wishes to hold it in this city and asks that you attend.” 

Hoseok looked at Taehyung with wide, incredulous eyes.  He slightly shook his head, running the samurai’s words over and over in his head to make sure he was completely taking in and understanding the meaning of each word he said.  Taehyung’s friendly look in his eyes faded as they steeled into that of Hoseok’s superior- a line he can cross between with ease. 

“The meeting will be held in three days, allowing the remaining leaders to find their way to the meeting location. In that time, I shall have a messenger sent for you to lead you there as well.” Taehyung closed his eyes, lifting his lips in a minute quirk.  “However, the choice in which you want to follow that messenger is all yours.  Fuuta requests you there, but it is no order.” 

Hoseok was skeptical about the situation purposed towards him.  “If there is no order, why the personal confrontation about the matter.”  It wasn’t a question he spoke towards his comrade. More of a stern accusation of something that may be laying under the surface of his words. 

Taehyung just chuckled inwardly to himself.  Pushing himself up off the floor to stand, he looked down the line of his nose at Hoseok still sat in front of him.  He walked to the wooden door opening it a fraction before looking back over his shoulder to the hunter.  

“Isn’t it better to have news spread face to face with whom it may concern? Especially since we’re already in the same vicinity to begin with.” He opened the door to leave but briefly paused on the threshold.  “Oh, plus,” he started again. Voice jumping in a care-free manner with any tone of superiority vanishing.  “It will always be entertaining to tease you,” he snidely finishes.  Ducking out of the room before Hoseok could react- likely in a violent manner.  Left in his solitude, Hoseok sighed. 

His brows furrowed in thought.  He wondered if he should really attend the meeting if that’s truly what Fuuta requested.  Or if he should just leave the city and deny the audience of leaders his presence. 

“What reason would they have to summon me in the first place?” He spits in what is best described as curiosity cloaked in anxiety.  Coming off in a cold, nearly spiteful sounding, tone. 

It was the dawn of the third day since Taehyung had come to Hoseok.  The meeting gnawing at the back of his mind like an itching wound. He fought back and forth on if he should truly attend or not. 

On one hand, Fuuta did request Hoseok to attend and he was curious about who the current leaders were- aside form Taehyung of course.  On the other, he had no purpose there as a lower-ranked hunter among them.  It’s not as if he is bound by the order to go- Taehyung said so himself.  The choice was up to Hoseok, no other.  Both options fought like rams stuck in horn lock. 

Hoseok lay restless in his futon in the same room that has been that of a cell to him recently.  His distaste for cities didn’t warrant him any desire to leave the inn unless necessary.  Dressed in a kimono provided from the inn staff, a white and grey striped piece with a grey sash, he lay utterly bored.  Staring up at the ceiling and unlit lantern hanging above him. One arm behind his head, the other placed on his chest.  Futon covers pushed down to his stomach. The first dim signs of daylight began painting the winter sky orange. 

It seemed to look like another day of cold breezes and yet still no snow.  Winter was always a bland season, even covered in white everywhere one looked.  However, the lack of snow made the cold stripped environment seem worthless.  Snow brought a sense of beauty to the naked, dead-natured world at least.  It was just another ugly dystopia without a blanket of white to cover it all. 

His attention was ripped away when his window- that was closed- began to lightly rattle.  Ignoring it, he only figured it was the morning wind washing over the city in its cold breaths.  His patience was always at a low in the mornings.  The constant window-rattling that seemed to only increase in noise also seemed to rattle away at the already scarce patience he did possess. Sitting up in his futon, he looked at the offending window.  

Looking past the glass, he contorted his face in a look of private confusion.  The bare limbs he could see outside didn’t sway at all, indicating the lack of any wind whatsoever.  It wasn’t blowing. Was something else doing it, or was he simply hallucination from being inside this tiny room day after day with his push and pull thoughts.  

Pulling his legs from the futon covers, he slid out of its warmth and knelt to his knee to lift his sights higher.  He could see nothing outside his window, yet the shaking glass was constant.  He began walking cautiously towards it. 

Hoseok could see the glass shake in the frame when close enough to observe it.  Lightly touching it, the cold glass rattled against his fingertips. His brow furrowed deeper trying to think of why it would be shaking so violently.  Looking around outside the trim on the small ledge, perhaps a critter hand been knocking into it.  However, no animal was seen. 

Grabbing the frame, he began to slide it open.  Pulling the window slowly to his left inching it along.  Moving slowly as to not startle what may- or may not- be at his window. The cold sailed in like a smooth brushstroke, seeping into the warm room by the vacuum of the window opening- cold eating away at warm. The chill traveled throughout Hoseok’s exposed chest snaking down his skin like a winter wind snake. Silence and cold were all that sat beyond his window outside. 

No breeze.  No early morning mutter.  No animals chirping.  Just silence.  Eerie to the human ear and unsettling peaceful to the hunter’s mind. 

The window was fully open now and with the window being open, the rattling ceased.  He let out a breath at the silence.  Standing fully upon his feet, he dropped his guard at the halt of annoyance from the glass. 

Just as his shoulders slacked down, something lept over the outside of his window railing.  Coming out of nowhere it lept inside, landing on Hoseok’s chest with four paws planting on his skin.  Pushing into him with enough force to knock him off his feet, he stumbled onto his rear before hitting the floor with his back.  With a heavy thud, he momentarily felt apologetic to whoever may be beneath his room.  

Laying breathless half on his futon, the four paws on his chest jumped off of him with more force he didn’t exactly welcome.  Wincing, he pushed himself to twist at the waist to sit up on his left side.  Supporting himself upon his left forearm and elbow digging into the floor, he held his chest with his opposite hand, lightly gasping back the breath stolen from him. 

Looking at what just pounced at him unnecessarily his eyes widened seeing a fox in his room with him.  It wasn't a regular fox either.  

Two twin tails swayed at its backside.  The pure white coat of fur with red decorating its forehead and tail tips in nearly flawless spirals.  Its paws licked with minuscule flames of blue that did not spread or did the flames burn Hoseok’s skin when it touched him only moments ago.  Eyes of gold piercing- nearly glaring- at him.  The fox was no bigger than the average work dog.  Hitting Hoseok at least at his knees in height.  

Despite its size, the intimidating aura buzzing off the demon fox would make anyone be on their toes in anticipation of an attack or any sort of quick, uncalled for action. 

Of course, his weapons lay behind the fox.  Leant up against the wall, cut off from his reach.  Hoseok cursed under his breath.  If this fox were to pounce again, Hoseok would have to depend on brute strength and quick thinking maneuvering to claim his swords. 

However, the fox did not move into any further advancing positions.  Instead, it just sat down.  Ears twitching and tails swaying, it simply sat and observed Hoseok.  Hoseok also observed back, not daring to move yet.  Caught in a deadlock of eye contact, no party moved a muscle until the fox got back up onto its paws and trotted to the wall were his haori hung.  Turning it’s back to the wall to once again face Hoseok, it sat below the haori. 

Hoseok’s brow rose in an inquiry.  The fox only continued to stare once again.  The way its tails whipped seemed like a gesture of invitation for Hoseok to change into it.  

“My haori,” he started speaking in a whisper.  Watching the foxes ears twitch.  “Put it on?” To his utmost shock, the fox bowed its head in a single nod at his question to which he was not expecting an answer to.  Though it wasn’t so unusual as the fox was demonic- it wasn’t like a normal wild animal. “Okay,” he breathed out in a long, low syllable.  

Slowly maneuvering around his room, he began to change.  Discarding his kimono and changing into his keikogi, pulling his haori of crimson over his shoulders.  Tying his obi sash around his waist, he pulled his waraji over his tabi socks and slipped his swords onto his hips.  Dressed just as any other day that has passed or that may be yet to come. 

The fox had moved from where the crimson haori once hung back to the open window.  Tails still waving past one another and gaze almost hypnotic when Hoseok resumed eye contact.  Hoseok turned to look at the fox with narrow eyes.  He never thought he’d be unintentionally following the orders of a demon fox.  He scoffed lowly at himself.  Stopping close to the fox in the window, it soon turned and jumped back outside.  

Looking out, Hoseok saw it sitting on a wall of stone just below the window ledge- only a leap width away.  Looking back at him in a silent way of instructing him to follow behind.  He had no reason to oblige this fox; however, had no reason to deny it either.  

Hopping from his window to the same wall the fox adorned, Hoseok followed. 

Climbing walls, rushing through alleys and hardly seeing a soul in the extremely early hour, Hoseok scowled.  He half-believed this demon fox was just leading him around for a lark- as foxes are more than a bit mischievous in bare nature.  Not to mention each time it looked back at him over its fur-coated shoulder, Hoseok swore it sent glares directed at him instead of confirmation he was still trailing on its tail.  

This fox was nagging on his nerves; that he was certain of. 

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just get rid of the fox in the first place.  It was a demon after all, but just the thought of killing it put a bad taste in his mouth.  The line between what is animal and what is demon blurred- which has never happened to Hoseok before. He knew what he followed was without a doubt demon and it irritated him. 

Following blindly, Hoseok wasn’t even paying attention to his surroundings anymore.  Reacting purely on instinct and reflex as he kept his eyes on the foxes back. Soon, it stopped running before halting and jumping directly upward.  It’s back in front of his eyes before he halted as well.  Looking up, the fox now sat up on top of a tree limb.  Stretching and dragging its claws on the bark just barely before relaxing again and looking down to the annoyed hunter and his furrowed brow.  

The air change around him seemed to finally alert Hoseok that he just moved to a whole new location.  Gasping inwardly he averted his sights down and his eyes widened.  It was like he was in a whole new place out of the city; even the scenery wasn’t that of the winter season.  The weather was warmer too.  He looked around.  

Trees of wisteria surrounded the compound he was brought to.  The compound was elevated above the ground of stone and lush greenery like winter hadn’t touched it in a long, long time.  Much like that of the home of his lord with summer chimes ringing lightly with the breeze that wafted over the estate.  The smell of wisteria flowers that bloomed in purple surrounded everything.  

Moving his attention back to the fox, he saw it glaring down at him.  

“Where did you take me you damned fox?!” Glaring down at him further, the fox got up from it’s sitting position and hissed at him.  Ready to jump down from its tree limb to pounce on his chest again after accomplishing its task of bringing Hoseok to this location.  Its body stopped it’s future violent charge when it sensed someone walk onto the wooden railing porch of the compound. 

“That is enough, girl,” a familiar voice spoke.  “Come on back here now.”  The fox stopped it’s glaring at Hoseok, turned towards the compound and jumped from the tree.  Bounding the distance from the limb to the wooden railing, it landed with grace as a hand reached out to pet at its head.  Relishing under the touch.  

Hoseok looked at the person who spoke and shook his head in small swivels before pushing the ball of his hand against his forehead.  Looking at Taehyung call, command and even show affection to a demon fox flabbergasting him to an extreme.  Taehyung just laughed at him as the fox looked back at Hoseok, no longer glaring- but examining. 

“What is that face?  I told you I’d send a messenger in three days.” 

“You didn’t tell me the ‘messenger’ was going to be a demon!” Hoseok countered with a spiked fury, stunned Taehyung was loitering around a demon in the first place.  The fox’s ears bent back in agitation before they folded back in relaxation again when Taehyung placed his hand back on its head.  

“I didn’t need to.  Besides, what does it matter?  You followed her regardless of her demonic nature instead of attacking her.  I knew if she returned alone, you wouldn’t attend.” 

“I could’ve killed that fox, you realize that right,” Hoseok deadpanned.  Taehyung scoffed, patting the fox once more before folding his arms inside the kimono he spared.  His hair unbraided and resting on his shoulders and back.  

“She’s nimble and crafty.  The most you could’ve done to her is graze her fur.  She would’ve been fine if you lashed out violently. I have the utmost faith in her.”  Hoseok gapped at the confidence Taehyung boasted towards the small fox in front of them.  Taehyung looked down to said fox.  “Go head on inside.  We’ll call for you later, alright?”  The fox looked at him and nodded one low bow before jumping off the railing and running behind the samurai inside the estate.  

Hoseok shook off his shock before he sighed.  “Where did that thing bring me, Taehyung?”  Hoseok still not sure exactly where he was.  Too much happening far too early and too quickly for his brain to catch up completely.  

Taehyung smiled before he started to head back inside, only stopping to invite Hoseok inside with him.  Hoseok followed behind him, both men silent despite having tons of topics to talk about.  Hoseok only kept a cautious eye on his long-time friend as Taehyung kept a small smile on his face the entire time he weaved through the compound.  

“This is like Lord Fuuta’s home,” Hoseok spoke to himself.  

“It isn’t wrong to think that,” Taehyung replied to him.  “It is one of his private locations.  It’s hidden by a barrier, keeping it warm like spring.  He comes here often when his health warrants it.”  

A barrier.  Hoseok nodded.  It made sense- it would explain why it was so warm here and why the flowers and greenery blossomed so excellently.  Stuck in the bloom of spring- it was a nice time of year to stop the flow of time.  Hoseok’s eyes widened, becoming aware of something.  

“Taehyung, is Lord Fuuta here?”  Taehyung just stopped in front of a shoji door, constant chattering behind it.  “Taehyung?” 

Taehyung just slid open the door and walked inside, Hoseok following at his shoulder.  Inside was a group of six people.  Among them, Fuuta sat in his ever-constant glory.  He smiled warmly when his eyes set on Hoseok.  

“Hoseok, I’m delighted you decided to come.”  Hoseok just raised his brow, narrowing his eyes in confusion.  Fuuta just shook his head slightly with a small smile.  “Taehyung, you neglected to inform him, didn’t you.”  

“I can’t help it, my Lord.  It’s far too fun to tease him,” Taehyung sung cheerily.  If not in the presence of his lord, Hoseok would’ve clobbered Taehyung over his head for the comment.  Taehyung turned to his friend he had continued to string along- although he wasn’t fully to blame.  “Hoseok follows me without question anyhow.  It makes it easy,” he teased.  Hoseok was glad he learned self-restraint years ago.  

Taehyung left his friend’s side, moving to take his place at a table sat in the middle of the room.  Sliding into a zaitsu chair among the other six; however, there was still one open chair left.  

Fuuta moved to stand, the other’s coming to a stand with their lord in respect.  

“Welcome to the leader meeting of Demon Hunters, Hoseok.  Please, take a seat next to Taehyung if you would.”  

Hoseok stood dumbly still among the meeting.  Fuuta and Taehyung being the only two faces he recognized.  The other five were completely new to him.  He froze being put into an environment with so many strangers with gazes focused solely on him- the outsider. 

“Are you deaf, boy?!” Hoseok jumped when out of the stagnant silence a gruff voice boomed at him.  Yelling in a belittling tone towards the hunter.  The tacted on ‘boy’ referring to himself made his brow tick down in a pulse of annoyance.  Looking, it was a monk who was now glaring at Hoseok who had raised his voice. 

Even when sat down in his chair, the man was a massive specimen.  Broad shoulders with excessively muscular definitions that pushed along his body and made the kimono covering him look pathetic in its own threaded fabric patterns; his kashaya over his shoulder a golden shade.  The monk was bald with eyebrows condensed to the point there were only two small ovals above the inner corners of his eyes.  Carrying a staff with him- it being tucked under his elbow as he sat- it was iron made with a jewel fused onto the circular top. 

Hoseok suspected this particular monk happened to be nastier than a man among men who people would seek openly. 

“Well?!” He shouted again.  Hoseok caught a few other leaders rolling their eyes.  “Are you ignoring our Lord, or will you do as your told and sit, boy?!” 

“You’ll scare him away yelling like a mad man, Bunji,” the only female attendee spoke in a diversely calm tone. Her voice leagues below the loud echo of the monk- addressed now as Bunji.  Hoseok wondered if he spelled his name with the kanji characters meaning child or govern, seeing as he wasn’t anything childlike- the chance of irony almost made his lips quirk. 

The woman who addressed the monk was shot a warning look by him. She sat calmly, eyes closed and posture straight as Bunji’s staff.  Dressed in armor much like Taehyung’s, only fitting more to her feminine body.  Armor fitting and curving her breast as she sat on the left side of Taehyung. She was obviously the female counterpart to the male samurai sat next to her across the table from the monk. 

Bunji slammed his large, rock palm on the tables wooden surface in a fit.  Absolutely no reaction came from anyone aside from Hoseok who still stood at the door.  Rowdy and obnoxious behavior must be the normal- odd to see coming from a monk.  So much for spiritual ease and relaxation such as meditation.  

“If an outsider is frightened off, so be it!  Such a low-ranked soldier should not be present!” 

“He is here under Lord Fuuta’s request,” snapped the small, nimble man dressed fully in black beside Bunji.  Jet black hair, sitting with his arms and legs crossed.  “Do not object to our Lord’s wishes.” 

Bunji seethed as another gentleman in simple kimono garbs spoke towards Taehyung down the table.  

“Shouldn’t you speak up?” 

“I won’t,” Taehyung replied.  “Anything I say will sound like favoritism since I know Hoseok personally.  I’ll abstain from any comments regarding him.” 

“That is a very wise and mature decision, Master Taehyung!” Bunji shot off in a tone completely new. His condemning demeanor vanishing and being replaced with one of pure agreement when shot at Taehyung.  The switch of his attitude nearly giving Hoseok major whiplash. 

Hoseok spun in confusion- hypothetically speaking of course. 

A few claps from the head of the table and Fuuta calmed all present bodies.  Lowering his arms back down to the table, he smiled his normal, calm smile he seemed to always have painted on his face. 

“Please do not allow Hoseok’s presence to hinder the tasked meeting at hand.  Proceed just as usual if you would.” All were quiet as they silently agreed, no one disagreeing with their Lord. The once chaotically charged room simmered down as Hoseok finally made his way to Taehyung’s right.  Sitting in front of the black-clad, small fellow and now missing the condescending look shot at him from the monk diagonally across from him. 

In a few moments of silence, attention was shifted and gathered as the meeting finally began. Hoseok was clearly out of the loop, not comprehending most topics covered.  From field reports to medical updates and deceased count.  He winced when he heard how many of his fellow Demon Hunters have died since the last meeting held- whenever that may have been. 

Once all regulated discussions were ruled out, Fuuta dismissed the meeting- only temporarily, however.  He asked that the group of 6- Hoseok included- come to the small, miniature shrine and torii he had erected at the rear of the compound.  Claiming he had something to show and discuss with them all.  

Taehyung seemed to be the only body without a puzzled expression as to why and Hoseok could tell from the minuscule smirk he bit back that he knew what would be waiting there- what the thing is Fuuta wants to discuss is. His attitude did seem altered, even a few days ago when he snuck up on Hoseok- something hid under his task of ‘just inviting’ him. 

Once dismissed with Fuuta leaving first, Bunji was quick to catch Taehyung before he left as well.  Hoseok at his back as per usual.  

“Master Taehyung, might I speak with you?!” Yet more loud respect drawing out of the burly man's mouth directed only at Taehyung.  

“Perhaps later, Bunji.  I have other matters to attend to now.”  Taehyung shot him down without a breath of hesitation.  However, the massive monk was not at all pressed by the blatant rejection.  

“Of course!  Excuse me then!” As quickly as he flocked to Taehyung’s side, he left. Hoseok moved to stand beside his friend now.  

“What is with all the ‘Master’ titling?” Hoseok bit in attitude. 

