#and to break through the gates would disrupt time right

[unforgettwble-sumii]

DATE NIGHT — W. A

( Wednesday Addams x Fem!reader 📖 )

⭐ A lovely date night with Wednesday.

⭐ Warnings ‼️: not proofread! mentions the grim reaper, if I miss any more please do tell me ♡

⭐ Word count: 1.8k

a/n: My brain was itching for some Wednesday and soft!R fluff ☹️

—

"How does this look, Thing?" The infamous goth spoke to her companion, Thing, who was currently on her desk helping her pick out an outfit for your date night. The hand signed, saying that she was being too extra. Wednesday scoffed. That was very out of character for the appendage to say. But he was right. She didn't need to dress up that extravagantly, as it was just a lovely date night through the park. A pair of black jeans and a black hoodie will do.

Wednesday rummaged through her closet once more to look for her beloved hoodie that had both of your scents merged in it. She switched her clothes one last time, looked at the mirror, then at Thing; who finally gave her a sign of approval. She nodded and grabbed her backpack, which was full of items you both loved: snacks, a book, a pair of earphones, etc. She turned to the table where Thing was, grabbing the precious flower she grown herself just for you.

As she was about to open the door, you knocked; causing Wednesday's heart to skip a beat. With a soft inhale, she opened the door to see you with a soft smile. You greeted her with a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Mi sol, how are you?" She had asked, exiting the room and closing the door behind her carefully as to not draw attention or cause disruptions to any of the other students who were currently in deep slumber. "I'm more than fine, Wednesday. Especially now that I'm here with you." You giggled, skipping down the stairs of the Academy happily and without care. "How about you?" You returned the question, glancing at the goth who followed behind you.

"I'm doing well. I had grown this myself for you." You abruptly stopped, eager to know what Wednesday was talking about. You hummed, turning to look at her. She had a flower in one hand. She brought her hand up to give the flower to you. You carefully took the flower from her hand and admired it; entranced by it's beauty. "It's gorgeous, I love it!" You almost fully screamed in enthusiasm. "I'm glad you adore it. Even if I'm not one to enjoy these type of plants, I'm glad you find joy in them." She took the back of your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the finger where you had worn the ring she had given you.

It was a simple black ring with her initials on it. She wore the same one, except engraved on it were your initials.

Both making your way out of the school gates, you once again skipped your way to the park. It was a cold and breezy night, and a jacket would do you so much justice. Unfortunately, because you were so excited; you had forgotten to bring your jacket. You slightly shivered, not enjoying the cold. Wednesday took notice and took off her own hoodie for you to wear.

A small yet heartwarming gesture that made your heart warm and soft. You thanked her and happily put it on, twirling to show off that you were wearing her hoodie. "What about you, baby? Aren't you going to get cold?" Your voice now lacing with concerned as you walked closer to your lover.

"As long as you're not freezing to death, I'll be fine." She sighed, walking over to a bench and looking up at you. You followed suit; sitting beside her and leaning your head on her shoulder. You let a puff of breath out, contented with the current event you were in right now.

"Wen, you should def learn how to text." You say, breaking the silence. Wednesday glanced at you, clearly confused. "Why would I need to learn how to text when I can talk to you perfectly fine? Besides, I don't want to succumb to the horrible effects technology has on teens these days." You playfully rolled your eyes. Wednesday could be such a mom at times.

"Well, yes—but what if we're not near each other? Plus, I've been meaning to add you to our girls only gc" You stated, looking at her slightly; thinking wether to plant a kiss on her cheek or to peck her on the lips. "I think that would be unnecessary. I see no proper use for such thing."

Wednesday sighed, even though she had no clue why you were so attached to a piece of technology, she tried her best to understand it. Grabbing her phone from her backpack she put it on her lap, staring at it. This made you gasp in excitement; an idea popped up on your head. Wednesday wondered what could have been going on in that mind of yours yet didn't ask about it. Instead waited on for you to dictate your idea.

"Let's take a selfie!!"

Oh dear. The young Addams was not a fond of 'selfies', infact, she hated them with a passion. But, you had changed her perspective on life for the better, so she had thought that maybe a small selfie wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

You unlocked her phone; surprised that it didn't have a passcode. Opened the camera app and held up her phone so that both of you would fit in the frame. "Smileee!!" You giggled. Wednesday wanted to rip her eyes out, but, for your sake; she followed what you had asked her to do. Scooting closer she placed her left hand on your right shoulder and tried to muster up a small smile. With a simple click, she felt her world stop. Instead of her looking at the camera, her gaze trailed over to your face instead.

'Click.'

You giggled excitedly, not noticing Wednesday's gaze on you. You clicked the icon beside the button in order to view the photo. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat once your eyes examined the picture. Pure joy and love erupted from your heart as you tried to find the right words to say. You looked at Wednesday, who was already gazing at you.

Her harsh eyes filled with softness she didn't know she had. She was admiring you, something that the young Addams did in secret or when it was just the two of you. You cupped her cheek with your hand, leaning in closer; glancing at her lips then back on her dark eyes. She leaned in, signing for you to continue. With a smile, you closed the remaining gap between the two of you. Suddenly, the night wasn't as cold; the warmth of both of your bodies radiated the air, creating a soft and perfect atmosphere.

You broke off the kiss after a few minutes, then fell into a giggle fit which made the young Addams sigh. Yes, you were a handful at times, yet that never stopped her heart from beating for you. If you asked her, she would rip her own heart out and feed it to the kettle of vultures that flew freely outside her home.

She loved you dearly. That you for sure knew. When it comes to love language, Wednesday's is definitely acts of service. She would do anything for you, she could climb the tallest mountain to obtain a special flower in order to show you just how much you mean to her. When it comes to you, Wednesday never hesitates to risk her life to make sure that you're happy.

Soon after, you both decided that it was a great time to eat the snacks you both had brought.

Throughout the night, you both shared your thoughts and other random things that needed to be let out of your mind. Everything was calm and absolutely perfect. Every once in a while, one or the other would let out a chuckle. However, there was this one story that caused you to have a laughing fit and, laughing while eating certainly wasn't a bright idea. You started to choke on the sandwich that you were munching on, causing Wednesday to violently and aggressively pat your back.

Somehow that experience made the night even better, even if the grim reaper was around the corner to take your life. But you know that Wednesday would always be there to save you if he happened to stop by.

Even if you wanted to stay much longer, Wednesday noted that it was getting late and that both of you had classes tomorrow.

You sighed, sad that this night was coming to an end. However, another idea had popped up in your head that positively affected your mood.

"Come back to my dorm with me? Please?"

You begged Wednesday to sleep over at your dorm. After much consideration, Wednesday complied. Earning a kiss on the lips from you.

When you arrived at your dorm, you opened the door for both of you. The smile on your face was so evident that you resembled a child in a candy store. "I'm going to go change and brush my teeth, okay?" You told Wednesday as you made your way to your drawers to pick out a pajama set. Then, your eyes landed on a black pair of pajamas that had another set to match with it. This sparked another idea in your head. You quickly went to the bathroom to brush your teeth so your idea can be in motion.

You clasped your hands happily as you looked at yourself at the mirror, Wednesday right beside you. Wearing the black pj's that matched yours except you were wearing shorts instead of pajama pants. "Don't we look adorable?" You asked, admiring yourself. "While I wouldn't describe myself as 'adorable', you certainly look dashing, Cara Mia."

You set a soft and tender kiss on her nose, before replying, "You remind me of the moon, my dear. So perfect."

"I love you, Wednesday." You slightly giggled. How many times have you giggled and kissed Wednesday this night? You don't know. But one thing you new though was, both of you were getting tired and needed some sleep, especially Wednesday. You have learned after awhile of dating her, that once she got tired she gets a tad more affectionate. While yes, it was adorable, you wanted to go to bed more than anything.

"My darling girl, you are everything to me. You bring me joy that the world is incapable of giving me. You bring light to my dark world. I love you, Cara Mia." Wednesday replied, kissing your knuckles just as she did awhile ago.

You belly flopped onto your bed, then moved to make space for Wednesday. You made grabby hands at her before she made her way beside you. You found yourself moving closer to lay on top of her. Your head rested on her chest, listening to her heartbeat that soon lulled you to sleep.

"Mi amor, you may not hear me but, you mean so much to me. I may struggle tell you, but I can and will show you." Wednesday mumbled before she herself fell asleep.

Little did she know that you heard her, and it brought a soft smile to your face.

— ⭐ ©unforgettwble-sumii's work. Pls do not repost, steal, modify, or translate.

I love u elmo

[googleitlol]

I'm impatient so I'm getting right to what I wanna write. It doesn't take long for Zhenyuan to get back and figure out what happened to his tree and boy was he pissed.

He catches up pretty quick, fighting with the disciples before scooping them all up in his sleeve to take them back to the Abbey and make them pay for uprooting his ginseng tree. That's where the drama continues to unfold…

(PS this is a bit of a longer one)

Dove Masterlist:

Guan Yin

Last night was supposed to be relaxing, a break from camping in the wilderness. A moment of peace on this long and tedious journey. Now, after spending the entire night running away from the temple your group had disrupted, you all were presumably being taken back.

Zhenyuan, the immortal daoist that ran the temple and owner of the uprooted ginseng tree, had returned in the time your group made their escape. After fighting off the three demons followers of Tripitaka, the daoist managed to capture and drag you all back to the hall where the disciples were originally accused of thievery.

In the main hall once again, Zhenyuan orders his disciples to have you each tied to the pillars of the hall while the horse is left tied to a post at the gates outside. The immortal looks to his prisoners, his eyes shifting to each of you with a look of animosity. His violet cap nearly covers the stray crow feathers mixed amidst his hair, the pearl whit of his beard shows the extent of his time on the earth. If not for the current situation, you might have felt honoured to meet the old daoist.

One of his servants, likely one of the men he had taken with him on his previous trip, approaches. “What would you want done now, Master?”

The immortal whips his head towards his servant as he speaks, his frown deepening. “I’ve waited ten thousand years for my tree to bear its fruit. They will all be punished accordingly.” As he continues, he looks back to your group. “The Tang Monk is mortal, and so neither knives nor spears, hatchets nor battle-axes should be used.” Your hopes of survival widen at that, if only by a smidge. Perhaps you and Tripitaka could survive this after all. “Bring out the whip.”

Nevermind.

“What?!” Tripitaka shouts, his eyes wide as a disciple goes to fetch the whip. It’s quickly brought out, and you’re sure that if not for the rope keeping the monk tied to the pillar, his knees would have surely given out. You don’t trust any weapon owned by the immortal. Even if it wouldn’t kill a human, it surely won’t leave one in the state to travel ever again.

“You can start with the unworthy senior member of the party, the Tang Monk.” Zhenyuan orders, ignoring the man’s exclamation. “He will pay for the waste my years of labour has been reduced to.”

Before you can object, a voice calls out as the servant begins to wet the whip. “Wait!” The daoist looks to Sun Wukong, seemingly annoyed by his shouts. “Start with me, I’m the one who stole the fruit. I uprooted your tree.” Your brows lift up in surprise, his gaze refusing to look away from the immortal. He’s actually admitting to it? His eyes are wide, panicked as he speaks.

Zhenyuan grits his teeth, the confession only angering him further. “Insolent ape! Even if that is true, he should pay for not delivering the proper punishments for your offences.”

“He didn’t even know I did it!” Wukong objects. “When my brothers and I were asked by him and your disciples, I became spiteful and tried to trick them instead. If anyone deserves the punishment for your tree, it is me.” He lowers his head, as though he was ashamed.

You look at the demon, his head hanging low. It takes you a moment to realise you aren’t misinterpreting what is being said. Sun Wukong is really taking ownership of his actions. You never thought you would see the day.

Zhenyuan glares at the simian for a moment, sharp enough to pierce through solid iron. His servant looks up to him in silent confirmation, and after the passing of a moment, he nods. “Very well.”

