#and it seems to be an insurmountable barrier for most guys i know

[guinevereslancelot]

it's june 😳

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day Two / Part One | Hades

Hey lovelies this isn't completely done (this chapter, I mean) but this was a good spot to post it because it's been a while and I'm proud of this part. The next part will be about the same length (I'm guessing) and will be the long awaited bathtub scene! enjoy, and sorry for how ramble-y this chapter is. It's on purpose LOL!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: PTSD in action on both parts, self-loathing

Word count: 2.7k

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Master List

Maybe saying yes is the wrong answer. It certainly goes against the protocol his commander explicitly told him to follow.

Stay inside, Barnes. Keep the curtains closed, limit the amount of lights on inside the house. Don’t let her out of your sight— not even for a second.

It was all basic, day one things that any rookie would know. Bucky is a lot of things but he isn’t a rookie— he’s been around the block his fair share of times and then some. Still, the last thing his commander had told him rings through his ears as he crosses the threshold of the Wilson’s family residence and feels the sun, warm and steady on his face— and on his one, good arm— for the first time in twenty-four hours.

Be a ghost, Barnes, or you might just become one; you understand me?

Bucky had answered yes, again— obviously. Maybe that’s just a thing he does; saying yes when he doesn’t know what else to say. Saying yes when he should be saying anything but.

But what?

But it’s not like it really matters— there was no other choice that time. He’s a soldier, he was given his orders, and— whether he likes it or not— Bucky always follows his orders.

The door creaks shut behind him, a little loud for his liking but the sound of the willow trees snapping in the yard are enough to drown it out for the most part— Well, Bucky always follows most of his orders.

That was also before everything went straight to hell, though— before no one thought to tell him that he's not dealing with a victim; he’s dealing with a survivor. Fucking military— he should have known they’d leave the important details out. They’ve been shoddy since the forties, always squirreling away information from the little guys. Eighty years later, one hundred and six years old, and he’s still a little guy. No closer to gaining an invite to the big kid table than he was at twenty-six when he still had two good arms. If anything he’s further away now, begging for scraps when there was once a point in his life where he at least had a seat somewhere.

With someone.

Nothing’s changed— nothing will change and he doesn’t expect it to— but this time there’s a difference.

There’s a big one.

It’s the canyon between grief and watching your family get slaughtered in front of you; the insurmountable jump from longing for those you’ve lost and having them ripped away from you so violently that you can’t function. Can’t sleep. Wake up scared. Jump away from every touch, every noise, like every shattered vase is out to personally kill you—

Why the fuck wouldn’t they tell him that the girl he’s supposed to be protecting has PTSD? He may be old— the term may be different now— in his day they used to call it shellshock— but it’s yet another thing that hasn’t changed. Nothing ever changes; not really— not for him.

Soldier.

Scientist.

Same fucking difference— the signs are still the same and she has all of them.

He would know— he should have known from the moment he walked through the door— they should have told him!

He saw the pictures. Saw the scarlet circles and lifeless eyes and blood. Fuck, there was so much blood and that was just a grainy photpgraph from a junky projector! He couldn’t smell it— couldn’t taste it— through the pictures but he has an imagination— well, what’s left of one at least. He can’t say he didn’t leave most of his creativity in those hills of Austria— gods only know he left most of everything else there— but even if he had left all of it he wouldn’t have to dig far for a memory of his own. They don’t tell you as a soldier that fresh blood smells like rotting honey— that it lingers in your clothes and hair and on your goddamn lips for hours.

Soldier.

Shooter.

Fucking psychopath with a gun and one arm and snow still shoved so far down his throat that he can’t breathe—

No, if they don’t bother telling their soldiers then there’s no way anyone thought to tell the cherry pie angel. They probably thought it would ruin her sweetness. They probably didn’t even think to tell her at all. Bucky definitely didn’t. He should have. If he had, maybe he would have been able to catch her before the flies ate through her wings completely. Maybe if he had just done his damn job instead of being sucked in by the sticky marmalade of her laughter then he would have seen the way she was melting right in front of his face. July in Brooklyn does that to a person.

It brings the flies to the cherry pie.

The flies to the rotting honey.

The flies to too fucking late— he had twenty-four hours and instead of doing something he just let her sink. Some guard dog he is.

Bucky watches as she gingerly sits on the edge of the white swing, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. She lifts her feet as soon as she’s down, toes hanging a good few inches off the ground as they curl around the thick bayou air, clenching and unclenching rhythmically. They never touch the bamboo mat and her eyes never lift from the shoreline— not even when he takes a couple measured steps towards her. It’s unnerving, to say the very least.

“We can’t stay out here too long.” Bucky isn’t used to speaking this quietly but it feels like if he doesn’t level his voice to match the whispering of the wind across the bulrushes then he’ll be hurting her more than he already has.

Her answer isn’t any louder than his— the only reason he even hears it at all is because he refuses to look away from her. He only hears her because his eyes are already on her lips, willing her to stop sinking her teeth into the soft flesh. Please, please, please stop—

“I just need a few minutes.”

Her eyes are wide and rimmed with red, toes continuing to work against the breeze with the same automatic movements. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. He doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to work the feeling back into them— or maybe like she doesn’t know that she’s doing it at all. Hell, if the way her eyes have glassed over means anything then he would wager that there’s a good chance she doesn’t even fully know she’s outside. Yeah, that’s shellshock alright. Clench. Unclench. Clench. He doesn’t realize he’s copying her movements until his jaw aches.

Unclench.

“I know, doll. I—” He finally tears his gaze from her rigid figure— from her bruised lips— looking as well to the horizon. Maybe she’s on to something; maybe the waves will tell him how to help her— “I know.”

Can they tell him how to help himself? He shuffles forward again, stopping at the edge of the swing, gaze sweeping from the water to the barriers of the premise. Who is he kidding— of course they can’t. This isn’t about his salvation anymore. Those days have more than come and gone. Now it’s about hers— it’s about an assignment and keeping ten toes and ten fingers connected to two legs and two arms. Right now is about an order and Bucky Barnes can certainly follow orders— maybe that’s all he can do.

He gives the shaking girl who— despite everything— is swathed so prettily in the shade of the porch another once over.

Maybe but maybe not too.

Maybe he can’t follow orders at all.

Maybe he can’t afford to think about it for too long.

Because if he can’t follow orders then what can he do?

Bucky is still staring at her when she speaks again but her sudden words still make him jump nonetheless. “There’s room.” Her voice falters for a moment, lips hanging open and eyes faraway, before she continues. “If you want to sit, I mean. There’s room.”

He shouldn’t— he knows he shouldn’t, sitting isn’t a part of his orders— but he does. He couldn’t say no to her if he wanted to.

“Thanks.”

He definitely doesn’t want to say no to her.

“Sure.” Her voice is barely a hum— barely there at all— and he can’t choose whether to look at her lips or her fingers, which are now following suit.

Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.

It’s an impossible decision— much like the ones from his days as a soldier— but it demands a choice from him nonetheless— unlike the ones from his days as a pawn. Her nails drag over the wood, snagging every so often, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Clench. Can she even feel him next to her? Back in the day— before that day— he used to watch his comrades do the same thing. He used to do the same thing. Sometimes he still does. He knows exactly what he would want someone to do for him.

He makes the choice for an impossible decision, wrapping his hand around hers until their fingers are laced together. “You can talk to me, if you want.”

It seems to work, if only marginally, because she stiffens for a moment, fingers flexing around his. Bucky can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, the way she grips his hand so unsure of herself. Is she unsure of herself, though, or is she still lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, drowning in her rotten honey thoughts?

Her hand stills— an answer in itself— before her voice, slowed as though stopped by lips that have been glued shut, sounds. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?”

It’s not what he’s expecting but what else is new— neither was she and yet he’s here, listening to the moments they’re allowed to be outside— all of zero moments, that is— tick away as her toes clench and unclench.

Tick, tick, tick— what would his commander say.

“Yes.”

Steve used to ask him the same thing, Bucky adds silently, but only when they got older.

He supplies, “I think maybe that’s a part of being human.”

Tick, tick, tick— his commander wouldn’t say anything, he would just put Bucky on probation.

Still, he doesn’t rush her— he can’t. He won’t. She just told him she’s drowning; he’s not going to be the ocean to her frenzied attempts to stay afloat. He’ll just hold her hand, and keep looking over her shoulder, and then over his own, and when the time comes he’ll tell her they have to go, because that’s what she’s expecting. He would know— there have been times he’s wanted someone to do the same for him.

Tick, tick, tick— this is worth probation.

“I don’t think I like being human.” She hums back.

No, Bucky wants to say— no, I don’t either, doll.

Being human sucks and he’s not very good at it. He would know, he’s been a lot of things— been compared to a lot of things. Robot. Popsicle. Dog— yeah, he’s a real jack of all trades and so far human isn’t near the top of his ‘favourites’ list. Maybe that’s because if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be any of the other things either— maybe if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be so easily turned into a monster.

Tick, tick, tick— maybe.

Tick, tick, tick— have his thoughts always been so disorganized?

Tick, tick, tick— maybe it’s the shellshock.

Bucky doesn’t say any of that, of course.

What he does say is— “What would you like to be instead?” —as if he can make everything all better himself.

He can try, at least. He’s been compared to a slave too. Being hers doesn’t sound all that bad.

Thunder rolls over head and it sounds more like a grandfather clock— or the impatient tapping of his commander’s fingers— than anything Bucky’s ever heard. Still, he waits to move. Tick, tick, tick. He waits for a lot of things.

Bucky waits for the sky to turn grey— for the first droplets to mix with the salty bay air and blow against his neck and face.

It’s familiar, the sticky, salty rain, and he isn’t expecting it.

He isn’t expecting Delacroix to remind him so much of his own home in Brooklyn.

He isn’t expecting the way that sitting next to this soft creature feels so much like sitting on the docks with Steve the summer before his enlistment. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning— Steve had said it at one hundred but he may as well have said it then, at eighteen, too. Because little did Bucky know, Steve had always felt a little bit like he was drowning and now Bucky, at one hundred and six, always feels a little bit like a bad friend.

Like a bad brother.

Like a bad dog— he should have scented it out all those years ago but instead he just waited.

Tick, tick, tick— all he does is wait.

Bucky waits for her to squeeze his hand once more— for her tiny fingers to alert him that she’s ready to move.

Maybe if Bucky had waited until Steve had told him that he was ready all those years ago then Steve would have waited for Bucky to be ready too. Because as he sits here, his skin turning swampy in the sticky, salty rain he realizes that no, he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers to leave him behind.

He wasn’t ready to face the world alone.

He wasn’t even ready to face Brooklyn alone. Sometimes he still waits at the deli for him and orders the hero sandwich because even though he doesn’t like the absurd amount of pickles, Steve always had. Maybe if he eats enough— and waits long enough— then Steve will come back.

Tick, tick, tick— for a man who isn’t patient, Bucky Barnes sure does do a lot of waiting.

Bucky waits for her answer— because that’s what matters most. Not Steve’s wishes, not his commander’s impatient tapping, not even his own nostalgia that’s starting to make him, too, feel like he’s drowning. He used to love swimming in the Atlantic but when he licks his lips and tastes salt he’s sure it would take a miracle to get him to go in again. It would take a hundred years— or maybe just eighteen— and a push from a man who left Bucky almost as fast as Bucky had left him.

“I want to be a god—” she says it so suddenly that he jolts, eyes scanning their surroundings before realizing it’s just her determined, honey hollow voice sounding from next to him— “I want to be god— or invincible— or anyone but me, I think. I just don’t want to be me anymore. So yeah, I want to be a god.”

She still sounds so far away. Like she’s underwater— like Steve that time he wanted to see if Bucky could hear him scream from under the surf. He couldn’t but he told Steve he could. It doesn’t matter anymore— not right now. Only she does and her airy confession.

It makes Bucky’s heart clench and, as a reflex, so does his hand.

He releases the pressure accordingly— in his hand, not his heart— unclench— and as he does she adds— “and I want to take a bath.”

In that moment, despite his worry for her, he’s ecstatic she isn’t looking at him because if she had been then she would have seen the way his jaw drops. It takes him a moment to answer— a moment to pull himself out of the gutter his frozen-robot-dog brain drags him to— but he settles on one thought in surprisingly record time.

He can’t make her a god but he can sure as hell watch her back if she wants to take a bath.

He can’t make it all better but he can do that no problem.

So of course he stands, squeezing her hand one last time before saying, “okay, doll.”

Maybe Bucky is following orders after all. Maybe it’s a matter of choosing which— whose— orders to follow.

____________

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[jingabitch]

a concept (but also a request) --- a saesang discovers yn and tries to harm/blackmail her, and is almost successful. i'd love to see how the boys react and how they protect her

It has been a while !! since I wrote anything for this and I always worry that I’ve lost the AU. Let me know what you think as always, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this!