Taehyung shrugged.  “I haven’t a clue, but he’s called me that since he met me.  Perhaps it’s because I’m ranked above him in terms of skill. Or, maybe he simply knows how to respect a man as handsome as myself.” 

“Oh, please.  Could you be any more humble?” Hoseok rolled his eyes as Taehyung chuckled to himself, leaving the meeting room and remaining leaders behind.  Hoseok took the time to finally ask who each leader was and what they command.  Taehyung hushed his curiosities until the two had moved to the private silence of his quarters- a fresh cup of warm tea in Taehyung’s palm. 

“Curious about the others?  You have every reason to be I suppose,” Taehyung chuckled.  “Then, listen carefully, Hoseok.”  Hoseok nodded, sitting with Taehyung on the cushions he had placed on the floor- finally beginning to introduce each leader.  

First, was the monk Bunji- leading in spiritual expertise. An expert when it came to exceedingly advanced and potent mantras for demon extermination.  Skilled with his jeweled staff for exorcisms and many sutras kept in the chest of his kimono as his weapons for battle.  Though his stature is intimidating and larger- when pushed into physical combat, be it with a demon or otherwise, he was not so skilled.  Out of the five leaders, he was ranked the fourth; as well as the newest leader welcomed into the fold- the previous priest dying overseas. 

Next, was the only female member among the mass of men.  The onna-musha, or female warrior, called Kaori.  Descending from nobility, she fights alongside men and has clawed her path up by annihilating any competition that stood in her way; beating men who snubbed or doubted her strength into submission to secure a path of future loyalty. A fierce, nimble and talent-flexible woman, she was a force to be reckoned with.  Respecting Taehyung as her senior and male counterpart, she self-proclaimed she will one day surpass him and be the top swordmaster; not just second best.  Ranked third among the other five. 

Then, there was the bluntly rude and cold shoulder of the ninja leader.  Almost always seen covered head to toe in his official garbs of pitch-black combat, he believed his work never halts and was prepared for any outcome that may lurch his way. Constantly on guard and doesn’t seem to have a joking bone in his body.  His calm and analyzing demeanor deemed him a practical genius in the field.  He often clashed with Bunji and his boisterous attitude.  His name was Takaki.  Ranked first and head of his comrades.  The best candidate for the overall leader after Fuuta;  however, he’s expressed adamantly he does not wish for the responsibility and declined the position offered. 

Ranked the fifth of the leaders for his lack of physical strength and combat skills was Tsutsui.  An expert on anything medicine and poison.  He was responsible for treatment locations as well as keeping the tally of those that have fallen. An entire mass unit of medically trained men and women is what he oversaw as he kept the conditions of any and all hunters filed away- even Hoseok’s.  His role among his peers was absolutely vital and without him, more hunters would lose their lives.  However weak he may seem, if pushed into a corner- his extensive knowledge of potent toxins and poison he creates could gain him an upper hand in battle as well as an opening to escape. 

Finally, was Taehyung himself.  The top samurai and swordmaster among them and ranked second of five.  With Takaki’s refusal of Fuuta’s position as the head leader later in life, Taehyung was to be his new successor.  When Hoseok learned that he was shocked.  He knew Taehyung was strong, but not so strong he was Fuuta’s protégé.  It made the gap between them feel wider than the mouth of the greatest canyon Hoseok knew of. 

Taehyung took the last sip of his tea, concluding the leaders’ introductions to Hoseok. “Does that answer any questions you may have had about their identities?” 

“I… suppose.  I still do not admire that monk, However.” 

Taehyung laughed.  “Yes, well, Bunji leaves that impression on nearly any new face he comes across.  You do not need to be friends, but he is technically one of your superiors.  Grit your teeth and at least try and co-exist with him.” Hoseok scoffed as Taehyung set his clay mug aside, moving to stand and pat down his wrinkled kimono.  “Speaking of co-existing, let us take to the back shrine.  Lord Fuuta is waiting.” Hoseok only nodded unsurely, standing and striding in time to Taehyung’s steps.  

His mind buzzing at what could be waiting for him- and the other leaders- at the shrine at the rear of the compound. 

When Taehyung and Hoseok arrived, only Takaki and Kaori were present.  Kaori offering a prayer at the miniature shrine as the two men arrived under the small torii gate.  Soon after, the remaining two leaders appeared- Bunji being apologetic in the loudest way possible only towards Taehyung for arriving late; or rather, arriving later than Taehyung did.  Hoseok still inwardly curling at his obnoxiously loud boasting. 

Then, their lord arrived- his wife by his side.  Shiro carried with her a folded parasol clearly designed and crafted from the continent.  Brilliant red with flowers painted on the bamboo arms and handle.  Those present lowered their heads to the two of them.  Some drawn speechless at Shiro’s presence such as Bunji who had never properly met her before and only heard of her from Fuuta. 

Taehyung was the first to lift his head and move towards the two, walking to stand at Shiro’s opposite side and taking the parasol from her, opening it to shield her head from the sun. Unknown to the others, Taehyung had been with the couple a vast majority of the last year.  Growing close to both as he trained and prepared with Fuuta more each day to one day succeed him.  All was still as they stood among the wisteria- until the breeze shifted.  

With a shifting wind, a blue fire ignited along the ground; circling the group of leaders- excluding Taehyung- and Hoseok. The trio of Fuuta, Shiro, and Taehyung standing calm and safely outside the flames as they had absolutely no reaction to its appearance as opposed to the initial panic from those inside.  The flames rose high, licking at the tree limbs in height and keeping everyone inside; trapped in a fiery cage. 

Instinct drove everyone as they immediately took to their weapons.  Staff ready, stances rigid, swords and knives were drawn from scabbards and sheaths.  Multiple eyes scanned the fire surrounding them before something sprung from the flames. A human-shaped demon leaping straight from the aqua flames, those same flames coating its entire body like armor.  It’s heels connecting harshly with the largest target’s chest- Bunji’s.  

The force making the monk stumble backward, the demon came to a near kneel on his chest before pushing off of him, flinging themselves back into the area of the rest. Kaori was the first to act- deciding that since the demon was small in stature, she would be the best physical match.  

With each strike Kaori offered the demon evaded.  Bending back and ducking below horizontal slashes and rolling out of the way of vertical strikes.  Rolling around to Kaori’s back, the demon took to the ground like an animal before harshly slamming their palm into her ankle- kicking it harshly out from under her.  Stuck between a fall to the ground and a step to save her fall, the demon shoved Kaori under her shoulder blades and pushed her out and through the flames. 

Covered in a shroud of its own fire, the demon turned back to the remaining men inside its fiery trap.  Bunji, still holding his chest from the demon’s initial action of spring-boarding off him, acting next in a fit of hurt pride. 

Moving his hand from rest on his chest, he slipped it into his kashaya.  Throwing sutra charms at the demon he drew from his wardrobe, the demon moved to burn them before they could touch its body.  Manipulating the flames around its body like flexible armor. Getting nowhere with his charms, and throwing his lack of expertise when challenging someone much more nimble than he aside, he charged and began swinging with his jeweled staff.  Just as with Kaori, the demon evaded- in fact with Bunji’s slower time the chance to evade and strike was fruitful.  Taking each evasion and adding a tap to his body and moving around him, he soon found himself immobilized.  

Frozen like a statue as he staggered to his knees- body paralyzed from the taps to his pressure points.  Pushing their chest to the ground, a tail of flame pushed under Bunji’s chest and lifted him up and over the wall of flames, throwing him cleanly out. 

Sadly, Tsutsui was absolutely no help in a short-handed, up-close fight with nothing he could use on his person as a defense.  The demon was easily able to rid him of the battle circle by simply taking hold of his arm, levering it over its shoulder and tossing him outside with enough force to knock him into Bunji’s still immobilized body outside.  

The demon screeched when something pierced through its flame-like armor and punctured its shoulder. The fire around its body seemed to diminish just enough as the sai that was sticking out of its shoulder burned in the flames.  The demon seethed as it turned to Takaki, standing with one of his two sai’s in hand- the other lodged in the demon's shoulder. 

Charging at the ninja, the two moved as if engaged in a dance.  Flames swirling around the two as Takaki evades just as well as the demon did.  Missed strikes, tumbles, and rolls, jumping and leaping to and away from the fire of azure.  It was a standstill until Takaki managed to get behind the demon and take hold of his lost sai, ripping it out of the demon’s shoulder.  Another ear-piercing scream before it’s attention was forced off of Takaki and onto Hoseok.  

Sprinting away from its previous opponent, it shoved it’s shoulder into Hoseok’s chest, knocking his sword out of his hand, the second one of his being ripped from his side and tossed across the ground away from the action- still held in its sheath. Hoseok eyed his own blade’s metal laying above his head as he was shoved to the ground.  The second one was no use- even if he was closer to it, he would not draw it into battle.  

The demon pinned him as Hoseok held its wrists.  Hovering claws of fire singed his hair as the heat pulsed into his nostrils and burned his lungs as he breathed.  The demon was stronger than most men he sparred with.  The fire of the demon's armor rippled and something akin to familiarization shot through Hoseok.  Clenching his teeth, he pulled his legs up between the two, wrapped them around the demon's midsection- burning his keikogi in the process- and twisted his hips to push the demon sideways into a downwards roll.  Allowing Hoseok to control the momentum to turn the tables and effectively pen the demon down in his previous place.  The flames becoming diminished by the dirt below, Hoseok looked at the face of the demon recognizing it.  

“You are-” 

“That’s more than enough,” Fuuta’s calm voice sounded behind Hoseok.  When Hoseok turned his head, the fire was gone and it was peaceful at the shrine once again.  As if the circle of fire was never there to begin with. Looking around, Bunji was being treated by Tsutsui to get him moving again and Kaori was dusting herself off and rotating her ankle that was harshly palmed earlier on.  Takaki was sheathing his sais as Taehyung stood at his side- assuring him danger wasn’t around anymore.  Fuuta and Shiro stood directly behind Hoseok who still pinned the demon- much less on fire- down. 

Looking down, Hoseok saw the face of the demon who had been on the attack.  The flame armor vanished, and beneath it all sat a simple, almost human-looking demon.  Small red tattoos run to a point along the curve of her cheeks and she was dressed just like Shiro- only her kosode of white was paired with a Hakan of royal blue as opposed to Shiro’s red Hakan. Hair a mess beneath her pinned state as Hoseok glared at her fox golden eyes.

“You’re that demon from a year ago,” he muttered more to himself than to you. Hoseok was soon shoved off of you, as you brought your leg up and slammed your heel into his gut, extending your leg to throw him clear off you, landing in a puff of dirt dust.  Groaning he moved to sit, rubbing his head as Taehyung was soon beside him, offering him a hand up and both of his swords back to him. 

The group watched as Shiro knelt to your side, sitting you up and pulling your Hakan loose just enough to inspect the damage inflicted on your shoulder from Takaki’s sai earlier.  The wound seeped steam and small rolls of blood that stained your kosode.  Fuuta- pulling a cloth from his kimono- handed it to Shiro to press along your shoulder.  You hissed when her cloth-covered palm pushed into your flesh. 

“It is nothing serious,” Shiro told you softly.  You only kept quiet and sat still. 

“My Lord,” Fuuta turned when called by Takaki and his harsh voice.  “I’d like to know the situation, if I may be so bold to ask.”  The edge in the ninja’s voice certainly wasn’t one of inquiry, but sharp agitation instead. 

“Of course,” the lord smiled with a small breath.  “I was not planning to keep this a secret from you all.”  Fuuta turned to Shiro.  “Take her inside for a change of clothing.  She’s covered in blood, dear.”  Shiro nodded as she took your arm, gently lifting you to your feet.  Some leaders still stood rigid at you on your feet.  

Shiro began leading you inside as Bunji finally managing to speak- his voice previously locked with his body.  “Should we allow Lady Shiro to be alone with that demon?!” His voice rough in his attempt to gather his previously lost breath. 

“Do not be ridiculous, Bunji,” Taehyung started.  “That demon is practically harmless,” he spoke calmly, his arms tucked into his sleeves.  Hoseok stood beside his smirking friend as Fuuta agreed with his protege. 

“It is true.  Y/n poses no threat to Shiro, nor I or Taehyung.  In fact, she isn’t a threat to anyone here, so rest assured.” 

“That cannot be so.  She just attacked us, My Lord.  She is plenty harmful,” countered Takaki- still enraged from the single demon ambush. 

“She acted purely on my instruction.  She was told not to permanently harm and did as she was told, she did not.” 

“You offered more harm than anyone else did, Takaki,” Taehyung countered. 

“I only did as I’ve been trained to do.” 

“Do not get swept up in an argument,” Fuuta warned.  “Allow me to explain further.  Come, children. Let’s return inside.” Fuuta headed back to the compound, the rest following with a breath of hesitation.  Hoseok stood frozen in pure confusion as Taehyung tapped at his shoulder.  Ushering the hunter to follow- any questions he had would be answered. 

Fuuta had once again gathered his leaders and Hoseok in the meeting room. Everyone sat in tension- aside form Fuuta and Taehyung that is. 

“As you all witnessed, Y/n is a demon. A year ago, it was Taehyung and Hoseok who brought her to me upon request.  Since then, Shiro and I have trained her as a weapon to defend humans and fight back against other demons.” A mumble of simultaneous shock filtered through the room. 

“That’s impossible!” Interrupted Bunji. “Forgive me, but I cannot believe a demon is fighting on the human side of this war!” Bunji quickly kept the remainder of his objection to himself when Taehyung shot him a look of silencing. 

“When she was first brought to me, Shiro and I placed a certain type of spell on her.  A specific obedience charm.  Now, she is as human as a demon could possibly be.  That being said, she is absolutely unable to kill any innocent or defenseless human who offers her no harm.” 

Kaori slowly raised her hand to summon attention to herself.  “You say innocent, defenseless humans.  Does that mean anyone guilty of a crime can, in fact, be slane by her?” 

“Correct.  Say, for instance, she crossed paths with a band of thugs looking to rob, assault, or even kill her.  She would have free action to defend herself and if killing them means sparing her life- so be it.” 

The room was silent again.  The tension was nearly tangible.  Fuuta continued when it seemed no one else had a qualm to speak of. 

“Y/n is a fox demon and between the three of us- myself, Shiro and Taehyung- she seems to favor and obey Taehyung the most.” Eyes shifted to the samurai.  Hoseok remembered the small fox that brought him to the compound that Taehyung has claimed to ‘send’ as a messenger. 

“Is she the same fox that I followed here?” Hoseok asked Taehyung.  The samurai nodded one deep chin touch to his chest with a smile.  

“She is.  I asked her to bring you.” 

“Another example of her loyalty to humans,” Fuuta added.  “She left and willfully returned when she had the prime chance to flee from us all together since she was without supervision.  Over the last year with Y/n, we have grown to trust her.” Fuuta sighed at his leaders' stoic faces. “I do not expect anyone to accept her fully; however, all I ask is not to antagonize her.  Shiro and I consider her a daughter we were unable to bare now.” 

With his final regards, Fuuta dismissed himself, leaving the rest to ponder.  

“Can we really trust a demon?” Kaori spoke softly- a whisper like a flower petal. 

“Of course not!” Objected Bunji, quite the opposite in loudness. 

“If it's what Lord Fuuta wants, I don’t see the harm in accepting her.  He did acknowledge her and showed he was able to speak commands and have her listen and obey them at the shrine.  When he said enough, that was it- all was over and she stepped down almost immediately.”  Tsutsui spoke as he stood himself up.  “I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt out of respect for our Lord.  As fellow leaders- you should all consider it as well.”  He excused himself as Takaki left in silence- not adding his opinion on the topic of you personally on his way out. 

One by one, the room was cleared out- each person leaving with uneasy emotions until only Hoseok and Taehyung was left. Sat in silence, Taehyung heard the rattling of Hoseok’s sword shaking in its scabbard as he held it so tightly his knuckles whitened ghostlily. 

Taehyung knew so many who hated demons, but he doubted no one's fury ran as deep as Hoseok’s.  Knowing he was part of why you were here when he and Taehyung captured you a year ago, it no doubt crawled under his skin.  After what Hoseok has lost to demons, he’s justified to feel the way he does- complete and utter contempt towards your existence. 

Taehyung only reached out and pressed his fingertips into Hoseok’s neck- almost instantly settling him back down.  

“Do not dwell and calm down, Hoseok.” 

“How can I?” He bit. 

“Blame me for working with Y/n if you want, but try and understand Fuuta’s decision.  Y/n is not the enemy, Hoseok.  I promise.” He left soon after his small discussion with his long-time friend. 

Hoseok shook his head to himself.  No matter how he wished he could- he could not blame Taehyung.  He could not hate his best friend and he couldn’t put the burden of his feelings onto Taheyung’s shoulders either.  

Clenching his jaw, he cursed himself as he sat in his own deafening solitude- his constantly sheathed second sword tight in his palm. 

A week went by and slowly each leader left the compound- one way or another coming to terms that a demon was considered a comrade at this point in time.  However, all agreed that if they see you as a threat at all or at any point- they would not hesitate to lop off your head. 

Hoseok still remained in the compound, Fuuta explaining that he needed to calm his distress before going back out onto the field.  Hoseok respected his wishes and stayed put as told.  If he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he’d stop and recede back in the opposite direction.  He’d instantly be put into a sour mood- so he avoided you at any cost. 

He currently sat in his room on the second story of the compound, boredly sitting at his window- staring out at nothing but frozen in time wisteria blooms.  His attention shifted when voices below his room on the second floor were heard. 

“You’re awfully moody.  What’s wrong with you?” Taehyung spoke as Hoseok heard.  His head lifted at his friend’s voice.  

“It’s nothing,” A woman.  One voice Hoseok didn’t recognize well.  

“Do not lie to me, Y/n.” Hoseok rolled his eyes as his head lowered back down.  Boredom engulfed with immediate annoyance. 

“I want that human out of here.” 

“Be more specific. Everyone in the compound is human besides you, you know that.” 

“That stupid hunter,” you bit.  Hoseok furrowed his brow knowing you had the audacity to want him gone.  

“Hoseok?” Taehyung questioned as you only scoffed at his name.  “Listen, he’s here because Fuuta asked him to be here.  You know that.” 

“Excuse me for not wanting to be in the same vicinity as the man who put me into this situation.” 

“Y/n,” Taehyung’s voice hardened.  “Disliking Hoseok for bringing you to Fuuta is wrong.  I was the one who knocked you unconscious, carried you back and delivered you.  Hate me if you are still dwelling on the past.” Hoseok flinched at the cut in Taheyung’s voice.  Scolding you for bringing up that night last winter. 

“That isn’t fair,” you fought back. 

“Why isn’t it, then?” 

“You don’t treat me like a-!” The conversation halted into silence.  Hoseok sighed, his eavesdropping seemingly finished.  

In a flash, a hand grabbed his open window ledge before you vaulted into view. Hoseok knelt on his knee as you threw yourself into his room.  Laying flay on his back, he ducked under your body that jumped into his room- originally wanting to tackle him down.  Rolling into his room, he was thankful to finally have his sword nearby.  Drawing it, he flipped it around so the dull edge faced you.  

Lunging at him, he whacked away your open claws aimed at him with the dull of his sword, allowing him to side-step behind you.  Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you backward and pulling you down to the ground.  Yelping, you were soon back first on the tatami as Hoseok pushed his knee into your gut, hand releasing your hair to push his palm over your throat and the other holding the tip of his sword above your eyes. 