With the command, the servant approaches the Monkey King instead. You watch, anxiety picking at your skin as the man raises his arm in preparation. Before your mind can register your mouth moving, you shout. “Stop!”

“What now?!” Zhenyuan’s head swivels to face you, his teeth gritting as the others turn to look at you more in confusion.

You take a moment to breathe, knowing what you have to do. You really didn’t want it to come to this, but there wasn’t much else of a choice. With one last glance of annoyance to Monkey, who was looking at you with wide confused eyes, you face Zhenyuan. “If you truly seek justice for your ginseng tree, we can revive it.” The daoist is silent for a split second before he keels over in laughter. “Revive it? And how would you do such a thing?” He asks, clearly amused by your claims.

Mentally preparing yourself, you shake your head. “I cannot give your tree new life, but I know who can. My master, Guan Yin.” Some of Zhenyuan’s disciples share looks of shock with one another at the mention of the bodhisattva’s name, some muttering to one another while the daoist remains still. “I am certain she has a cure to bring your tree back, I have seen her perform similar miracles before. If you release me, I can bring her here so she can heal it and bring your fruit back.”

The room becomes heavy in silence, the immortal narrowing his gaze as he considers your words. “And how can I trust that you won’t abandon these men to hide with your master?” He asks, gesturing to the pilgrims.

Before you can affirm your claim, Wukong jumps in with little hesitation. “I could go with her.” The response makes your stomach drop. Out of everyone in your party, why is he the one volunteering? Looking back to Tripitaka, his wide eyes seem to show he carries the same sentiments. “Trust me, if I tag along, Guan Yin will want to rush me back to my master as soon as possible.” You do suppose there was truth in the statement, though it carries truth in the context of any of the disciples leaving the monk. Nonetheless, the glare of the immortal slowly shifts. It feels clear how greatly he mourns his ginseng. You can’t blame him for his anger, after returning home to see the fruits of his labour be massacred in such a way. After a moment of contemplation, he sighs. “Very well, then. You have three days to return with your master.” As he speaks, his servants quickly approach you and Sun Wukong to untie you.

“Your companions will remain here under my care until you return. You have my word that no harm will come to them.” He promises, and you nod in thanks before looking back to Wukong, the two of you eyeing one another warily. You can only hope he isn’t doing this as some way to get back at you for slapping him. You doubt Tripitaka would believe any ‘unfortunate’ accidents that might happen on your way to Potalaka Mountain. You catch the poor monk’s eye, who’s making a terrible effort to conceal his lack of hope. You don’t blame him for the sombre look on his face, this very obviously isn’t how this stop was supposed to go. All you can hope for is that things can go smoothly from here.

One of Zhenyuan’s disciples ushers you and Wukong to the gates while others go to untie your companions. You can only manage to glance at your travel partner for a moment, uneasiness weighing you down inside. He looks just about as thrilled as you feel, which is more comforting than you thought it’d be. Better than seeing that devious telltale grin that usually meant he was up to something.

You think again of his confession to Zhenyuan, almost impressed by the fact he took sole ownership for what happened. It feels… uncharacteristic from what you’ve seen of him. At that moment, he had sounded genuinely concerned for Tripitaka. You always assumed he felt your travelling party was more an obligation, a means to his freedom. Even in his defence for his actions the night before, it sounded like he only used the disciples' rudeness towards his master as an excuse. But in the main hall with Zhenyuan, the trickster’s words truly felt honest.

The disciple leaves the two of you at the gates, and the tension only seems to grow in his absence. You quickly clear your throat, averting your eyes to the path instead of looking to the demon. “We should be on our way, then. We don’t have much time.”

He replies with only a grunt, supposedly in agreement, and the two of you begin your trek away from the abbey and towards Potalaka Mountain. The silence feels thick as you move, this tense feeling of awkwardness almost drowning you. It felt so normal to be bickering and at odds with the demon, and not having to deal with his insipid jabs for once feels off.

“…I didn’t expect you to volunteer yourself like that.” You finally break the silence, glancing to the side to see him rolling his eyes.

The monkey looks away, seemingly irritated from how he crosses his arms. “Things were easier before this stupid journey. I can handle any sort of punishment because I– I’m me! Poor Master is so frail, his heart might have given out before the whip could even touch him.” He shakes his head with a prolonged sigh. “I never intended for him to face the consequences of my actions. You were… right.”

The gasp that escapes your lips catches even you off guard, though not as much as hearing those words come from the supposed Great Sage himself. “What was that?” You look at him with wide eyes, the demon grumbling when he glances at your expression. Hearing the Great Sun Wukong admit not only that he was wrong, but that you were right? You’re almost feel unable to comprehend how he continues to surprise you.

“I won’t repeat it a second time. You heard me, woman.” You can’t help but grin at his seeming annoyance, amused by his obvious reluctance in admitting his wrongdoings. Despite how much you enjoy this, though, you can’t help but truly feel… you’re not quite sure. You have always been so sure of the Monkey King’s inherently selfish nature, seeing him act in any way that doesn’t align with it felt unnatural. “Why did you stop Zhenyuan?”

The question takes you off guard, the amusement dropping from your face when you take in the inquisitive look on Wukong’s face “What?”

The monkey demon smirks, a brow lifting at the sense of the tables turning in the conversation. “You didn’t think a little flogging could really hurt me, did you?” He leans over, stopping you in your tracks with a raised brow. “I honestly thought you would have revelled in my pain.”

“Don’t think so low of me.” You roll your eyes, resting a hand on your hip and glancing away. “The thought of asking my master for help came to me just moments before. Zhenyuan would have moved onto the rest of us after you anyways. I’m not so cruel as to watch another get whipped just because of my own feelings, even if that person is you.”

“Could have fooled me.” He laughs, making you scoff. There’s that annoying monkey you’re used to. Done with the conversation, you transform and take flight, in hopes of making the detour home quicker. You assume he’ll follow suit.

What you don’t expect is to be plucked from the air, ochre arms taking hold of your small form. You jump in a panic, your wings flapping manically before hearing Wukong’s sour tone of voice. “Stop! Calm yourself, Dove, the trip will be faster if I carry you.” He explains, huffing in a bit of amusement as he adds, “Your wings aren’t nearly as swift as my cloud.”

Of course he has to get one last jab in. You don’t find yourself too annoyed with it, though. If anything, it means you get to sit back and enjoy the sky instead of exhausting yourself. You silently tuck in your wings and try to relax, despite how bizarre this felt. It really crossed your mind earlier that Wukong volunteering was his way of making your death look like an accident, and you still haven’t crossed that situation out as a possibility. However, you can’t deny how you’re taken by surprise with how gently he holds you. He carries you in one arm, his other shielding you from the strong winds rushing past.

Though, despite the protection from the powerful gusts, you can’t help but reel from the whiplash of it all. So many of his words, his actions in these last few hours clashed with the loud and brash monkey you know him to be. Of course, you never really expected him to be heartless, but you find yourself surprised nonetheless. Atop Sun Wukong’s somersault cloud, it hardly takes any time before you spot Potalaka Mountain in the distance. In a blink, you start to feel your stomach twisting. Seeing your home again, it feels almost surreal after so long. If it wasn’t for the pressing matters you returned for, you would love to see everyone again. The mountain itself is beautiful, flowers of every kind paint freckles of colour over the grassy green surface. Bodies of water trailing from the top of the mountain run down in graceful twists, trees older than yourself towering over bushes of berries. As Wukong begins your descent, you notice the village home of your old friends. It seems bustling with life, but before you can take in anymore of the small home, you pass by it on the cloud.

Facing forward once more, you find yourself heading towards a nostalgically familiar bamboo grove. The cloud disappears, the Monkey King landing as you transform back and take in a deep breath. You quickly turn to Wukong. “Thank you, Great Sage. I am grateful for the… quicker trip.”

The King gives you a funny look, perhaps because of the more formal thanks but is unable to respond before you turn back towards the grove. You can feel her presence, an aura you can recognise even on the other side of the mountain. She emerges from the grove, a serene figure cloaked in white holding her precious vase in one arm, a willow branch in the other. A small smile emerges from the warm feeling that grows in your chest when you see her, and you quickly bow in greeting.

“Hello, Master. I–” You can barely continue when your words get stuck in your throat, caught by surprise when you feel Guan Yin’s arms wrap around you in a warm embrace, pulling you closer.

“It is good to see you again, my little Dove.” Any resolve you had mustered quickly dissipates at her words and you quickly find yourself returning the gesture, holding your master tightly in your arms.

Your smile cracks wider ever so slightly when you feel her embrace tighten. “It is good to see you as well, Master. I’ve missed you.”

You slowly release from the reunion, your mind brought back to the problem at hand when you see Guan Yin glance back at Sun Wukong. “And I see you brought company as well.” You turn to look at the demon yourself, the man giving a somewhat awkward wave to the bodhisattva, his worried smile saying enough about the situation. “Tell me, if the two of you are here, where have you left the Tang Monk?”

“About that, our travelling companions seem to have found themselves in some trouble.” You lower your gaze as you speak, searching your mind for the right thing to say. You felt bad having to come here and bother the bodhisattva at all, and now the words feel caught in your throat.

“I angered the Great Immortal Zhenyuan, Bodhisattva.” Sun Wukong steps forward, in front of you. “I stole some of his ginseng fruit. When his disciples accused us of stealing, I struck down the tree in a bout of anger. Now we have come to ask for your help in restoring it.”

The answer makes Guan Yin’s eyes widen, and you look away when you feel her gaze focus on you. “My help?” She sounds surprised, but you keep your eyes trained to the ground. Even without looking, you can hear the smile in her voice. “I am impressed.”

The words have your head whip back to face her, your mouth almost going agape. Even your monkey companion shares a look of befuddlement. Impressed? By what?! “You are?”

Slipping the willow branch into her other hand, Guan Yin holds out a hand that you take, bringing you closer as she addresses Wukong. “My little Squab has always made it a point to show her independence. Though, it was the right decision to call on me for this. I will revive the ginseng tree.” She looks at you with the same comforting smile you’ve seen since you were a child, and it quickly absolves your anxieties. You had been worried that asking for her assistance on a matter like this would be tedious to her, but the bodhisattva quickly settled your fears with her words of reassurance.

“Squab?” Wukong snorts, quickly dragging you back into reality with his snickering.

You feel your face flush, and try your best to ignore the ape. “Shall we be on our way, Master?” You clear your throat and turn to face her. The Bodhisattva lets out a titter of amusement herself, which does little to tone down the growing warmth of your face.

Luckily, she doesn’t comment on it. “Yes, the faster your journey can continue, the better.” With her words, you turn back into your dove form.

This time, Guan Yin is who you accompany on the flight back to the Abbey, perching on her shoulder. Fortunately enough for you, the importance of the situation at hand left little time for conversation between Wukong and Guan Yin. You soon catch sight of the home of Zhenyuan once more. As you descend, you spot a servant catching sight of your group and quickly run inside.

By the time you reach the ground and transform back, the old immortal Zhenyuan, accompanied by your own travelling companions, are at the gates of the temple ready to meet you. “Bodhisattva Guan Yin, it is an honour to have you with us.” The daoist bows in greeting, your master doing the same.

“Thank you, Great Immortal. The Great Sage and my disciple have informed me of your misfortune.” She nods politely, gesturing to the two of you. “Please, bring me to your ginseng tree so that I may restore it.”

“Of course.” At her request, your group is led to the gardens. You follow behind your Master, your companions a little ways behind. There’s a slight tension in the air you try your best to ignore while you are all escorted to the tree, a nervousness amongst the others. Maybe they were unsure of whether Guan Yin can do what you said she could, but if that is the case, there’s no need for them to be antsy. You have faith in your master. Entering the garden, the damage outshines the beauty of every other plant in the space. Grass and dirt overturned surrounds the thick roots that point up towards the sky. Shrivelled leaves lay scattered beneath the branches they once decorated, pieces of bark and twigs chip off the trunk, the aftermath of prideful destruction.