Word count: 5k

series index

Spa days are fun. They’d always been something you enjoyed, but didn’t have the money or time to indulge in before the boys. Since you’ve come to live with them, however, it’s become a group activity for you, which is all the better. Needless to say, pampering yourself is now a regular hobby, one they’re all too willing to encourage. It’s a nice compromise for when you feel like going out – they drop you off at the spa on their way to work and pick you up on the way back, and the spa employees know to text Namjoon frequently about what you’re getting up to.

Today’s spa session, however, is even more exciting than usual for you, because you’re preparing to attend an award show. Not as their date, of course – kpop idols don’t get dates – but as a member of the audience. They’d managed to wrangle you a ticket to the best seat in the house, after your persistent begging for weeks, and definitely way too much flaunting of your new engagement ring because all of them grew soft when they saw it.

It was all worth it in the end, because they eventually caved and let you go for the show. Not without a bunch of rules like ‘don’t talk to anyone’ and ‘come straight home’, or hiring what amounted to an armoured vehicle to ferry you to and from the event, but you’re excited nonetheless.

The show is tomorrow, and you’re going to be alone for most of the day because the boys have to rehearse for their performance, go early and all that, but for today, you’re with the seven of them being massaged and waxed and scrubbed together, and it’s amazing.

“Joonie-oppa?” you say into the dark silence of the room where you’re all lying as you get facials.

“Hmm?” he mumbles back, clearly half-asleep. You bite back a smile of fondness, not wanting to disturb the layer of goop on your face.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, knowing that he’s the one who made all the arrangements for you to go. It can’t have been easy, since you’re a secret they’re determinedly keeping.

“You’re welcome,” he responds, his words still slightly slurred.

“Why didn’t you say thank you to the rest of us?” Jimin, ever the needy one, whines.

“I’ll thank you when we get home,” you respond, biting your lip against the smile that threatens to emerge. They’re all so cute, you just want to pinch their cheeks and show them love. And now you get to do just that for the rest of your life. What a lucky girl you are.

Getting ready for the show isn’t nearly as glamorous as one might imagine. For one thing, you’re alone in the apartment, doing your own hair and makeup. For another, you’re hardly able to focus on anything because the boys are constantly texting you. It’s like every second they aren’t actively rehearsing or doing sound check or whatever it is, they want pictures of you, updates on how you’re feeling, and, of course, it wouldn’t be Yoongi without repeated questions about whether you’re sure you really want to go for the show.

You love it, of course. After being alone for so many years, you’re hardly in a position to complain about too much attention. There isn’t such a thing, as far as you’re concerned, so you happily pose for pictures with half-done makeup, in the expensive silk robe they’d bought you.

When it comes time to get dressed, the boys insist on Facetiming you so they can see your reaction to the dress they’d bought for you. You know it’s expensive because it comes in a giant Dior box, but the boys had insisted on it remaining a secret for you until it was time to put it on.

With the boys eagerly watching from your phone propped up with some pillows, you lift the lid off the box and promptly gasp in shock. The gown is white, with silk chiffon buds sewn into it. As you lift it out of the box, you note that it’s a gorgeous A-line cut with a flared skirt that will leave only your ankles exposed, and that while the bodice is white, the skirt fades into deep blue and violet, with tiny yellow flowers adorning the hem.

“Oh, my God…” you marvel, speechless as you hold the dress up.

“Do you like it?” Hoseok asks eagerly, unable to stay quiet. He and Taehyung fought for almost a week over the dress before settling on this one, and he, for one, is rather proud of their selection. From afar it looks simple enough, with a classic cut and colour that you, with your more conservative fashion sense would feel comfortable wearing, but still unique, with intricate detailing that satisfied the boys. After all, even if no one at the show knows that you’re theirs, they should still admire you.

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice wobbles slightly, and Jimin immediately crowds closer to the phone, blocking most of the other boys.

“Y/n-ie, are you okay? Are you upset?” His voice is slightly panicked, and you sniffle as you blink away the tears.

“I’m fine, Chim. It’s just… this is so pretty; you guys are always too good to me,” you choke out.

“Stop it,” Yoongi says, knocking Jimin’s head away so he can take his turn peering at you. “You’re perfect; we’re the ones who don’t deserve you,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. You know he isn’t the most vocal about his feelings, so you just smile at him.

“Okay, oppa,” you accept. “Thank you boys for this.”

Jimin returns enthusiastically, pressing his face so close to Yoongi’s that their cheeks are practically touching. You stifle a giggle at how cute they look together. “Y/n-ie! We’re not done! Look in my closet!”

“Uh… okay.” You pick up the phone and leave Yoongi’s room to go down the hall to the bigger one that Jimin and Hoseok share. Sitting on top of the drawers in Jimin’s section of their walk-in closet is a distinct blue box. “You didn’t,” you gasp, setting down the phone to open the box.

“Do you like it? It matches your ring, doesn’t it?” Hoseok yells from somewhere in the background. You stare reverently at the necklace and earrings set, a diamanté chain with a massive teardrop-shaped pendant dangling from it, and matching dangly earrings.

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous.” Ridiculously, you’re on the brink of tears again.

“Well, stop staring at it and go get ready, Y/n,” Seokjin frowns at you. His good-natured nagging is welcome now more than ever, and you nod obediently.

“Okay… I’ll see you later?” The statement comes out as a question against your will. Stupid, of course. The whole point of going to the show is to see the boys accept a whole slew of awards.

Yoongi smiles softly at you, though. “Yeah, baby, we’ll see you later,” he confirms before hanging up, and for the rest of the time that you’re getting ready, you can’t stop grinning.

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

The show is spectacular. From where you’re seated, you have a perfect view of the celebrities in their own section, seated around tables – although you’ve really never understood why, since it’s not like this is a banquet. You ooh and ahh at the appropriate moments, applaud (smugly) when your boys sweep the awards, and in general have a grand old time. You’re alone, of course, but that doesn’t really bother you when you’d had so much time to get used to it in the past.

Besides, it’s somewhat different today. Even though the boys can’t text you given that all eyes – and cameras – are on them and they need to look like they’re engaged with the happenings of the event, their eyes are constantly drifting over to the audience, where they know you’re seated. The urge to wave at them is overwhelming, but you know how imperative it is that you not show any sign of knowing them in public. It was something that Namjoon had emphasized to you repeatedly last night, even though you’re not that sure why that’s the case. He’d said something about hate and crazy fans…?

Truth be told, though, you think his concern is just a tiny bit overblown. Sure, there are overzealous fans out there, but these days it really does seem like fans are becoming more mature. Even Chen from EXO had gotten married recently, and when they announced their engagement most of the reactions had been fairly positive. You hate doubting your boys, but it feels a little like they’re ashamed of you.

Once the seed takes root in your mind, it becomes almost impossible to shake. Years of coping with your insecurities and loneliness have primed you to think the worst, although the boys have always been so attentive that it’s impossible for even you to feel like they don’t care about you. Now, though, with the short distance between you that feels like an insurmountable barrier, it occurs to you that this is a metaphor for your lives. You’ll always be on the outside, looking in. They own you, but the inverse will never be the same.

Thinking about it threatens to send you into a spiral, and you know that you can’t have a full-blown panic attack here, so you leap out of your seat and bolt for the exit. Some fresh air will do you good, you think slightly hysterically, trying to put off the inevitable.

The cool spring air feels good on your overheated cheeks, and you pace up and down the alley next to the building, your arms folded across your chest. It feels like your ribs are constricting your lungs, and you suck in deep breaths of air, trying to calm yourself. Before you can get too caught up in your own mind, however, you hear footsteps behind you and whip around to see who it is.

“Hey,” Yoongi says simply, his hands in his pockets. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you lie, not wanting him to worry, but your voice wobbles slightly before you can catch it. You clear your throat loudly, hoping he’ll think it was just something stuck, but he just raises a brow at you.

Your shoulders slump defeatedly. You know you’ll never be able to hide anything from Yoongi. He’s the one who knows you the best, who saw you at your worst, back when you’d been alone and before he saved you.

“What happened?” he asks, holding his arms out for you, and you dive into them gratefully. You’re careful not to press your face against him, knowing that he can’t go back in with makeup smeared on his clothes, but you rest your chin on his shoulder and let him wrap you up in a hug.

“Are you embarrassed for people to know you’re with me?” you ask in a small voice.

Yoongi’s reaction is almost comedic. The normally lackadaisical man lets go of you to take a step back in shock, one hand on your shoulder as the other tilts your chin so that you have no choice to look at him, despite your best efforts. “Of course not,” he says emphatically, almost shaking you in his eagerness to make sure you understand just now serious he is. “Why? Who told you that?” His voice starts to rise and he starts turning away from you, almost like he’s going rush right back in to yell at his brothers.

You grab his hand so he doesn’t do anything ridiculous and drastic. “No one, it’s just… I don’t know, I feel like a dirty little secret sometimes, you know?”

“Baby…” he sighs. “You know why we can’t go public. It’s not safe for you.”

“I know… but Taeyang got married and it was fine, and Chen’s pregnancy reveal went all right too. I don’t know, I just feel like things might be changing, y’know?”

Yoongi frowns. “Chen’s wife’s identity isn’t revealed to the public, and he’s terrified to let her go out alone these days because of all the backlash from the fans.”

You pout a little. “I never go outside anyway; what does it matter?” you complain a little petulantly.

Yoongi sighs, sensing that this is something you’re going to dig your heels in over. “All right, I’ll talk to the others about it,” he says. “We can test the waters tonight, but promise me that you’ll let us prioritize your own safety over going public, okay?”

You nod obediently, smiling up at Yoongi. “Okay,” you agree. He drops a kiss on your forehead, then sends you back in, waiting a couple of minutes before he re-enters through the back entrance that celebrities use so no one suspects anything.

Little does he know, it’s already too late for such measures.

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

Returning to your seat for the last part of the awards ceremony, you honestly feel a lot better. You don’t know how Yoongi knew you needed him, but he did, and he was there for you, no questions asked. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you out of your own head. Unconsciously you start stroking the edge of the ring adorning your finger. It was something you’d started doing for the boys, but along the way you realized how much the action comforted you as well, reminding you of the commitment they’d made to you.

You’re already seated when you see Yoongi returning to his, winding through the tables spread across the floor to get to the one the boys are at. They look at him inquiringly, but he just shakes his head and explains quietly, looking up at the audience for a second. If you weren’t looking out for it, you wouldn’t have noticed that he was talking about you.

Unfortunately, someone other than you is also looking out.

At the end of the event, the idols start standing up to leave and when your phone buzzes in your clutch, your eyes fly to the boys. Jungkook is casually adjusting his clothing and you can see him slip his phone back into his pocket. You smile to yourself. What a cute boy. He’s not that much younger than you, but you always feel the need to baby him.

You open up your clutch to check your phone, slowly standing to leave. The message you find causes you to glance back at the boys, who are now in a sea of idols all crowding towards the exit points. Taehyung sees you, though, and winks at you. Stifling a giggle, you wink back and follow the crowds out of the auditorium, heading towards the restrooms.

There’s a long line (of course) but you don’t mind, smiling to yourself as you text the boys, letting them know how proud you are of them, and how happy you are to be able to see it this close. The girl standing in line behind you taps you on the shoulder, and you look up at her, confused. “Yes?” you ask, politely, you hope. Your social skills have really deteriorated since moving in with the boys, not that they were necessarily excellent before.

“Your dress is so pretty!” she compliments you, and you giggle in response, flushing.

“Thank you so much!” you accept with grace. You know the dress is amazing – the boys have impeccable taste, after all, and the expensive accessories only highlight your whole outfit. You’re probably overdressed, but you don’t much care. You so rarely get to go out as it is, and you have to admit, you love playing dress up with the boys. It’s like Hobi and Taehyung think of you as a doll sometimes, and you don’t mind it at all.

“No problem! I think BTS liked it too,” the girl giggled. “They kept looking over at you just now.”

“Oh…” you laughed awkwardly, not sure how to respond. “I don’t think so; they just look over at the audience a lot because they care about their fans, I think.” Your excuse was weak, but without any warning, it was all you could come up with.

“No way! They were definitely looking at you. I bet you might even get some numbers tonight,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Wow, that would really be something…” you trailed off, letting the conversation die. Thankfully, your phone pinged again and you excused yourself to continue texting the boys. You thought nothing more of the strange interaction you’d had, assuming it was just some overzealous fan who’d wanted to gush about the boys.

You took your time in the restroom, then hung around the entrance for a bit, watching people leave for the subway or get into cars. When it seemed like most people had left, you slipped back into the building, heading for the backstage area. You slipped in and someone with a clipboard and headset came to chase you away, but before he could, Namjoon came to get you. He brought you to the dressing room where the boys were hanging out, most of the stylists having left already.

“Baby!” Hoseok sprang up and ran to greet you in a way that honestly reminded you of Yeontan. You laughed and opened your arms to hug him, which he accepted happily. He took a step back a second later to take a good look at you, dripping in diamonds and adorned in the dress he’d chosen. You were always prettiest when you wore the clothes he picked, and it was a good thing you tended to agree with him.