You both glared at each other.  You kicked, trying to buck free.  The pressure on your throat increased due to your struggle, Hoseok’s way to keep you pinned.  

“Stay. Down.” Hoseok hissed.  

You bore your fangs at him.  Grabbing at his blade, your palm cutting open as you moved the blade to the side forcefully out of your face.  Your other hand grabbing the wrist of the hand of Hoseok’s on your throat, lifting it with enough force to allow you enough air to speak again. 

“Get off me, human,” you growled. 

“Give me one good reason why I should.” The blood dripping from your enclosed hand around his blade gathered in small droplet puddles beside your head, bleeding and staining the tatami.  Hoseok was momentarily astonished that your blood was red- just like his. 

You both were locked in a deadly tangle, neither letting up.  Hoseok kept you pinned down and exerted more pressure anytime a single one of your muscles twitch- you just itching to move.  You continued to growl at him as he nearly growled back out of sheer spite. 

There was a murmur of commotion outside his door and down the hall.  Both of you drowning it out to favor the ringing of rage in your own headspaces.  The shoji door slammed open as Taehyung froze for but a moment seeing you both at each other’s throats- literally. 

“Hoseok! Y/n!”  His voice hit new levels of baritone as he ran into the room and forcefully picked Hoseok off you.  Getting behind him to lift his arms under Hoseok’s, he pulled him up and took steps backward- backing the both of them away from you.  You- finally having the freedom to move- quickly sprung off your back and crouched low to the floor.  

Ready to aim low just like a wild predator would.  Taehyung saw how you hadn’t calmed down yet, so slipping loose the waraji sandals he didn’t have the time to take off in his rush inside, he kicked it off towards you.  Taehyung could even make a simple, straw sandal a weapon as it rotated with an illogical amount of speed in the air before it hit you square in the face. 

Yelping from the sudden sting, you dropped down defenseless as you held your nose and forehead, the waraji falling to the floor at your side.  Taehyung sighed seeing your shoulders slacken. 

Taehyung twisted the upper half of Hoseok’s body just enough so he could step in front of him and slam his knee into his friend’s stomach.  Hoseok- erupting into a stuttering fit of coughs- took to his knees as Taehyung released him and Hoseok held over his sore stomach.  Taehyung picked up and sheathed Hoseok’s sword, placing it away from him as he walked over to retrieve his waraji, taking off his other because only hooligans wear their shoes inside. 

It wasn’t too much longer before servants of the compound caught wind of the futile scrap and came rushing into the room.  Ready to see a violent fight between the hunter and demon ally, they were only met with both of them on their knees with Taehyung vehemently standing over the two.  He glared at the servants' late arrival. 

“By the time any of you got here, someone could’ve been seriously injured,” he scolded the staff as they flinched down.  Taehyung sighed, knowing that they weren’t truly at fault.  He directed his sights back to you and Hoseok who now both sat recovered and completely faced away from each other.  “An explanation please,” he demanded. 

“He should know,” you scoffed.  “He started it.” 

“I- what?!” Hoseok shrieked. “Listen, Fox, I did not do anything!” 

“You did! You eavesdropped on our conversation! Ever heard of privacy or manners before, human?!” 

“Y/n,” Taehyung warned.  You immediately silenced any further argument and rose to your feet, palm still dripping small drops of crimson.  Heading towards the servants and open doorway, you stopped when Taehyung called at your back.  “Where are you going off to now.” 

“Anywhere as long as I am away from him,” you announced before walking passed and away from the servants and Hoseok’s room. 

“Hoseok,” Taehyung called, looking back at the slouched down, agitation hunter. 

“Do not bother.  I don’t want to hear it.” 

Taehyung only sighed as he left the room, shooing away the servants and shutting the shoji to his room at his back- going to return his waraji back to the entrance landing.  Hoseok looked at the blood droplets stained onto his floor before scoffing and returning to stare out his window.  Far less relaxed now than before. 

You slid open your room door with enough fury to fling it out of its groves- metaphorically speaking of course.  Stepping inside and slamming it shut behind you with just as much fury.  You immediately began pulling your kosode loose and stepping out of your Hakan.  Stepping behind the byobu screen you kept in your room, you practically ripped off your clothes. 

You couldn’t stand to have the smell of that human- Hoseok on you.  The scent bled right through your clothes and you’d rather bare your breasts to the winter chill than smell like him.  As you threw your kosode over the byobu, someone entered your room without announcement. You- of course- knew who it was.  Pulling a spare kimono littered in red spider lilies from the wire on your wall, you began to change into it.  

“Go away,” you said sternly. 

“Request denied,” spoke back Taehyung. 

“I was not asking.” 

“Well, I am still not listening.” 

“Taehyung-” 

“You know attacking Hoseok was wrong, don’t you?” You were silent.  “I have no doubt your back feels like it’s on fire by now.” He was correct.  The burned talisman on your back would begin to abuse your body when you attacked anyone out of reason.  You could feel your skin pulsing under the searing pain of your back.  “You know that I need to tell Fuuta about the incident, correct?” 

“Yes,” you whispered as you fastened your obi. 

“I’ll vouch that Hoseok became offensive and you weren’t completely at fault, but you need to learn to control your temper around him.” 

“I know.” 

Taehyung left after that, leaving you with a scorching back as you collapsed to your knees in your spider lily kimono, baring the punishment of your uncalled for brawl with Hoseok on your own. 

Hoseok was called to speak with Fuuta early one morning unexpectedly.  He thought it was strange that it was Shiro who called for him, standing in front of Hoseok's door and asking for him to follow her back to her beloved husband.  Something about the air around her seemed tense as Hoseok got up and began following at her back.  Stepping lightly behind her, she spared no time to even look around the halls she leads him down.  She only kept her eyes down, just enough to see the toes of her tabi-covered feet with each step forward.

Coming to a stop at Fuuta's personal room door, she announced herself before opening the door and stepped aside in the hall, allowing Hoseok passage inside.  She herself stayed out in the hall, bowing lightly and shutting the shoji at Hoseok's back slowly before he could hear her feet padding off back up the hall. 

Hoseok saw his lord sat at his desk that was built directly from the wall.  A calligraphy brush in hand as he painted pitch black words onto an open, flattened and unwrinkled scroll.  Dressed in a kimono much different than his normal elegant ones, his hair completely free of any ties or restraints.  He turned to look at his hunter and let a small smile grace his lips. 

"Please, take a seat," Fuuta gestured to the empty cushion to his left.  Hoseok bowed a fraction before obeying him and folding his knees under himself sitting down.  His palms sat on his thighs as Fuuta resumed with his brush strokes. "I have a favor to ask of you.  Of course, I would like to ask Taehyung of the same favor, but I thought it best to run it by you first, Hoseok." 

"How come, my Lord?  Taehyung is your successor, is he not?  Why would you address any issue with me first?" Hoseok pondered as Fuuta lightly chuckled.

"True. Taehyung is like a son to me now.  He's invaluable, and he is also exceedingly loyal.  He'd do anything I ask even if he thought it ridiculous." He held his kimono sleeve with his opposite hand as he reached his arm over his table and dipped his brush in more ink.  A lock of his black hair falling over his shoulder.  "However, you are different.  You're a man of many rules and strict do’s and don'ts.  With that said, you're free to refuse my words if you so choose."

Hoseok furrowed his brows as his open palms began to curl.  "If I may, is this perchance going to involve that demon fox?"

"It is."  Hoseok bit his tongue to keep a rude scoff and eye roll at bay.  He was in front of his lord.  He cannot be rude nor can he be rash. "I know you and Y/n do not mix well, as are both of your natures.  Y/n has hated humans for a long time and you feel the same towards demons.  You both see no reason to side with each other and that isn't wrong considering both of your situations." 

"That demon's situation is no concern of mine," he said with a tone as cold as the winter air. 

"Yes, I know you feel that way.  However, this request of mine is something of importance.  I fear something tragic will take place soon."

"Something tragic?  What do you mean?" Hoseok's back shot straight as a rod.  Fuuta only shook his head.  "Lord Fuuta, what's going to happen?"

"It is not something for you to be directly involved with.  Shiro and I have been expecting this for a long time." Fuuta stopped his brush strokes and placed his brush down, setting the painted bristles over the ink jar.  He then turned towards Hoseok, looking him in the eyes.  "We wish that you and Taehyung take Y/n out of the compound."  Hoseok nearly flinched as Fuuta directed his eyes downward, back to his desk and a smile pulled his lips in the most saddening way Hoseok had ever seen.  "I've said before that Y/n is like a daughter to us both.  Taehyung considers her a young sibling and she herself has long since felt the bond and warmth that a family can bring.  You do not know it, but even that child is capable of smiling."

Fuuta stood and walked to his window, cracking it open as the sky that was covered in grey clouds would soon be spilling individual flakes from above in the afternoon. The birds of winter singing far too chipperly in the freezing weather. 

"For what's to come, I cannot honestly say." 

"Taking her off the compound is only half of the mission, isn't it Lord Fuuta?"

"I only expect you and Taehyung to have her experience more locations. She is a demon fighting for humans, she shouldn't be kept inside her entire life where the battle cannot come.  Anything after that is solely up to Taehyung."

"Taehyung? Why him specifically?" Fuuta only shook his head, turning to look down at Hoseok and placed a single finger over his curled lips. 

"That is a secret, little hunter of mine."  He gestured for Hoseok to stand and offer out his hand. Doing as instructed, Fuuta pulled something from his kimono and placed it into Hoseok's palm.  A glass flower- a crimson spider lily.  "Your final task is to take care of that small flower. Can you do that for me, Hoseok?"

Hoseok nodded even when his head was fogged with confusion. When Fuuta dismissed him, he was passed by Taehyung in the hall.  Taehyung seemed to completely ignore Hoseok's presence, rushing past him and down the hall.  Hoseok ran into Shiro again and this time instead of just bowing at him like she normally would, she stopped him. 

Silently grabbing his wrists, she placed his hands together between her own and closed her eyes.  Opening them again, she looked up at Hoseok. 

"Please, look after my girl."

Hoseok blinked down at her and before a response could form on his tongue, she dropped his hands and continued on her way.  He looked at the glass flower still sat diligently in his palm.  Just the sight of the flower made his throat constrict- like he was on the verge of tears. 

Just what was going to happen that Fuuta and Shiro were worried about?  What were his leaders and best friend hiding from him?

[foxtophat]

another long one, coming in at 9k words because i am goddamn trash

HEY GUYS SORRY ABOUT THAT UGH today just didn’t go the way i wanted it to. you ever feel like that?  well anyway here is the 11th chapter!!! fun fact: hurk and sharky show up! second fun fact: i am 90% sure that it is not moonshine they’re peddling.  3rd fun fact: i don’t know if they know what an apple looks like any more

i don’t have much to say about this chapter, although i will say it involves casual drinking if you’re not into that.  i think i’m gonna go have a newcastle myself once i’m done writing this up... which i guess means now!

as usual my dudes, i want to thank you all for being so tolerant of my bullshit and so open to my dumbassery! it’s so nice to feel MOTIVATED to post for once, which might not come through when i get delayed like i have the last 2 chapters, but it’s true! i have so much trouble working on things without feedback, so you guys really have been awesome.

if you wanna contact me, my askbox is always open! as always, i appreciate any and all comments, kudos, likes, reblogs, casual links, private discord messages, idk whatever i don’t even use discord

below the cut is the full chapter for those of you who don’t wanna go off-site! thank you again for reading guys, and i will talk incessantly about this fic soon!!!

The next three days are marked by a surprising peace. Nick had suspected that once the cat got out about John, they would be fielding a flurry of calls, or maybe even some in-person confrontations, but so far they've been left completely alone. Maybe telling people on their way out of the county has something to do with that. Maybe they'll need to wait for Hurk and Sharky to come back and spread the news if Jerome's decided not to do it himself. Nick's not sure if that's even what he wants , but it feels like the inevitable next step. Eventually, if the community is going to come together, the cat's gonna have to get out of the bag.

John is just as nervous than before, although it only shows whenever they hear distant engines or a far-off gunshot. The night after the caravan, he and Jerome spend a full thirty minutes on the radio, but it only makes him more pensive and reserved. Nick wouldn't mind so much if Carmina weren't also acting bummed out — sure, she's just upset that she lost a friend before she could make one, but it still sucks to see his daughter acting as morose as John.

At least Kim's optimism hasn't been phased. She's been determined to look at the situation from every positive angle available, and none of Nick's uncertainty has put a hamper on it. She rallies them all for a second day-trip down to the river, hell-bent on cheering each and every one of them. It's a day of sunlight and clear water, and the fish are jumping like mad. It must be spawning season, or something, because the suckers are easy pickings.

The nice weather and the easy fishing both do wonders for Carmina's mood, which is becoming more and more fickle every day. Nick dozes in and out with a rod in hand, and although John spends most of the time staring at the water, he touches base with reality once in a while. Mostly just when Kim includes him in conversation, but it's still enough.

It's... nice. Nick doesn't know the last time he felt so relaxed. He doesn't think that memory exists anymore, lost to time like so many other positive thoughts, but he's enjoying the reminder to relax his shoulders and turn off his anxious brain for a few minutes. With the sunshine just as warm as ever and the water a bright, nearly unnatural blue, Nick figures all they need is an umbrella and some beach towels to drive the point home. Hell, at this point, they might as well claim this as their private waterfront.

Grace shows up after breakfast the next day, ready to take Carmina for some target practice at her range. She isn't strictly speaking to Nick yet, but she keeps it cordial, even friendly with Kim. Maybe Jerome talked with her, or maybe she came to accept the situation on her own, who knows. Either way, Grace ignores the sight of John out on the back porch and treats Carmina to a genuine smile when she comes downstairs, rifle in hand. Finally, three-quarters of the year later, the situation with Grace has finally returned to normal, taking one more weight off of Nick's shoulders.

She promises to have Carmina back before sundown. She also promises to leave her radio on, just in case. Nick knows what she means by just in case , but he can't say no to the added security.

Nick retreats out back, letting Kim have some time with Grace without the awkward tension of his presence. John pointedly refuses to look at him, sorting through a box of components as though he hasn't already picked it apart.

It isn't until after Grace and Carmina leave that Nick remembers he has an out — well, now it's just a regular chore. He's got to deal with the so-called freezer in the hangar, which is full of fish and sucking up all the fuel for the generator. Either he has to make it viable to use long term, or they're going to be shit out of luck for food preservation beyond salting and pickling.

From the look on his face, John wishes Nick would ask for his help, but Kim has already called on him to help harvest the last of the spring planter, so he's shit out of luck there. Nick doesn't have any damn sympathy for John — gardening is boring, and Nick will do anything to avoid it, especially something as easy as throwing John under a bus.

So, the good news is that the freezer still turns on. Nick hadn't expected much after finding it under part of the collapsed roof, but it hasn't shorted out once since they hooked it up to the generator about a week ago.

The bad news is that it's not a good use of power at all. The rubber seal is nearly worn off, so it keeps losing coolness, and there's definitely a coil burnt out or something in there because it barely manages to keep its temperature lower than the air around it. Sure, maybe it'll come in handy around winter , but that's not going to help them with summer around the corner.

As it is, Nick's only sure that the fish from yesterday are still good. There's a covered pot of stew underneath that they put in after the caravan left, which is probably fine, too... but Nick wouldn't put money on the rabbit they put in at the start. After all, it hadn't been all that fresh to begin with, and it's been wrapped in cloth for a little too long.

Well, maybe once they get some chickens and find a post-apocalyptic appliance repair center, it'll be worth being the energy sink that it is. For now, Nick has to figure out what to do with these goddamn fish and the leftover stew from the other night. It's their own damn fault, thinking they'd still have company after revealing John, but that doesn't change the amount of food they have on hand.

At least when Grace comes back, they'll have something to repay her with, although Nick isn't sure she's willing to eat any of their food yet. She'd been okay about seeing John in the backyard, relatively speaking, but there's no way she actually believes any of the progress being made. And as much as Nick would like to tell her that her distrust is unwarranted, he can't exactly tell her how to feel. It's just gonna have to take time, and she's going to need a different kind of proof than Nick.

They aren't expecting any visitors, so the sound of engines on approach shakes Nick out of his thoughts and puts him on immediate high alert. He can't make out the number of vehicles, but it sounds like a goddamn posse, which can't be good. When he goes out into the yard to check on Kim, he finds her missing; John is the only one standing there, waiting nervously by the planters and looking for any sign to bolt.

"Stay here," Nick tells him as he approaches, heading straight for the front.

"Yes, I know ," John snaps, but Nick isn't going to stop to argue with him. He slows his anxious jog as he comes around the side of the house, catching sight of Hurk's motorcycle through the trees coming down the drive. Kim is standing in the front yard, arms loosely folded over her chest; she looks cautiously excited for the company, although neither of them are sure if this is strictly a social call. Nick sure hopes it is — he's not sure they could hold their own against a group with an RPG and a whole lot of crazy.

Hurk kills his engine once he sees they've got an audience, leaving his bike with the others in the drive. The big, blissed-out guy and the smaller, wild-card one stay on their bikes, while Sharky talks to somebody sitting on his ATV briefly before following his cousin's tracks.

Kim greets them with a warm smile as they come up. "Hey, you guys. We weren't expecting you to stop by again."

"We radioed ahead," Sharky grouses. "But nobody answered."

"Sorry, I wasn't near the receiver. We've been out back all day."

Hurk pulls off his sunglasses with a dramatic flair. "Yeah, I figured it was something like that," he says, with a tone that implies Sharky had a different theory, one Nick imagines involves John staging some sort of coup. "Well, whatever, we're here now!" Looking around coolly for a second, Hurk realizes he still needs to explain himself and bashfully elaborates, " Somebody oughtta know we got back alright, so we can get hired out again and whatnot..."

"Everything cool?" Sharky asks. He makes no effort to hide how he's looking for a fire that he can blame on John. Well, at least he's trying to find a good reason to beat John up this time.

"I should be asking you that," Kim counters, wearing a smile that's enough to disarm Sharky's gruff posturing. "How far did you get?"

"We hit Great Falls before we figured any further was a one-way trip. They're probably past Missoula if they kept up the clip."

"And how'd everything look?" Nick asks. "I mean, relatively speaking."

Sharky shrugs. "A whole lot of the same," he replies. Hurk rolls his eyes in his cousin's direction, fixing him with an annoyed stare that eventually wears Sharky out. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he opens up semi-reluctantly. "It wasn't the, uh... wild wasteland I was expecting. Lots of empty land and road stops. Some friendly, some... uh, not so much. But that group can handle it."

Nick is happy to agree, and not just to placate Sharky. "Yeah," he says. "Hope County breeds tough people."

"Did you guys pick up somebody along the way?" Kim asks, having just done a headcount of the remaining posse. Nick remembers the two on their bikes; the new guy, he remembers from the third car, quiet and quick to leave but otherwise unmemorable.

"Oh, that's Mud," Sharky says, pointing at the three who probably can't hear much over the rumbling engines. "He was with the caravan, but he changed his mind." Sharky's chest puffs up as he confidently tells them, "He's ridin' with us now."

"That's great!" Kim exclaims. She's genuinely excited by the news and the chance to socialize, and the effect of her positivity is hard to fight. Sharky can't help but smile back, even if he's trying to act tough, rubbing his hands together as he casts another approving glance back at his gang.