The group looks back at the Monkey King, who lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. Guan Yin raises an unimpressed brow, and points to the tree with her willow branch. “Sun Wukong, will you step forward, please?” With a small nod, he complies. “The hand that fell this tree will be the one to lift it back up.”

The Bodhisattva dips her willow branch into her vase, using it to brush a charm onto the sage’s hand before closing his fist. “Now, place your hand at the base of the tree, and– do you perhaps own a jade ladle?” She turns to Zhenyuan.

“We have wine goblets and tea cups made of jade.” The daoist responds, and she nods.

“Good, have one brought here.” Guan Yin smiles, and he turns to give one of his servants the silent command to retrieve one while she returns her attention to Wukong. The demon places his fist against one of the roots of the tree, one of the few that were still in contact with the ground. The dirt beneath the root starts to tremble as he follows her instructions, the ground dampening before a pool of water spurts up from below. A few of the disciples gasp at the trick, though Guan Yin remains unfazed. “Thank you, Great Sage. Now, if you would please reorient the tree to its original position.” Wukong is quick to obey, lifting the tree with relative ease and placing it carefully back so that its branches could reach up once more. The Bodhisattva then has several of their observers help in covering the roots with more soil, you and your fellow companions putting a hand in yourselves.

Just as you all finish in replanting the tree, the servant returns with the jade goblet. Once it is given to Guan Yin, she hands it to Sun Wukong. “Use this to pour the water over the tree. Once you have done that, the bark and the roots will grow back together. The leaves will come out, the branches will turn green, and the fruits will appear.”

The Monkey King nods, following the bodhisattva’s instructions and uses the jade goblet to scoop up the water from the ground. On his cloud, he hovers over the tree before drizzling the water over its branches. Guan Yin begins to recite a spell under her breath and as the water makes contact, the leaves begin to grow once more. The spots where the bark had chipped away reemerge and the uniquely-shaped ginseng begin to grow and ripen spontaneously. The servants and disciples of the temple begin to murmur amongst one another, shocked by the miracle performed.

However, it is Zhenyuan whose voice carries above them all. “Thank you, Bodhisattva.” He is almost beaming with joy as he speaks, relief transcribed over his expression. “This deed must be celebrated. Please, allow me to hold a feast in your honour. To celebrate the revival of my ginseng tree.”

Your master looks at you with a smile, one you return happily. You guess it was a good thing to have called on her for assistance after all. “Of course, I accept.” With that, Zhenyuan and Guan Yin left to speak while you finally have a chance to speak with your friends that were left behind. Tripitaka is the first to approach you, relief radiates off him in waves. “Thank goodness you came back. I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to return.” He admits, looking over to where Monkey King was talking to Sandy and Pigsy. “I thought you and Pilgrim Sun would have more of a… difficult time reaching Potalaka Mountain.”

“The trip was… quiet.” You give a shy smile, not sure how else to describe the short journey. Surprising was the first word that came to mind when describing it, but you’d rather not have to explain why the monkey’s actions felt so surprising to you.

As though he could sense being thought of, Sun Wukong jumps between the two of you, taking Tripitaka by surprise. “Looks like everything has turned out alright in the end. Right, Squab?”

“Squab?” You let out a groan when Tripitaka echoes the nickname. He really isn’t letting that one go anytime soon, is he?