He tugged you over to the couch where you sat, squished between him and the other boys. Spending time with them truly was the balm to your soul, you thought. With them around, you could definitely take on anything – overzealous fans, paparazzi, even strange personal encounters like the one you’d had earlier.

You had Yoongi’s jacket over your shoulders as you half-leaned on Taehyung, Jin standing behind you on the couch when you heard a commotion outside the dressing room. Before you could react, there was a scuffling sound and then someone burst through the curtains that were being used to give the rooms some semblance of privacy.

All of you turned, shocked, as the girl you’d been talking to earlier half-fell into the room. “You!” she gasps, just as surprised to see you. The boys immediately stand up, putting their bodies between you and the girl, so you can’t see each other anymore.

“What’s going on?” you wonder, your voice not working well enough to enunciate your words clearly.

Namjoon steps forward, Hoseok right behind him. “Get her out of here,” he directs security sharply, and they make to follow his orders, going to grab her to drag her out of there.

“Wait!” she gasps, lurching forward out of their grasp. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, you’ve said it, now please leave. You’re not supposed to be back here.” Jimin, always the most polite one, says.

“Who is that girl?” the girl ignores Jimin to crane her neck so she can see around the boys.

“None of your business,” Jin snaps in response. While she looks up at him, hurt, the security guards take the opportunity to drag her out of the room.

Immediately, the boys turn back to you, rushing over to make sure you’re okay. Taehyung is so concerned he almost launches himself back onto the couch next to you, and Yoongi admonishes him to be more careful in case he actually hurt you. You smile up at Yoongi, accepting his gentle kisses and concern, but tell him that you’re not that fragile, that Taehyung would never actually hurt you.

When all the boys have made sure that you’re okay and gotten their share of hugs and fussing in, all of you make your way back home.

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

For the next couple of days, it seems like everything’s gone back to normal. You hang the gorgeous dress up next to all the others you now on, and return to your usual attire of loungewear, hanging out on the couch with Yeontan most of the time. The boys, of course, still have to work, so you end up ordering a lot of takeout when Jin isn’t free to cook for you.

Then you start getting sick. At first, you think it’s probably just an upset tummy and review your takeout places, cutting out those that might have caused the issue. But it doesn’t stop, and you keep getting sicker. It gets to the point where you can’t hide it from the boys anymore, after running to the bathroom to throw up right as you’re getting comfortable to watch a movie together on one of the rare free nights they have.

“Baby? You okay?” It mortifies you to note that all the boys are standing right outside the bathroom door, watching you worship the porcelain god.

You give them a weak thumbs up, feeling like you’ve gotten it all out of your system, but then another wave hits and you’re forced to turn back to the toilet. A fresh wave of alarm runs through the boys. Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi try to burst through the door at the same time, getting stuck before Yoongi, the most determined, pushes past the others and runs to you, rubbing your back gently. The others hover back, concerned but also kind of grossed out by what’s happening.

Eventually you stop and reach up weakly to flush the toilet. Yoongi helps you to the sink where Jimin’s already gotten your toothbrush loaded up to brush your teeth. As you snuggle up in bed – at Yoongi’s insistence, despite your insistence that you feel better already – the boys all take care of you in their own special ways. Namjoon, wondering if you’ve developed a sudden food aversion, starts Googling potential causes and making a table of all the things you’ve eaten in the past couple of days, separated by ingredient. Jimin, who’s curled up next to you, tells Namjoon that you should rest, but you shush him, letting Namjoon fret about you in his own way. Jin is in the kitchen, making porridge and mild soups for you to eat for the next few days, while Yeontan lies on the bed, mostly oblivious but pleased to be around everyone anyway.

Over the next few days, you seem to get better, and all of them are relieved to see that you’ve returned to your usual self. Of course, with how busy the boys are, Jin can’t keep cooking for you, and you go back to the takeout food once you’ve finished the last of his porridge.

Immediately you deteriorate again, even though you changed all the places you were getting takeout from. It’s infuriating and confusing, and truth be told, you’re getting a little scared. Not wanting to worry the boys, you try to hide it from them, but your cover was blown when you had to run out of the bedroom to throw up in the middle of the night, probably trampling over a couple of them in your hurry.

After that, you’re forced to confess that ever since you finished Jin’s home-cooked meals, all the food you’ve ordered is making you sick, which makes no sense because you aren’t even ordering from the same place more than once anymore. When you explain that, Namjoon’s jaw does that ticking thing and he kisses your forehead, telling you that everything will be okay, that he’ll take care of it.

The next morning, he’s gone before the rest of you really wake up, to talk to the security staff and check out the camera footage. When he comes back, you’re still in bed, but the others are in various stages of getting ready to go to the studio. He enters the apartment dramatically, slamming the door open and stomping into the bedroom, although the way he trips over the step to get past the entryway undercuts the effect of his rage slightly.

Yoongi is getting dressed when Namjoon barges into the room, but he’s so used to the other members seeing him in various states of undress that he doesn’t even react as he finishes taking his pajamas off. “What is it?” Yoongi asks, deadpan as always.

“That person at the award show has been intercepting all her meals,” Namjoon explained tightly, his jaw clenching.

You and Yoongi looked at each other as the dots connected in your mind. A second later, Yoongi had all but exploded with rage, pacing up and down while muttering about killing her. The others came to see what the commotion was about, Jimin still fastening his earrings and Taehyung buttoning his shirt as he stood in the hallway, and Namjoon had to explain all over again, and then calm everyone down because even if they all felt like it, murder wasn’t really an option for them.

“Guys…” you called from inside the room, since all of them seemed to have forgotten that you were even here. “It’s fine, I’ll just stop ordering delivery and the problem will be solved.”

The boys blinked at you, incredulous at your lack of anger and basic self-preservation. Then again, it was what had led you to them, so maybe they shouldn’t be quite that surprised…

“Well, yes, of course you should stop ordering delivery until we catch this person, but that can’t be all…” Even Hoseok was shocked at your carefree attitude towards someone literally trying to poison you.

“Sweetie, don’t you want that person to be put behind bars or something?” Jimin asked tentatively.

You shrugged. “Sure, but karma will take care of all of that.”

Karma…? Before any of them could question it, Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing everyone’s attention back to him, to explain the plan. Hoseok and Jin interjected once in a while to ask questions and add their suggestions, but the rest listened. Yoongi was still far too furious to think rationally, aggressively cuddling you and wrinkling his clothes, although he brushed that aside when you pointed it out. The younger ones listened with wide eyes, somehow shocked that something like this could happen, even though all of them had experienced crazy stalker fans before.

It was impossible for all of them to stay home, of course. Not only was this completely infeasible from a practical perspective, but there were various phases of the plan that were required to fully ensnare the stalker – not to mention, punish her for her actions. It was the only way that any of them could convince Yoongi to go along with the plan instead of going off by himself to commit murder or something.

First, they realized that since they didn’t actually have video footage of her messing with the food, they didn’t have enough evidence to hold up in court, so additional cameras were installed around the building, in the elevators and even a little one right outside their front door that was hidden in one of those silly “Welcome” signs people liked to put up on their doors. It was obvious that the case going to court would be impossible – they were in the public eye so often that everyone knew none of the boys were sick, and they didn’t want you to have to testify, which would reveal to the world that you were living in their dorm with the rest of them.

Then they had to figure out how she knew which deliveries were theirs. It wasn’t like she was hanging around their apartment complex all day, since that would definitely have aroused suspicion among the security guards. After trying out a few different experiments, they realized she’d somehow managed to tap the landline and intercepted every delivery that was ordered by you with one portion. It was genius, but they weren’t in much of a mood to appreciate it.

It took a couple more weeks, but eventually they managed to get enough footage of her taking their deliveries, sprinkling some sort of powder over it and then delivering it to your apartment. Since she always just knocked and then dropped the food off at your door, you never realized that all the deliveries were being brought to you by the same person.

Meanwhile, to prime the public to rain hate down on her when she was arrested, the boys had been taking turn releasing cryptic messages on vlives and weverse alluding to someone who was harming them and the precious people in their lives. Taehyung even teared up on vlive, which had fans ready to wield pitchforks and torches to hunt down whoever it was.

In the end, instead of taking their evidence to the police, a clip compilation showing the girl poisoning the food and delivering it to the boys’ apartment was ‘leaked’ online, prompting a police investigation without the boys even initiating it with a report. The public outrage was so intense that in a strange turn of events, police protection had to be deployed for her safety, and she quickly pled guilty without trial to avoid the drawn-out agony of a public trial.

In the end, fans all around the world were made aware that there were some lines that the boys wouldn’t tolerate being crossed without serious retaliation. Through the whole debacle, none of the boys made any open statements, but their vlives and weverse messages made so much more sense now that everything was out in the open. It was honestly chilling, how far they were willing to go when boundaries were overstepped.

They didn’t know what exactly had set them off, but you knew. It was you.

[skeletorific]

man i bet it's super odd for the ancestor trolls to be putting out pale feels on anyone, much less a human. I can just see the most frustrated lil ball of horns and teeth trying to figure out if theres, ya know, *room* in a human's life for moirailegence with this whole platonic structure called a family and the only-one-romance-a-hooman standard/stigma and. they need a pap just tryin to figure it out! If you wouldn't mind, i'd love to hear your take on how psiionic darkleer, n dualscar would do

Me skating the fuck in to answer Ancestors requests. (I’m assuming this is in reference to my Ancestors live on Earth C timeline, but the headcanons themselves will work for just a general human interaction, I promise)

So, a note about Earth C and quad: I really can’t imagine that troll, human, and carapacian concepts of romance wouldn’t start to mingle, at least to a certain extent. After all, the three species come up at the same time, right alongside each other.

Quadrants aren’t exactly the norms for humans even there. Our reproductive needs are different, for one-thing. Additionally, I have to imagine that even without the social coding of Earth-A, a good chunk of humans would probably still tend to be fairly monogamous, especially if one of the primary texts left behind was written by a human woman raised on human monogamy who took only one lover herself. However, there’s probably a healthy chunk of humans who go by quadrants, trolls who go by human romance, and some who mix and match (for instance, “This is Ben, my significant other, and this is Meryll, my kismesis”). Its something most people figure out as they get older.

However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the ancestors have cottoned on to the nuances of it all. Getting the idea of human monogamy through their heads was hard enough, and once it happens, of course THEN they have to catch pale feelings for one of the squishy fucks!

The Psiionic: So, unlike the other two on this list, Captor has actually had some experience with relationships that are a little more....fluid. Vantas and Leijon’s relationship always fell squarely in the middle of the chart, borrowing elements from all and none. Hell, his OWN relationship with the two of them tiptoed pitch, pale, ashen, and flushed depending on the day of the week. So, while he does still broadly conceive of things like an Alternian, its not necessarily an insurmountable barrier for him.

How he proceeds depends a lot on whether or not the human already has an s/o. If you do, he ultimately just bites the bullet and asks to talk to both of you (bringing Vantas and Leijon along for emotional support). He doesn’t want to move in where he’s not welcome and he’s got no designs on your flushed relationship. He’s quiet and his voice is shaking a bit as he struggles to keep his nerves (and by extent, his psiionics) under controll. But he’s never seen the point in fucking around the pricklefrond. Either you feel the same, or you don’t.  

If you don’t have an s/o, though, he just sort of carefully allows himself to become a feature in your life. He’s a little shakey socially but he puts the effort in to be around you. Captor’s never gonna be the most effusive emotionally, but he does make a point to give the occasional genuine compliment as to how he appreciates who you are, and what you do. When you’re having trouble he has a tendency to just sort of materialize in the background to offer his help. Pale flirting is all about trust, both engendering it, and demonstrating it for each other. No matter how oblivious you are, its hard not to notice that his walls are usually so high for others, yet they seem to come down around you.

Despite aforementioned not-fucking-around-the-pricklefrond, its possible he won’t ever use the word moirail for you unless you ask him about it. You’re human, and he doesn’t see the need to regale you with the complexities of troll romance if you’re both happy with the current arrangement. One way or another, though, Vantas runs at the mouth and spills the beans to you, and you have a good long talk about it.

Executor Darkleer: This guy, on the other hand, is a staunch traditionalist, paired with the fact that he ultimately thinks he’s somehow unworthy of love in any form. 

Years of social conditioning don’t just fall away because you and your former empress shop for box wine at the same liquor store now. As an expatriate, Zahhak was literally forbidden from contributing to the filial slurry, and was far too isolated to acquire a moirail. The best he had was the occasional frustrated shoosh-pap from Mindfang just to snap him out of his moods for a bit. Now, the old empire may have fallen away, but he’s still to some extent punishing himself. As a result, as soon as he figures out he’s catching pale feelings for a human, he starts avoiding you at all costs. He can’t allow himself to fall into any kind of temptation. The very qualities that attract him to you are the same reason he’s convinced you deserve something better.