"Are you going to do anything to celebrate?" she asks.

"Not much to celebrate, he's kind of a nerd."

"Come on," Kim laughs. "You left home and came back with more people than you started with. I think most people these days would count that as a win." She rubs her hands together, looking briefly at Nick and suggesting, "We could have a fish fry?"

"Hey, that's an idea," Nick replies. "We caught some bass yesterday and they're just gonna get composted if we don't do something with them."

"I dunno about that," Sharky says, cutting off Hurk just before he can excitedly agree.

Kim presses her hands together. "Come on, stay," she pleads with a smile. "At least let us feed you. When's the last time you had something more than jerky and booze?"

"Well..." Sharky trails off uncertainly.

"Kim's right," Nick cajoles. "We got plenty to spare."

"Grace is going to be back with Carmina in a few hours," Kim adds. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you guys."

Sharky rubs his beard, looking back at their waiting posse. "Grace, huh?" he repeats. He trades a few unsubtle glances with Hurk before finally turning back to Kim and Nick. "Yeah, that should be okay. Except — ah, shit. We promised Wallace and Tiny we'd start doing things democratically now that we won't keep tying over everything. Hold on, gotta go confer with the boys."

They only spend a minute talking it over before the two motorcycles kill their engines, which is all the confirmation Nick needs to know they're hosting company. "I'll go tell John," he tells Kim under his breath. "Somebody should give him a heads up before Sharky punches him again."

Kim sends him off with a pat on his shoulder as he heads for the backyard. John is still waiting by the planters, although he's staring longingly for the safety of the hangar. Nick can't blame him — he's still sporting a dark and noticeable bruise from the last time Sharky socked him. Hopefully, seeing his lingering handiwork will satisfy Sharky, otherwise, John might wind up with a matching set.

"Sharky and Hurk are back," Nick says. John doesn't exactly relax, but knowing he doesn't have to prepare for another ugly reintroduction keeps him from bolting. "They're, uh, gonna stick around until Grace gets back."

"Then I probably shouldn't be around," John replies.

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't have to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon."

John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say."

And, even though Kim isn't around to force him to it, John sits back down at the planter and resumes pulling carrots. It's probably entirely out of spite, but at least it keeps him busy while the posse of would-be raiders filters into the backyard. Nick stands awkwardly at first as Wallace and Tiny stare aggressively at John's back, but when Kim rounds out the group and nobody takes a shot at either of them, he forces himself to ease up on the suspicion. From here on out, Nick is going to try his damnedest to act like everything is absolutely normal. Well, as normal as it can be.

Kim has Sharky talking from the outset, which makes it easy for him to avoid acknowledging John at all. It helps that she's genuinely interested in what he's been up to since they last saw each other — other than open-channel conversations on the radio, the Ryes haven't seen them since the world ended. With only one car and not a lot of fuel, they haven't had a chance to go exploring the east side of the county since climbing topside.

As it turns out, Sharky and Hurk have shacked right back up at the old trailer park. They'd met up with Wallace and Tiny sometime after coming topside, and right now the four of them are in the middle of making the park more hospitable. Sharky keeps mentioning a reception area, and Hurk says something about expanding the lot, so Nick suspects they're looking to cash in on the heretofore abandoned hospitality industry.

For now, though, it's just home to four wildcards and one multi-use distillery made from old airplane parts. "It's pretty much fucked," Sharky says, although truthfully, Nick thinks it sounds kind of badass. "But with enough elbow grease, we'll probably be able to make it livable." He looks around, craning his neck to eyeball the mostly-intact hangar and their secure house, and offers a genuine compliment. "You guys got lucky. No hate, just glad you had somewhere to hole up in. It would suck to really have to rough it with a kid around."

"Tell me about it," Kim agrees emphatically. "Although, it took a lot of work to make it this nice, and there's still a lot more to do."

Sharky and Hurk settling in around the fire-pit is all the invitation their crew needs to make themselves more at home. It's no surprise that they pretend like John isn't there — nor is it a surprise that John returns the favor. It's a little tense and a lot awkward for Nick, but for now it's at least a peaceful holding pattern.

"It sorta sucked, seeing everything as trashed as it is here," Tiny says somewhat morosely. "I mean, at least we ain't alone, but..."

"Hope Valley got the best of it in general," Wallace says. "Right in the sweet-spot. Ideal Collapse."

"He means most everything else got blasted," Tiny clarifies, a sort of post-Bliss interpreter. "You can tell when you leave the county. Eases up after a couple of miles, but there's, like, a big old ring around us."

"No doubt, no doubt," Wallace agrees. "Protecting the good stuff."

"It's pretty fuckin' weird," Hurk says. "But I don't know nothin' about nu-clear thermodynamics and whatnot. Could be normal as the albino deer and shit."

"Uh, you think that the caravan's gonna be okay out there, if everything's just as wrecked?" Nick asks.

"Oh, sure," Hurk drawls. "There were all sortsa people makin' due out there, one way or another. They'll be fine ."

Sharky sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and changes course. "They made it pretty clear they would be happier without help," he says. "Hope that works out for them. Me? I'm ride-or-die Hope County. At least 'til Hurk here goes international again. Then, uh, I guess I'm gonna be ride-or-die Miami."

"Hell yeah!" Hurk shouts. "Gonna get the business back in business, y'know what I mean? First stop: check in on mama and Xander. Second stop: top of the world, baby!"

The posse rallies around Hurk's promise with excited whoops. Nick doesn't know what Hurk's job was before the apocalypse, but considering the contraband he used to get his hands on, it's probably something that will only flourish here in the apocalypse.

"'Course, she's probably dead," Hurk adds somewhat morosely at the end, sort of ruining the whole vibe.

Sharky slaps his shoulder a few times out of sympathy. "Don't know 'til we go lookin'," he says, which manages to prop Hurk's mood back up for the time-being. "Anyway, we got a whole slew of islands and mountains and shit to explore once we get established. Spending the rest of my life riding around Montana sounds like a waste of a good apocalypse, if you ask me."

The new guy, Mud, looks more confused than Nick about these future plans. "So, what'd they offer you for joining up?" Nick asks him. "Ten-percent of Boshaw-Drubman LLC?"

Startled, Mud shakes his head frantically. "No way. Uh-uh." Bashfully, he says, "I just, uh... got cold feet. But I don't got much out here, not since the, uh..." He glances past Nick, definitely eyeballing John, then swallows and edges around the truth. "Well, um, Sharky let me ride back, on account of the — well, uh, I didn't wanna get left behind either direction. And since I don't got anything, I offered to join up." He frowns, "Except I don't have a bike, or gas for a bike, or a gun, or bullets for a gun..."

"I told you," Sharky scolds like a mother hen, "We'll figure that shit out later."

"It's smart to stay together," Kim says when Mud fails to pick back up again. "It's what we should all be doing. Does that mean you're staying with them at the trailer park?"

Mud nods, while Tiny goodnaturedly jokes, "Not that there's much left to stay at..."

Sharky is quick to defend their home, even if he doesn't sound super convinced by his own argument. "Hey, we just haven't had time to, y'know, clean and all! We've been busy, man, you know that! Gathering ammo, building the still, brewing ..."

"Would be nice to have a roof over our heads, that's all," Tiny laughs.

"Where do you want me to go, the roof store ?"

The argument is mostly playful, but Nick knows it's only a matter of time before that playful resentment becomes real. Hurk already looks bored by the ribbing, which tells Nick a lot about how long this joke has been running. Even John is paying attention, although Nick only catches an uncomfortable backward glance.

It's a contentious problem for the gang, for sure. But Nick doesn't have to reach far to come up with an easy solution, one that he figures will benefit everybody involved. After all, even considering their own needs, they've got more than enough spare scrap to spare, and Hurk and Sharky's goodwill comes with guns and alcohol, so...

"You know," he says, "John and I found a lot of scrap cleaning this place up. Maybe you can use what we can't."

Sharky opens his mouth to say something, probably pretty rude, but he catches himself before he gets that far. "Wouldn't want to put you out like that," he mutters.

"Hey, we're all in it together, right?" Gesturing towards John, who looks like he'd rather fade back into the dirt around him, Nick offers a sort-of compromise. "We've been trying to figure out what to do with the surplus. This seems like a better use than anything we came up with."

"Well, I guess it couldn't hurt," Sharky admits reluctantly.

Kim recognizes the need for some decisive action, and so she claps her hands together and takes the reins from her grateful husband. "Nick, you and John should take Hurk to look at what we've got. Then, all three of you can bring some wood back so we can get the fire started."

Sharky opens his mouth to object, but Hurk speaks up before he can. "Sounds good!" he exclaims, throwing himself to his feet with ease. Nick can't help but envy him — the guy's got twenty years on him, but Nick doesn't hear his knees popping randomly when he stands up.

"Y'all don't go startin' trouble," he warns his gang, waving Nick on. "Let's do it!"

John turns and heads immediately for the hangar door, disappearing inside without a backwards glance. Hurk lingers once they reach the door, casting a wide look around the empty wash of dirt leading out to the old landing strip before following John inside. He doesn't seem concerned in the slightest that John might be waiting to ambush him.

"Sorry about Sharky, by the way," Hurk says once the three of them are standing in the shade of the tarp overhead. "He's been real stressed is all, tryin' to act all fuckin' responsible and shit. John here making it after the deputy beefed it just hit hard, I guess."

Well, if that's the way Hurk's been referring to it, then no wonder Sharky's sensitive about it. "It's, uh. It's fine. We figured there'd be some... y'know. Reasonable resentment."

John does that thing where he pretends he can't hear he's being talked about, going straight to the log pile stacked against the back wall. Hurk doesn't seem to notice the silent treatment, turning to the organized junk spread out over the cracked concrete. From broken two-by-fours, bent fence-poles, chainlink scraps, and stacks of not-quite-moldy plywood, there's gotta be something here that can help fix up the trailer park. Nick makes sure to highlight the best scrap for Hurk's consideration, although he avoids mentioning their surplus of nails and stripped screws for now. No use showing his whole hand, right?

"Damn," Hurk says at last, looking around in mild astonishment. "Can we hire y'all to do this to our scrap?"

Nick laughs. "Yeah, like I wanna do all this again ."

"What about you?" Hurk asks John's back, ignoring the way he tenses at being directly addressed. "How do we rent you out?"

"You don't," John says, his tone briefly icing over as he turns, regarding them coolly over his armful of logs. He's more petulant than angry when he explains, "I don't owe you my life, so I don't owe you my labor."

"Fine, I'll just save you from a burning building or some shit," Hurk replies, as if he couldn't care less that it's John Seed he's bantering with. "I guess we gotta talk trading, now," he sighs reluctantly. "Man, I fuckin' hate this barter-system bullshit. You know, actually, I got a box full of bottle caps if you wanna..."

Nick waves away the extremely bad offer to invest in an unbacked currency. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says. Hurk frowns heavily at that, so Nick suggests a compromise. "Look, if you and Sharky wind up with your own microbrew, you owe me a case — and yes, I will take payment in installments. That sound fair?"

"If ?" Hurk replies. He lets out a big laugh. "Buddy, I got news for you."

Hurk, John and Nick each take an armful of wood back to the fire pit, where Kim seems to have everything under control. Sharky is less openly hostile when John reappears, anyway, which is a good sign. Mud and Tiny have apparently been given fire-starting duty, jumping to the task as soon as they drop off the wood. Sharky, a true pyromaniac, manages them from his seat by shouting directions at them as they stack the wood in the pit.

Before they can sit back down, Kim turns Nick and John back around for the fish. It's a one-person job, but John doesn't complain about being sent away.

"You okay?" Nick asks John when they reach the freezer.

"Yes," John replies automatically. Nick stares at him for a solid five seconds before he cracks with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Sure," Nick agrees. He picks up the old bin they've been using to cart fish back from the river. "You can stick around here for a bit if you want. Take a breather."

John scoffs at the idea of taking a break, as per usual. "I thought the point was not to hide," he replies tersely. He reaches out to yank the cracked plastic container from Nick, a frustrated and instinctive reaction that he curbs at the last moment, fingers curling briefly into a fist as he forces himself not to just take things from Nick.

Taking pity on the dumb bastard, Nick pushes the bin into John's arms, flipping open the freezer door and staring down at the slimy, not-yet-smelly fish. "Well, if you need a break, just say you're gonna get more firewood." Nick shrugs. "Someone's gotta check on you eventually, but Kim knows the drill."

John doesn't respond as Nick loads up the bin, but Nick hopes he takes the out to heart. There's not a social obligation out there that Nick hasn't gotten out of by dedicating himself to some dumbass chore nobody else wants to do.

They return to find a roaring fire that is... hopefully under control. The mismatched seating has been pulled back to accommodate the fire's larger-than-average size, accompanied by a couple of chairs from inside to make up the difference. Sharky and Mud have disappeared, although they return just after Nick, each carrying a variety of bottles and jars of different sizes.

"Shit, I didn't think you brought the entire brewery with you!" Nick exclaims, not in the least bit upset by the development.

"Not until you clean all those up," Kim says before Nick can get ahead of himself. "You don't want to be handling a knife right after a shot of... whatever that is."

Nick groans, but she's right. As much as Nick would like to get drunk off his ass on torpedo juice, he has to get his priorities straight. Still — there's a lot more fish than Nick's willing to handle by himself, so he enlists a willing Wallace and Tiny to help out. He picks them mostly because they're openly carrying hunting knives, and because John is just plain bad at deboning fish. John stares at him resentfully, but since he hates handling food as much as he hates gardening, Nick's sure he'll get over it before dinner.

Nick doesn't have much control over the food once it's been cleaned, as Sharky and Hurk have some kind of bet going about who's the better cook and they don't need anybody else throwing their hat in. As far as Nick's concerned, their cooking tastes delicious but indistinguishable. Of course, Nick's waiting for his own dinner, so other than a few bites to try and judge the difference, he doesn't get to eat much of it.

Tiny and Wallace split and down an entire mason jar of mysterious dark liquor while they wait to eat. Nick wants to join them, but Kim's waiting until Carmina is home to start drinking and really, Nick should be doing the same. From the way John's watching distrustfully from the side, he's not likely to get into any moonshine himself.

Nick manages to hold out until after he's finished eating, but then Hurk offers him some moonshine directly and he can't say no. It would be in bad taste, right?

Oof. Turns out the moonshine is in bad taste, but that's what he should expect from something that's easily 120 proof. Nick takes one swig and immediately regrets it as it turns his chapped lips to fire and carries the heat all the way down the back of his throat. There's no taste or anything, just an intense, full-mouth burn and this lizard-brain instinct that everything is going to go horribly wrong if he drinks more of whatever that is.

"Jesus Christ !" he gasps. It's only Hurk's quick reflexes that keep the jar from crashing to the dirt, but Nick doubles down before Hurk can pry it out of his hands. Even as he struggles to form a sentence more complex than, " Poison ," he's got to go back for a second sip. As if somehow a second one would make things better — but of course it doesn't. At least, not to begin with; first, it's gotta turn his shredded lips inside out and throw his tear-ducts into overdrive better than an overripe onion.

"Well don't drink more of it," Kim huffs, way too late.

"Now be honest," Hurk asks, "Can you taste any apple?"

Nick pushes the jar back into Hurk's attentive hands, choking disbelievingly on the word, "Apple ," although now that he thinks about it... No, nope, no after-taste whatsoever. It does , however, warm him from the inside out, leaving him feeling a decent buzz for two conservative swigs.

"Whatever it is," Nick sighs at last, after a big swig of water, "It's great."

"You know," Kim says, "The sooner we put the stew on the fire, the sooner you can eat. Maybe then you could handle more than a couple of baby sips."

Nick clicks his tongue, taking some childish offense at his wife teasing him about his tolerance. At the same time, she's right — and Nick is getting hungry. There's still enough uncooked fish left for when Grace and Carmina get home, but if he wants them to have as much as everyone else, he'll have to settle for the three-day-old stew. At least Kim and John are stuck in the same boat as him.

Before he can get started on that, though, Grace surprises him by returning early with Carmina. Admittedly, it's still pretty late in the afternoon, but he hadn't expected her back so soon. She isn't surprised to find company, which is also a surprise, although she eyes the whole group somewhat distrustfully as she and Carmina round the side of the house. When she sees Hurk and Sharky drinking from their unsanitized brewing bottles, she finally relaxes, letting go of Carmina's shoulder so that she can join the not-necessarily child-safe group.

"Grace!" Sharky exclaims, leaping from his seat and almost grabbing her for a hug before remembering personal boundaries are a thing. "Holy shit, the world literally ended last I saw you!"

Grace returns Sharky's enthusiasm with her more subdued version of it, smiling fondly and following through the rest of the hug for him, the same way she'd grabbed onto Nick and Kim when they'd first come back topside. "Sharky, it's good to see you," she says, her voice deep with emotion.

"I radioed her while you were getting firewood," Kim mentions to Nick as Hurk takes his chance to get a hug from the usually reclusive sniper. "I thought she would appreciate a head's up. And, you know, it cheered Sharky up."

"Hey, good thinking."

Carmina approaches gleefully, carrying the rifle over her shoulder triumphantly. For a nine-year-old, she's pretty natural with the thing, which is a mixed blessing as far as Nick's concerned.

"Aunt Grace made moving targets!" she exclaims, excitement overriding her confusion momentarily until she looks at the group. "I didn't know we were having people over today..."

"It was a happy surprise," Kim tells her. "These are the guys who were helping that caravan heading west, remember?"

"Yeah," Carmina says. She looks immediately to John, who is way too busy staring tensely at Grace and Sharky's reunion to notice her.

"Don't worry," Nick says. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-huh," Carmina says, unconvinced. Thankfully, she doesn't seem too worried about another fight breaking out. That probably has something to do with her attention being focused in an entirely different direction. "Do we have pulleys? I wanna make a shooting range here! It's really easy!"

Nick's gut reaction is to say no, but Kim interrupts him. "Maybe while your dad is getting the stew, he can check," she offers, looking from Carmina to Nick significantly. "Then we can have some dinner and talk about it."

Although it looked like John hadn't been paying any attention before, he stands as soon as Kim mentions going to the hangar. "I remember seeing one," he says.

"You can help me look, then," Nick offers. "Maybe get some more firewood?"

"Yeah," John says absently. Nick barely steps into his line of sight, but that's all he needs, turning and making his way to the hanger down the same invisible path he was glued to before. Nick sighs, rolls his eyes at Kim entirely for show, and follows. Maybe once they get some food in him, John will stop being such a cagey bastard about the whole thing, and they'll be able to actually put things to rest with Grace and Sharky at last.

When the world ended, Nick had figured that meant the end of life as he knew it. In some ways, he'd been right — things will never be as easy, as safe, as peaceful as they used to be — but when his expectations had been wrong, they'd been completely off-base. He'd expected a nuclear wasteland, only to find a lush and thriving field. He'd expected roving gangs of murderers, and instead, he's only encountered desperate, decent people who would rather not waste the bullets. Hell, he'd expected to spend every day struggling to survive, and here he is, sitting in the backyard with a full belly and a shot of liquor to wind down. Sure, the gathering is a primitive knock-off of a barbeque, but Nick knows now that all they need is time and practice. Maybe someday, they'll even have a grill — burgers, corn on the cob, the whole works.

But hey. That's for the future, and right now, Nick isn't going to complain about some bad liquor, mediocre food and Hurk's stripped-down Slayer's cassette blaring from his beat-up stereo.