With a sigh, you begin to walk away from the boys. “If the two of you would excuse me, I would like to catch up with my master while she is still in our company.” You dismiss yourself, walking just a little faster than normal to get away from the irritating face of that demon. Even when he’s out of sight, his snickering echoes through the halls as you go to find Guan Yin.

~~~~

As night creeps upon the Abbey, Sun Wukong and his companions gather in the main hall for the feast hosted by Zhenyuan. As the feast is in her honour, Guan Yin sits at the centre of the table, the Tang Monk to her right and her young disciple to her left. Pigsy and Sandy join their master on his right while the Monkey King sits to the right of Zhenyuan and the left of Dove, though her other name is beginning to grow on him. With the matter of his tree resolved, Wukong feels as though Zhenyuan is much easier to get along with. The two have already spent some time talking and, well, having fun drinking. This was a side of the old man Wukong could really appreciate.

Only when the immortal excuses himself for a moment does the Monkey King begin to pay attention to the other side of the table. His fellow brothers and master seem to be deep in conversation with the bodhisattva, sharing with her chronicles of their journey thus far. “And she dove into the river while the others were planning on how to bring you onto land?” 

“I was so confused as it happened, until I recognised her, of course.” Sandy laughs, the girl in question offering a timid smile as he does. Wukong can’t help but furrow his brows at her change in demeanour. He questions whether or not it was possible for her to sit straighter, her body language tense. The usually bossy know-it-all is somehow even more composed than usual, it’s almost scary. “Our little Soother tells us she has been your disciple since childhood, is that true?”

The King almost misses the twitch in Guan Yin’s smile. “Yes, she has always been one of my most faithful. Despite the occasional pranks she would play, she has always been quite attentive from a young age.”

The room goes silent at that. Wujing looks between the Dove and her master, bug-eyed, Wukong himself feeling his mouth go agape. The pig lets out a dry laugh. “Pranks? Her??” The four men all look over to Dove, her eyes practically burning holes into the table, her cheeks growing red for the second time that day.

Guan Yin laughs softly. “Yes, it wasn’t a rare sight to see Moksa angrily chasing after her through my grove. I remember when she made him believe she had killed my favourite fish from my pond. The poor prince was distraught at the thought of me finding out.”

“Oh, really?” Wukong jumps into the conversation at that, leaning against the table to get a better look at the woman’s burning face. “Now that you mention it, I can see Squab being a bit of a troublemaker.” Her eyes flash to him as he calls her by Guan Yin’s nickname, the flames in her eyes so palpable he can almost feel their heat. Despite the very obvious anger, however, she remains silent aside from a quiet, “Hhmph.” The lack of reaction only makes the King grin. She’s obviously holding her tongue because of her master, maybe they could call Guan Yin in for some favours more often if it results in this. Wukong could get used to this poised-yet-flustered birdie.

Whether Guan Yin is aware of her disciple slowly dying from embarrassment, she doesn’t show it. “I wouldn’t say she was any trouble for us, those jokes were merely harmless fun. If anything, seeing how they made her light up was reassuring, with how reserved she was when she first came to me.” Reserved? The master and disciple look to one another, something silent in their eyes speak to one another, but before Wukong can get either to elaborate further, Zhenyuan returns.

“The food has been prepared. But before we feast, I would like to offer you all a serving of the fruit that was saved today.” He addresses the table as servants follow him into the hall, each presenting a plate of the very ginseng that Guan Yin had restored.

Thanking their host, the travellers begin to eat, Wukong remembers it well from the first fruit he stole and partly wonders if eating the fruit twice now means he has ninety-four thousand years added to his multiple immortalities. The fruit is bitter, with subtle sweet notes followed by a bit of an earthy aftertaste. As he eats, he looks to his fellow brothers at the table, enjoying the fruit. Tripitaka makes a slight face at the first bite, likely not expecting its taste while Guan Yin… she somehow looks even more serene and composed while eating the fruit.

That’s when he notices the Dove. She’s still, her fruit laying in front of her uneaten. It doesn’t take long for the bodhisattva to notice, either. She silently places a hand on her shoulder, snapping the woman out of wherever her mind had wandered. “Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, though Wukong’s more superior hearing is able to catch her words easily.

“Yes, thank you. I just find it a little funny, I suppose.” She gives the woman a smile, and though her master returns it, Wukong can’t help but feel there was something underneath the expression.

Her eyes are sympathetic. “I know, you feel it is too late. It’s not what I planned for you, but after all this time, you deserve something for your efforts.” Wukong feels lost in the conversation, likely a sign that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but his curiosity will always get the better of him.

Dove sighs, her eyes falling back onto the fruit on her plate. “What was planned or not, everything I have has been given to me by you.” She looks back to her master, the bodhisattva’s smile dropping. “Now, what you’ve done today has given me something new. Thank you.”

“And who brought me here to revive the fruit?” Guan Yin questions. “Everything I’ve given you is what you have earned. Never forget that, Squab.” She brings the woman’s plate closer, the disciple nodding before taking the fruit in her hands.

“…Of course, Master.” She smiles, taking her first bite of the fruit. Sun Wukong can’t help but frown before turning back to his own plate. What were they talking about? Whether it’s his business or not, the Monkey King feels intrigued now!

Would she tell him if he asked? Likely not, but the monkey is sure he can figure it out one way or another. He’s clever when he wants to be, this surely won’t be too difficult to figure out. Besides, he has the rest of their journey to ask about it.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Nisha, did you know I would step on some legos barefooted for you? Anyways can’t wait to read for another fandom I have never stepped foot in and would probably never engage with the canon in just because you decided that’s what to make, and I’ve decided to read it anyways. Home cooked meal. -Rotten Anon

The opening line of this message made literal cartoon anime hearts appear above my head, just so you know <3

Also you have inspired me to post a rundown of my WIPs because I am really excited about what I have been working on. And for two of these fandoms, I know you have said you know nothing about the canon, but for the third, I am not sure, so we'll see.

My Current WIPs April/May 2024

Heaven's Gate (for The Walking Dead) - Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates/Lovers Reunited. Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 1 to Season 5. 17k in counting (will be a oneshot). You can find a preview here. In this fic, you and Daryl get separated when the Governor attacks the prison, and though you both believe the other person is dead (or long gone) you find each other at the most unlikely time, in the most unlikely place.

I am super excited about this fic, and the themes of hope that I have woven into it. Because yes, I unironically love writing about hope and how the human spirit can persevere - which is something that my favourite moments in The Walking Dead show. This is first draft complete and just needs to be edited.

The Jaws of Life (for DC Titans) - Jason Todd x GN!Reader. Sequel to Emergency Contact. Lovers Reunited. Extreme Angst, Smut, Hurt and (some) Comfort. Set during Season 3. 21k in counting (will probably be a oneshot - if it needs to be split up, it will be put in two parts, but I hope I can get away with a oneshot). (I highly recommend that everyone go read the original in the meantime, because it is one of my best fics ever.) In this fic, you and Jason struggle with the new meaning of your relationship after what happened with Deathstroke - only for this tentative change to be harshly disrupted by the Joker. And you're still heavily mourning when a red hooded stranger breaks into your apartment one night, seeking medical care because apparently - you owe him one.

Everyone give Jaycen @nctzenkane a big fucking round of applause for this one, because he was randomly talking to me about Jason Todd today (we were having the 'some characters are only fuckable in costume' discussion) - and I got talking about how this version of Jason from Titans makes me so passionate to write about the character. And it is solely because of him that I opened up this fic and took a good look at it - I have been thinking about this fic for months, wanting to finish it because I know I am gonna be proud of it, but I kept hesitating because I thought I had a way bigger mountain to conquer with it. But the conversation I had with Jaycen really inspired me and I wrote 5k on the fic just today, and I realized that with this momentum, I could have the first draft done by the end of this month. So I am promising myself that this is gonna be done soon.

Speaking of which - when The Jaws of Life is first draft done, I wanna host a poll so you guys can decide which of those two ^^ fics goes through the editing process to be posted first. Both will be posted (hopefully) by the end of May, but I do wanna know which one you guys wanna see posted first. Which leads me to:

Nasty (for Stranger Things) - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. 3k (this is gonna be a shorter fic lmao). In this fic, you and Eddie have been dating for a while, but you don't like that all of his attempts to have sex with you have him taking on a (seemingly fake) dom persona. When you finally tell him that you prefer to be more dominant in bed, he isn't disgusted like you thought he might be - he loves it.

This is one I have been sitting on for a while, and right before it was ready to be posted - my brain lost interest in it like tiktok does micro trends. But I think this is gonna be really great to post while the poll for those other fics is cooking because it's short and sweet and for the past few days, whenever I have seen the cover for this in my drafts, I have gotten excited about it again. So I am excited to finish it and show it off to everyone!!

[pixel7777]

This Old House - A Bloodweave Fanfic: Ch. 16, Epilogue

See Ch. 1 for work summary and content tags. Read this chapter below the break here or on AO3!

Chapter Summary:

Status: Technically Resolved, Perpetually Ongoing Action Items: ✅ Ensure Sunrise Manor is thriving under Jaheira’s leadership. ✅ Accept that the house remains deeply opinionated. ✅ Continue disrupting the Baldur’s Gate political landscape. ❌ Escape bureaucratic nightmares—ever. ❌ Retire in peace. ❌ Stop meddling in city politics.

Notes:

This entire chapter would not exist without my beta reader, chaus_cobolorum, suggesting that an epilogue was needed. I think they were right!

Jaheira

Jaheira stared at the ledger. The numbers blurred, columns of figures that never quite balanced. The sanctuary thrived, but the books were a disaster. Two years of this, and still no one could manage them properly. The details, yes. The bigger picture? A mess.

A subtle shift in the air pulled her attention from the ledgers. The house—never just a building anymore—whispered its warning through a cooling breeze that ruffled the corners of her paperwork.

"Wonderful," she muttered, making a final notation before the inevitable interruption.

The door to her office swung open with dramatic flair, and Astarion swept in as though entering a royal ball rather than a office drowning in paperwork. His silver-trimmed black coat was clearly new, and whatever tailor had crafted it knew precisely how to highlight his lithe figure.

"Jaheira!" he exclaimed, arms wide. "How is my favorite druid-turned-bureaucrat?"

She set down her quill deliberately. "I was counting coin for the blood suppliers. Fascinating work. Perhaps you would like to take over?"

Astarion's smile didn't falter. "Dreadfully dull. I'll leave that to your capable hands." He perched on the edge of her desk, carelessly displacing a stack of invoices. "The manor looks marvelous. I see you've finally cleared out that ghastly sculpture garden."

"The house decided it wanted a herb garden instead." Jaheira gathered the scattered papers, tapping them into order. "Where is your incontestably better half? Usually Gale is here to moderate your more outlandish ideas."

"Teaching. Something dreadfully tedious about extraplanar conjuration principles." He waved dismissively. "Mid-term at Blackstaff means I've been temporarily abandoned for the pursuit of knowledge."

Jaheira nodded, already sensing where this was heading. "You've come alone, mid-week, dressed for court. There's a vote tomorrow, isn't there?"

"Your political acumen remains sharp as ever." Astarion adjusted his cuffs. "Yes, a crucial bill. I've done what I can to secure votes, but—"

"But you need something from me." Jaheira leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Out with it, vampling. I have three meetings this afternoon, two skirmishes to mediate between former cultists, and an incorrect shipping manifest to contest before sunset."

Astarion's expression shifted to the particular blend of charm and calculation she'd come to recognize over these past two years. "Now, Jaheira, is that any way to greet an old friend who's traveled all this way just to see you?"

"It is when that friend has that particular look in his eye." She fixed him with an unyielding stare. "What do you want, Astarion?"

Jaheira saw the familiar dance begin as Astarion's posture shifted subtly—shoulders relaxing while his eyes grew more intent. This was his negotiation stance, one she'd witnessed countless times when he wanted something without appearing to need it.

"The motion before the council tomorrow," he began, inspecting his nails with false casualness, "is a formal outlawing of slavery in Baldur's Gate. Every form of it, with proper enforcement measures. Not just the theatrical pronouncements they've made in the past."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "I am aware."

"Well, consider what that would mean for Sunrise Manor." His hands animated as he spoke. "Fewer victims to rehabilitate. Fewer traumatized souls crossing your threshold. The burden on this place—on you—would lighten considerably."

"How very thoughtful of you to consider my workload," she said dryly. "And somehow the success of this vote becomes my responsibility rather than yours?" She leaned forward. "Astarion, I credit you for creativity. This is not the most absurd argument you have made to me over the years, but I am already bearing quite a few burdens on your behalf."

His expression flashed with genuine indignation. "Surely Dalyria has been more than a little help with the spawn."

Jaheira wordlessly pointed to the wooden sign hanging above her desk. Bold red numbers proclaimed: "It has been 37 Days since the last Non-Consensual Biting Incident."

"Yes," she said, voice bone-dry. "It's so easy working with your kin, there is almost no need to mention it."

Astarion's mouth twitched, though whether from amusement or irritation was hard to tell.

Jaheira softened slightly. "In fairness, yes. Dalyria is quite competent. She's revolutionized the treatment protocols for feral spawn in the infirmary. The medical staff cannot stop singing her praises."

"There, you see?" Astarion brightened.

"But managing the politics of the spawn population is not her forte." Jaheira tapped her finger against the desk. "She is a healer at heart, not a negotiator. The spawn respect her, but they do not follow her the way they would..." She trailed off meaningfully.

Astarion's smile dimmed. "The way they would if I were here more often."