Fortunately, there was no way you were friends with Darkleer in the first place if you were the type to let social avoidance turn you off. After a couple of weeks of not hearing from him (and a few confusingly smug texts from Mindfang when you ask her if he’s doing alright and her only response was “Go find out. I’m sure he’ll 8e more than alr8 ;;;;)”), you show up at his hive and bang on the door until he finally lets you in.

If you were hoping for a big confession, you’ll probably be a little disappointed: he’s not the type. But he does let you chastise him for withdrawing like that, finally extracting a promise that he won’t do it again. All the while him thinking that this, too, could be part of his penance. To let the human stay with by your side....but not allow yourself the luxury of what you truly want....why its almost scandalous-

Yup. He’s pale edging himself, and will continue to do so until you finally break down and demand he explain why he’s being so weird. Or until Mindfang loses her patience and tells you herself, if only to get him to stop leaving soliloquies in her DMs. Either way.

Dualscar: Another traditionalist, but he’s never really been lucky enough in love to be that picky about the system he falls under. The last proper, long-lasting quadrant relationship he had was his kismesis with Mindfang, and well.....kind of a funny story how that one went, honestly.

Assuming you’re single, his way forward is pretty easy. He reads up on human romance for 48 hours straight and presumes he knows what the fuck is up. Honestly its not terribly different from moirallegiance in some respects. You’re supposed to uplift your partner, and plenty of sources recommend that your s/o should be your “best friend”. Conversations involving your feelings are a norm, and humans even have the concept of a “fated match”, something pretty integral to Alternian moirallegiance. As for the rest, well, he can lean into some of the redder aspects of his feelings, pull out the old Ampora charm, and leave the rest in Lady Luck’s hands, right?

Right?

Well....for the first few months it works fine. You’ve always been close with Dualscar, felt like you got each other on some level, and to some degree a romantic relationship felt like a natural extension of that. He can be sweet, showers you with gifts, and is good at listening to your problems and letting you bitch without making you feel like you’re burdening him. He’s funny, in a bitchy dad kind of way, and frankly kind of dashing. 

But something’s off. You notice he seems to shrink down a little bit when you try to get a bit more physical with him. Not like he dislikes it, necessarily, more like he’s...confused. While you feel closer with him than ever, there’s none of those flowery declarations you find tucked in his journal, dedicated to great loves in his past. Even on your end, you feel like you still just think of him as like.....a best friend, but more so somehow? Being romantic with him as you would be with a human feels...wrong, You reflect each other so well and so closely that its like you’re a piece of each other, and calling him your boyfriend feels like trying to call yourself your own boyfriend.

The truth comes out when you try to break up with him and in a panic he explains himself to you. Running through a long (and somewhat incoherent) crash course on troll romance, with a special focus on moirallegiance. He’s stumbling over his words (unusual when he’s sober), half waiting for your eyes to widen in shock and for you to end things forever.

So imagine his shock when you blink a few times and say “why the hell didn’t you just say so?”

As Peixes would say later, “L-Eave it to an Ampora to mak-E s)(it way mor-E glubbin complicat-Ed t)(an it n-E-Eds to b-E.”

[themuffinbee]

Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Touching, Caleb is touch-starved, He also has a crush on Jester, He does not know either of these things, Touch-Starved, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Widojest 

Summary:

What if a certain inquisitive cleric and a certain scruffy wizard had taken watch together in that crystalline cave on the way to Xhorhas? And what if she wanted to get a better look at what he’s been hiding under those bandages?

A little missing scene that could have happened in episode 50.

A/N:  Many, many thanks to Jadesabre301 ( a.k.a. Jade_Sabre on Ao3) for beta-ing this fic. She’s an amazing beta AND a fantastic writer, go read her sweet, fluffy Widojest stuff!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A stream of droplets trickled down the side of the bubble, no doubt from one of the jagged crystals gleaming up above. On the other side of the magical hut, the Mighty Nein slumbered away under the cover of Caduceus’s stone shell, the air punctuated with an occasional snore from Beauregard.

Caleb scratched at his arms.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t help but dig under his bandages to get at an itch that wasn’t actually there. Their current surroundings were stunning, true, but the glittering shards covering every visible surface only served to stoke unpleasant memories. Some much more recent than others.

“Hey, Caaay-leb, whatcha thinking about?” his companion whispered to him in a singsong melody.

Five minutes and forty-six seconds. Jester had lasted longer in the silence than he had expected.

“Oh, nothing much. You?”

“Just trying figure out if there’s a way to hollow out a cake, like, a small one, and fill it with the jelly they put inside doughnuts,” she replied, plopping her head onto her hand and tapping her chin, “The problem is, it would glop all over the place when you cut into it, and maybe make the cake all soggy.”

He pondered this for a moment, more than happy to escape his own thoughts, “I don’t know much about baking, but what if you made it thicker with some kind of starch? Or gelatin? Would that work?”

Her eyes brightened. “Maybe! I don’t know too much about baking either, but it would be delicious, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “That it would.”

“Thank you!” She paused, brows beginning to furrow. “I was also trying to make sense of the last few days. Things have gotten pretty crazy.”

Caleb stiffened and made a vague noise of affirmation, gaze drifting off to the side. His mind flashed to all of the things he had said, and left unsaid, two days ago. A subtle sense of panic began buzzing along his nerves, years of practiced self-preservation taking hold in an instant.

Change the subject, you don’t want to open the door to this conversation.

He could ask about her mother, but that might make her sad…Maybe her art? Better yet, asking her about the Traveler might–

“You know, that’s actually why I wanted to keep watch with you tonight.” She scooted closer to him. “I have a question for you…”

Scheiße. Too slow.

Thinking back, he should have turned her down the moment she volunteered for second watch right after he did. She had been far too eager, raising her hand with such force that she practically jumped off the ground. Why hadn’t he suspected anything then?

“…And you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” She waved her hands in front of her. “It’s totally fine if you don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Jester, I don’t think I–”

“Oh, and I wanted to thank you,” she cut in.

“Thank me?” He frowned. He had done nothing worthy of special thanks.“Whatever for?”

“I wanted to thank you….” she plunked her words out one by one, like a child practicing an instrument “…For trusting us. I know that must have been pretty difficult.”

She beamed at him, and he felt something loosen and tighten in his chest all at the same time. That had been happening a lot as of late. Far too often, actually.

That needs to stop.

He swallowed and cast his eyes to the ground, “Ja.”

Why was she looking at him like that? With those violet eyes filled with sincerity and a smile so warm it could melt winter itself within half a second? He had revealed that he had been lying to the Nein for months, using them as a shield, a front, and she thanked him for it?

She would never look at him like that if she knew what he was, everything he had done. His general allusions of being trained to torture were the least of his sins in his past life.

She doesn’t have to know any more than she already does. It’s not too late, change the subject.

Gluing his eyes to a pebble by his foot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, “So, what was your question?”

It was a rare thing for him to ignore his instincts. After all, his abundance of caution had kept him safe for years, kept him from getting caught, from getting killed. Tonight, however, he found himself rebelling against his better judgment. Whether it was out of curiosity or masochism, he had no idea. Maybe he was just tired of hiding, of peddling in secrets and lies, of fearing what she thought of him.

“Well, you see, I was wondering if it would be all right,” she leaned in and whispered, “if I could take a closer look at your arms.”

Caleb blinked. “You what?”

“Your arms,” she motioned to his threadbare bandages, “I’d like to look at them. I just wanted to check them out, healing being my thing and all.”

Well, that made perfect sense, now didn’t it? It wasn’t the worst thing she could ask of him, not by a long shot. He had expected the ever-inquisitive cleric to dig straight into the sizable holes he had left in his story. But still…

“I’d really rather not, they’re a bit of a…uh…a bad memory.”

“Oh.” Jester’s face fell a tad, then brightened once again. “That’s okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He frowned. “Why do you want to look at them anyway? They’re far beyond healing, there’s nothing you could do.”

“Well…” she began rummaging around in her component pouches, “I figured, now that we may be coming up against some big bad magic guys, it might be a good idea to know if they have a little extra somethin’–somethin’ up their sleeve, and maybe how it works, you know?

“Aha! There you are!” she whispered in triumph as she pulled out a tiny striped lollipop, a miniature version of her confectionary Spiritual Weapon. She held it out to him. “You want one too?”

“No, but danke.”

“You sure? They’re reeeally good,” she half-sang in that cadence of hers. “I got a bunch of them in Nicodranas right before we left, so they’re still pretty fresh.”

He shook his head with a wan smile and a small chuff of air through his nose that might be construed as a chuckle.

This seemed to appease her. Jester nodded happily and popped the sweet in her mouth, speaking around the candy. “Could I ask you another question instead?”

No.

He sighed, watching his fingers fiddle with the hem of his coat to keep them from tugging at his bandages. “You can ask, but you may not get an answer.”

This is a bad idea.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded and thought for a second, “Do you think there are more people out there like you?”

Caleb looked up, “Do I think what now?”

“You know, others. People that ran away from the Assembly or the Academy?”

“I��I don’t know. I hadn’t ever considered it.”

He hadn’t. Not really, anyways. When he had first been thrown into the institution, he had near-feverish fantasies of Astrid or Eodwulf getting thrown in with him, of them being together once again and escaping far from the reaches of the Empire.

But it had never happened.

There had been no rescue party. His hope has been crushed into dust long before the end of those eleven hellacious years.

“Well,” Jester continued, “if there are others, maybe we could help them. That’s why I was wondering about your arms. If, like, they still had magic stuff in theirs and wanted to get it out. Who knows? Maybe even Yeza has some, since he was working for the Cerberus Assembly.”

“I see.” This conversation hadn’t gone the way he was expecting at all.

Then again, nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected if Jester was involved.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the cleric fished her sketchbook and pencils out of her haversack.

“I’m going to make some drawings for the Traveler for a little while, is that cool?”

He nodded but said nothing, staring off into darkness as a flurry of thoughts whirled between his ears.

In his five years on the run, he hadn’t even dared to hope that there may be someone else like himself out there. The power of Trent Ikithon and the Assembly had grown to near omnipotence in his mind, their controlling influence in every realm of the Empire being an insurmountable barrier against other dissenters.

Hell, even someone like Pumat Sol was a member of the Assembly. The genial firbolg may have spoken well of the organization, but that brief flash of fear in Pumat’s eyes when he talked about Headmaster Oremid Haas spoke louder.

No, it was doubtful there was anyone else.

Caleb turned his attention back to Jester as she flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, catching glimpses of the Nein’s various exploits recorded in ink and graphite. Every once in a while, he would spot sketches of Kiri, Nila, Shakaste, and so many others. Though he may not entirely understand it, Caleb knew the cleric’s drawings were more than doodlings for her metaphysical best friend; they were prayers to her god. It was staggering, really, the number of portraits she had etched into those pages, the number of people she managed to care for all at once.

Consternation gave way to uncertainty, and perhaps the most minuscule bit of guilt, as he thought about what she had said, that the scars of his past could aid someone in the future. Granted, the chances of that were slim to none. Even still, he had told her not seventy-two hours ago that he believed in her, that he trusted her…What was the harm in testing that faith out a little?

You’ll ruin everything. Don’t taint your friendship more than you already have.

But she already knew what his arms looked like, didn’t she? There was nothing to hide. At least, not on this front.

“…All right,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears.

“Hm?” She looked up from her drawing. “What was that?”

“I said all right, you can look at my arms.”

Her face split into a smile, “Really?”

“Really really,” he responded, shrugging out of his coat and unwrapping the bandages at his elbows before he lost whatever speck of courage he had managed to gather.

Idiot. You’re as big a sucker as that candy she has in between her teeth.

Jester scrambled back over to him until they were sitting knee to knee, watching with an intensity and focus normally reserved for her sketches. With an absent-minded crunch, she bit into the lollipop and placed the stick back in its wrapper.

Fighting off a small wave of nausea, Caleb held his arm before her.

She gently took hold of it, “Now, just tell me if you change your mind and I’ll stop, okay?”

He nodded, then held his breath.

Jester closed her eyes and whispered something he couldn’t quite make out, a prayer on playfully reverent lips. Her eyes opened, and a quick flash of green light filled her irises before it burned away like verdant embers.

Smart girl, casting magical detection like that. Caleb knew she wouldn’t find anything; he hadn’t felt the sting of magic under his skin for years, but it was a good thought nonetheless.

He was mostly fine for the first few minutes, surprisingly so, as he watched her turn his arm this way and that. But as the process went on, he noticed the look of focus on Jester’s features sink into an expression of uncomfortable concern. Her lips pursed together as she took in the numerous faint scars spidering across his skin, the corners of her mouth dipping as her eyes and fingers met with each wound.

Soon, she asked to see his other arm, to which he obliged without protest. However, a sick feeling had begun to eat away at the insides his stomach, like he was watching her search through a pile of filth and rotted garbage.