Carmina finally gets a chance to show off her skills to people other than her family, and so Hurk's boys take turns calling out targets for her to cap in an attempt to take her down a peg. Nick isn't sober enough to trust his daughter with a gun, but Kim hasn't gone back for another taste of "apple" moonshine yet, and Grace is sober as a rock, so they're more than capable of handling things. Mostly, they nix any particularly dangerous targets, keeping Carmina's shots focused out in the yard. Well, for the most part — neither of them can resist watching Carmina shoot the wind-vane still clinging to the roof, even if it means going right over everyone's heads.

It's all in good fun, of course. And, to their credit, not one of the guys even jokingly suggests taking aim at John as he sits apart from the group. It's a good thing, too — John looks uncomfortable at how good a shot Carmina is. Maybe Nick would be uncomfortable with it too, if he hadn't drunk a bottle-neck's worth of moonshine beforehand.

Nick doesn't have to drink a lot to feel downright tipsy, which is great. Back in the day, he used to like getting buzzed every so often, but he'd given up ever feeling safe enough to get inebriated as another lost memory from yesteryear. This... this is nice. And once the guns get put away, it'll be even nicer.

"I think you might be a better shot than Tipsy over here," Wallace tells Carmina, gesturing towards Tiny, who is indeed too tipsy to be a decent shot at all.

"Only one way to find out!" Tiny shouts, failing to move after his declaration.

"Maybe another time," Kim replies uncertainly. "When alcohol isn't involved?"

"Hey, Carmina," Hurk coos, pulling his battered gun into his lap, "This is a Kalashnikov, you ever shoot off one of these?"

"Ooh, no!"

Grace is much less diplomatic than Kim, cutting him off before he can feed Carmina's excitement any more. "Hurk!"

"What? Oh, uh... she's probably too young for an automatic, huh? What is she, nine? I got a Magnum in my saddlebag..."

It's not long after that they run out of targets, forcing an end to Carmina's demonstration of skill. Kim thankfully takes the gun so that nobody gets hurt, and Carmina spends the next twenty minutes peppering the crew with questions about their guns, their tattoos, their trip out with the caravan, and whether or not they have a moving target range like Grace does. Nick relaxes when he realizes that none of the guys are keen on giving a little girl another weapon, more interested in spinning drunken tall-tales that, truthfully, might be a little too PG for Carmina. At least Grace is listening in to fact-check any of their more problematic bullshit.

John isn't any less tense now that Carmina is disarmed, but Nick's not surprised. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire from everybody else, he might as well be hiding in plain sight. That goes against the entire point, but it's also his modus operandi these days. Normally, Nick would just ignore it, maybe even avoid John on purpose to show him how bad it feels, but tonight calls for a more direct approach.

"Need to get some firewood?" Nick asks him, coming to stand in his line of sight.

John squints up at him around the firelight. "No," he mutters, lying through his teeth before changing the subject. "Carmina has good aim."

"That's all Kim's genes. I'm more of a spray-and-pray kinda guy."

John doesn't quite hide his sarcasm, replying, "You don't say."

Nobody's offered John any liquor yet, he's pretty sure, so Nick holds the bottle out in an easily declined gesture. "Wanna try?" he asks, just in case he's being more subtle than he thinks. "Supposed to take like apples."

John gives the bottle an unimpressed once-over. "I don't think so," he decides, not sounding entirely sure about it. He adds defensively, "My tolerance is shot."

"If you say so," Nick replies, pulling the bottle back. "It's not like I'm gonna peer pressure you. This isn't high school. But, uh, try to relax. If anyone was gonna take a shot at you, they would've done it by now."

"Easy for you to say," John sighs.

It is easy for Nick to say, but he hopes John actually listens to him for once. He's not expecting miracles or anything, but if John's going to stick around, he's going to have to learn how to relax. Well — at least that's one learning curve that everybody is struggling with. Baby steps, right?

Nick leaves John alone for now; maybe he'll warm up into the idea of mending some metaphorical fences before everyone leaves, which would be ideal. For now, Nick goes back to the rest of the group, taking a few more sips as he listens to Carmina start to spin her own tall tales. Now that she's recognized the pattern in all of the stories the adults have been telling — larger-than-life enemies, intimidating names, lots of Foley work — she's attempting to match their vivid stories with a highly interpretive retelling about the turkey she saved her mom from a few months ago. The way she tells it, Nick would've expected the turkey she'd brought back to be at least the size of a car, but if Kim is playing into her part as a damsel in distress, Nick isn't going to ruin things by being the cynic realist.

They trade a few more stories. As they do, Kim takes a few extremely sour drinks of whatever the dark stuff is. She's been on hosting duty all day already, and Nick hasn't done much to help, getting tipsy right away with the rest of the guys like he had. But, with things starting to get late for a family of three, Nick decides it's his time to step up to the task of parenting.

Carmina hasn't had enough life experience to have many stories to share with the encouraging group of drunken manchildren, so once the attention turns to Tiny's story of his first swim after the world ended, Nick uses the out as a chance to usher her away.

"I think we oughta get you ready for bed," he tells Carmina, who boos under her breath but doesn't put up a fight, mostly because the story involves lots of nudity that she isn't at all interested in hearing about. Nick can't blame her — he doesn't wanna hear about Tiny almost getting his nuts bit off by a demon fish, either.

"Okay, but I want a good bed-time story," she demands, reasonably enough. Nick doesn't have anything as funny as Hurk's story, or anything as action-packed as Sharky's retelling of the first roadblock they encountered out on the road, but he has to at least try.

The good thing about Carmina not knowing anything about life before is that Nick can stretch some truths without repercussion. So when he tucks Carmina in, he decides to tell her the story of when she was born — this time, though, he doesn't leave out the roadblocks, or the deputy's shitty driving, or the narrowly-missed explosions. Couched in a long line of tall tales and exaggerated stories, Carmina doesn't believe most of the true stuff and only playfully believes in the bullshit.

Between Nick's bedtime-story voice and him gently stroking her hair, it's a wonder Carmina stays awake for as long as she does. Eventually, though, well before he finishes the story, she closes her eyes and finally stops resisting the chance for a good night's sleep. Nick stays put, lying next to her for a few minutes as he listens to the faint sound of conversation outside. He tries to make out the voices, to decipher who might be talking to who, but he only hears a dull hum.

He'll get up in a few minutes, go down and have a real drink with his wife for the first time in nine years, but the alcohol he's already had entices him to lie still just a little longer.

He doesn't know how long he dozes for, but when Nick is next aware of his surroundings, the light has changed in the room from the rising moon and the conversation outside has shifted in tone and pitch, the way any party might as it enters the late-night phase. Sitting up, Nick immediately knows he needs two things — more water, and one or two more swigs of that awful moonshine, just to keep the hangover from starting before he actually goes to bed.

The back porch is still wide open. The fire has died down, although it's still enough light to see by as Nick reappears. Kim sees him immediately, lifting a half-empty jar of dark liquid in his direction and waving him down with her free hand.

"This one is much better," she tells him as he approaches, holding out the jar. Well, Nick isn't about to reject his wife's kind offer, although he immediately regrets it when he takes a swig.

" Ugh ," he chokes around the harsh burn, feeling it drain all the way back into his throat. "That tastes like paint thinner!"

"Trade secret!" Hurk exclaims, adding immediately after, "Not that there's any paint or thinner in there, or anythin'. Nope. It's 100% organic malt liquor!"

Nick has no idea how Hurk would manage to find barley, but sure, he'll buy it. Another sip doesn't do any better, and to his surprise, he realizes that he actually prefers the moonshine.

As he hands the jar back, Nick does a quick head-count, coming up two short. "Uh, where's John?" he asks.

"Oh," Kim says. She points towards the hangar. "We needed firewood," she says. "Except, eventually, we really needed firewood. I sent Sharky to get some." It seems like only when she says it does she realize what a bad idea it is. "Well, we were in the middle of something, and I was distracted," she explains reluctantly.

"I wasn't," Grace utters next to her.

Kim rolls her eyes. "You should go check on them. I mean, it's fine. But maybe you should, anyway."

Nick looks over at the hangar. There aren't any lights to speak of out here, but Nick can see the glow of the lantern through the open doorway, shadows moving around behind the worn-out wall. "Yeah," he agrees, turning and heading across the wash. He only thinks of grabbing a drink for the journey after he starts walking, but he's already halfway there and he doesn't have time to turn around and come back.

Sharky appears in the doorway, forcing Nick to pull up short to avoid running into him. He looks — fine? There's too much beard and too little light to see his expression clearly, but Sharky doesn't seem phased in the least to find Nick in his way. He passes by Nick with a few logs under one arm, patting Nick heavily on his shoulder with his free hand.

"It's cool, bro," he says, "We're all good."

"Uh... okay," Nick replies, deeply unsure as Sharky casually heads back for the fire. Briefly worrying that he might find John knocked out on the ground, Nick tries not to stress out as he heads inside.

John is sitting on a discarded chopping block by the woodpile, the lantern settled by his feet. Nick doesn't see any blood or a new black eye; just John, rolling a nearly-empty glass bottle between his palms as he drifts in thought.

Nick almost feels bad interrupting, but John catches sight of him before he can retreat undetected. He looks surprised — genuinely, openly surprised to see Nick standing there, sincerely confused when he says, "I thought you went to bed."

"And miss out on all the action?" Nick chuckles. He gestures at the bottle. "So much for your tolerance being shot, huh?" he teases.

"Oh, hmm?" John looks down at the bottle like he'd forgotten about it. "Only enough to get them off my back." He sighs, following it up with a swig that he barely winces through. "After all, saying no ain't my thing ." Nick isn't sure if that drawl is for sarcastic quotation purposes, or if John's had enough moonshine to play at being white trash. "Then again, I only quit drinking because of Joseph. No point resisting now."

"I guess," Nick agrees reluctantly. "Is that, uh, what you and Sharky were talking about?"

John rolls his eyes. "No," he says. He holds out the bottle, waiting until Nick takes it to elaborate. "Kim suggested they sleep out here tonight. He was making sure there's room."

"Oh." Nick takes a drink; maybe it's just the malt liquor talking, but now Nick can sort of taste the apple around the burn. He takes one more swig, just to make sure, then hands the bottle back. "Well, as long as he wasn't hassling you."

"No more than I deserve," John says. Nick must make some kind of face, because he sighs and placating adds, "It's fine, Nick. I'm more than capable of handling a few sarcastic comments from some hillbilly outlaw." He looks down, tipping the bottle a bit to swirl the moonshine inside.

"He... means well," he says eventually. "Everyone means well."

"You don't have to sound so bummed out about it."

John chuckles. It's the first time Nick's heard his laugh and not mistaken it for a cough or wheeze. "I don't mean to be," he says. He takes a drink and looks up at Nick with a... weird look on his face. Open. Genuine? Nick's not sure. But despite the topic, John's expression radiates a deep, contemplative peace. "It's more generosity than I can bear from people I genuinely thought of as the enemy."

He is definitely drunk. "Oh, boy," Nick sighs, reaching out for the bottle before John drops it or finishes it off himself. "To be fair, uh, it's easier to be nice to you since we won, and all."

"Oh, I do not doubt it." John relinquishes the drink, seemingly aware enough to admit, "I've had more than enough."

"I think everybody's had enough," Nick says, proving his own point by immediately regretting his next swig. "God damn . Okay, well — we should probably get some wood. I gotta feeling those guys are gonna be up for a while, and we wanna keep them happy."

John nods, but he doesn't rise from his spot. "Wait," he says when Nick goes to pass him, so Nick obligingly stops, raising an eyebrow at John's half-lifted hand.

"You have to understand," he says. "I'm not — I don't know how I'm supposed to express my gratitude towards you. With Joseph, with — well, everyone , I've always known how to express my loyalty. I knew what they expected from me, what would make them happy, what... wouldn't. But with you, with Kim... I don't know anything. I feel like a child. I don't know how that makes me feel, other than like an idiot."

He heaves a frustrated, heavy sigh, ducking his head towards his nervously entwined hands. "Just — thank you," he finishes miserably.

"Wow," Nick utters in response. He doesn't know what else to say, really, except the obvious, but he genuinely means it when he replies, "Well, you're welcome. Man, and here I always figured you were playing me for a sap."

John laughs, shaking his head. "Manipulation has never been my strong suit," he admits. "I'm too heavy-handed for that crap. Intimidation and brute force, on the other hand..." He lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank God I was too sick to revel in my self-destruction."

"Yeah, I'm glad I didn't have to shoot you," Nick chuckles. "Sorta would've gone against everything I'm trying to build, you know?"

"I do now," John says. "I only wish I'd realized it before the end of the world."

"Hey, the world hasn't really ended," Nick points out. "There's still a whole left to do." He gestures towards the woodpile. "We can start by making sure Kim doesn't leave me for the raiders giving her free alcohol."

John stands, shaking his head as if he could clear the smile from his face. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, not until they figure out how to brew a decent beer. Kim was going without for the baby. She probably would've murdered me if it meant she could've had a case of Newcastle in the bunker for a few months there."

Then again, she had also been freaking out about the nuclear apocalypse occurring above-ground, so Nick really should cut her more slack.

"You definitely have nothing to worry about," John reiterates. "But fine. No more back-talk."

"Yeah, fat chance of that. C'mon, give me a hand."

Nick leaves the bottle on the chopping block and utilizes John's uncanny strength, loading him up with an armful of wood before taking a few logs for himself, to give the appearance of helping. John doesn't complain, which isn't unusual by itself, but tonight it feels like genuine complacency, not just something he's doing to survive. And when they return to the fire, dropping off the wood for Mud and Tiny to utilize, John doesn't retreat to the safety of the other side of the fire. He instead lingers by Nick, going so far as to play along whenever Kim asks him questions, just to make him feel included. He, unlike Nick, is smart enough to refuse any more of the malt liquor Kim's taken a liking to, but he holds the jar for show from time to time, just to keep Hurk happy. In a weird way, Nick feels like he can actually see John taking those wobbly steps Kim is always hoping to see, and even weirder than that, the anxiety that maybe he's making a mistake fails to manifest, leaving Nick with a warm, fuzzy feeling that could very well be pride.

[banishedfromirk]

I really feel like my interest/passion for Zim has just died lately. This wasn’t something that built up or anything like that - it just happened, and I was actually afraid this might happen. Part of me was always 50% about returning to the fandom, while the other was 50% was against it. I was worried about going back to the fandom because it was quite toxic back in the day. I dealt with some nasty people and I was driven away from the fandom due to them. While my experience has been much more positive, it’s mostly the antis this time around that have prevented me from wanting to indulge into this fandom as much as I originally wanted to. Not that I give a shit about them - I just don’t have time for internet drama anymore. I’ve basically ‘been there, done that’. I just wanted to go back to the Zim fandom to enjoy it, instead it’s just the same garbage over and over. I’ve even feared posting for a while due to accounts being mass reported. Antis suck the life and joy out of everybody.  I don’t feel comfortable as I did when I originally returned and bad memories constantly resurface. There’s people I just don’t want anything to do with on here, especially ones with venomous attitudes (the whole ‘ZADRs DNI or I’ll break your kneecaps’ type of shit). Tumblr’s blocking system is such a joke. Even third party apps are not enough to hide some people's posts I really don’t want to see. I just want to enjoy what I love and be happy doing so for once, not have to face the drama and negativity on a daily basis. It’s got to a point even ZADR doesn’t make me feel happy anymore. Anything Zim related even. I cannot handle constant strings of non-stop negativity from some people in the fandom as well and it’s draining me mentally to the point I’ve started avoiding the fandom and anything Zim related in general now. I live with severe anxiety disorder and have been seeing a psychologist because my anxiety gets to a point I can’t even walk outside to get my own dog sometimes. Seeing the drama and negativity of the fandom is not what I need or want to associate with. I started the year of positive and returning here makes negative feelings/vibes return, hence long periods of breaks/silence. While I’ve made a wonderful friend in the fandom since returning that I hope to speak more to this year, I just am not prepared to deal with only being liked for ‘Zim art’. I have other fandoms I enjoy. I feel like I’m just wasting my time trying to interact sometimes because nobody answers and I get scared to even post other art I want to share because I just think it won’t matter. If it’s not Zim related, people won’t even bat an eye. I don’t want to only be cared about for the sake of Zim artwork and I feel that way when I’m on here sometimes. I’m not trying to be petty or anything - it’s just obvious to me as a long time artist. I’ve been in the field long enough to know that if you want something to work out, you have to please the audience above yourself and well... sometimes I just want to please myself I guess. I put out a lot and rarely get back. That includes supporting people. I think if I were to remain in the fandom, it would be for my own sake and happiness. I don’t have it in me to want to make friends anymore because I’m sick to death of trying to be supportive only to be ignored or used in return. Last summer I spent a night trying to help somebody that had major depressive issues, I stayed up crying and making sure they didn’t harm themselves because they kept hinting at it and worried the hell out of me, and instead I was thanked by being flat out ignored straight afterwards despite them begging for my friendship and to join their discord server. I’ve not spoken to them since because I don’t take too kindly to those sorts of attitudes and eventually I did call them out on it. There’s people I want to be friends with but I just don’t have it in me anymore, to either be supportive or to want to make friends. People leave me on read so much that I just gave up. I’m guess I’m just happier keeping to myself and sharing my artwork. My trust has been damaged over the years by being lied to repeatedly, so I’m selective about even wanting to talk to people in general. Hell somebody crossed a line with me recently by telling me something extremely inappropriate then started saying they would prove I could trust them. Just... no. I guess what I’m saying is please don’t take it the wrong way if I don’t respond or don’t talk much - I just don’t have it in me to and if I see constant strings of negativity it just drives me away. I’ve had too much negativity in my own life to deal with. By that I don’t mean I don’t care to answer messages - I just mean that I can’t hold long conversations like I used to be able to. I have little energy. As for my Zim fic, I don’t know if I have it in me to continue with how I feel now. I see how many people have read it but little feedback makes it hard for me to gauge how people perceive it and if I should continue. Maybe this will pass but right now I’m sure not feeling any reason to want to continue. I’ve felt happier/better focusing on my other stories, honestly.  I really do hope this passes. My spark for this fandom has dimmed quite a bit. If it comes back around I’ll delete this eventually. Sorry to sound negative but I feel apprehensive about remaining in the fandom and I can’t shake it. :(  If you have any positive vibes to send my way, please do so. Maybe Zim will grow on me again. :(

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: Under your wings

Summary: Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.  When Jason got resurrected, his wings weren't red anymore.

AN: For the batfam discord’s @thursday-batfam-prompts Wings

When Jason woke up again, the first thing that disturbed him was the weight on his back. His wings weren’t that heavy. Of course, they had gained some weight with them slowly reaching maturity and their full wingspan. Alfred had said to give it another year before-

Before-

What-

Where was he? What had happened? Where was Bruce, he wanted to go home, he wanted his Dad, why didn’t the laughing stop!?

“Breathe, child.”

Jason could hardly see anything through the haze. Vague figures. A hand.

He couldn’t hear and he was choking on his own thoughts.

“Sleep a little longer, child.”

X

The next time Jason woke up, he didn’t freak out. There was no point to panicking about confusing dreams, was there?

Instead, Jason settled on inspecting his surroundings. To his right, Jason could see a lot of medical equipment. Tubes and measuring of all kinds seemed to take up most of the space. On his left, curtains covered a window. The sound of birds and people running around shouting in Arabic reached his ears. Bruce had gotten him started on lessons and that language came to him much easier than the Russian had learned before it.