Jaheira regarded Astarion with a long, measured look. These visits always followed the same pattern—flippancy masking genuine concern, self-interest disguising altruism. After two years of working alongside him to build this sanctuary, she'd grown to see the layers beneath his carefully constructed persona.

"It is no more your responsibility to see every spawn successfully transitioned into society than it is mine to pass this law," she said, her voice softening slightly. "But let us set that aside for now. What is it, exactly, that you want?"

Astarion straightened, abandoning some of his performative casualness. "I've nearly secured the votes for tomorrow. Just one holdout remains." His eyes narrowed. "Lady Thione Aralin. The last of the Patriars who received certain gifts from Cazador that I haven't managed to neutralize—one way or another—over the years." A shadow of something darker flashed across his face before he grinned cheekily. "Did you know portable holes have many non-obvious applications?"

Jaheira chose not to pursue that particular thread. "And Lady Aralin presents a problem because...?"

"Because while I can personally vouch that she received favors from my former master," he said, voice tight with old pain, "I cannot identify what services she provided in exchange."

Jaheira felt a familiar ache in her chest—grief for what Astarion had endured, pride for how far he'd come. She'd watched him transform from a desperate, traumatized survivor into someone who channeled his pain toward meaningful change. The child trafficking ring they'd dismantled together last year had been particularly satisfying.

"The favor is not necessarily corruption if nothing was received in trade," she observed.

"Precisely my dilemma." Astarion's fingers drummed against her desk. "I've exhausted my resources. But surely, with your Harper connections..." He left the question hanging.

Jaheira leaned back in her chair, considering. Lady Aralin had been careful, certainly more careful than the late Baron Bormul. But the Harpers had been watching the Patriars for generations.

"You think I have dirt on her," Jaheira stated flatly.

"If anyone does, it would be you." Astarion's expression grew earnest, dropping more of his usual affectations. "This law matters, Jaheira. Not just for show, but with actual enforcement mechanisms. Proper inspections of merchant ships. Penalties with teeth."

Jaheira studied Astarion's expression, noting the genuine desperation beneath his practiced charm. After two years of working with him, she'd learned to separate his theatrical flourishes from his authentic concerns. This mattered to him deeply.

"I have nothing on Lady Aralin," she said finally. "The Harpers have investigated her numerous times over the years, but she's been remarkably cautious. Whatever arrangements she made, they were verbal only, with no paper trail."

Disappointment flickered across Astarion's face, his shoulders slumping slightly before he caught himself. "I see. Well, perhaps I'll simply have to be more... persuasive tomorrow."

Jaheira rolled her eyes. "For someone who spent centuries watching and listening, you can be remarkably obtuse." She tapped her fingers against the desk. "Think, Astarion. Lady Aralin may have been wise in refusing to commit her sins to paper, but any deal must have been negotiated somehow. Somewhere." She emphasized the last word, watching his expression. "And certain 'wheres' have ears."

Understanding dawned slowly across his face, followed by a flash of recognition that morphed into a self-deprecating smile.

"The palace," he breathed. "Of course. How could I have forgotten?"

Jaheira allowed herself a satisfied smirk. "The house remembers far more than even you do, I suspect. Have you asked it directly what it knows of Lady Aralin's dealings with Cazador?"

"I haven't," he admitted, looking somewhat chagrined.

"For all your centuries of supposed wisdom, sometimes the most obvious solutions escape you." Jaheira couldn't resist the opportunity to needle him. "Perhaps this is what happens when one reaches such an advanced age as yourself. The mind begins to falter."

Astarion's eyes narrowed, though amusement tugged at his lips. "My dear Jaheira, I'm impressed by how nimble your mind remains despite your advancing years. What are you now—three hundred? Four?"

"Still young enough to outwit you," she countered, then grew more serious. "You were there, were you not? When Lady Aralin met with Cazador."

His smile faded. "Yes. At a gathering where I was... entertainment." He spoke the word with unveiled bitterness. "I witnessed their initial meeting, but they spoke privately afterward. I wasn't privy to their conversation."

Something shifted in his expression—realization replaced by savage satisfaction. "But the house was. The house heard everything."

"How unfortunate for Lady Aralin," Jaheira remarked dryly.

"Indeed." Astarion's smile returned, sharper now. "How very, very unfortunate for her."

Jaheira rose from her desk, stretching muscles stiff from too many hours hunched over ledgers. She crossed to the cabinet against the far wall, unlocking the bottom drawer with a small brass key from her belt pouch. "The house has been quite vocal about many things, but getting specific information can be challenging."

She pulled out a polished wooden board inlaid with silver letters arranged in a wide arc. Numbers ran along the bottom edge, and various symbols dotted the corners.

"Nikka's latest innovation," she explained, setting it on the desk. "She calls it a 'spirit board,' though that is hardly accurate since the house is not a spirit. But it is more efficient than waiting for the house to spell things out by blinking the lights."

Astarion picked up the flat wooden pointer attached to the board by a thin silver chain. "How clever. The child does have talent."

"She is presenting her findings at the Blackstaff Tower next month," Jaheira said with unmistakable pride. "Now that we have proven the house's sentience is quantifiable, she is advancing theories about creating similar constructs."

"Yes, now that you mention it I do remember Gale saying something about this.  He seemed excited."

"Naturally," Jaheira muttered, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. "Your spouse has opinions. Many, many opinions."

She handed the board to Astarion. "Take this to your office. The one you never use. Now get out of my face."

Astarion grinned happily. "Lovely."

"And before you leave," she added, "stop by the infirmary to speak with Dalyria. She has been doing exemplary work, but I sense she is hesitant to voice certain concerns to me."

"Ah." Understanding lit Astarion's eyes. "She's afraid of disappointing you."

Jaheira nodded. "Precisely. But she has no such reservations about speaking frankly with you."

"Which has been such a joy. I suspect she just likes lecturing me after she's run out of others to inflict herself upon," Astarion said, gathering the spirit board.

"Perhaps," Jaheira allowed. "Or perhaps her respect for you runs deeper than you realize. If she is uncomfortable with a leadership role among the spawn, she might know who would be better suited. Ask her directly."

"My dear Jaheira," Astarion replied, his voice silky with mock offense, "I do believe you're attempting to burden me with additional responsibilities after so firmly insisting that your burdens aren't mine and mine aren't yours." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What was it you said earlier? 'It is no more your responsibility to see every spawn successfully transitioned into society than—'"

Jaheira grabbed the nearest ledger and hurled it directly at his head, knowing she had no chance to hit him but enjoying the chance to make him jump. Astarion ducked smoothly, the heavy book sailing over him to thud against the wall.

"I was merely quoting you," he said, straightening with a satisfied smirk. "No need for violence."

"Out," Jaheira ordered, pointing to the door. "Go see Dalyria before I find something heavier to throw."

"As you wish." Astarion tucked the spirit board under his arm with a flourish. "I shall dutifully check on our resident vampire physician and report back on her leadership suggestions, leveraging all my considerable charisma on your behalf."

"Your particular brand of irritating is what you mean," Jaheira muttered.

Astarion gave her a cheeky wave from the doorway. "Always a pleasure, Jaheira. We should do this more often."

The door closed behind him, and Jaheira allowed herself a small smile. For all his posturing and dramatic flair, Astarion had come a long way from the haunted, vengeful creature she'd first met years ago. He was still infuriating, of course, but his dedication to dismantling the systems that had trapped him was genuine.

Her smile faded as she considered the day ahead of him. Speaking with the manor about Lady Aralin would mean reliving memories of his time as Cazador's slave.  Regardless of how far he had come in transforming himself and overcoming his past, it would likely not be a pleasant afternoon for him.

She pulled a small stone from her desk drawer—one of several sending stones Gale had enchanted for their inner circle. After a moment's consideration, she pressed her thumb to its smooth surface and spoke quietly.

"Astarion is here. Looking for dirt on Lady Aralin. Sending him to speak with the house. Might be ugly. Just a warning."

The stone warmed in her palm briefly before Gale's clipped reply came: "Understood. Thanks for letting me know. In class. Will handle tonight."

Brief indeed. She replaced the stone in its drawer, satisfied she had done what she could. Gale would ensure Astarion had the support he needed after confronting those memories. The wizard had proven remarkably steady through Astarion's darker moments over the years.

Jaheira turned back to her ledgers with a resigned sigh. Another thing that wasn't her responsibility, thank Silvanus. Her shoulders were already bent under the weight of a sanctuary full of broken souls. Managing Astarion's emotional state was firmly in the "not my problem" category—and thankfully Gale's area of expertise.

Jaheira's attention drifted back to the ledgers but her mind refused to follow, lingering instead on the vampire who had just left. She tapped her quill against the parchment, creating a constellation of tiny ink dots at the corner of the page.

Breaking patterns was the hardest work any being could undertake. She'd witnessed it countless times throughout her long life—how victims so often became perpetrators, how the abused became abusers. The hardest battles weren't fought with blades or spells but in the quiet space of one's own mind, against the whispers that said: "This is how it was done to me, so this is how I will do it to others."

When Astarion had first appeared at her door two years ago with his grand plan for Sunrise Manor, she'd been skeptical. Not because she doubted his intentions, but because she knew the road ahead would be far harder than he imagined. At that point, she had already spent decades working with survivors, watching so many fail to escape the gravitational pull of their traumas.

It had been astonishing, really, how similar the house had been to Astarion himself when she'd first walked its halls. Reactive, terrified, defensive—lashing out with bursts of uncontrolled magic that mirrored Astarion's own caustic humor and emotional outbursts. The house had been paralyzed with uncertainty after years of cruelty, just as Astarion had been.

His initial instinct had been to run from it. To reject it entirely. She couldn't blame him—who wouldn't want to flee the embodiment of their worst memories?

But he hadn't fled, not ultimately. He'd returned and faced it.

Jaheira set down her quill, leaning back in her chair. The most remarkable thing wasn't that Astarion had survived his centuries of abuse—though that itself was no small feat. No, what truly distinguished him was his refusal to perpetuate the cycle. Where he could have become another Cazador, he'd chosen another path entirely.

He hadn't healed the house by abandoning it or controlling it—the two extremes that trauma so often pushed people toward. Instead, he'd given it purpose. Direction. A chance to be something entirely new.

"Just as someone once did for you, irritating creature," she murmured, thinking of the events that had first brought their unusual group together.

Perhaps that was her role in all this—to be the nudge, the enabler that helped others find strength to break their cycles. Not to heal them herself, but to create the conditions where healing became possible. After all, if the cycles of abuse could persist through generations, couldn't cycles of compassion do the same?

She glanced toward the window where she could see the northern wing of the manor, its windows glowing with warm light as evening approached. The house that had once been a prison was now a sanctuary. The vampire who had once been a slave was now fighting to outlaw slavery throughout the city.

Cycles could be broken. The proof was right before her eyes.

Jaheira dismisses her thoughts as the sentiment of an old woman. Intentions are one thing—the hard work is another. And it was time to get back to work.

She straightened her back, ignoring the familiar twinge that had settled between her shoulder blades, and pulled the nearest ledger closer. The house expenses had nearly doubled in the last month, largely due to the unexpected influx of twenty-three refugees from Amn. The food orders needed to be adjusted, and the healers' supplies needed replenishing.

"Sentimentality serves no one," she muttered to herself, jotting figures in the margin. The satisfaction of watching Astarion's growth meant nothing if they couldn't feed their charges.

She glanced at the pile of correspondence waiting for her attention: appeals for aid, requests for employment, missives from Harper contacts across the Sword Coast. The work never ended. It merely shifted form, like water finding new channels.

A short, firm knock interrupted her calculations.

"Come," she called, not looking up from her figures.

Terrick entered, the vampire spawn who had first greeted Astarion during his return to Cazador's dungeon. Two years of proper feeding and purpose had transformed him from a gaunt wraith into a solid, steady presence. He carried himself with the quiet dignity of a man who had discovered his worth after centuries of being told he had none.

"The orphans from Wyrm's Crossing have arrived," he reported. "Six of them, all under twelve. One shows signs of recent physical abuse."

Jaheira set down her quill. "Has Dalyria seen them?"

"She's with them now. The manor has already prepared rooms in the east wing." His mouth quirked slightly. "Pink wallpaper with buttercups. Rather cheerful."

Jaheira nodded, unsurprised. The house had developed quite distinct ideas about what different arrivals needed. Its intuition was rarely wrong.

"Show me," she said, rising from her desk.

As she followed Terrick through the corridor, she set aside her earlier reflections. Philosophy and sentiment were luxuries for those with leisure. She had work to do—children to settle, supplies to inventory, funds to allocate.

The house hummed around her, a now-familiar vibration that resonated in her bones. Two years of working within these walls had taught her to read its moods almost as well as she could read the weather. Today it felt... hopeful.

Jaheira found she agreed.

[joannasteez]

peace, be still

The wind bristles , so cold it burns. Here in some sleepy, darkened tundra, his dreams come like thieves, stealing breath and strength. And he rides war like, relentless, the stallion beneath him beating hard against a blend of winter sand and summer snow. Trampling ground to cover an endless distance. The way his bones grow weary, on the verge of fracture, hands so taut, they ache about the reigns. Grip as stiff as the long pulling tension in his neck. But he rides, rides, rides, swifter than the wind stretching wild against his face. Threatening to break already marred skin.

There is a loosening in his spirit as it erodes against the gust. The rhythm of hooves, that pounding ache in his skull, a seductive whisper in that swift rushing wind. 'Let go', they say, but the impact will splinter him fast, shatter his measly bones into old, bitter pieces. How else will he ride, if he dies? For a horse has no use for a still corpse and neither will the wind take great pleasure in whirling amongst the idleness of his dusted remains. 