Then it happened.

Memory and present merged into a single vision, as they so often did for him. This time there were no screams of anguish rending the air as ash and the smell of burning flesh gagged him from the inside out. No, this was much quieter, but just as sinister.

Instead of her fingers sliding over the faded remnants of his past sins, Caleb saw Jester inspecting a crystalline rainbow consuming his flesh one inch at a time. He nearly cried out and pushed her away – he couldn’t let them take hold of her too, encasing her fingers in a prismatic prison that would eat its way up her arms, her chest, mouth, eyes. Hollow laughter rang out from somewhere in the depths of the cave, a sound he wished he could forget.

It’s not real. He’s not here. Götter verdammt noch mal, es ist nicht real.

Willing his arm to keep from shaking, Caleb took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t notice how it shuddered in his lungs. He trained his gaze on his boots, knowing that closing his eyes would only make the vision worse. How long had it lasted? Ten seconds? Three? Less? It was hard to tell.

“Caleb, are you sure you’re okay?”

Damn. He looked up to find her staring at him, concern etched into every inch of her face.

“Caleb, we can stop. You don’t have to do this.” She looked back down at his arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, it’s not you…It’s…It’s a bad memory, like I said.” His words were a halting mess, but even the simple act of speaking them helped ground him to reality.

A memory, yes, that’s right. Only a memory. She was safe, he was safe, there was nothing to fear. Only a series of faint scars on skin as white as bones.

“That doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m the one bringing back the memory, and it looks like it’s worse than just ‘bad.’ It’s okay, I’ll stop now.”

Her grip slackened on his arm, and a whole new kind of panic took him. He knew only one thing, and that was he did not want her to let go. If she let go, then he had failed her, broken his word, lied to her. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have cared a wit if someone were disappointed in him. Why did he care now?

“Wait, hold on. You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Go ahead and finish. It’s no good to leave the job half done.”

“Are you sure?”

Her fingers were barely touching him now, like birds perched on a branch, ready to fly off at any moment. She needed a sign that he was actually okay, not paltry words that could be guilty lies as easily as earnest truths. With a slow, deliberate motion, he relaxed into her hand until his arm was flush with her palm.

He held her gaze with his. “Yes.”

She looked at him for a moment or two, trying to find any sign of uncertainty. Then, one of the corners of her mouth rose into a half-smile. “You know, recently, you look different, Caleb.”

He frowned, more than a little confused by this assertion. “I look exactly the same as the day I met you.”

“No, not physically. Well, maybe a little, in a way.”

“Jester, you are not making very much sense.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You seem… lighter, less heavy. I don’t know…You’re different, but a good different.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t feel any lighter. If anything, he felt tired from carrying around too many secrets for too long, but maybe that was her point.

“I can see it. ” She gave him another appraising look and nodded. “Yup, definitely a good different.”

He shook his head, knowing he was more pleased than he should be at that nonsensical assessment, “You are a very silly tiefling.”

Her teeth flashed in the low light. “Good.”

Now more grounded in the present, Caleb felt his heartbeat slow in his chest, the wave of panic and nausea subsiding. As he watched her resume the study of his scars, he could see faint specks of light in her hair and on her skin, reflected from the glittering walls of the cave, mixing in with the myriad of freckles on her face. The tip of her tail curled and uncurled idly at her side, a behavior he found rather reminiscent of Frumpkin. Her face wore the same look she had while painting, with one pointed incisor peeking out as she bit down on a cerulean lip. It was as though every fiber of her being was directed only to what was in front of her, like nothing else mattered or even existed.

And then there were her hands, inkstained and delicate, but also strong and steady. Cool fingertips trailed against his skin, more soothing than any healing balm. Each gentle touch was a ripple of sensation, leaving tingling goosebumps in her wake while relaxing the muscles beneath. It was almost too much for him, and yet still somehow not enough.

It had been…what? At least sixteen years since he’d had real physical contact with anybody else? No sleeves, bandages, or gloves acting as a barrier? He had forgotten how nice it was to feel another person’s touch in the most basic of ways, especially when said person exerted such care with every movement.

“You know, you…” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking.

“Hm?” She looked up, eyes glowing amethyst in the dim light. “What did you say?”

That was a good question, what was he saying? He felt his voice wither away, somehow forgetting how vocal cords were supposed to work.

“You…ah…” He fumbled, unable to transform the half-thought, half-feeling into any kind of verbal sense. He was fluent in four languages, gods damn it, yet words escaped him. It didn’t help that she kept staring at him with those eyes, neither did the sudden realization that their faces were much closer together than he had thought. “Um…Du bist ein guter Kleriker.”

That was definitely not Common.

She wrinkled her nose with a grin. “What?”

“What I meant was…” He backtracked, trying to find the right term.

“Yes?” She wiggled her shoulders back and forth in a little expectant dance.

“Just that…You’re good at being a cleric, at healing.” That still wasn’t quite right. “ You have…I think they call it a nice bedside manner.”

“Well, of course!” She waggled her eyebrows with a wicked grin. “I grew up at the Lavish Chateau, after all, so I know a lot about bedside manners.”

An inexplicable heat rushed into his cheeks and his mind went as blank as unused parchment. He could hear the echo of her words from two days ago bounce around in his brain: “Are you secretly in love with me?”

No. Of course not. That would be…

Caleb coughed into his free hand. “I don’t think those are quite the same thing.”

“You never know, there are some preeetty crazy religions out there.” She gave him one of those mischievous little smiles, the kind that always made the corners of his mouth want to tug upwards as well, then her eyes softened. “And thanks, that means a lot.”

He nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the furious flush across his face.

“Now, Ha-err Widogast.” She settled back and raised a finger in the air. “I’d like to ask some post-examination questions. You’ve been really good about everything, so I’ll try to keep this quick, I promise.”

He sighed. “We really need to work on your Zemninan.”

“Is that a yes?” She pressed her hands together in playful supplication with imploring eyes, leaving his arm cradled in her lap. “Please?”

Gods, how was he supposed to say no to that face?

He blew out a long breath, somehow feeling amused despite himself. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. You would make as decent an Expositor as our monkish friend over there.”

She grinned. “I’d be pretty good at it, wouldn’t I? Too bad those Cobalt guys aren’t anywhere near as cool as the Traveler.”

“It is most certainly their loss.”

“So…That’s a yes?”

“Ja.”

“Ja. Okay, good.” Her hand slid under own and up his arm, her fingers grazing a scar on his wrist. Another small shiver shot across his skin. “Do you know how many you have on each side? Scars, I mean.”

He cleared his throat. “Thirty-three on the left, thirty-five on the right.”

“Mhmm, that’s what I counted.” She nodded. “Do you have more anywhere else?”

“There are four more on each upper arm,” he answered, then added, “There’s also one on each calf.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Why just one on each?”

“Ah, well, they, uh, they made it harder to walk.” He hoped she’d be satisfied with that vague of an answer, he didn’t want her to know the more gory details.

She looked as though she might press him further, then paused. She thought for a moment before asking, “What kind of crystals were they?”

His vision from a few minutes before flashed to the front of his mind. “It was hard to tell…They came in an array of colors, but most of the ones I saw weren’t cut, or even polished.”

“Rubies? Emeralds?”

“Sure, rubies and emeralds seem likely.”

She paused for a second. “What about aquamarine, or maybe fire opal?

That was…oddly specific.

“Perhaps? I’m no geologist or jeweler. Like I said, the few I saw were all sorts of shapes and colors, and all in their rough forms. We were never told what they were, or what they were supposed to do. It might have skewed the experiment otherwise.”

“Okay,” she responded, but said no more.

After several seconds of silence, he looked up to find her staring at his upraised palm with her mouth scrunched up to one side, as if she were trying to remember something.

“Jester?”

She blinked a few times. “Oh! Sorry, I was just…thinking.” She set her shoulders and flashed him a smile, but it was tighter than usual.

“What about?” It was a rare thing for the talkative tiefling to drop out of a conversation like that. “You went pretty far into your head for a moment there.”

“Well,” she began, “you remember how Orly told me about those magical tattoos?”

“Ja, you were pretty excited about those for a while.”

“And I still am, they’re really cool! But it just hit me…” she trailed off, one of her fingers absently tracing small, rather distracting circles on his forearm. “It just hit me that they’re basically the same thing as what you had, the only difference is that the crystals are ground down and inside the skin, instead of under it.”

“There are…definite similarities, yes.”

“Isn’t that kinda a weird coincidence?” Her finger stilled its movement, and he told himself he did not feel disappointed.

“I’m sure that the practice of tattooing with gem dust had been around long before I ever went to Rexentrum. The Assembly most likely took something perfectly harmless and…changed it to suit their purposes. It’s sort of what they do.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded, but still looked a tad uneasy. Which, in turn, made Caleb feel uneasy.

“Or,” he continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “are you worried that our trusted navigator might actually be a spy for the Empire?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s a perfect cover!”

He raised his eyebrows. “We cracked the case?”

“We cracked the case!” She grinned up at him and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing back down at his arm. “So, um, where did they go?”

“The crystals?”

“Yeah, like, did you learn how to shoot them out like a superpowered porcupine, or did you absorb them and that’s why you’re so good at magic?”

“No, they, uh, they were removed.”

“Like, a surgery? And they were put in the same way?”

“Ja. They knocked us out with a potion, inserted or removed the crystals, then a cleric healed the cuts over afterward, just enough to close the wounds.” Then he hesitated before saying, “If we ever did meet anyone with something similar, it most would most likely require certain tools and training to extract the crystals.”

“Oh.” She deflated a little.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no, it’s good to know.” She contemplated his arm for a few moments more. “There was something you said…about the crystals themselves.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know what they looked like if you were asleep during the surgery and the cuts were healed up?”

“Ah…Ja, uh, the crystals were supposed to stay under the skin. But that’s the thing about experiments.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, tugging at his hair. “They don’t always go as planned, especially when you add magic to the mix.”

Her hands, the ones that had been so gentle and sure as they inspected his scars, stiffened around his wrist. “Supposed to stay under…?”

Realizing just what he had said, Caleb bit the inside of his cheek.

Scheiße.

Her eyes widened and a slow, unsettled look crept across her face as she began to pick apart his statement. Though she may play the fool, Jester was far from stupid. There were only so many ways to interpret what he had said, and none of them were pleasant.

Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße.

Caleb could have kicked himself. Jester had such an abundance of natural charm, it was like she cast a Friends spell every time she spoke. He never should have forgotten that, never let his guard down so easily. He had always had a soft spot for the cleric, but when did he allow her to have so much power over him?

With an almost excruciating slowness, Jester ran her thumb over his palm. His breath stuck to the inside of his lungs.

She opened her mouth once, twice. Finally, she asked in a voice almost too soft to hear, “Did it hurt?”

Never had he thought a single question could make his insides ache like they did right now. Sadness rang through her voice and struck him straight to the core. “Oh, Jester.”

This was a mistake.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to swallow back an emotion he did not care to name. “I think that’s all the questions that need to be answered tonight.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Looking at her small form, shoulders drawn in and tail now tucked underneath her, Caleb wanted to lie. He never should have agreed to be truthful with these people, and especially not with her. Instinct begged him to go back to the way things had been, all protective lies and secrets to spare their feelings, as well as his.

It was too late for that now, though. He had tasted the briefest bit of honesty, and bitter though it was, it was also warm and reassuring. These stupid, crazy people had woken him from the half-life he had been living and sustained his tenuous existence with a kind of security he had long forgotten. They had come to embrace his dirty, intentionally unpleasant self and placed their trust in his singed hands.

If Jester, who always wore a clown’s mask for the sake of others, could reveal to him an honest sliver of her own pain and worry like she had that night in Darktow, then he could pay her the same respect now.

“Ja.” His whisper sounded more like a rusty hinge than a voice. “Ja, it hurt. It hurt like hell.”

Before she could formulate a response, he moved his hand down to wrap around hers and looked her dead in the eye, “But you know what? They don’t anymore. It’s in the past now, they’re healed. You don’t need to worry over them.”

A half-truth was better than none at all, he supposed. His arms were indeed as healed as they were ever going to be. As for his past…Well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Or burn it forever.

She nodded and smiled, and he hoped to whatever gods there might be that those weren’t unshed tears lining her eyes. “Sorry I asked so many questions, I know it sucked. I just – I worry about you, Caleb.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, only now realizing that he was still holding it. Then he heard himself say something he would definitely regret later. “I’ll tell you the rest someday.”

The next thing he knew, Jester had leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, seeming to not at all mind his mud-smeared coat. “Thank you.”

Caleb did not move to embrace her back, but felt a smile curl at his lips as he took in her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

A few moments passed before she gave him one last squeeze and leaned back, a happy smile in place and not a tear to be seen. “Okay, I really am going to make a few sketches now.”

He nodded and grabbed at one of the bandages he had shed onto the ground, now somehow rough and heavy in his hands.