Jason had a lot of dreams that were just filled with him waking up somewhere he didn’t know. According to Barbara, they were a sign of wanderlust. It fitted that a kid from Crime Alley wanted to go out and see the world. It was rare though that his dreams were as lucid as they were now.

Curious, he threw off the blanket. Jason wanted out and explore the world around himself. Of all the things to hold him back, from terrifying monsters to whatever weirdness he could dream up, Jason didn’t expect bandaged wings.

His wings were enormous for his size, making him look ridiculous. He knew he’d grow into his wingspan, but a kid that was on the short end of the spectrum with bright red wings? Yeah, needless to say, he had heard the whispers (or shouts) at school and hadn’t been impressed. In between all the rich kids with their perfectly regular and average browns, grays and blacks, red wings stood out like nothing else. His wings weren’t any help on patrol either. Coloring them dark took ages. Bruce never had to color his already pitch-black wings, but Jason hadn’t been as fortunate. And trying to get the dye out again? Even worse. It took hours with water if Jason didn’t have the actual dye remover on hand.

As annoyed as Jason was with his wings though, he took good care of them, which was why the bandages were the first surprise.

Their size the second, and their color the third.

Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.

The door to his room opened. The person he saw step into it wasn’t someone he expected his subconsciousness to dream up.

“Talia?” Jason asked. “Huh, alright.”

Talia mustered him, her dark green wings pressed to her back like she expected someone to leap for them. Bruce did that too when he got too wary, or when he was dosed with Fear Gas. Jason had spent most of his childhood before he had been adopted with his wings close to his body.

You could tell a lot about people from the way they held them.

Then, Talia frowned and her expression shifted to worry and pity.

“Oh, Jason,” she said. She sounded kind. Motherly. “Don’t you remember?”

The Joker laughed. Time froze.

The world kept spinning.

Jason had died and the world had kept moving.

X

Training took ages. First, Jason had to regain muscle mass, then he had to learn how to adjust to his new wings.

And new wings they were indeed. Jason’s own had been too damaged and couldn’t be saved, so Talia had ensured Jason would receive a different pair. Wing transplantations had been done successfully only a handful of times, but access to a Lazarus Pit apparently made it a lot more manageable.

“Whose wings are they?” Jason asked only once.

“Yours,” Talia replied.

Jason stopped with his training exercises to observe her. “I meant before.”

She didn’t even bother to look away from her paperwork. The sheets were strange, covered in colors and neat lines.

“They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky. They’re yours.”

Jason didn’t speak up again.

X

Above him, the stars of the night sky were hidden away behind clouds while below him, the streets were mostly desolate. Jason adjusted his lenses, focused on his target. Then he jumped down from the building, unfurling his wings completely.

I look like him, Jason would think later when watching and deleting the security tapes. Crashing down on the disgusting excuse of a human being, Jason appeared as a vengeful terror of massive black wings.

Good.

X

“I need one of your feathers,” Talia said. “Preferably the biggest you have.”

Jason stopped polishing his guns to face her. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, so?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just take whatever.”

He returned to his previous task, but sat op straight for better access, as Talia made her way around him. She mustered the feathers, softly moved her hands over them, before coming to a stop.

“This one,” she said and pulled at it so that Jason could feel which one she would take. “Brace yourself.”

Jason barely felt the pain. Truthfully speaking, he hardly got any kind of feedback from the wings. He could control them just fine, but the connection felt dulled.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll be leaving for Gotham tomorrow.”

“I know. I hope you’ll find what you seek there.”

Jason didn’t.

X

The new Robin was small and his wingspan frankly speaking pathetic. Barbara’s wings had been broken and her title had been taken by a small predator. There was another girl with bright wings she would have been better off with covering and Dick’s wings, of course, were obsessively clean and cared for as they had always been.

Bruce’s wings were smaller than he remembered. But then again, Jason wasn’t as short, young and naïve as he had been. Naturally, Batman wasn’t as grand as Jason had recalled.

As he had never been.

X

Talia asked him to come back and Jason refused. It would be too much like admitting defeat. Instead, he carved out his own territory, stayed away from the Bats. This was still his city and nothing short of death could make him leave, and even that hadn’t really stuck the last time.

X

It started with a call. One foolish, irritating call Jason hadn’t wanted to answer. He didn’t particularly hate the rest of the Bats anymore, and if they needed back up, he was there. Gotham wouldn’t suffer because of him or their incompetence.

Besides, it was Tim who had called.

Usually, Robin didn’t interact with him. Whether that was because Dick had told him off or because of their history, Jason didn’t know. He didn’t care either. He most certainly wasn’t curious why Tim had such a problem with Jason’s wings especially. Whenever he saw Jason, his eyes kept flickering to his wings and it didn’t annoy Jason at all.

Whatsoever.

Okay, maybe it did.

Jason had grown fond of his dark feathers. It wasn’t terribly hard when they were precisely what he had always wanted to have.

Either way, Tim calling, sounding seconds away from a panic attack and asking Jason to come to the Cave ASAP wasn’t something he was going to ignore out of anger.

What Jason expected to find was a crisis that would throw all of Gotham into disarrange.

Not a child with Talia’s green eyes and Bruce’s frown, waving a familiar feather in Bruce’s face while Tim sat at the other end of the Cave with Alfred by his side.

“What the hell?”

Bruce stood up straight, his cape concealing his wings.

“Jason,” Bruce said. If Bruce was surprised to see him, he didn’t show. “Did you know?”

Jason bit down on his rage. “Know what?”

“About Damian. Talia’s son.”

“And yours,” the child, Damian, added rather hot-headedly. His black wings twitched. “I have your feather as proof. Mother gave it to me.”

“This is not proof,” Tim hissed. “That’s just a stupid feather and Talia couldn’t have given you any of Bruce’s either way.”

“Stop talking to me, Drake. This is a conversation between father and son-“

“My name is Wayne, you damned brat-“

“Enough.”

Jason was getting a headache and if not for the fact that there was Talia’s son standing just a few meters away from him, he would have turned around on his heels and walked away again.

“Don’t antagonize each other.”

“But-“ Damian protested, only to stop talking when Bruce shot him a look.

“I don’t doubt that you are my son, but Tim is right. This feather isn’t mine.”

“But it looks like yours! I saw the photos of your wings. It’s the right color and shape, it even has the dark gray markings at the end. Mother said your wings were completely gray as a child and that’s the only leftover from it. Don’t call me a liar.”

Fighting crime was exhausting. You didn’t get much sleep, your body ached all over (except those times you were so full of pain killers, you couldn’t even tell when you got a new wound or if you were Jason and in general didn’t feel much of anything anymore) and every time you tried to fall asleep, either your nightmares or another gruesome murder would wake you up.

They all got tired, but Jason couldn’t think of a time Bruce had ever emitted such an aura of defeat.

“I’m not calling you liar, Damian. But the fact is that the feather can’t be mine. It cannot have been plucked from them.”

Damian’s face flushed in anger and desperation, perhaps. Your parents’ feathers, the ones they gave you willingly once you lost your last baby downs were something special. Jason had treasured Catherine’s, his real mother who had loved him until she couldn’t anymore, and Bruce’s like nothing else.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have wings anymore, Damian. I lost them a while ago when Bane took over Gotham.”

Jason felt like throwing up.

“Mother said Bane broke your spine and Lady Shiva trained you afterward to take back the city.”

They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky.

“That he did too.”

“But I saw your wings!”

“Fake. It would have been too suspicious if Bruce Wayne lost his wings at the same time as Batman.”

Jason liked to flare his wings when he left, make himself look bigger than he actually was, but right now he didn’t dare to move his no, no they weren’t they never them even an inch away from his body as he turned around and stormed outside.

Nobody would follow him.

They had bigger problems.

X

It wasn’t Bruce that tracked him down months later (because Bruce was dead, killed by a monster too big for grounded humans. Maybe, if he had been able to fly-) or Tim, who had disappeared with a bang to go on a never-ending search.

He had expected the little brat, coming to him for answers maybe, or Dick once he realized he wasn’t cut out for this Gotham anymore. Jason hardly knew the new Batgirl and he had never even spoken a word to Cassandra.

Somehow, despite her Big Brother-like presence, Jason had never accounted for Barbara.

“Your safe house isn’t very accessible,” she said and moved inside his apartment.

Of course, it wasn’t accessible. It was a cheap shithole in Crime Alley – what did she expect.

“What do you want?”

Jason used to adore Barbara. When he had first met her, she had been energetic and funny, told Batman off and thought Dick was an idiot. She had been bright and every ‘no’ was a challenge.

He couldn’t claim that he knew this version of her. She had calmed down, or maybe just grown as world-weary as the rest of them.

“We tried to find Bruce’s wings after Bane cut them off,” she said, going straight to business and delving right into Jason’s nightmares.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Barbara pushed up her glasses. “I think you need to.”

He could stop her if he wanted to. He doubted that any regular thugs could provide a challenge, her wheelchair didn’t look like standard either and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she had hidden all kinds of small gadgets in there. The edges of Barbara’s wings were covered in light steel like those of many police officers. A hit from those hurt immensely.

However, Jason had trained to take down the Batman (lifetimes ago it felt like) and Oracle, while undoubtedly smarter, couldn’t fight like him.

“He took them as a trophy and while Tim and Alfred rushed to Bruce’s aid, I kept my eyes on them. I lost them while they were in Gotham still. We assumed that Bane had hidden them, but perhaps had lost them as well instead.”

“I didn’t know.”

His defense sounded weak in his own ears. He had known that the wings sewn to his back hadn’t been the wings of the closest dead body Talia could find. Every action had meaning for her, every cruel gift well-meant wasn’t just efficient but a puzzle to solve.

He should have insisted. He should have kept asking.

“When I woke up, really as myself and not full of rage or catatonic, they were already there. Talia meant well, she only wanted to help.”

Barbara kept silent for a while, let her gaze drift to the blood on the ground, the guns on the table and the take-out food on the mattress. Jason hadn’t been handling things well in the last weeks.

“In winter,” she spoke up suddenly, “when Dick and I were young, Bruce used to cover us with his wings on observation missions because we, young and stupid, refused to put on the ugly winter uniforms. The two of us could fit right beneath one wing with still so much space left over.”

Jason remembered that. Bruce always covered Jason with his wings every time he felt like he had an excuse for it. There was no word to describe the warmth Jason had felt then.

“What do you want, Oracle?”

Barbara crossed her arms, still the perfect picture of resistance.

“I need you to come home and work with us. We’re missing three of our heavy hitters and Dick’s busy trying to reign in Damian half the time they’re on patrol. You feel ashamed of these wings? Then do something worthwhile with them. I need to be able to count on you and I need you to actually cover us. This city’s never been alright when even one of us is gone.”

Alright. Okay.

Jason could understand desperation. You didn’t claw your way out of your coffin simply because you felt like it. He could do this.

He had to.

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (3/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~6.6K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

A/N: I ended up switching days to post my third @csmarchmadness, so here’s Chapter 3, a day earlier than expected! Thanks, as always, to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing the even and @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, as well as the discord ladies for helping me figure out where parts of this section were going. 

Thanks for all your wonderful feedback so far - I’m so glad you’re liking where I’ve taken this! I’ll have Chapter 4 up as soon as I can - it’s about half written now, so hopefully I can buckle down on the rest. Brace yourselves for the angst, guys. 

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

As far as rude awakenings go, the entire house shaking has to top the list.

While half asleep, Killian had been happy to write it off as Emma tossing around in bed, as she’s prone to do (his favorite little bed hog), but as the shaking continues, shaking him fully out of slumber and straight into panic instead, it becomes obvious that something is happening. Something dire, something unusual even for the Underworld. It makes him sit bolt upright in bed, alert and trying to safely discern what the hell is going on as Emma grumbles incoherently at the sudden removal of her human pillow.

“Wake up, love,” he says urgently. When she just groans, not willing to rouse herself from her hazy dreamland, Killian resorts to shaking her. “Emma, love, you’ve got to wake up, something’s the matter.”

Just then, the shaking abruptly stops. Emma blearily blinks up at at him, blessedly awake. “Was something… shaking?” She asks groggily.

“Aye. I don’t know what,” he replies, quickly getting out of bed and moving to retrieve his trousers and shirt. Unlike certain blondes in his life, he’s always careful to fold his laundry and either put it away or into the dirty clothes basket instead of tossing them into corners willy-nilly.

“Well we’ve got to go find out!” Emma shoots right back, tossing the covers back and swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

“Aye. I’d think it was an earthquake, but down here —” Killian’s train of thought is abruptly cut off as he hears a soft oof from Emma, followed by an alarming screech of bedsprings. When he whips back around from where he had been facing away from the bed, Emma is sitting wide-eyed, both hands gripping at the edge of the mattress.

Killian’s certain he’s never moved faster, crouching down in front of Emma in a flash and reaching for her hand. “Are you alright, Emma? Love, talk to me. Are you okay, is the baby okay?”

“Calm down, Captain. Everything’s fine, I just stood up too fast, blood rush or whatever.” Patting his hand briefly, she stands back up again, this time without any problems, and moves to collect her own jeans and sweater.

Emma may not seem too concerned, but the incident - small as it is - really throws things into harsh perspective. He’s already been wrestling with guilt over the fact that Emma’s here, in danger, in the first place - not to mention Henry and their unborn child - but this really reminds him of all the other, more mundane dangers facing them. Emma’s a woman of action; he’s always known that, it was one of the many myriad of things that made him fall in love with her in the first place. But that same impulsiveness, that same urge to help that drives her to action, puts her in a lot of dangerous situations - not just crazy things like this, things that would only happen to the Savior, but everyday dangers too. Her job as Sheriff doesn’t help; Storybrooke is a quiet town, but even quiet towns can host robberies gone wrong or domestic disputes or any number of other circumstances that might prove dangerous, or even deadly, to a bold sheriff too concerned with saving others to worry enough about herself.

“Maybe you should let us investigate this one, love,” he hazards cautiously. This will almost certainly come back to bite him, but he feels he can’t go without saying something. She already can only use her magic sparingly, and guns and swords won’t do much against the already deceased. Standing by while she charges into danger just feels like he’s playing a part in whatever harm might come to them.

Emma looks over at him as she pulls her jeans on, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in disapproval before turning back to button her pants. Their little one protrudes just enough that she’s had to rig up a new closure system with a hair binder, something Killian usually finds adorable, but today just reminds him of how much is at stake. “I’m fine, Killian,” she sighs, exasperation tinging her tone. “I’m not about to break.”

“I know you’re strong and hearty, love, but we don’t know what we’re facing out there. And there’s the babe to think about now, too,” he presses.

“What, so I’m supposed to just sit around here, twiddling my thumbs while everyone else rushes off into God only knows what? I’m supposed to be here to save you! I can’t do that just sitting on my ass!”

“I can’t let you do that though at the cost of your own life! I’m already dead, Emma - what the hell else can happen to me?”

Killian regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Still, seeing the tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes is like a stab through his heart. He hopes they’re a product of her fluctuating hormones, but he’s afraid they’re not; that feels like denying responsibility anyways, and those tears are certainly his fault.

“Emma, love…” he tries again, reaching for her, but she just shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving Killian all alone. With a sigh, he turns to finish securing his brace and shrugging on a shirt.

Give them both a moment to calm down; then he’ll turn his attention to fixing the mess he’s made.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, Regina already waiting in their living room when Killian finally makes it down the stairs. He wants to go straight to Emma, to try and make up (or, ideally, come to some kind of compromise that keeps her safe but still involved) and put this whole thing behind them, but they can’t do that with Regina standing right there.

“Madame Mayor,” he nods. Things have never been exactly natural between himself and the former Evil Queen; it’s easiest to fall back on practiced formalities. Still, that won’t stop him from asking why she’s here. It is still his own house, after all, and a man is entitled to such things. “May I ask what you’re doing here, Your Majesty? Or how, for that matter, since I didn’t hear the front door or doorbell?”

Regina sniffs in mild disdain at the questioning; he probably shouldn’t have expected any less. “Unlike your girlfriend here,” she emphasizes, “there’s nothing wrong with my magic.” At Killian’s blank stare - more unamused than confused, in truth - she elaborates. “I transported myself over into your living room. You felt the disturbance I assume, unless you’re even more oblivious than I gave you credit for?” Ignoring the jibe, Killian nods curtly. “Well, my sister dearest managed to get herself pulled into a portal. With the baby at that.”

“Are they both alright?” Emma asks, blessedly keeping the focus on the problem at hand before the Queen goes off on a rant about her sister (deserved or not).

“Zelena twisted her ankle upon landing, but Vera’s fine.” It’s obvious from Regina’s tone which person’s wellbeing she finds important. “Hades had some underling waiting, but Greenie was able to scare him off with her magic. As far as anyone can tell, he wanted the baby for some purpose, and Zelena was just collateral damage.”

“Robin must be relieved that the little one is alright,” Killian comments. What was the baby’s name? Vera? Soon enough, he and Emma will have to be picking out names for their own babe, if they can just both make it out of the Underworld in one piece.

“He is. We both are,” Regina agrees, a smile almost teasing at the edges of her mouth before she snaps back to her businesslike facade again. “Zelena thinks she might know something, however, and I’d really like to get home and away from the miserable bitch as soon as possible, so if you’re done with the small talk…” she trails off, fixing both Killian and Emma in turn with an expectant look.

Killian jumps to retrieve Emma’s heavy coat and his own leather jacket. They may not have a chance to talk for a while, not with the rush of everything happening, but maybe he can show his love, his care, his apology in smaller ways. She meets his eyes briefly as he opens the coat wide to slip her arms into, and he tries to put all the words he can’t yet say into a small smile; part apology, part reassurance, all love. Emma just looks away, though, reaching for her hat and gloves instead.

Not a good sign.

“I can only take you one at a time,” Regina warns brusquely, “so you’re going to have to wait a moment, Captain.”

“That’s fine,” he assures. “I should collect my brother anyways.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, after his little disappearing act the other day?” Regina demands. She’s always cut straight to the point, and Killian usually appreciates that - hell, would admire it in anyone else - but he finds himself wishing she would perhaps mince her words just a bit. There’s something to be said for tact in small doses. It also reminds him that while the group at large knows that something happened yesterday for both he and Liam to suddenly disappear for hours on end, they don’t know all the detail of Liam’s betrayal.

“No, but for better or worse, I’m hoping he’ll have insights that will be of use to us.” Killian keeps things as vague as possible, but Regina looks like she suspects something’s up all the same. Not that it’s not warranted. The first order of business today will have to be making Liam confess to everyone. It’s as good a penance as any; Killian certainly wouldn’t want to face an angry Regina, let alone the Lady Snow. As much as he’s looking forward to his brother being interrogated by the Evil Queen, however, he’s not keen on receiving the same treatment himself. It’ll be a miracle if he can get out of the house without her demanding any more answers. “I’ll meet you at the Mayor’s Mansion as soon as I can,” he excuses, moving to leave. Things are still unsettled between himself and Emma, but it feels wrong to just leave without any gesture towards her, so he quickly drops a kiss on her cheek on his way to the door, letting their fingers brush in passing. She doesn’t say anything, or move to make it a real kiss, but she doesn’t pull away from him either, which Killian is willing to take as a small success.