His hands flatten like tattered paper, grip useless. Body falling, a feather against the cold. His dreams come like thieves, stealing bits of breath and beats of his heart. The brace for impact curling broad shoulders inward, till he's balled small, and scared. Breathless. And when he gasps', the come to is harsh on his lungs. Sharp and awakening. I'm not dead yet', he thinks, sighs. Relieved. Weary. Warm low lamp light at the corner of his eye and the twisting sheets about his hard thighs. Not yet. 

Joel feels disrupted still though, like an old body in new skin. Jackson, Wyoming is beautiful, a dream even. A tiny perfection made by fragile hands, but he can feel the war in him still, under flesh and bone, the way it shifts under new clothes and a soft leather coat. The tingle at the base of his neck and the pins pricking just at the soles of his feet. 

When the children pass him by, trudging happy through the snow, they smile, wave even, but the most he can muster is something half baked and unoriginal. Curt nods and a twitchy lipped semblance of some lesser Mona Lisa smile. And when the women shuffle in their wake, their eyes linger against the silver streaks lining his hair and the thick cut of his fingers. They smile like college girls, small and knowing of some speechless suggestion. And something in his gut pulls warm and awakening, for seconds at a time, before it snuffs fast to a cold emptiness. ‘Slowing down is good. You'll be settled in no time', his brother said once. Says it again, all the time, like some sacred mantra, but his restless insides war hard, exacting, with the stillness that so patiently awaits him.

But when Joel doesn't dream, he sifts through memory. Feels the dull throb of a slow to heal tear along the base of his abdomen...

... and remembers the pain, the frantic sweat of his skin and dread riffling just over his bones. He remembers some weeks ago, Tommy sticking a rifle in his hand along with a horses reigns. 

"It's huntin' time you old fucker", he chuckles. Eyes brown and bright still. Somehow. 

Joel rides alongside him and it's something like Texas all over again. "Time to see this bullshit power scope in action". 

"Never gonna stop given me shit about that huh?" 

"I'm still breathin' ain't I?"

The commune gates open and they ride through, met with a fresh blanket of deep snow. 

And to say that nerve doesn't pick raw at his resolve would be a lie, but trailing away from hard truths has been Joel's routine for years. Over a decade really. He's a bit ways away from terrified, still. A beautiful marksman when it counts, when survival is paramount, blood rushing, flooding a beating into his pulse, but his knees are worn and his right ear fails him at keeping a steady awareness. He's all rough and ruined, coarse edges playing at sharpness. Yet theres a rifle strapped to his back, and an unwavering glint of trust in Tommy's kind eyes. 

"Its kinda like Texas a little", his brother pipes up from beside him.

Joel snorts. Feels the Wyoming wind ride through his hair. 'Texas my ass', he thinks. "How you figure?" 

"You being here I guess. Us together. It's kinda like old times". 

Joel doesn't say much past a hum thats not all too contemplative, ignoring the warm stinging in his chest. Moves out and makes way for a long silence to take over. But the silence doesn't pass, it stays. Blankets over them like snow, swaddles them whole. 

Hunting proves to be a slow, tedious affair, nothing at all to get excited about save for the hot meals to follow. The accuracy of Tommy's power scope feeds what little amusement already existing amongst the small group, till of course, Joel's words prove themselves with a faithful return, taunting and devilish, to bite him in the ass. Even up here in the vacant West, safety is an illusion. A distraction. Some ill-fated dream. And it's that steady strum over nerve that gets him, awakens suspicion, because he's a little frayed, but never torn. Far from it even. Instinct pushes his fingers into a familiar movement till the rifle is secure enough in his hands to shoot. 

There are disruptions in the snow, foot steps that don't belong. 

It comes at a deathly speed, an arrow shrill in the wind, whipping just hairs away from his bad ear. Lodging hard into the wood of a tree. Theres five of them, no, seven, another two emerging on horseback from the horizon line. Seven to their five. Joel's stomach churns, solidifies with resolve, a will to make it back home. Home. That little commune of folks, the place where Tommy lives. In the face of sudden death, it all advances beyond his hesitancies, beyond what restrains him and reduces him to a meaningless cordiality. Jackson, he believes in this moment, is home. 

"Joel", Tommy booms. Fettered with fear. It's the hell of desert storm all over again. 

He moves familiar. Strides deep and fast in the snow and takes the tree for cover. He breathes. Listens. Waits. The arrows and bullets have limits, and when the reload comes, he emerges with that beautiful God given precision and shoots a horse rider dead. The snow painted in blood. Eagles caw above him in knowing of some manmade chaos, flapping in judgement, in tune with the trees that sway in terrified breezes, ruffling up some somber song in the stillness. Instinct speaks, a duet with nature. Leaves halve, go brittle in the wake of some hard footed destruction, Joel's skin runs skittish. He turns in time to dodge the blunt force of some incoming weapon. Secures space behind the man well enough to have him about the neck. He huffs, twisting, the snap of bone before the man slumps to be buried in the snow. 

But there is another, and the knife he comes with drives faster than instinct can fight. A deep slicing beyond fabric and into the skin of his abdomen. 

Joel buckles, stuttering from pain. A gun shot sends his assailant downward. The pain rips him raw, of fight and strength, his blood staining a deep red into his fingers. 

A tiredness overtakes him.

And God is he tired right now, has been for some days, more than usual actually, but thats what stillness does to you. Makes you tired. And 'Im falling', he thinks. Can feel the earth closing in on his face. He curls inward, like in those dark chilly dreams. Bracing for an impact that never comes. His brother, shivering with panic, catching him, curses ripping off his tongue as he helps Joel to a disturbed horse. 

Tommy feels the ices in his lungs when he breathes. "So help me God Joel, stay awake". 

For Joel the day dims, a slow sweeping darkness about his eyes. 

"C'mon big brother, stay with me". 

The horse buckles, steps nervously to and fro in an agitation dug up from primal urges. It wars on its own, whether to stay or flee. Tommy shushes it, shushes her, runs fingers along her spine. And he's strong. Stronger than Joel remembers. Capable. Moves fast, thinks quick. And as his bones grow cold, he thinks of the former things, once being like that too. Capable and reliable, but now he's fettered to fear, huffing and horrified like Tommy's horse. But even the horse is more useful, galloping through the snowy plains, its hooves beating against the ground to save his life. 'Does he think I'm useless?', Joel wonders, held up in Tommy's hold. Feeling that slow frigid stretch of death pulling under his flesh. 'After all this time, what does he think of me now?'

But in the moment Tommy thinks of very little, feeling the bite of the wind, something wicked and gnawing, cutting at his skin. It taunts him, rips his reality to shreds, like he's been stabbed too. Because for years, Wyoming had been a fortress. Some great big fortified structure propping up some otherwise broken thing. But the illusion breaks soon, always does, as his horse tears through, kicking up snow and dirt. Wyoming cuts back against Tommy's skin, peeling off into the wind to slice against the fragility of his face. He feels the pool of Joel's blood, a warmth that cakes and hardens in the wintry bitterness and sees the severity of believing in dreams. The grand mask held up by an illusion. Tommy rides, rides, rides, rushing back to save what remains of dreams, his older brother, his only brother, bleeding out in the grip of his arm. 

An eye wells, tears slipping to streak his cheek. 

"We're almost there", is the last thing Tommy says. The last thing Joel hears before the darkness takes him. 

[synthy-sizer]

It's a much longer walk to the rocket launch pad than it was to the radio tower. Even with the radio tower being tucked away, the difference between that and the launch pad is astronomical. But you suppose it makes sense. The sheer amount of noise, shaking and smoke generated by a rocket launch would be quite the disruption. Heresy told you the basics. Oddly, it was built underground with a door that opens at ground level to allow the rocket a clean escape. Apparently they had to build massive tunnels in 4 directions to funnel the smoke away through vents on the surface. You were a bit nervous about the decay of the building, but she said it should be fine. Practically any structure attached to the Lunar megastructure will survive longer than normal ones. As you approach, you notice the first thing Heresy mentioned you would see; a large metal door in the ground. This is hardly the hatch that had tormented you just a few weeks ago, though. It must be the size of a small house. The thick, rusting metal is split down the middle, and stepping on it experimentally tells you just how thick and sturdy it is despite exposure to the elements. A bolt cutter definitely wouldn't break through this.

You walk around the perimeter. Heresy said that the entrance probably wouldn't be as obvious as it once was, but that there should be traces of a path inside. You keep walking and walking, and looking out into the grassy plains around you, and suddenly something catches your eye. You walk towards it and confirm your suspicions. It's the decaying and overgrown remains of an asphalt road. It looks far different from anything you have in the barracks, er, your neighborhood. You're far more used to gravel. You trudge over to, and stand upon, the old road. It feels strange under your feet. You feel as though you're standing on cursed ground. Turning back to face the massive door, you suddenly notice what Heresy was talking about. The road angles downward into an arched tunnel that leads down into the darkness. But even in the dark you recognize the unmistakable red color of the code red lights. Somehow despite seeing it several times now, you can't help but feel uneasy around the red glow. But you press forward anyway.

…

You are standing in the TUNNEL. It's dark, and you're barely illuminated by dim red lights. The tunnel goes FORWARD further than you can see. Heresy said there would be a door at the end, so you suppose you have to trust her. To the right, there's a SECURITY GATE.

Look at tunnel>

There isn't much you can see in the darkness, but you can faintly make out the shapes of sirens similar to what was in the hatch. They probably serve the same purpose.

Look at security gate>

You press your face and hands against the metal grate of the door. The space the gate is blocking looks like some kind of garage. You can see the faint silhouettes of VEHICLES of some sort in the dim red light.

Look at vehicles>

They don't look like anything you've ever seen. You're used to lightweight electric pickup trucks and carts, but these look monstrous in comparison. They're huge, heavy, and have thick armor plating on them. You don't like the look of them.

Go forward>

You can't seem to get into the garage, so you walk forward. It's quite a long tunnel, but eventually you see something that doesn't match the view you've had so far. As you get closer you realize this must be the end of the tunnel. There's a DOOR attached to the wall, with a red cage lamp glowing red above it.

Look at door>

Like everything else you've seen in these Apollo facilities, the door looks sturdy and heavy. You doubt you would be able to shove it open.

Open inventory>

[Inventory]

Bolt cutters

Knife

Map

Keyring

Equip keyring>

You pull the keyring out of your bag and start sifting through KEYS. There has to be something that will work here.

Use keys on door>

After sifting through the keys and not finding anything with a clear label, you resign yourself to just putting every key into the door one at a time. It takes a few minutes of idle testing but eventually one turns smoothly. You test the doorknob and the door swings open.

Go inside>

You're surprised by what you see behind the door. It appears to be some kind of control center. The room is curved, and has large windows facing inwards towards the center of the large metal door. There's COMPUTERS, MONITORS and all kinds of strange DEVICES covering every surface of the desks. It looks like at least a dozen people were meant to work here at a time. Frustratingly, the windows don't give you much of a view of anything, since it seems as though there's metal plates directly behind them. The lights are red here, too.

Look at computers>

The computers seem just so functional as any others you've seen. Maybe you can use one to get instructions from Heresy.

Use computer>

The applications are familiar to you at this point. The INSTANT MESSENGER stands ready.

Use instant messenger>

HERESY's name is at the top of the list. She must have added herself as a new user to make sure she can help you.

Talk to Heresy>

[HERESY is ONLINE]

Launchpad: I made it.

Heresy: Sofia, good to see you made it inside.Heresy: Does the rocket look ok?

Launchpad: I can't tell…Launchpad: It looks like the windows are blocked

Heresy: Ah yeah, those are the blast doors

Heresy: Since they needed the observation deck to be so close to the launchpad…

Heresy: They would close the blast doors to protect themselves during launches.

Heresy: There should be a switch somewhere that will open them.

Launchpad: Where do I look?

Heresy: Look up near the top of the windows.

Heresy: That's where the control switches should be.

You stand up from the desk.

Look around>

The whole place is in shambles. You're tampering with science way above your pay grade now. You doubt you could make heads or tails of any papers stacked up on the desks. But overhead there are indeed CONTROLS on panels attached to the ceiling.

Look at controls>

There's a wide array of switches and buttons. Several have clearly designated labels; BLAST DOORS, LIGHTS, MAIN DOOR and TUNNELS.

Use blast doors>

You flick the switch and, surprisingly, the metal slabs slowly lift away from the windows with a loud metallic creak and groan. You can see outside the windows now, but it's too dark to take advantage.

Use lights>

You flip the switch and one layer at a time, large spotlights flick on, starting from the bottom and moving up. You're immediately blown away by the sheer scale of the space. It's gargantuan. Huge supports stand at the sides, mounted to the walls. Cranes and vehicles sit idly around, with more than enough space to drive. In the center sits the ROCKET itself. It's incredibly impressive and by far the biggest structure of its kind you've ever seen by a landslide.

Look at rocket>

The rocket is a rounded conic tube painted black and white. It seems like it lacks any kind of windows. It's mounted to the support frame on the walls and seems to have some kind of ELEVATOR attached to it.

Look at elevator>

The elevator is embedded into the wall and attached to a hatch on the side of the rocket via a narrow catwalk attached to it. It looks detachable, which stands to reason.

Use main door>

You flick the switch and hear an earth-shattering series of mechanical noises. The split sides of the door detach from each other and slowly start to slide apart, eventually fully embedding into the internal mechanisms and stopping with a loud clunk. Light shines into the space for the first time in what must be many years. Dirt and debris tumbles into the new void. It's a strange feeling.

Use tunnels>

You flick the final labeled switch and take note of 8 large blast doors at the bottom of the wall that start opening. They must be the tunnels that vent the smoke and fire from the launch to keep the whole thing from going up.

It seems like that's all you can do to prepare the launch for now. You should talk to Heresy.

Talk to Heresy>

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[mugiwara-no-toshokan]