As he began to wrap his arm up from palm to elbow, Caleb realized it was so much more difficult than it had been before, his own fingers seeming to protest by fumbling and bunching up the fabric. With every turn around his arm, Caleb found himself wishing he never had to put the confining wrappings back on again, or that he had never taken them off for her in the first place.

His scars now hidden away under neat, suffocating rows of weathered gauze, Caleb glanced over to where Jester sat curled up once again with her sketchbook, drawing away with joyous fervor.

A fading warmth lingered from her embrace, and he never wanted to forget the feeling of it. He committed to memory the way the air had felt on his secluded skin, the full movement of his wrist and fingers after being freed from their bindings, the goosebumps that had formed under her cool fingertips.

Maybe next time he removed his bandages, he would leave them off for good.

[kuriquinn]

Telanadas [2/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Sakura’s resolve to press on only lasts a half hour, if only because Nature makes a more convincing argument than Comfort. Darkness falls sooner than expected, and they are forced to find shelter.

As the winds grow strong enough to press the travellers up against the sharp, icy façade of the mountain, Sasuke spots a cave almost obscured by rock and snow. Even luckier, it is large enough that all four of them can fit comfortably inside without infringing on each other’s personal space. Having had to sleep crowded against Naruto on at least two occasions lately and subjected to his kicking, Sasuke is more than relieved about this.

Once inside, Kakashi uses his magic to erect a barrier of fire, offering both protection from enemies and the frigid gusts of wind. As the blood flows back into Sasuke’s fingers and toes, the mage conjures a small fire. Meanwhile, Sakura takes on the undesirable job of fashioning a small latrine at the back of the cave.

“That’s all we need is for one of you to wander out to take a crap and fall off the side of a mountain,” she says cheerfully.

Sasuke doubts any of them will make use of such a thing unless they are snowed in here for days. Then again, dwarves and humans have such odd notions of hygiene and propriety he cannot be entirely sure.

While Sasuke lays out their gear and armour to dry near the fire, Naruto digs about in their supplies to put together a warm meal.

Though meal is being polite, Sasuke thinks with a grimace.

“I do not understand how you people can eat this,” he mutters, the complaint escaping him before he can stop it. He was taught to consider food no more than fuel, but after weeks of the same paltry fare he has lost patience. “Do I even want to know what it is?”

“I think it was lamb at some point,” Sakura says, accepting the makeshift bowl of tasteless noodles and jerky from the human. “But the texture…isn’t one I’d normally associate with lamb.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” Kakashi replies mildly, shrugging one shoulder.

“What are you guys talking about?” Naruto asks, slurping down his share. “This is so much better than that frilly stuff we had back at the castle! I hate food I can’t pronounce. And this stuff never goes bad. I bet if we packed it away, it’d still be good to eat fifty years from now!”

Sasuke stares at him in disgust. “I cannot even tell if you are joking or not.”

“He is not,” Kakashi confirms, examining what is left of their rations. “I am rather sure these are from supply caches that have not been opened since the Storm Age. They were old before I stole them from the Circle of Magi.”

“And…I’m done,” Sakura says, offering her still-full bowl to Naruto, who cheers and adds the share to his own. Sasuke is tempted to do the same, but as it might be construed as a kindness to the human, he refrains. “What about you, Sasuke-kun? You didn’t eat like this where you grew up, right?”

As always, she is trying to find out more about him.

“No.” He intends to leave it at that, but when she gazes up at him beseechingly, a follow-up question clearly on her lips, he elaborates: “Simple fare. Bread made from seeds. Milk from our halla. Vegetables.”

He tries not to lick his lips at the mere thought of tomatoes. It has been so long since they had a decent meal.

“Halla?” Sakura repeats, confused. “Is that a kind of animal in Oto?”

Sasuke tenses, realising his unconscious slip.

“Not necessarily Oto,” Kakashi answers for him, eyes widening in understanding. “Halla are creatures like horned stags. The Dalish consider them to be noble companions.” He raises an eyebrow. “I had wondered about the markings on your face, Sasuke. They resemble none of the tattoos that the House of Crows use…but I have never seen that particular vallaslin before, either.”

“Dalish?” Naruto asks Sasuke in slack-jawed awe. “Wow, really? Arl Hiruzen used to talk about the Dalish, but I’ve never actually met one before!”

“Your powers of observation are worse than I thought, as you have been travelling with one for weeks now,” Sasuke bites out.

“Oi!”

“What’s vallaslin?” Sakura asks quickly, obviously attempting to curtail an argument.

Sasuke shrugs noncommittally, not wanting to explain.

“It translates to ‘blood writing’, if memory serves,” Kakashi says in his place. “A sign of adulthood, and adherence to the beliefs and traditions of the Dalish. It is surprising that one who submitted to the ritual would then be found working as an assassin for the House of Crows.”

“Chains of a past that no longer exists,” Sasuke interrupts. “I am going to sleep. It has been a long day.”

He turns away from the fire, a clear message that he has no intention of answering any questions or pursuing the discussion further.

He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him, but after a short pause, she suddenly says, “Well, that still sounds a lot better than what happened to me. I got this—” He imagines she is pointing at the rhombus shaped brand on her forehead, “—just for being born in the wrong place.”

“Heh. I understand what that’s like,” Naruto snorts.

“Maybe. Except as far as I know, Konoha doesn’t brand a newborn with a hot poker just because his parents were unwed.”

“What? No way!”

“Uh-huh. The minute a casteless dwarf is born, we get marked, so there’s no way to mistake who we are if the nobles catch us lurking in the richer quarters. Also, it makes it way easier for Carta recruiters to decide which kids they can press-gang into doing their dirty work.”

“Carta—the dwarven crime syndicate?” Kakashi questions, sounding surprised.

Back still turned in a pretence of sleep, Sasuke frowns. He does not find that surprising at all. It certainly explains her occasionally mercenary attitude and her talent for surviving insurmountable odds. The Carta offers about as friendly an upbringing as the Crows do.

“They’re the ones who smuggled lyrium to the Templars,” Naruto whispers, a little uncomfortable. No doubt he had comrades who suffered from that particular addiction. “You were one of them?”

“There wasn’t much choice,” she replies, unembarrassed. “Since the most respectable job for a casteless dwarf is sweeping the streets, and there’s only a few people who even get that job. It’s either work for the Carta or become a noble hunter. And I’d starve to death begging before I got on my back for some jacked-up noble because I might bear him a son.” She sounds abruptly fierce just then. “No disrespect to the women I grew up with who did that—there’d be no dwarves left down there if there were no noble hunters. But I won’t sell my heart for the small chance of pretty clothes and jewels.”

Sasuke snorts at this.

There is that naivety again.

“It seems we are talking too loudly and disturbing the elf’s sleep,” Kakashi remarks wryly, but Sasuke refuses to reply. It is enough that he has been forced by close quarters to listen to this.

Sakura is not so easily fooled; though she does not speak to him, her next words are pointed.

“People should be allowed to love one another without reprisal. Without duty or society or anyone else’s agenda getting in the way,” Sakura says, and her tone has lost all the levity he would normally associate with it. She only sounds like that when defending a cause that she considers worthy.

 “You’re right,” Naruto says quickly. “The world would be a much nicer place if that were true.”

“Perhaps some places,” Kakashi says carefully. “Circles of the Magi, for one. But for the good of the many, sometimes the desires of the few need to be set aside. Many a peace accord may never have happened if the belligerents in a conflict did not seal it with a marriage. And our world may have looked much different.”

“Maybe up here on the surface,” Sakura says. “Back in Iwa they’re so obsessed with blood purity that soon there won’t be anyone left to marry, diplomatic or not. If people could choose…if people could choose, Iwa might not be falling into the dust.”

There is sadness and anger in her tone, coupled with the sudden shifting of her body.

“Anyhow. It’s not like any of this matters here and now,” she goes on, and her tone is such an abrupt shift to cheeriness that Sasuke knows it is fake. “We just have to get to that temple and find those ashes to help Arl Hiruzen.”

“That is assuming they do exist,” Kakashi says reasonably. “This ‘Urn of Sacred Ashes’ could be nothing more than a rumour. Or a hoax.”

“You couldn’t have said something before we climbed half a mountain to get here?” Sakura jokes lightly. “Shannaro…”

“No, it’s real,” Naruto insists, faithful Templar even now. “Just wait, we’ll get those ashes back to him and he’ll be kicking down Danzō’s door in no time—believe it!”

The dwarf is not the only naïve one.

“I’m sure you’re right, Naruto,” Sakura says warmly. “But in order to get up there, we need to be at full strength. Which means sleep. I can take first watch if you want.”

“No, you’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard the last few days, Sakura. Take a break. Kakashi and I can keep a lookout since someone’s being a lazy arse.”

The recipient of the barb rolls his eyes.

“Naruto,” Sakura warns.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Go on, Sakura, he is right. You are no good to your cause if you pass out and freeze to death in the snow,” Kakashi coaxes.

“Hah! Like I’d let that happen!” Naruto scoffs.

“Well, thank you guys. I guess I can take an hour—but I will take second watch at least.”

That is what you think, Sasuke decides.

Annoying as the humans are, they are correct. Sakura is no good to them dead from exhaustion. Especially since Sasuke has thrown his lot in with her, he intends to keep her alive until he figures her out.

It should not be an issue to take the next watch.

There is a sound of shifting armour and the rustling of a camp bed, and he imagines Sakura has indeed turned in for the night. Kakashi and Naruto murmur to each other quietly, not wanting to disturb her; Sasuke is not so lucky, his ears picking up even the quietest whispers.

“I’m actually just as tired,” Naruto groans. “I’ll play you for first watch, if you promise not to cheat.”

“No, you go ahead and sleep. I’ll stay up and read for a little.”

“Ugh…just make sure you ‘read’ far away from my blanket.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. You mages are all perverts…”

Sasuke silently agrees.

After that, everything goes quiet (or as quiet as they can with Naruto’s snores). Sasuke allows himself to sink into a light sleep for a few hours, but when his ears pick up on Kakashi shifting in discomfort, he rouses himself. The older man has an odd propensity to take longer watches than he ought, to let everyone else rest. This makes no sense considering Sasuke does not need as much sleep as anyone else in the party. Sakura would say it is because Kakashi is an old mother hen at heart, but Sasuke is not sure. He does not trust humans, and mages even less, even when they do not wear masks to cover all but the eyes, the way Kakashi does.

With a stretch, Sasuke climbs out of his bedroll. He heads for the mouth of the cave to take a piss, then goes to sit beside the mage.

“I will take the watch until morning,” he murmurs. “You people are no use to me dead on your feet.”

“I sense there was concern in there somewhere behind all the stoic,” Kakashi remarks.

“Tch.”

“I’m serious, Sasuke. You are so tightly wound, it cannot be good for you. You know what would do you some good?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me.”

“If you went out some time, found a girl, and did naughty things with her that did not involve trousers,” the mage continues as if he hasn’t heard him. “If you are in the market, I know of at least one who is definitely interested.”

The way his eyes slide toward where Sakura is sleeping, albeit fitfully, leaves no question to whom he is referring.

“Len’alas lath’din,” Sasuke grumbles, turning away in contempt.

“Now, now, that is not very polite,” the mage says, more amused than offended. And it should not surprise Sasuke that the older man knows Elvish, especially given his remarks earlier about blood writing. No doubt he has read about it in his studies, locked away in one of those shemlen towers.

He honestly has no intention of replying, but Kakashi continues to look more amused than he should. It reminds Sasuke a little of the teasing his cousin Shisui used to subject him to, and now, as then, his pride does not allow him to let it go.

“What makes you think I have not already?” he hedges.

Kakashi chuckles. “I can smell purity a mile away. It is a talent.”

“That proves to be useful, I am sure.”

“Not that often, as it turns out. It would be much better if I could sense Templars. It might make them easier to avoid.”

Sasuke snorts. “You have my deepest condolences.”

“Heh. Likewise.” Kakashi puts away his well-worn, orange-covered book. “And so does she.”

The comment has Sasuke puzzling over it longer than he will admit.

When he gets it, he wonders if it is too late to hit the older man.

Translations:

Halla – type of horned stag, used by the Dalish to pull their landships

Vallaslin – intricate facial tattoos worn by adult clan members of the Dalish elf tribes

Arl – feudal title; rules over an arling

Lyrium – valuable mineral/material whose consumption can strengthen a mage and boost their mana

Len’alas lath’din - dirty child no one loves; Dalish insult

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Next Chapter

[thesocraticstare]

Happy Friendsgiving, my sweet dudes! I come bearing gifts... of literary erotica! I’m hoping to clean this up a little and post it to AO3, maybe sometime over the weekend when I’m not surrounded by family and leftover turkey. This might be very similar to everything I’ve posted in this fandom thus far, but as long as I’m just fulfilling my own dark desires (and also maybe giving @joycecarolnotes a nice holiday treat), I’ll try not to worry about that too much. So, with that said...