Getting better.

It’s only a short walk from the house to the harbor, where Liam is already up and about on the Jolly Roger. “Brother!” he calls. “Did you feel the quaking?”

A burst of irritation fizzles through Killian’s veins. What does Liam think he is, some kind of imbecile? Brother knows best. It makes him wonder if his brother was always like this, and Killian was just too blinded by devotion to see it.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” he grinds out. “Gather whatever you need, we’re expected back at the Mayor’s Mansion.”

“I take it you’re still mad at me,” Liam comments on his way down the gangplank.

“Aye, well, it’s not exactly something you get over in only one night,” Killian snipes back.

“Killian, please —”

“No, this is what’s going to happen,” Killian interrupts. “We’re going to go and face Emma’s family - my family and friends, and explain exactly what you did, what you told Hades, what was on those pages. You are going to do everything you can to help us. And it still won’t fully make up for what you tried to do to me, what you tried to take from me, but it will at least be a start, and we can evaluate from there. Understood?”

“Aye, Brother, but what do you think this —”

“Further discussion will not be necessary.”

The rest of their walk is pretty quiet after that.

To his credit, Liam does confess to the group at large without any extra prodding. Reactions are almost exactly what Killian would have expected: Henry is furious at the betrayal, Belle is shocked, Snow seems to be hovering somewhere around maternal disappointment, and Regina rolls her eyes.

“Can you at least tell us what was on the pages?” she sighs, her voice sounding absolutely exhausted for this early in the day. That’s a feat, Killian can’t help but think as he watches the haughty mayor rub at her temples as if to make a headache go away.

“I wasn’t exactly looking too closely at their contents,” Liam admits with a wince. “All I can tell you is that illustration depicted some sort of rock, or gemstone.”

“It’s a crystal,” Zelena’s voice calls from the doorway, where she’d apparently limped over. “The Olympian Crystal.” Killian hadn’t seen her when he came in; he assumes they got the inevitable sniping out of the way before Killian arrived back at the Mayor’s Mansion with Liam. Not that he regrets missing it; even if he wasn’t already predisposed to dislike the Wicked Witch, especially after the incidents of the Second Curse - he’s not likely to soon forget her attempt to manipulate and drown him, thank you very much - her particular brand of constant drama isn’t to Killian’s taste. In his opinion, it’s never a good sign when he, the man who devoted centuries of his life to the pursuit of revenge, thinks you’ve gone a little too far.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Robin bites back. It’s harsher than Killian is used to from the easy-going bandit, but after everything Zelena has done to him, Killian supposes that’s warranted.

“Hades and I have clashed before. And unlike some of us here,” she says pointedly, “I’m willing to dig up a little research about my enemies so I can attack them head-on, instead of rushing in with some half-cocked plan.” There’s no telling who that was aimed at; probably Regina, but it could frankly apply to half the people in the room.

“Yes, you’re a champion researcher, we bow to you in awe,” Regina drawls sarcastically. “Do you want to tell the rest of the class about this ‘Olympic Crystal’, or do you just want to brag?”

“It’s the Olympian Crystal, since you obviously weren’t listening,” Zelena snaps back. Ah, siblings. “Supposedly, it’s a divine weapon that can be used to defeat Hades.”

“And you never used it? What a go-getter you are, sis.”

“He never came back after that frankly bizarre attempt to snatch Oz from under my nose, and unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to go actively looking for trouble! I never needed to use it!”

“Well maybe if you had we wouldn’t —”

“Alright,” David interrupts, blessedly so in Killian’s opinion. “Do you know where we can find this… Crystal?”

“No, Blondie,” Zelena sneers. “Like I said: I never needed to.”

That sits with all of them for a moment. This had seemed like such a good lead, but there’s nowhere to take it. Maybe the Crystal wouldn’t bring Killian back to life, but it could take Hades out of the picture, remove a major hurdle to their quest. But without any idea of where to find it, they’re just stuck.

“We could talk to the Apprentice,” Henry suggests suddenly. “I mean, he’s got to be down here, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Regina comments, the pride and surprise warring in her voice.

“Well done, lad,” Killian murmurs, nudging Henry affectionately.

“Okay, so we go see the Apprentice,” David says, no small amount of impatience tinging his tone and no doubt fueling his decisiveness on the matter.

“You can do that. I’ll start here with the baby, I couldn’t possibly walk on my ankle,” Zelena sniffs. With that, the room dissolves into a chaos of Robin and Regina protesting and insisting she can’t be left alone with Vera, as David starts just as loudly insisting that they need to leave right now, they can’t afford to waste time.

In the midst of all that, Killian takes the opportunity to tug on Emma’s sleeve. “Can we talk for a moment, love?”

She nods and follows him readily to an unused office, but still doesn’t say anything, instead crossing her arms over her chest and shifting from foot to foot. She looks nervous about this conversation, he realizes, and that helps a little bit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, diving right in. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were putting the baby in danger.”

“I know,” she replies quietly, still shuffling her feet. “My emotions are running so high right now, and I just…” she pauses, apparently collecting herself. “I just want to go home. With you. As soon as we can.”

“I know, love, I do too. I’m just horribly afraid that it’ll be at some awful cost. You’re already trapped here by that headstone. I’m thankful for everything you’re doing to save me, but I’m terrified it’ll be at the cost of someone else’s life - your own, or the Bean’s, or anyone else’s. Especially our child. You and I…” he pauses, organizing his thoughts. “You and I, we didn’t have happy childhoods. We didn’t even have safe childhoods, and I’ve always known that if I was lucky enough to have a child, I’d do my damndest to protect them for anything that might hurt them. The little one isn’t even here, and I already feel like I’ve failed at keeping them safe. What kind of parent does that?” he begs.

“It’s not your fault, Killian,” Emma assures him, stepping forward to cup his cheek in her hand. “You’re doing your best, and the fact that you’re trying is what’s going to make you a great dad.”

Killian smiles weakly back at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he assures Emma. “It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. But with everything that’s going on, I just…” Worry. Overreact. Wonder if I’m really worth it all.

“I know,” Emma says, and he really thinks she might. She’s always been able to see right through him, after all. “There’s going to come a time where I need to do that, take a backseat, and I’ll let you fuss over me all you want then. But for now…”

“For now, you’ve got it,” Killian finishes. He’ll still worry, of course, still try to protect her when they’re out in the field, fighting the forces of evil, but how is that different from before, really? He’s been by her side since Neverland, trying to keep her safe and happy. Now there’s just a little someone else to watch over as well. “I love you,” he says, making sure to look her in the eyes and attempt to impart exactly how much he means the words.

“I love you too,” Emma smiles back, pressing up for a kiss. Killian’s hand drops to her waist out of habit, allowing his thumb to brush over her growing stomach. “Now, you ready to go see a magician about a crystal?”

“Aye, love. Lead the way.”

———

The Apprentice lives in the same little cottage that he did in the living world, though his window boxes and garden beds are sadly empty. This place isn’t conducive to any form of life, even that of a more botanical bent. In truth, Killian dreads this visit due to all the messy history between himself and the mystical old man. The Apprentice may have seemed to forgive Killian before his untimely death at the hands of the Darkness, despite everything he had done, but Killian isn’t sure he’s forgiven himself. No matter how many times Emma and Henry tell him that he can’t be held responsible for trapping the fairies and the Apprentice in the hat, no matter the fact that he knows Gold was pulling the strings that whole episode, Killian still feels guilty. Even if he wasn’t in control of himself at the time, he was the one that sucked everyone into some unspeakable in-between world, that had to listen to their screams and watch them fight against the portal’s winds. It was a terrible reminder of all the darkness he’s capable of and had succumbed to in the past. Facing the Apprentice is a terrible reminder of all that.

He doesn’t offer any judgement as he opens the door, though, doesn’t slam it in Killian’s face (as would be well deserved) or even demand to know why they’re here. Instead, he just nods knowingly before opening the door wider to let everyone through.

“You’re here about the Olympian Crystal,” the Apprentice says as they file past into his little parlor. It’s a statement, a fact, not a question. He knows this, and is just waiting for everyone else to realize it.

“Yes, actually,” Killian replies. A not-insignificant part of himself wants to know how exactly the Apprentice knew what they were here for, but it seems rude somehow to ask. Looking through their little crowd, his companions seem to be wondering the same thing, if their confused expressions are anything to go by - Regina being the obvious exception, far too regal and refined for such emotional transparency. The man is a powerful magician; who are they to demand an explanation for his methods?

Thankfully, the old man seems to sense their puzzlement. “My master’s book of prophecies has foretold many things, both in life and now in death,” he explains. Ah, yes, Merlin. Killian had been impressed, if somewhat intimidated, by the man’s powers of foresight in Camelot; with so many centuries on his hands, it makes a certain amount of sense that he put some of his visions down to paper for his Apprentice’s reference. “Please, sit,” he offers, sweeping an arm towards the old fashioned upholstered chairs. “I assume you have many questions.”

“Yes, actually,” Snow replies, apparently taking the lead in this conversation. That might be for the best, actually; she has more tact than any of the rest of them. “What exactly is this Crystal? We’ve only just learned of the existence of the myths surrounding it.”

“And what did those legends say?”

“That it has the power to defeat Hades,” Emma replies, cutting to the point. Never one to mince words, his love. “And it’s a real thing? Not just a story?”

“It’s a real thing,” the Apprentice confirms, “one of Zeus’ thunderbolts made into solid form. Its efficacy against a god has never been tested, and so is yet to be seen, but I can tell you this for certain: it’s a powerful tool with the power of life and death.”

“Does that mean we could use it to help Killian?” Henry asks eagerly. Killian and Emma both lean forward in anticipation of the answer, as if the closer proximity will give them better - or at least faster - news. Could this be it, the solution to their problem?

“In the right hands, yes,” the Apprentice agrees. Even that conditional agreement makes Killian’s heart race with hope. “It is beyond my knowledge how to use it, however. I assume that it’s a conduit of some kind - a tool to amplify magic, a divine wand.”

“We can work with that,” David nods, his face set in determination. This must have been how he looked back in the Enchanted Forest as the consort of a bandit princess - a solid born leader. “Emma’s the Savior - if any magic could activate the powers of the Crystal, it’d be hers.”

“And do you know where it is?” Emma asks, steering the conversation back on topic.

“The book says that when it fell from Olympus, it landed in the River of Lost Souls. Unfortunately, it was less illustrative as to the specifics of where in the River.”

“And I suppose that’s the toxic river we already had to deal with to rescue Hook in the first place,” Regina deadpans, eliciting a nod of confirmation from the Apprentice. “Excellent.”

“Yeah but if this is the thing that can bring Killian back with us —” Emma starts to argue, before Regina cuts her off.

“Yes, that’s fine, don’t jump down my throat. I’m not suggesting we don’t pursue this, I’m just saying that it’s going to be difficult. Remember the part where the waters basically steal your soul and wipe your memories?”

“I don’t suppose you have a solution for that?” Killian asks the Apprentice, quickly redirecting before Emma and Regina can snipe at each other any more.

The other man just shakes his head in the negative though, sending a chill through Killian’s lifeless veins. “So what, that’s a one-way trip for someone?”

“Perhaps the Crystal can undo the River’s damage, but that’s never been tested, of course,” the old man explains.

“And there’s no other way?” Belle asks.

“There’s tales of an ambrosia bush, but it’s been lost for centuries. Even Merlin’s records don’t offer any clue to its whereabouts.”

“And I can’t just… write it into existence?” Henry cuts in.

“That’s beyond the abilities of the Author. Your job is merely to record. Argue all you like,” he tells the collected group, “but this is the best way as things currently stand.”

“Yes, but it’s not actually a viable option, you see, because we’re not sacrificing anyone,” Killian explains, his patience officially having run out. “We’ll just have to find this ambrosia bush, then, because —”

“I’ll do it.”

All heads snap towards Liam at the sound of his voice. Surely he didn’t just say what Killian thinks he said? As they stare at him in shock, however, he repeats the words with even more firmness and determination. “I’ll do it. I’ll retrieve the Crystal.”

“Liam, you can’t —” Killian tries to protest, but it gets him nowhere.

“I’m the expendable one here, Brother,” he reminds Killian. “You and I are the only ones not living, and we’ve got to get you home. It has to be me.” More quietly, he adds a private plea for Killian’s ears only. “Let me do this, Killian. Let me make up for the hurt I’ve caused.”

“I can’t let you do it this way,” Killian insists. Of course he’s been furious with Liam, and still is in many ways, but this? This is going too far. This could turn Liam into a shade of himself if it fails.

“You have to, Killian. It’s the only way. Though I wouldn’t say no if your lady love were to cast some sort of protection spell,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten to mood. It doesn’t work, not in the least.

“He’s right,” Regina says. “We’ll try the protection spell, but as much as I hate to admit it, Captain Jones is right. He’s the one we can spare.”

(Killian especially hates hearing it from Regina, and especially like that - like his brother is just some tool to be used and disposed of.)

As much as Killian’s heart screams in protest at the thought of his brother sacrificing himself to possibly become nothing more than an empty shell, another permanent farewell, his head knows they’re right. It’s the only way, and if Killian wants to return to his future in the living world, he’s going to have to accept that sacrifice.

“It’s the only way,” he echoes softly, nodding in resignation.

He may be mad at his brother, but he never wanted this.

———

The cave system beneath the Underworld through which the River of Lost Souls flows is cold and damp, fostering a foreboding air as the chill sinks into all their bones. The otherworldly green glow of the River’s waters doesn’t help matters either, making the whole thing feel even more nightmarish in an already unworldly place. Curiously, it reminds Killian of the catacombs he once saw in a far off land, so long ago that he can’t remember the name anymore. The glimpse of metal structuring or the stone ledges carefully carved out of the rock is a bare reminder of human presence in this empty space - that this is somehow a place built by people, but not truly intended for them. The only word for it, truly, is eerie.

It takes less time to find the Crystal than expected - only a day and a half of searching - but they seem to simultaneously pass in a blink and stretch on forever. They’d divided into small groups to punt up and down the waterways - Killian, Emma, and her parents in one boat with Regina, Robin, and Liam in the other. There’d been some debate about the divide - David in particular had wanted to be in the other boat, seemingly wanting to keep a closer eye on Liam. That’s reasonable, Killian supposes, after everything that had been revealed earlier that day. It takes a good deal of scolding from both Emma and Snow to convince him to climb into their skiff, all capped off by a very charming “You’re being ridiculous, Dad, get over here before you piss Mom off even more. You’re coming with us.”

(Whatever works, right?)

Still, the squabbling is a waste of time. One thing they can all agree upon, however, is to keep Henry as far away from the search as possible. No one knows exactly what those waters would do to a living being, and they don’t care to find out - especially not with Henry. No one wants him anywhere near that water. Instead, he’s persuaded to stay up above with Belle, doing research about how to use this Crystal once they find it. Henry’s not happy about it, but he agrees eventually - especially when it becomes obvious that no one is caving. Ultimately, Killian thinks the only reason Henry goes without anymore fuss is that he’s tasked with the responsibility of watching over Belle and the baby, and especially of ensuring that Zelena doesn’t try to stage a kidnapping in Robin and Regina’s absence or otherwise betray them. Whatever it takes, Killian tells himself, and at least this lets the lad feel helpful. They’re not all disconnected from each other anyways - Regina rigs up a system of handheld mirrors to talk to each other in case problems arise or one of the parties actually finds the Crystal.

It’s Regina’s party that ultimately locates the bloody thing, somehow glowing even brighter underneath the murky green of the River of Souls. Ultimately, they decide to wait until the next morning to attempt to retrieve the Crystal itself, due both to time and the need to form a more concrete plan, and instead head home to rest. There’s a lot of discussion that night, none of which Killian particularly likes - especially since it relies on Emma casting a protection spell over Liam.

“That’s not my expertise,” Regina sniffs when Killian suggests she do it herself.  “Savior magic would be much more effective in this circumstance.”

Savior magic or not, though, the fact remains that magic has exhausted Emma since she became pregnant. There’s no hospital down here to go to if she passes out again, and Killian is terrified of something happening.

“It’ll be fine,” Emma tries to reassure him quietly, squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “It’ll just be a moment and then you can make me rest.”

Under other circumstances, maybe Killian would try to argue or find another way, but the fact of the matter is that they’ve been backed into a corner. This is the only plan they have to rescue him from the Underworld, and the only way they can both retrieve the Crystal and offer Liam some marginal protection from the danger of the green waters is to draw upon Emma’s powers. There’s no other way. When Emma insists that she can do it, too, there’s even less point in trying to argue. It’s just how things will have to be.

Killian sits up for a drink with Liam that night, the last before Gods only know what will happen. It’s impossible to find the right words to say, though: I wish things were different? I don’t know if I forgive you, but I want to try? Thank you for what you’re about to do? I never needed you to make up for your actions in this way? I’ve never needed a hero, just a brother? Ever since Liam’s betrayal, Killian has been a mess of emotions, and his brother’s volunteering to retrieve the Crystal, more than likely at his own peril, has only added more conflicting feelings to the mix. This is the brother he remembers from his youth - the born leader, the man who’d rather put himself in danger before anyone else, but it seems almost disingenuous. Too little, too late and all that.

Still, as Liam drops his head after dragging minutes of silence, rising to deposit his glass in the sink, Killian feels that rush of panic that this might be the last time. “Liam…” he starts, forcing himself to try one last time to say everything on his mind, maybe find some sort of closure with the brother he’s idolized more than anyone only for him to let Killianhim down more than anyone elseever has. It doesn’t work; the words don’t magically appear upon his tongue, and his words trail off into nothing.

Nevertheless, Liam smiles and drops his hand to pat Killian’s shoulder. “I know, Brother,” he assures. And maybe he does. Liam was always good at understanding the words unsaid, and something about his face says that he sees all the mess of love and hurt and anger and worry on Killian’s own visage.

It doesn’t make things any easier when the fateful moment comes and Liam stands at the edge of the stone landing, stripped out of his shoes and coat and tying the end of a rope around his waist. It had been decided that, should worst come to worst, they’d need a way to retrieve Liam, with or without the Crystal. It’s entirely possible that due to the water’s properties, he could reach the Crystal and just forget to swim back up. In fact, there’s so many ways that this could go wrong, but Killian is trying not to think of any of them. Trying.

(Failing. All his fault…)

A small blessing is that Emma had cast a protection spell around Liam without any problems. Killian had hovered anxiously at her side, just in case she’d become faint again, but it had been unnecessary. Put it down to a good breakfast or her previous abstinence from using magic. At Killian’s pestering, she’d admitted that her magic, that well of power within her she’s never been able to fully describe, feels depleted, but as close as he’s watching, it hasn’t seemed to exhaust her body and mind along with it.

“I’m fine,” she smiles, squeezing his forearm affectionately, and he doesn’t have any reason not to believe that. Before she can drop her hand back down to her side, Killian quickly catches it, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back as he turns towards his brother.

“You don’t have to do this,” Killian offers one last time as Liam eyes the glowing green waters and the Crystal sunken beneath them.

Liam exhales a breath before turning to face Killian. “You know I do.” The silence of so many words unsaid, so many things they could say and should say and need to say hangs heavy in the air. Everyone else has the tact to give them a little space. Liam breaks the oppressive stillness to pull Killian into an almost aggressive hug. “I love you, Brother,” he whispers fiercely.