Some Direction

CisFem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd -- surprisingly fluffy despite it all. 18+ only

Chapter 3: Bad Directions

"The sun's still up, I'll be fine." You assure Mihawk again, but you can already feel yourself wilting. The stern man doesn't budge and won't take no for an answer.

The rest of the meeting had gone well. It was decided that you would move into the Dojo. Mihawk would be available to help mitigate you and Zoro adjusting to one another, you wouldn't be any further from your job than you already were, and there was help in breaking your current lease and getting moved. The Government did it's best to accommodate what it was forcing people to do, so that was a bit of tension off your shoulders.

"You are an impending member of this family now," Mihawk insists. "You two need to spend as much time together as you can. It might not seem so right now, but it will help to ease this transition."

"Ah, then I am in your care." You cave in and bow slightly as Zoro steps through the gate and waits for you to follow along.

The walk to the bus stop is quiet, but it wasn't much of a walk to begin with. You grab a bus schedule from the small shelter by the stop and begin to look through it. You know the bus schedules fairly well, but you want to be sure of what your new schedule's going to be to get to the library for work.

"You're taking all of this well." Zoro says. He wasn't looking at you, he was watching for the bus while you were looking over the schedule.

Not like there was much choice, you muse internally. "So are you."

Zoro grunts, and it makes you smile. There really isn't much else to say about it. It is what it is and it's going to be whatever it's going to be. You can make plans, and hope for the best, but this is something that takes two people to work and there's no way around that. If one takes the lead too forcefully over the other, then resentment could grow down the line.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, and I don't have a shift at the library, may I come over?"

"There'll be classes."

"If I don't disrupt them, may I sit in and observe?"

Zoro's dark eyes fall on you for a second before he goes back to watching for the bus. "Don't complain if you get bored."

"What time can I come over?"

"Breakfast is at 07:30. First class is at 08:30."

So as long as you showed up before one of those thresholds you wouldn't be disrupting anything. His sense of direction might be complete garbage, but at least he was easy to understand.

"If it's not rude of me to invite myself to breakfast, I'll be there at 7."

"... It's not."

Something felt warm in your chest, and you smiled softly to yourself. Neither of you said more until the bus showed up. You got your bus pass out, and noticed Zoro was doing the same. You almost said something, but if he hadn't intended to get on the bus, he wouldn't have taken the pass out. He knew what Mihawk was thinking more than you, so there was no reason to point it out.

He inclines his head, and you get on before him, the soft beep sounding behind you signaling that you were getting escorted all the way home. There were plenty of empty seats, and you sat in the middle-ish of the bus, with Zoro sitting beside you.

He draped his arm behind the back of your seat and crossed his legs. It looked more like he was getting comfortable than anything else. The closeness was a little more than you had anticipated, and you felt yourself become overly aware of him. It was as the bus began to move that you realized you were still wearing the tie.

"Here, let me give this back to you before I forget." You say, loosening the tie and rolling it up for him.

He stuffs it sourly into his pocket, his disdain for the tie pretty obvious. You'll have to make sure that any suit he has to wear for the wedding doesn't require a tie. You were sure as the bride you'd be able to push back on Mihawk's love of tradition at least a little bit.

You manage to relax a little as the bus ambles along on its stops, slowly closing in on your apartment. With two more stops to go you feel a chill go down your back. It was like earlier, there was someone looking at you, but this was less of a look and more of a piercing gaze. You fingers clench on the tops of your thighs, and the air around you feels thick. You've struggled with social anxiety since the first few bad reactions from people regarding your past, but this felt like your instincts kicking in.

Zoro's arm shifts, and his hand rests on your shoulder.

"(Y/N)." He says it softly, and you look up at him with concern. His brows knit at the expression on your face and you notice his gaze slipping around the bus as his body tenses. The oppressive feeling fades after a moment and as you unclench a fist you pat the top of his thigh a couple times.

"It's passed," you say quietly.

Zoro's hand on your shoulder flexes, but he doesn't move it away, and you feel the rest of his body relax. Even with his body relaxed there's something that feels sharp coming from him. Most of the time he seemed to be extremely apathetic about everything, but right now it was like he was trying to be aware of it all. With him on alert in that way you felt yourself relax.

When you got to your stop, Zoro got off the bus with you. He took the top of your arm firmly and led you away from the bus stop a little way down the block. The look on his face stopped you from pointing out you were going the wrong way. He wasn't hurting you, or dragging you, but that sharp look and feeling were both back in force.

You waited until his grip relaxed before you said anything. "Everything okay?"

"How often have you felt that?"

"Felt?" You were confused for a moment before realization came across your face. "Earlier today, I felt something kind of similar. Not as... hostile though. I didn't think much of it, but it's not something that's been happening for weeks or months or anything."

"Tell me if it happens again." His sharp gaze was on you, and you nod.

"Is it safe to go to my home now?" You ask quietly.

Zoro lets go of your arm, looking around once more. "Lead the way."

You walk Zoro to your apartment. There's no real reason for him to remember the way, in a couple weeks you'll be moved into the Dojo, and you'll spend as much time as you can over there in the meantime.

"Um..." You feel your face flush even though you're not trying to do anything with him. "Did you want to come in? There's not much, but if you're worried about earlier, you can stay for a drink."

Zoro was still looking around, and not at you, but he mutters a "Yeah, sure." And you turn away from him and unlock the door before your blushing face becomes an issue. Your modest apartment was pretty sparsely decorated, but you had enough furniture and dishes to entertain a single guest.

"You can leave your shoes on, I don't have slippers." You state, slipping your own shoes off out of habit.

"It's fine." Zoro replies, his shoes already coming off.

You step further in, pointing as you explain the important parts. "You can sit anywhere in the living room, and the bathroom's through the bedroom on the left. What would you like to drink? I have water, tea, coffee and, uh, well, I think that's it."

"Whatever you pick for yourself is fine." He answers, walking through the apartment slowly.

You tilt your head a bit, but you don't say anything. You decide to make some tea, it was a little too late for coffee, at least if you wanted to be up in time to make it to the dojo by 7am tomorrow. After a few minutes you'd made two cups of tea and Zoro and stopped pacing around your apartment.

"Were you looking for cameras?"

"...Yeah."

"I'd be impressed if there were any in here." You admit, taking a sip of your tea and sinking back into your couch. "A few years back I got really paranoid that someone was watching me, and I started checking for bugs every time I got home from anywhere. It was exhausting, but it turned into a habit and I still check every week."

"I thought you said this wasn't ongoing." His grumbles.

"It isn't ongoing. That was like... six years ago. Today's the first time since then." You clarify.

"Did you report it?"

Your eyes stare into your cup and you fall silent for a moment. You sense Zoro's gaze fall on you and mutter your response before taking a drink. "No."

Zoro doesn't say anything more, and the two of you sip your tea in silence for a long while. The silence itself isn't uncomfortable, but you're both on edge, listening for any weird noises, and mulling over the events of the day. Despite his brusque nature, you were happy to realize you weren't afraid of him, even completely alone with him like this.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the sun was down when Zoro finally stood up to leave.

"I should head back."

You nod and stand up to show him out.

"Make sure you lock the door."

"Of course."

"Call me if something happens."

"Uh, sure."

"And, uh..." Zoro rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." You reply, smiling happily. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Zoro grunts as he walks off. You try not to watch him, thinking it wouldn't do much good to make yourself worry about him getting lost. He's survived this many years one way or another, there wasn't much you could do about it anyway.

You lock the door, and the bolt, and decide to put the little chain thingy across the door as well. After a moment of thinking about it you go around all the rooms and double check that the windows are locked. By now your nerves are on edge, but you still need to try and sleep, so you decide to reinforce the door by putting the recliner in front of it. Grabbing a blanket, you opt to sleep in the recliner to add more weight to it.

Your assumption is, if someone breaks a window, you'll have a couple seconds to shove the recliner free and run out of the door. If someone comes through the door, you'll have plenty of time to call Zoro and arm yourself. Both scenarios feel acceptable, so you set an alarm, cover yourself with the blanket and sink into the cozy recliner with little effort.

. . . . . .

Sleep found you in fits. Your dreams had been more like nightmares, even though you couldn't remember them as you groggily shifted in the recliner for the half dozenth time. It'd been some time since you had such bad nightmares, and of course since you needed to be up early it was happening tonight.

The last few emotions from your nightmares left you feeling unsettled, but since it was still dark out and your alarm hadn't gone off yet, you tried to drift back off to sleep when something caught your attention and froze you in place.

The doorknob shifted. You could hear it and see it.

Your eyes went wide, and your senses were immediately on edge. You were 100% awake, and staring at the doorknob, straining every sense you had. There was a soft scratching sound from the other side of the door that went on for a few long seconds.

For a brief moment it sounded like mice in the walls, but you realized it was coming from the doorknob itself.

Then the lock popped.

... Shit.

[theloniousbach]

THE GALAPAGOS CHRONICLES

#1–Mid-day, Friday, 8 March 2024

Had all gone to plan, we would be in Miami at this point about 1/3 of the way into a 10 hour layover waiting for our flight to Quito that will get in at a projected 23:21. We were slated to leave at 5:30 am. Ugh. 10 hour layover, also ugh.

I went to sleep at 7 am, planning to get up at 1 to get to campus at 2 with an AppleWatch on my wrist and my phone on the bedside table. I took the phone off at 11 when I kept getting alerts. Young people communicating, right. Nope. I didn’t go back to sleep but at 1 when I did get out of bed and get my glasses I found out the flight had been bumped to 8:30 to 12:30. It’s currently 12:50.

So maybe 2 1/2 hours more and easily to the St Louis Airport for a breakfast of fish and chips conversing with Sam who is usually the one on the phone at the airport in the middle of part one of a still very long day in airports.

I have been too focused on the getting there to have it really sink in that I will be in South America andin the Southern Hemisphere, (near the Equator near the Equinox and at Quito’s 2850 meters/9350 feet in altitude, I am going to be as close to the sun as I will have ever been) for the first time. Above all, at a Darwin shrine like Down and Westminster Abbey.. But all that’s beginning to sink in.

Still it will be a late night and an earlyish morning (8 am) tomorrow and stupid early morning (5!?!, w-t-pickaletter) on Sunday for the flight into the Galapagos.

#1.5–Early Evening, Friday, 8 March 2024

I am not, as I might have thought, at this moment boarding a plane in Miami. I will not, as I might have thought, after an 18 hour day (with the asterisk that it was going to be a 21 hour day) gone to sleep in Quito. My 13 hour day in airports was “only” 8 hours.

We did spend 90ish minutes on the plane though. But the mechanical problem that delayed us could not be resolved. Even had we gone out at the 4 pm time they projected as we got off the plane, we would have missed the connection in Quito.

So we have been “delayed” not cancelled until 7 am tomorrow.

I sleep in my own bed, at least until 3 am. Poor Ellen has to drive us to the airport again when it’s dark. She gives up seeing knitting friends.

I think we will “only” have a 14 hour day tomorrow. We won’t see Quito to any real extent. And we are out of our hotel there at 5 am (sleeping in!) for the flight to the Galapagos on Sunday.

There isn’t an upbeat photo for this entry and GC #2 won’t be that picturesque either.

But I will be as relieved as excited to see the Galapagos on Sunday.

#2 in part—Saturday, 9 March 2024, 7:30 pm EST, Miami Airport

We are awaiting the arrival of the aircraft to take us to Quito which will depart 1.5 hours late. Due in at 12:46 am. I imagine I’ll be checked in by 2 am. We are due to be picked up for the run to the airport to get to the Galapagos at 5 am. I will be napping on the plane, but this will be the third night in a row of disrupted sleep after a week of just being excited/anxious.

But we got to the airport in St Louis at 9:15 am, time used to get the airline to enter things in the system so we could get through TSA and eat. Gyros for breakfast BUT the American Airlines food voucher didn’t work.

We got on the plane on time and even pushed back from the gate mostly on time. We sat on the tarmac for a little less than an hour over Spring Break congestion and, more importantly, weather in Florida.

We got to Miami’s jammed and hopping airport in plenty of time too much of which I devoted to waiting for a chicken burrito. But I ate—and I will try to sleep en route to Quito.

Yikes.

Day 2, Part 2–EuroBuilding Hotel, Quito, 3:15 am

It would appear that writing takes precedence over sleep as I may not have much electronics on the Galapagos. My phone will be a clock and a camera at least. I can probably add to the Google doc I am curating these on but posting them will be iffy.

We’re to be down in the lobby at 4:30 for transport to the airport for the flight to the islands. What we have gotten out of this hotel is showers and a chance to rearrange things. I’m using the WiFi for a tic.

We get to stay on the islands, not a tourist boat, because we are a Webster class with USFQ collaborators. I slept on the plane for a decent stretch, but I am pulling an all nighter. When I was their age, I didn’t do that. My experience with adult insomnia makes this bearable, but that I’ve had that licked as a general rule these past several years and particularly months makes this a challenge.

However my mantra is an unvoiced “I’m not too old for this shit.” :|| and a commitment to be a good Kansan because home on that range, never is heard a discouraging word.

Day 3–Casa de Nelly, San Christobal Island, 2:00 pm local time, feeling like 8 pm

We’re here and it is finally real. If I also wrote rather than sleep during my short hotel interlude, I spent valuable minutes being excited.

Seeing the likes of this between our welcome luncheon spot (freshly caught tuna in a pasta) and our hotel is simply amazing.

I am writing again instead of sleeping during nap time, but I don’t know I’d get up until midnight if I did sleep. So I’ll ride the excitement and wonder.