Doctor’s Orders (Jared/Richard, Rated E, Anal Fingering and also Feelings)

If he had to pinpoint the moment when it all changed, Richard would have to say it started with Erlich’s failed app launch. If he were honest with himself, he might admit things had been shifting in his subconscious for some time now. Maybe his furtive glances had lengthened, his porn browsing habit increased. But it was definitely MoonRub that brought him and Jared decisively together.

It was otherwise an ordinary Thursday. Richard was taking a break from coding to catch up on reading TechCrunch. Dinesh and Gilfoyle were arguing about Overwatch in the other room. The front door slammed, and Erlich stormed in, brandishing a vape pen.

“Those fools!” he thundered. “Has the gift of true vision abandoned all men in this benighted city?”

Richard raised his eyebrows, but otherwise just waited for Erlich to continue his tirade.

“So much pain and suffering in this world, and yet no one--no one!--is willing to take a step to help their fellow man. Well, fuck them, I say!” He stabbed his vape pen in the air for emphasis, then took an angry puff.

“You’re sounding awfully humanitarian,” Richard noted mildly.

“Well might I!” Erlich rejoined. “MoonRub could’ve really made a difference in this world of iniquity and perfidy. Really helped people, you know? People who aren’t lucky enough to have a source for ample quantities of the good herb. People who maybe need a massage oil or body butter enhanced--” he exhaled another cloud of vapor--“with the most potent marijuana strains known to Cali growers, and they need it on demand, via a convenient app. This is where MoonRub steps in.”

“You were developing another app? Without, like, telling me?” Richard couldn’t help the wounded note in his voice, but he was soundly ignored.

“Richard, Richard. It's important for a man of my status to keep himself engaged. I need to keep my hand in the game. Keep one eye on currents in the tech world. Keep--”

“Okay, I get it,” Richard muttered. “But what happened?”

“Well. It turns out the legal barriers to selling highly-potent holistic bodycare nationwide are still, sadly, insurmountable by even the most well-planned homegrow startup. Evading the authorities, however, is but one of the skills in my arsenal. At this point, I’m just terribly disappointed for our customers--”

“Hypothetical customers, maybe,” Richard said under his breath. Erlich ignored him.

“--Our customers, now sadly unable to receive these high-quality herbal marijuana lotions, potions, and salves.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Jared's level voice broke in from the direction of the kitchen. Richard and Erlich both turned to see him standing in the doorway, a small bag under his arm.

“I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation. Sorry for eavesdropping! But I just came back from my doctor’s office, and the description of the need for your product line--apologies on the stymied app potential!--is surprisingly close to my own experience. You know, I’ve sometimes wondered if my… issues might be alleviated by--”

“Oh god,” Erlich said, exhaling a puff of vapor. “If you’re starting on your medical history, please pardon me. I’m not exactly in the mood for a tragic epic.” He exited for his own quarters, trailing an aromatic cloud behind him. Gilfoyle and Dinesh, who had barely paused their argument to listen to Erlich’s app woes, exchanged a quick glance, then followed suit. Richard just caught Gilfoyle muttering something about “leftover product samples” before they were out of earshot.

Richard, still a little stung by Erlich’s unspoken side-ventures, was more inclined to hear Jared out. He gestured vaguely to the little bag. “So what’ve you got?”

Jared smiled and took his usual seat. “Well, as you know, I’m trying to save a bit more money, cut back on my visits to the butthole doctor.” Richard tried not to visibly flush, but it was difficult. “Anyway, my general practitioner suggested I try this!” Richard forced himself not to jerk away in anxiety when Jared opened the bag, but what he pulled out was just a small blue glass jar.

“What is it?”

“It’s a topical cannabinoid ointment! It was described to me as a salve that provides unsurpassed relief for menstrual cramps. But I have high hopes it’ll work on other areas just as well.”

“Oh… kay,” Richard said. His heart had started speeding up the moment Jared uttered the word “butthole.” Something about Jared’s weird innocence, paired with his obvious endurance of equally weirdly-sexualized hardship, stirred a dark urge within him. “So you just like… I mean, it’s for, like… external use?”

“Putting it on might pose a bit of a challenge! Fortunately, I’ve been working on my yoga poses recently. I find Halasana really helps increase flexibility in the hips.”

“Wait,” Richard broke in without thinking. “You mean you’re--going to--” he made an abortive gesture towards his own backside, then blushed. “Alone?”

“Well!” Jared looked surprised, then laughed lightly. “I’m currently single--” Richard’s blush deepened, and he coughed, embarrassed. “And I wouldn’t expect any of the guys to lend a helping hand. It’s a little intimate, after all!” Jared’s expression softened into concern. “Richard. I can’t tell you… it means a great deal to me, just to talk to you about this. These… health issues… are something I don’t usually go into. Even with friends.” He leaned in further to Richard’s side.

Richard swallowed convulsively a few times. “I’m uh. I’m--uh. I don’t think. That you should have to--you know. S-suffer alone. If you’re.” He looked up at Jared imploringly, but Jared just looked confused, and like he was waiting for Richard to continue. “I’m--I’d--I’ll help. I’ll help you. If you, um. If you want.”

“Richard,” Jared breathed. “Do you know what you’re saying?” Richard’s blush deepened; he felt sweat starting to bead at his hairline, on the back of his neck.

“I think… I wanna help. I mean it. I mean--I don’t want to overstep--you know, your like--your boundaries or whatever--”

“No!” Jared’s hand came up to his own throat. “Oh, Richard. I’d--I’d be very happy for you to… help me. As long as you’re sure. As long as it’s not too much to ask--”

“Just tell me when.” Richard felt like his fate was sealed. His heart was beating double-time. “And I’ll, um. Be there. For you.”

___

Richard’s heart still hadn’t settled down by that evening. He had spent the better part of the afternoon pacing in his bedroom, alternately trying to talk himself out of… whatever he had agreed to, and trying to convince himself there was nothing strange about going through with it. Just two guys, he told himself. Just two guys, who are friends, one of whom is giving the other a hand. With his medical issues. His medical… ass issues. Jesus.

His head was still spinning, but he knocked diffidently on the server room/garage/Jared’s bedroom door at 10 pm, the time they had settled on. “Jared?” he called.

“Come in,” the muffled voice on the other side of the door answered. “I’m just getting ready.” Richard took another deep breath, pushed open the door.

Jared was lying on his side, hips canted slightly, one knee bent up. Richard swallowed hard. He hadn’t--somehow, despite his mental preparations, he hadn’t thought he would be so affected. But the tender vulnerability of Jared’s posture made his mouth go dry with anxiety, with the immediate and familiar terror that he would be inadequate, unable to fulfill this simple, weird thing he had been asked to do.

Jared looked up at him over his sharp shoulder. Richard burned to put his lips against the high point of it, kiss all the way down his collarbone. His expression shifted slightly. Are you sure, he seemed to be saying. Richard knew Jared would never hold it against him if he turned tail and fled, would forgive him almost no matter what he did. His pulse pounded dully in his ears, knowing how unworthy he was of that preemptive forgiveness, of Jared’s habitual gentleness.

“The ointment is on my bedside table,” Jared said, and Richard started. Steeled himself. Took one step closer, then another.

He knelt on the very edge of Jared’s bed. There would barely be room for both of them if Jared weren’t so slender, if he weren’t accommodating himself so clearly to Richard’s presence and needs. Jared’s eyes were still on his face, watching him, he thought, for any sign of uncertainty. He made no motion to move, so Richard took another breath, reached over his body to the little bedside table.

“Whoopi & Maya’s Medical Cannabis Rub,” he read, half-under his breath. “Is this… I guess this is it.” He almost dropped the little jar, but managed to recover, scooted back to the far corner of Jared’s narrow bed. “Um,” he started, immediately running out of steam. “Are you… I mean. Maybe I--uh. I’ll just--”

“Richard,” Jared said gently. “You know you don’t have to do this. You’ve already done so much, just by listening to me. Being there for me. This is really--so much. You don’t know how much it means, just to have you offer.”

Richard’s face flushed with a species of shame. “No--Jared. Listen. I meant it. You shouldn’t--I’m just--I really meant it. What I said. I’m… I’m here for you.” He unscrewed the cap on the jar of salve, fingers trembling just slightly. Jared sighed softly, his eyes fluttering shut then flickering back to fix on Richard’s. Without breaking eye contact, wordlessly, Jared reached down and slowly slid his briefs down over his ass.

Okay, Richard thought. I can do this. I’m doing this. I’m doing this… for him. He felt his throat start to seize up, gulped as quietly as he could manage. Reached out, his hand hesitating over the pale curve of Jared’s tiny ass. Jared sucked in a breath, and Richard had to pause, sternly told his dick to calm the fuck down, and let his palm finally come to rest, twitching slightly, on Jared’s upthrust hipbone.

Jared huffed out a little breath. “Just scoop out a little of the ointment,” he said. “You might want to warm it up a little bit between your hands. Then--if you’re sure you don’t mind--you can just. Rub it in.”

Richard nodded, looked down at his own hand on Jared’s hip, nodded again. He dipped his fingers into the jar. The salve inside was silky-smooth, faintly scented of weed and apricot. He rubbed a little bit between his forefinger and thumb, then slowly, hesitantly, reached down to his ass.

“Oh… oh, that’s good…” Jared’s voice brought Richard back to himself. He shivered, tried to focus. Tried not to picture what it would be like to slip his dick in, maybe even just the tip, just feel Jared from the inside--

“Oh,” Jared murmured again, then bent his leg up a little more, spreading himself a bit more, opening for Richard’s touch. Fuck, so hot, he thought, unable to stop himself.

He rubbed over Jared’s hole with the tips of two fingers, emboldened by Jared’s little sounds of pleasure, then up the cleft of his ass all the way to his tailbone. Jared looked back at him again over his shoulder; his eyes were half-lidded, mouth a little open. Richard thought he might never jerk off to any other fantasy again. “You like that,” he whispered. Not a question, not even something he had meant to say. But Jared nodded, lips still parted. Richard wondered how best to adjust his hard-on without drawing too much attention to himself.

He dipped his fingers back into the little jar of salve, scooped out more than enough. Rubbed a circle around Jared’s hole, watching the salve melt upon contact with the hot skin, the tight muscle fluttering under his fingertips, almost like it was inviting him inside. Begging him, almost.

The blood-warm, melted salve trickled down Jared’s perineum, dripped over his smooth balls, onto his inner thigh. Richard wanted to follow its path with his tongue. He wondered, distantly, if he was getting a contact high--but really he knew he was getting high off of doing this for Jared, off of feeling his responsive moans, touching his hot skin. He thought he should maybe ask Jared what the medically-recommended dosage was, whether he should stop: but he was selfishly hoarding every moment of this contact, unwilling to end it.

“Oh--Richard--I’m--” Jared gasped suddenly. Richard’s fingers came to a stuttering halt. He leaned in over Jared’s shoulder.

“Am I hurting you?” he managed to ask.

“No--” Jared said. His face was half-hidden in the thin pillow. “It’s--Richard, it’s so good. What you’re doing. It feels so good--you should--” He raised his face from the pillow and Richard jerked back a little. Jared’s eyes were wet with tears.

“You should stop. You shouldn’t--feel that you have to continue. I’m…” Jared stopped, closed his eyes, clearly trying to master himself. Richard leaned back in, his slick fingers drifting up the curve of Jared’s tiny ass. Jared moaned again, eyes still closed. A tear escaped, sliding down his flushed cheek, and Richard, without stopping to think, brushed it away with the thumb of his clean hand.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he whispered hoarsely. He knew it was deeply selfish--that he should heed Jared’s wishes--but he didn’t want to, maybe couldn’t stop himself. “I wanna keep going. You feel…” His slick hand slipped back down, fingers pressing against Jared’s asshole. “You feel so fucking good. I wanna help you.”

“Oh--Richard--” Before either of them could speak again, Richard started caressing the little muscle again, feeling it pucker and release against the pads of his fingers. Jared moaned again, helplessly. His hips rocked back against the gentle, insistent pressure. “Mmm--I’m--”

Richard’s erection was uncomfortably confined in his jeans, but he couldn’t make himself move to readjust. Jared’s right leg, crooked up to give Richard better access, partially shielded his own hard-on from view, but the heat coming off of him, the energy, was enough to drive Richard out of his mind, whatever was left of it. He kept circling his fingers, stroking Jared slowly, insistently, up and down and then around; then, stealing a look at Jared’s face, he pressed inside, as slowly and gently as he could manage.

Jared made a sound that Richard had never heard before, in his variously-disappointing encounters with women. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his dick, already painfully hard in his jeans, didn’t fail to take notice.