And really, that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Beneath everything else Killian is feeling right now, he loves Liam. Always has, always will. That’s all that matters, especially now in what might be their last moments together is this goes poorly. “I love you too,” he whispers back into the flesh of Liam’s shoulder, the spot he always used to rest his head as a young lad, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

When they break apart, Liam nods briskly, his face settling again into an expression of determination as he turns towards the rest of their little group. “Are you ready with the rope?” he asks.

“Whenever you are, Captain,” Robin promises with his usual good humor.

“No sense in waiting, then,” Liam concludes. And with a final brave smile in Killian’s direction, he executes a neat dive into the River.

It feels like an eternity, watching Liam dive ever deeper towards the bottom of the riverbed. Killian feels like he’s holding his breath the entire while, disregarding the fact that he no longer has any breath to hold. It’s terrifying to watch. The Crystal doesn’t appear to be too far below the surface, but Liam keeps swimming and swimming and reaching and reaching and never quite getting there. All the while, they can see Emma’s protective spell spark and fizzle, visibly disintegrating under the erosion of the waters. Even as Killian thinks it, he spots pieces flaking off and floating to the surface even as Liam is still forced to keep going. It feels like watching his brother die right before his eyes again, and Killian can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

By some miracle, though, Liam keeps going. They all stand ready by the rope, ready to pull him back up, but his brother doesn’t show any signs of the confusion the River of Souls could visit upon him. Maybe this could work, maybe all hope isn’t lost —

And it isn’t. Liam grabs onto the Crystal and Killian lets out all that breath he’d been holding unnecessarily, slumping forward with relief. Below the surface, Liam kicks off from the bottom and swims for the surface, ascending at what seems a much quicker pace than his descent. That may just be an illusion though; Killian knows how time can drag when faced with that kind of dread.

Liam breaks the water’s surface with a grin, shaking his head and sending droplets flying. “It seems there might be some truth to the stories about this thing,” he declares. “It certainly healed me.”

Killian lurches forward to envelop his brother in a desperate hug as soon as Liam is back on dry land. He can’t even bring himself to be bothered by the way Liam is no doubt soaking his clothes, so great is his relief. “Thank the gods it did,” he mutters. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

“Of course I am, Brother,” Liam whispers back. “You thought I could leave you again?”

Killian holds tight for a moment longer before a pointed clearing of Regina’s throat breaks them apart. “Can we return to less humid ground now that we have the damn thing? Or are you two planning to stay down here for the foreseeable future?”

“After you, Your Majesty,” Killian gladly cedes. As they all settle back in the boats to make their way back towards the elevator and upper surface of the Underworld, Killian gladly pulls Emma into his side, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair and drawing comfort from her presence. Finally, finally there’s a glimmer of hope that they might actually be able to save him.

When the elevator doors open, however, it’s to reveal their worst case scenario: Hades himself standing between the doors and where Belle is trying to protect Henry with her very body.

“So good of you to show up!” the god oozes. “Have I got a proposition for you!”

[blue-means-stop]

Unsoupervised

FANDOM: Undertale AO3 LINK: Link CHAPTERS: 1/1 RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1506 words WARNINGS/TAGS: Food mention, awful vaguely sexual puns, a bunch of dorks being dorks, a whole lot of sass, and some light shit posting.

DESCRIPTION: I haven’t felt a desire to really write lately, however that didn’t stop me from harassing the discord chat I’m apart of, with really lousy ideas. Here’s one of them involving the Pap6. Twist belongs to itsladykit and Portugal belongs to sansy-fresh, both used with permission. I’m sorry.

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Standing in the infamous pasta/Mexican/Asian/Random Non American Food aisle, Fell shifted his stance to achieve better judgment with a cocked hip. He stared at the absolutely awful selection of all of three pastas and tried to ignore the low key building ire. The local grocery store, a generic chain store at that, was severely lacking in a lot of everything. He should have turned around the moment he whiffed bleach and the faint aroma of rotten onions. Why were there two different elbow macaroni? Fell eyed one box than the other with a deliberate frown. They were physically the same thing, only one seemed to be an off brand, claiming to be better than name brand. The cartoony thumbs up did little to persuade him.

But elbow macaroni? He scoffed under his breath. What was he, some soccer mom with a taste for bland, tasteless macaroni salad with olives, trying to pass it off as some gourmet secret recipe at the last PTA meeting. We all know you got it off the back of a Kraft box, Helen.

He’d lost track of time, reasoning and the others, the wild pack of Papyri that had strong armed him in tagging along, only to scatter in separate directions the moment they stepped through the automatic doors. The droning, repetitive elevator music the store piped through speakers that could only have originated from the Stone Age had wiped away his ability to care.  Was that…? He tipped his skull to take in the piano rendition of a Whitesnake classic. Fell hummed. Maybe it was better if he cared even less.

Keeping one clawed hand on his cart to prevent it from rolling away (He always got stuck with the one with a shitty wheel), he eyed his three options for the seventh time and lofted a brow at the abrupt cut of music. There was a sharp, ear piercing shriek of feedback as some seventeen year old, stock boy probably named Steve, breathed heavily into the microphone before pulling it away to stop the shrieking of the damned.

“Will a Mr. Fell...” The awkward pause promised so much. “Hot Topic, please come to the front of the store. Your son is waiting for you. A Mr. Fell Hot Topic. Your son is waiting.”

The sudden return of music did nothing the quell the sudden loathing of taking any of his idiots with him on errands. With a rueful sigh that trailed off into a low sound of the undead, Fell shoved the box of pasta back on the shelf, straightened it, and stalked off with his click clacking cart.

It was Slim waiting for him, because of course it was. He stood leaning against the small freezers filled with bags of ice and looking unnecessarily smug. Fell contemplated walking out the store and leaving the others to whatever their fate decided. Instead he settled with catching Slim across the ankles with his slow, creaking, runaway cart.

Unbothered by the vicious attack, Slim leaned into him conspirator like, voice quiet as if he was about to impart some mildly decent wisdom. “i have to show you something.” His breath smelled like butterscotch and he nodded gravely before padding off, hands in his coat pockets that crinkled with penny candy wrappers.

“DO I EVEN HAVE A CHOICE?”

Fell knew he shouldn’t have followed, but he found himself abandoning his cart in favor of doing just that. He had no ties to it or the lone box of cereal and can of crushed tomatoes laying inside. If it was meant to be, they’d be there when he returned.

Slim led him past the gauntlet of empty checkout stands, finding only one open, no matter how many people were in line, to a group of people Fell had been actively ignoring. If there was anything he’d learned in his life, large group of humans meant trouble. Slim nodded to the group and Fell wasn’t sure what he was suppose to do. He nodded again, making a show of canting his head to the ground as if to make a point.

Before Fell could gripe at him to just tell him what he wanted, he spotted a familiar pair of orange sneakers on the floor and his soul skipped a beat. Shouldering his way through the group, magic crackling at the ends of his phalanges, not caring how close and how many they were before he stopped short.

Stretch laid sprawled on the ground, pointedly refusing to acknowledge he had one arm stuck inside a claw machine game, looking entirely nonplussed at the gathering crowd. Two workers stood next to him, keeping the curious onlookers back as one unsuccessfully tried to free him. Stretch didn’t seem to mind them, his attention directed toward Twist, who’d taken residence atop of the nearby pallet of stacked dog food.

“-i am one of the smartest monsters you will ever meet.” Stretch countered, Fell having missed the beginning of whatever irrational dispute the ashtray was trying to argue.

“Uh huh.” Twist tucked his legs under him, sitting cross legged. 

“i have a PhD!”

“‘Kay.” He rested his chin in his hands, hunched over with the softest grin.

“so i don’t need your attitude.”

Twist nodded, agreeing with ease. “So why is yer hand stuck, sweetheart.”

“becaUSE I WON THIS CUPIE DOLL FAIR AND SQUARE.”

Fell sighed painfully, scrunching his nasal bridge and couldn’t decide if he wanted to rub his temples to ease the sudden and completely unprovoked headache or fold his arms in utter disappointment. He tried for both.

“babe!” Stretched cried happily, leaning forward only to be stopped short by his predicament.

“Do you know this gentleman?” asked one of the workers, two seconds away from taking a crowbar to the machine.

Stretch beamed at him “…I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MONSTER BEFORE IN MY LIFE.”

“rude.”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, especially when Twist chuckled fondly at them both. “I EXPECTED YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM, TWISTED.”

Twist gave a light shrug, content to watch as Slim sidled up beside him, long enough to snap a picture and type out a message on his phone. He reflexively smiled without looking up as Twist settled an arm over his shoulders. His phone pinged as his message was sent and slipped it back into his pocket, offering a loose candy to the other who gave a light shake of his head.

“ARE YOU QUITE DONE?”

“no,” Stretch muttered, stubbornly, folding his one free arm across his chest.

Fell fought the urge to sigh again. “IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU’LL LET GO OF THAT RIDICULOUS TOY.”

“are you gunna spank me if I don’t?”

Could a monster dust of an actual annoyed induced soul attack? Did that kind of thing even exist? Fell pinched the bridge of his nasal bone. “YOU ARE KILLING ME,” he growled. “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR ONLY RIDE HOME.”

“Aww, sweetheart, it ain’t that bad,” Twist interjected.

“i clitterally don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stretched reclined back, tucking his arm behind his head to cushion it against the claw machine.

Fell stilled. “DID YOU… THAT’S A COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE PUN IN A PUBLIC SETTING! THERE’S LITERALLY NO BUILD UP TO IT.” He wasn’t sure if he was actually more bothered by the awful pun or zero reasoning behind it.

One of the workers, Bob by the nametag, cautiously raised the crow bar in his hand. “Do we still need to get him out?”

“snatchurally.”

“I WANT A DIVORCE.”

“we aren’t even married, felly.”

The slow, quiet hum of a motorized scooter denoted the arrival of Cash, sitting quite at ease as it crept forward, regardless of who’s toes were in the way. He stopped once he cleared the group of amused humans and glanced at everyone in turn, phone in hand and one eye silently judging over the mountain of cigarette cartons in his basket. Slowly without breaking eye contact, he backed up, scooter beeping before he drove on, heading for the front door in one very surreal moment.

“Sir, you can’t take that outside,” the other worker started after him, exasperated, “Sir. Sir!”

Fell was fairly certain this was what having a stroke felt like.

“Aaaand he’s gone,” Twist announced before sitting up straight. “Anyone see P?”

A sharp toot of a horn resounded from behind the closed sliding doors, momentarily becoming louder as the worker walked after Cash, ensuing a slow speed chase through the parking lot. The horn honked again, longer and impossibly louder, drawing the lingering curious to look.

Portugal leaned impatiently out the passenger side window of their vehicle, glaring back at the group. “Get a move on, fuckos. I ain’t got all day!”

Fell patted his pockets for his car keys, finding them mysteriously missing. “WHO THE HELL GAVE HIM MY KEYS?” At the chorus of shrugs, he refrained from dragging his hands down his face and marched toward the entryway. “PORTUGAL! GIVE- DON’T YOU FLIP ME OFF RUNT!”

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in Discord: Chapter 11

Authors’ Note: Let us start off with the week with another chapter!! I know we left you guys on the edge of your seat... @rauliskafan and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you again for the amazing feedback! :) Now, let us get on with it!!

           “How is it going?”

           Neither Natalia or Rafael spoke upon encountering Rollins and Carisi on the courthouse steps. The detectives exchanged a quick glance as Langan approached.

           “We knew Ashtonja would be called to the stand soon enough,” he started. “It can’t hurt.”

           “Can’t it?” Natalia asked, casting her eyes downward, her nude colored heel digging into the ground. A small part of her instantly expected Rafael’s hand on her arm, her shoulder…

           …but he stayed as still as the stone beneath her feet.

           “Ashtonja’s only going to have good things to say, right?” Langan asked.

           “Look who’s still on top of the case,” Carisi sneered, and Rollins stepped between the two men.

           “Of course, she will!” Rollins quickly offered.

“Not if the judge asks about last night,” Rafael muttered.

           Looking to her husband with the others, Natalia saw him so pensive, a million miles or more away. He never came to bed, and they barely spoke that morning while going through the motions of getting ready. In some ways it was a relief; she was in no mood to continue their argument.

           But hardly having his voice in her ears was akin to a word without any kind of sweet sound.

           “I’ll tell you one thing,” Langan started.

           “Just one?” Carisi challenged, but Langan ignored him and kept talking.

           “You two go in there again looking like it’s a divorce hearing, and Ines gets even more of an upper hand.”

           “We didn’t---”

           “Don’t think she didn’t notice,” Langan interjected. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalia saw the woman in question leaving with Granger, happily chatting away on her phone.

           And Rafael’s stare followed the same path.

           “Any updates on your glorious investigation?” Langan asked.

           “I’m working on it,” Carisi said defiantly. “Has to be something. Right, counselor?”

           Rafael still said nothing, staring at his phone, and Natalia wanted to scream or pummel his chest with her fists when Rollins snapped her fingers.

           “Barba?” she asked. “You okay?”

           Suddenly, as if awakening from a dream, he seemed to register her presence and just nodded his head.

           “Fine. Can… can one of you please take Natalia home?”

           “That’s not a problem,” Rollins said. With that, Rafael turned to depart.

           “Wait!” Natalia cried out, catching his hand in hers. “Where are you going?”

           “There’s something I have to take care of.”

           “And you’re not going to tell me what it is?” Natalia asked. Raising his free hand, he wiped a few tears from her cheek, his smile faint

           “You just go with Amanda,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

           “B-but, Rafael, I---”  

           “Later, hermosa” Without another word he took off, and Natalia watched until he vanished from her line of sight, her mind flooding with countless fears…

…first and foremost, the thought that she would never see him again.

           It took him half the afternoon and four large coffees, but Rafael had set the wheels in motion. The move was unspeakable. It turned his stomach. And yet, he saw no other way out if his girls were to stay safe. Taking a deep breath, he ascended from the subway to a dark and dirty corner…

…in a very certain section of the Heights.

           Falling back on his street smarts, Rafael briskly walked past the bodegas and delis. A few glances were thrown his way, unspoken questions about his well-tailored suit that still managed to look pristine despite the fact that he had removed his tie. In another life, in his childhood, he would have all but blended in.

But now, he was completely out of place.

           With another glance at his phone, he double-checked the address to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Pausing after two more blocks, he stared down a dark alleyway and spied a guarded door.

           No turning back now.

           “Que es lo que usted busca?” A thin man with dull eyes blocked his way, and Rafael gazed down in disgust at the hand on his chest.

“A tu jefe, tengo necogocio con el.”

           The henchman smirked and nodded to another, larger man.

           “Let him pass, ese es el abogado que Trujillo esperaba.”

           A cold chill crawled up Rafael’s spine. Nevertheless, he tried his best not to show it. Pushing the smaller man’s hand away, he followed the other straight into the club. The place was bathed in purple and blue lights barely concealing the so-called customers receiving dances from scantily clad girls… while white powder disappeared from almost every table top. If the DA’s office ever got word that he was here, his return would likely never come to pass.

But his career was the farthest thing from his mind.

           Rafael followed the large man to a backroom, somehow even darker than the world outside and reeking of smoke and whiskey.

           “Well, look who fucking decided to grace us with his presence! Te estaba esperando,” Ramirez said with a smirk as he tossed a stack of hundred-dollar bills aside and set his cigar on the edge of an ashtray.

           Rafael’s hand couldn’t help but curl into a fist as he stood before his enemy. Trying to stay calm, he had thoughts of funhouse mirrors and alternate realities, the fact that this creature shared his face seeming like the ultimate cosmic joke.

           Ramirez waved his man away and looked at Rafael with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

           “Want a drink?”

           “Not from you,” Rafael said.

           “Poisoning is not my style, Barba,” Ramirez said, downing the rejected whiskey himself in one throw.

           “But stealing is,” Rafael countered.

           “Taking what I earn… I wouldn’t necessarily call that stealing,” Ramirez corrected him smugly.

           “What would you call stepping into my shoes?” Rafael challenged defiantly. “And taking my wife.”

           “Unexpected prize, pendejo,” Ramirez said with a laugh. “Real question is why she still gets so caliente y molesta around me.”

           Swallowing hard, Rafael took a step closer. “And what about trying to take Ashtonja?”

           Ramirez shrugged off his leather jacket and sat back in his chair, picking up the cigar between two fingers and dragging it to his lips. Rafael watched him contemplate his answer and felt his patience already wearing thin.

“Ya ese tarde no?” he said, looking at the clock on the wall. “And Atticus is not in bed with his wife.” With a whistle, he shook his head. “I can get you another chica. But when you have your hermosa flor waiting at home---”

           “Just answer me!”

            “Or what?” Ramirez scoffed. “Huh? Que me vas hacer?” He took a few puffs from his cigar then abruptly stood up, catlike as he stalked towards his double. “Heard about you two in court today.”

           “And what did Ines say?” Rafael queried.

“Looks like problemas en el paraiso,” Ramirez chuckled. “Doesn’t say much for the marriage. A little stress and the cracks start to show.”

           “Right now, I am not thinking about my marriage,” Rafael quickly replied. “Ashtonja is the priority. Nothing else.”

           At this, Ramirez laughed sadistically and took another pull from his cigar. “What would you have me say? That Ines was scoring blow in some club when I found out about her connection to you? That it was easy to get her to play along, esa vieja es una puta como su hija?”

           “Don’t you fucking dare talk about Marianna that way,” Rafael growled.

           “You think she could care less about the kid,” Ramirez continued. “Afraid she might turn her out once she needs to score some more dinero?”

            “That’s never happening,” Rafael insisted.

           With another shrug, he set his cigar aside again and looked back to Rafael.

“Really don’t need another girl on the street,” he continued. “Could use someone pretty on my arm.”

“Meaning?” Rafael asked, his voice thick.

           “You know, my mind keeps going back to my dulce momento with Natalia. The way she smelled…” He smirked as he ran one hand across his thigh, stopping at the space just below his belt. “Su piel suave y la hice toda m­­ia, and let me tell you she was loud… is she always that loud?”

           “Stop,” Rafael hissed, beads of sweat beginning to dot his brow.

           “You never knew how to handle here. I do. Mierda, I must have made her come four times. But you? Couldn’t fuck her like a real man before. And now, just a broken prison bitch better left bent over a table.”

           “How… how did you know about that?” Rafael nervously asked.

           “Not like it’s some secret,” Ramirez said. “I can get Hector in here to walk you down memory lane. Unless you have something… else in mind.”

           Sensing a kind of chance even as his vision blurred, Rafael gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath.

           “And… and what if I gave you that girl on your arm?” he quietly asked.

           “Already told you that I’m not interested in the kid.”

           “Not… not who I’m talking about,” Rafael said, his head throbbing. “I… I mean…”

           “Oh!” Ramirez rubbed his hands together as his smirk consumed his face. “I get it! What’s the point? Probably can’t get it up anymore anyway. So… Natalia to make Ines go away?”

           Before either man could utter another word, a scuffle followed by a loud bang twisted the pair of matching faces at the same time.

           “Open up right now!”

           Rafael’s heart froze, his eyes on fire with fear and fury…

           “Mi mariposa!” Ramirez exclaimed. “We were just talking about you!”

Tagging: @minidodds @dreila03 @fortheloveofallthingsraul @rafi-esparza @mrsrafaelbarba @delia26 @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @yourtropegirl @obfuscateyummy @letty-o @mrschiltoncat @morbid-apricots