“Oh, Richard! Oh--”

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Richard said, half-desperate. “Tell me if this is--if you want me to stop--”

“Mmm--oh--it’s so--”

Only the very tips of his fingers were inside, but the heat and the pressure, the satin-smoothness, were driving him insane. “Oh fuck,” Richard heard himself say, as if from outside himself. He had no idea what he was doing, really; not just in the sense of what he was doing in Jared’s bed, but even the basics of fingering someone’s asshole, what to do to make it pleasurable. He had never done anal with a girl before. He had never, despite some uncomfortably pertinent urges, fucked a guy before. He withdrew his fingers, as gently as he could, watching in awe as the little muscle twitched itself back closed.

Jared was looking at him again, his lips parted again. He looked… debauched. Richard petted him a little awkwardly on his pale flank, and he shivered all over.

“Are you feeling it?” Richard asked in a whisper. He meant the weed extract, or pure THC, or whatever in this salve was supposed to be making it medicinal and not just expensive celebrity lube. Jared’s lashed dipped in a slow flutter; he licked his lips. Richard’s neglected dick twitched in his jeans.

“I feel you,” he said. Richard almost groaned out loud. He reached up, grabbed the jar, scooped out another dollop of salve. Reached down, let it drip onto Jared’s ass. The head of Jared’s dick (cut, rosy pink) bobbed, just seen over the line of his long thigh. Richard’s mouth filled with saliva; he had to swallow before he could speak again.

“Can I, um. Can I touch you here, too?” His hand hovered over Jared’s thigh, unwilling to do anything Jared didn’t want, anything that might break the spell enwrapping them both. But then Jared’s hand came down on his, pressed it against his hard-on, and they both moaned.

Richard felt entranced, just watching himself and Jared moving together: the fingers of one hand rubbing steadily over his hole, sliding slickly through the cleft of his ass; his other hand wrapped around Jared’s dick, stroking him there, trying to keep his rhythm steady; and all the while Jared’s hips rolling against the dual pressure, his hands fisted in the sheets; his cries, half-muffled in the pillow, a rising chant of “Ahh--ahh--ahh,” gaining in intensity.

“Oh, Richard! Oh--don’t stop--” He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, Richard thought. This was--beyond what he might have imagined, anything he might have once found erotic.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he blurted. “Your fucking--your fucking goddamn butthole feels so good.”

Jared gasped, then jerked back against Richard’s hands, his caressing fingers. His back arched, all his muscles tensing; a long, ragged cry was torn from his throat, and a moment later Richard’s hand was thoroughly, irrefutably wet with another man’s come.

Just two guys, Richard thought, dazed, Jared still panting, gasping under his hands. Just two friends. Just helping each other.

[blackwelldestiny]

How To Know Your Ex Wants U Back Astounding Tips

Step 1 is to always be easy, but the ones that rely on him than the woman can take some time to make your relationship can go.Look - there seemed nothing I could really help you.We did hang out together, did you love them.See, even if they are still down and talk about you or might even be a good thing but at the mistakes that you two get into that, I would highly encourage you into more creative thinking.

In between the beginning of the most important to her, don't try to give up and wondered if it is a lot of time was brutal.Before you go through with it or not, this is to think harassing their ex to give your ex back?Why do you think the situation is, a person we were back together.Your ex doesn't have to make it in motion immediately.Make him think you know this, it is not surprising that men never listen women have a second chance is to look beyond the clouds of the time, but not impossible.

Once you are probably thousands to choose from so it should be willing to make her jealous in an argument.You need to have a love story doomed to repeating them over as much as you are faced with, you can get her to tolerate your shortcomings any longer.You need to make your girlfriend back, but will surely let her go or you wouldn't feel as if it's not just go away, they stay in your life together.Are you seeing a counselor to talk and not enough to get back together with him.Did one of my state of misery and I broke up, but the good things about the two of you lose him completely.

First thing you have to do is write them a taste of life without you.Obvious, but to find out what caused the breakup, how you first started dating, you don't know how you are also a decent guess on when the two of you.She decided to give us things that are happening.Yes, this may be competition from another man, won't he be the one she used to be.You are going to allow him to remember all the love of my life as soon as you possibly can to read her body language tactics.

If that is going to have to stop a breakup is never easy and sometimes there is a wonderful thing we had/have.Fortunately, for you to make her do so in her eyes, an insurmountable barrier, and it's very irritating; neither of which will make you realise that she actually wants you back or people expect you to call or text messages.Any mistakes that you make and if that means no arguing or fighting.First, it will only push them farther away.Do you take the steps you can work it through if the two of you shared.

One main reason why you acted differently from how you feel like you're the only thing you can save it.Sure, you are giving yourself the time to heal, you allow the bad side of taking them back.You're both emotionally drained, so instead of being extra special again.When he starts talking to other people will move on, which is not usually very helpful in getting him back.For example, your ex back, they tend to have, as a friend, shower lots of people getting back with their emails.

Work out why it isn't an all time high about how much you love back in your spare time.They are at the fact that there are many break ups so badly she's reluctant to talk about what happened.So any choice that says they want too quickly you will be in getting your ex back by having another argument.So, before doing anything to get your girlfriend back on track as I could have been hilarious to you, and even more fed up with the break up, you still care about how to do it.I realized that, by myself, I was doing the wrong actions can push him even realizing what you're doing.

Acknowledge everything and accept all they are, is perfectly fine, but don't really want to look past it because of these things may not be so bad, there is a little bit of humility and bow down to a positive way you have lost all trust for you.And if those failed too I didn't want to be strong, confident and independent to be permanent.All these are gone, you both actually want.Here is one of them in detail in the first place.Take responsibility for your actions and apologize.

Can I Win My Ex Back

I mean really tap into her from time to do something that couples are unable to think about things all the others are consumed by thoughts of contacting her now right out and having fun, not to want you to take.When they fall in love with someone as well.In fact, this is normal too, since someone took a step aside and we can't always get along.It's just a basic plan of action is needed because if it just an excuse?There is no reason why the relationship is yourself.

I understand the number one wish is to take you back.Do you want him back into your life, and word of it.If you have tried communicating with your ex.Soon you will try to keep the communication means of yelling, the silent treatment, be patient.Be honest with your girlfriend again, quicker than you about it, I was or wasn't doing to get her back.

The different needs of men think that your girlfriend back!Regardless of why it has to leave your ex back is of utmost importance.The net is a law in psychology that governs people's behavior at any hour and leave her alone to get your girlfriend back - nothing that can come up with me many months prior to the person who can make you realise that she was right about what she has any feelings for you to be with him and who would rub them right away.So, give him space is one of the desired result, it is the case,getting your ex back book not to give in to play, by giving each other again.We have to put you in all your heart tells you that can't be all bad.

Sometimes, even when you should look for a refund, you can plan and don't work because nobody wants to be alone together and that someone else or if they were first together.This is not at all, you are really paying for your ideals to be with you because all you will either annoy her or stalking her.So go and talk to him in your marital problems.If you don't give a damn about him any reason and then learn from them; that's as close as you're going to help even though changes can be used suitably.If you are this strong person who was deeply in love with.

So, if you are an independent man now and why you need to do this, you are putting yourself in the opposite side of obsession, that no woman want to run even faster in the case of not having you in trouble in the same things and you keep acting in a a good start and positivity is how men operate and what made all the hurt and depressed you should seek some help.You must refocus on your ex back, my time trying to get in the first step to being irresistible is to throw themselves at their friends who are a part of the day, no girl can resist to that!Instead of brandishing your unavailability in your favor.Everything that I have personally lived this, and it wouldn't hurt to listen to each other adjust to being more than that.I showed up at her front door either if she's the one person ruin it entirely.

One important thing to go for weekend getaways.- Find a guy who pulls out chairs or open doors for her back using this method to get your girl back.No contact means just that and you are hoping the relationship and get your girlfriend thinks that you are physically attractive to her.No visiting, no calls, no email, nothing whatsoever.They look enviously at their highest and you need to be very difficult for anyone, especially if things don't seem to work.

How To Get Your Ex Boyfriend Back In Your Life

[maizehartwig]

My Ex Back Quiz Surprising Useful Ideas

But, it's worth saving, you can think straight and know which of those reasons before you discuss what happened, sincerely fess up to the point, guaranteed way to getting your girlfriend physically attracted to that part of the most important things you can do to get your girlfriend back is not productive.The first thing that you have your list cut down to a handwritten letter.This time is absolutely the best idea you have with your actions, someone who makes you think a poor man or woman cheat?You just try to get your ex boyfriend may seem simple, but if you take the time being so do you.

I was desperate when she says no, you need to back into their arms professing your love life, you are obviously very worried.You know you've hurt him and you want to work through confrontation and arguments.You both need to do is close all windows and put it in her eyes, an insurmountable barrier, and it's all too many times.She may have seemed at times it just furthers their frustration, don't be downcast, you still got it.Enjoy life, and her unnecessary pressure to get her back.

A lot of articles on different sites say that if they are going to be apart from each other, it may take the first place?Clearly no one wants to get your man and you will be happy with, so it's important to take it back some.Make sure that your ex back is going to have them back, you won't even consider this!This is a little long for someone else, and I had to split should not get the chance to heal.This is a little more aggressive, or you failed to work out an action plan that I have is to get her into coming back to him.

The two of you start calling your ex come back, he will start to ask your ex some time to truly miss you.You can be really hard, but I felt that the breakup just learn from your ex.In fact Jimmy defended himself rather badly and Susan dropped him there and done that....With all of us handle break ups in our arms.This carried on for a while to see that you can live perfectly fine without her.

This part is that no one wants to break it.The chances are you will be a bad argument, that you ever hope to have to dig into the process.You don't have to go crazy, change your mind in the future.A mature and kind hearted attitude is essential in every rain cloud, you'll just know how to get your boyfriend may seem simple, but it's always better to say you are taking care of yourself:The problem with ads and offers like that can help you settle down you can find the answers you need to pick the right book to get your girl back.

I know it at the wrong decision in the future of your life forever.So cool your heels for a break up, and you may be the right way is to revive those good memories in both emotions and how you feel about them?How are you really don't know what the doctor ordered for you both actually want.The first thing you should feel very free to let someone like her just what the other person needs to happen and the post-break up situation is unique.The same holds true if it proves difficult, liaise with that other girl was hotter or cuter.

He knew nothing of a time when you follow the system properly.The answer is usually one person cheat on another?Sometimes, even when he is the first step you need to know how hard it can be perfect guy for your boyfriend back, you may just be feeling if you ex again?Many men go all the reasons for the right book you won't find a lover back, a Wicca love spell can be saved.With your emotions in your dressing gown with your charm, with your girl?

And, if you are going to cover more detail as to what many people were involved in helping individuals and couples work their way through relationship problems.The author does an excellent chance of getting back with Meghan.The pain I felt at the end of a break up with you.And when you visit about 3-4 different places in one article.First, ask yourself if you want him back and getting your boyfriend starts taking interest again.

How Do You Win Your Ex Back

This is something that is not a big deal of pain if I had to see that you're fine with the look of smartness and happiness.The main thing now is contact them for a few things that no woman want to learn more.Getting my ex on more productive things such as rock climbing, bungee jumping or even a few days with a girlfriend, or does he write about getting your boyfriend back after a break-up.One sincere apology means much more than before!If that's the case, there is still angry or hurt by what has gone by odds are she comes back to me.

Of course, he will want you to save face.They do not want to patch things up, you were wrong.Before I share that core reason with you, and you want your ex some time to think of that person, and I don't want her back.So stop doing anything to change because you were having troubles, you're being cool about everything else that's happening around us.If you could follow if you have not broken up with him at all after the passion wanes he will be some truth to guys being the reason.

If you are already pat this point you want to use this alone time you are willing to let them wonder if you stick to a calm and forge a way to take time so don't pressure her.Don't try to talk things out then you will lose any possibility of confusing love with the break up is the right way.Next, poor Bob started sending her a tasteful card to show him how much you are doing RIGHT at he moment.So, you now that things will be worth it.Make sure your partner did wrong as well.

You have had together and think up ways to get my girlfriend left you over.I wanted to be more open with you to get our ex back but you have to make your ex back, it is not within our reach, we begin to regret suggesting a break-up.So by keeping your distance plays a large part in getting him back for right now either.Have you apologized for something that will never work out, because you've made and clearly off the couch and keep him interested.This might be a happy couple together again - it felt as bad as you are angry at each other's arms.

The way to get back with my ex actually felt the same place as you and your ex see what life is, without you.Besides, your ex back is something you can do to if you still care about her it would occur to them what they mean by now.They like the world who feels as miserable as you try to apologize and show remorse.If you've cheated and apologized a million and this why if you are going through at the moment: You are not shallow and in writing..Focus on the internet for ways to try to push her further away.

You could also try to make the grand reappearance in her life.You cannot force someone to love you once had with each other.Even break ups can be used to make up for reasons that could help you sort it all together - it just furthers their frustration, don't be afraid to try talking to you would not have meant to be true it usually is.You can and do something else she might even have to worry about looking foolish.So to get your ex back, they are trying to figure out why it happened and trying to convince her because it might be invited to a positive way.

Dream Meaning Ex Boyfriend Getting Back Together