It’s rainy and that isn’t stopping us and we will be out in an hour for a hike, rain or no rain. We have settled into the hotel and had an orientation from our host institution as well as the meal with the last of the forced march of airports and airplanes behind us in the morning. But it felt like a full day at 10:30 am when we landed.

97% of the archipelago is national park and the population supports that and the ecotourism it fosters. We however are passersby, not tourists, semi-official under the aegis of Universidad de San Francisco de Quito which shares Webster University’s service to underserved populations, in this case Galapagoans who, if they left for education rarely came back.

We are definitely in the tropics and in the underdeveloped world, but it’s a different kind of underdevelopment with that as pristine as possible 97% and an upscale ness for the tourists. But we’re not typical tourists expecting suburban America. But I am now very curious about the natives.

But we’ll get out of their world tomorrow and into what makes this special. With some more food and some reasonable sleep and I’ll be able to meet it more than half way.

Day 3 Coda—Casa de Nelly, Monday, 11 March 2024, 6 am

Do not be alarmed by the hour. It is 7 am back home and I SLEPT for 8.5 hours, not unbroken but that doesn’t happen. Indeed, though I am not too old for this shit, I am feeling my age, lagging in the pack and ending the wonderful collegial conversation over dinner early.

But slow and steady was well worth it for a magnificent hike out of the Interpretation Center behind the USFQ campus. We climbed to observation decks overlooking Darwin Bay where HMS Beagle landed and frigate birds soared around us, then down to near that bay and an odd statue of Darwin (head to small, him well past his age when he was here), and around to a beach which, in succession, required stepping over iguanas on the path, frigate birds perched but 12 feet above us in a tree, and a sea lion which started to waddle up to one of the retreating students.

No pictures as my phone was in the hotel drying out from an inadvertent quick dip in a puddle. It wouldn’t charge but sitting for six hours in my air conditioned room worked the necessary magic. So I’ll have visual evidence today of a hike to a waterfall, a tortoise refuge, and a beach.

Walking back from dinner, there were sea lions on the sidewalks, as if they were sleeping rough, as the British would put it.

It’s all amazing. And that was through sleep exhausted eyes.

Day 4–Casa de Nelly, Monday, 11 March 2024, back from dinner

I have just posted the pictures of the sea lion pups hanging out near the Darwin/HMS Beagle statue on the boardwalk in town. My colleagues were heading to continue a wonderful conversation begun over ceviche mixto and, to try next time, shrimp in a coconut sauce when we saw them. We had ventured forth in a remarkable cloud burst which gave my rain coat and beach shoes good use.

I didn’t have said beach shoes during our chance to frolic in the water. I cooled off too but lost my sunglasses in the waves so I headed back to our area which we shared with a sea lion on one of the benches. I would have added a photo of him/her but previous attempts have failed. Still it was a refreshing end of that part of the excursion part of the day.

We started in the highlands with a hike to El Junco Lagoon, the islands sole body of fresh water. It was too misty to take advantage of its vistas of the other side of the island, so it was another steep climb. I think there were gradients that were of interest but I lagged behind and didn’t hear explanations. But it is all quite remarkable.

It was even mistier on our way climb back up to retrace our steps back to town after the beach. The middle of the day included the breeding center for tortoises for which I have posted pictures of them and two different videos of the same beast walking quite briskly onto the path and then towards and past me. Absolutely fascinating and the definite high point of a stunning day and perhaps the entire week.

But snorkeling lies ahead tomorrow and the adventures will continue. So I’m willing to give those activities fair consideration in comparison to the tortoise.

Day 5–Back at Casa de Nelly after small boat/snorkeling (!?!) excursion to Isla Lobos, Tuesday, 12 March 2024, 2 pm

Our official day is over after a four and a half hour boat trip along the shore of San Christobal to a small, calm bay near Isla Lobos. We saw these blue footed boobies, frigate birds including males with big red pouches, a huge manta ray, and countless sea lions.

I was generally timid staying in the back of the boat and not climbing up top. I did snorkel though I held onto a life preserver and was towed by the guide. I don’t know how much my occasional paddling with my flippers helped. I also wore a life jacket. But I kept my head in the water and breathed through my mouth through the tube. Our guide said to do yogic breathing, for efficiency and to avoid panic, so I’m glad I had that in my arsenal.

Others swam to a beach after lunch and came back even after rain came up. Our trip back to town was in a steady but pleasant rain. So it has been a watery day.

The class will be meeting shortly, but I will let them conduct their business and rest. Quiet will be worthwhile.

Day 5 coda—Casa de Nelly, Tuesday, 12 March 2024 after dinner

I take crap selfies but I took ones with the two sculptures of Charles Darwin along the waterfront in town.

It has finally struck me here with the students that, unlike these images and even the ones at the Interpretive Center, way closer at 26 to their age than the older famous man depicted here. He was at loose ends. He graduated from Cambridge at 22 and takes a gap year that lasts about 5. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, except it ain’t what the expectations other have for him.

When he’s our leader’s age, he’s polishing and repolishing the big book Natural Selection of which On the Origin of Species is the condensed version and which serves as source notebooks for many of his subsequent books, the one long argument. And, yikes, when he’s my age, he’s got four years to live.

Still I identify with Darwin in this very limited sense. I’m on this expedition in an odd role. I am seen as one of the professors by the “crew,” but, bless them, they are amiable and tolerant and good natured. On the boat today, the recreation director put on a playlist from her phone that included a much higher percentage of songs I recognized—and more than a few I actually liked. I’m confident I wasn’t being patronized, though perhaps I was taken into account.

It’s a fascinating place, truly a laboratory of evolution. Because it was only in retrospect that Darwin recognized that, he is appropriately an afterthought around here. I would like to get a cap with some Darwin reference, but that’s not part of the souvenir trade. And that’s probably about right.

Days 6-8–Casa de Nelly, Friday, 15 March 2024, after breakfast

Yesterday was a lost day for the students as their data collection was rained out and for me as I had/have a full blown case of what I’m calling Fitzroy’s Revenge, thinking it better to punch up on Darwin’s benefactor/nemesis than on some Inca leader and certainly not the inappropriate Aztec leader whom Yanquis all to readily blame.

I spent about 18 hours in bed sleeping intermittently and moving to the bano more frequently and urgently. I missed out on two celebratory meals but no excursions. I continue to take it easy and will be seriously medicated as we fly to Guayaquil and on to Quito this afternoon. But I am doing better.

Besides Fitzroy, do I blame the pork soup on Wednesday’s lunch or the cheese empanada/ceviche for dinner that day or the rinsing of my toothbrush from the tap? I regret being puny, but folks have taking fine care of me.

I spent a couple of hours in town helping a couple of students getting in one set of observations of sea lions, but then a serious rain came up and our leader called it for everybody as it might well have been worse in the park.

Wednesday afternoon was also called off as we couldn’t get to Finca Guadalupe so that was quiet though I didn’t nap as perhaps I should have. Instead I reread the fruits of my predecessor as a supernumerary on a previous trip with students. Paul Stroble absorbed all the wondrous things we see and created a poetry collection called “Galapagos Joy.” I’ve read it before, maybe even in manuscript form and certainly before this trip. But reading it here with my own mental images reinforcing Paul’s insights was quite special.

Days 8-10–Hotel Cumbaya, Sunday, 17 March, 2024,5:30 pm (almost bedtime)

In addition to Fitrzroy, I evidently pissed off Bishop Wilberforce and Richard Owen too as, to not bury the lede, I was released at midday after at least 36 hours of attention from Quito’s teaching Hospital de Los Valles where they rehydrated me and infused me with antibiotics and various under wonder drugs, including a sleep aid that let me have 6 1/2 hours sleep.

I came in very puny, shivering in part because I did what I could twice to clean my pants. I’ve got some schtick here because of course I do, but let’s just leave it at that.

It was quite comfortable really with excellent care from remarkably good natured staff who used Google Translate with me quite effectively. I had extremely limited electronics (phone, not iPad) but could turn iMessages into texts home to Ellen who passed things on to Sam. But, particularly or even at diminished levels, my brain is an okay place spend time in. I’ve certainly put lots of things in there, so I opened a few boxes. And I listened to a NYTimes Duke Ellington playlist and one of ballads from Blue Note albums that the label distributed..

They kept asking if I was nauseated. Well, except for when my wet boots came out of the suitcase and smelled like sea lions, no. Evidently what I do instead is respond to the burbling below by getting hiccups which come and go. Annoying enough but not nausea.

Poor Ellen with Sam felt helpless. So did I but I don’t think there was anything to do. I actually can advocate for myself, but I am grateful to Nicole Miller-Struttmann who was a bulldog, even though I am no Darwin. There are rescheduling and administrative logistics that I would muddle through if I were at full strength. Our USFQ contact Pieter was good company and even did my laundry which was huge. Mara and Gabriel from USFQ also saved my sorry ass.

At Ellen’s insistence, I’m pampering myself by flying business class and may well use a wheel chair in Miami. Old Jewish guy in a wheel chair? I think if I can work on my entitlement during the business class time, I may just fit in.

I posted a picture from lunch overlooking Quito. It was good to be on my feet and to have some food I wanted to eat. It’s stayed in me just fine thought I’ve mostly hiccuped since. I did not walk around the artisanal market where Nicole got some gifts for kiddos.

Some of our Webster kiddos have landed in St Louis, but many including Steph Schroeder are flying out perhaps even after us. Since they aren’t on this platform they won’t know to be on the lookout for a particular entitled old Jewish guy in a wheelchair in the MIami airport.

Days 10-11, 16-17 March 2024, Quito

I teach about place, inspired conceptually by JB Jackson, including his impact on Edgar Anderson and John Stillgoe, among others. Vernacular architecture, landscape, communities and the very buildings all contain the subtlest of cues about the culture that shaped and is shaped by that place.

Once sprung from the hospital, I had about 12 hours in the town itself, some of it spent sleeping—or trying to. Even then, I had the sounds of the street distracting and intriguing me as I listened to the community of Cumbaya wind down.

After dropping bags off at the Hotel Cumbaya in the community of that same name and near the USFQ campus, we climbed up from the valley to that wonderful restaurant where we looked down on the old bullfight arena and the magnificent old Cathedral and a panorama of the old town and its expansion. It was a two lane road with some winding, not crowded for a Sunday afternoon, but evidently the only way up. Undoubtedly it’s crowded during the week. But one imagines there’s a resignation to the circumstances. Other roads are crowded, especially by US standards, and not relentlessly efficient. Drivers dodge around one another and there has to be a driving culture but it seems more cheerful than, say, the LA Freeway.

At 2:30 am, we tapped on our cabbie’s window and he awoke to take us to the airport along those now empty highways. There are a hodgepodge of businesses close to the road, more industrial than commercial, on the basis of their meager parking areas. It’s a car culture, but somehow not a parking one. People use cars but we maintain the places for ourselves. At least in old Cumbaya the streets are fairly narrow. Cars are one tool among many, not the essential Swiss Army knives we make them.

But they are used, including into the night, or at least passed dark when a weary and still ill traveler needing to arise at 2 am tried to sleep. So too is there a street life with young people, mostly men, hanging out and laughing amiably. It all seemed so good natured that I couldn’t justly complained.

It’s a capital in the Global South, much poorer than it could and certainly should be, but in the areas where the likes of me went, it seems not grindingly so. It was not as bad as I feared and was prepared to see. On the broad boulevards there are the signs of Norteamericano brands and consumerism. Tommy Hilfiger, I heard, specifically did not design for these brown people and yet they embrace his brands, maybe confounding and challenging the insult but nonetheless putting money in the racist’s pocket. Consumerism always wins.

But, at first, it seems an unlikely place to build a city. It is a daunting task and that it was done so long ago prompts even more admiration for the ingenuity of those people. But it was a sacred place, the capital of first Los Quitos who lost out to the Incas who lost out to the Spanish who lost out briefly and partially to the Ecuadoreans who use the US dollar as their currency. Thus it’s profaned, but once it was sacred and significant as a key spot on route from the Andes to the Amazon. As impressive as the peaks are, it’s the valleys that were rich in agriculture. The mining is now limited, but those resources are directly from the geological richness.

It is an unlikely place to build a city because it is 2850 meters in elevation. They may use American money, decimal based as it is, but not our other ludicrous measures. So that’s 9350 feet. It being so very near the Equator, so very near the Equinox, and so very elevated, I was as close to the sun as I ever will be or maybe ever could be. I got enough sun at lunch to be surprised and felt that warmth as I tried to sleep. I was not up for any walking around (I sat in the car and watched people go into the artisanal market), but I felt the altitude and there was a pressure on my chest that lifted only in the plane and then back at near sea level in Miami.

There is a large statue—of St Gabriel, I’m told—overlooking the old town. The bull fight arena and Cathedral are the most impressive representations of the Colonial era but the surroundings are, undoubtedly at ground level, able to tell even more about those days.

But unencumbered by such details, I can tell myself wide ranging stories. With only slightly more visual facts about the few other parts of the city that I saw, I nonetheless have this indelible and precious image of Quito.

Day 12–18 March 2024, Quito>Miami>St Louis

We were at Quito Airport by 3 am and at the gate in plenty of time even for me to be taken down in a wheelchair to security to look at the bottles of electrolytes in my packed bag. They passed muster though I would have been happy enough to have them confiscated then. It would have saved me from throwing them away in Miami.

Blech! I had found some mango nectar which was much better but still not as sweet as in the US. I bought another one for the road but didn’t drink it and so had to give it up in Miami too. But mangos are a gift and I have frozen fruit bars among my at home comfort food.

E bought me Business Class seats to Miami at quite a pretty penny. I’m glad I’m married by now to someone who’s rich as it was valuable above all to have a bano nearby and shared among a much smaller pool. Otherwise, it was a lot to pay for a warm wash cloth, omelette, orange juice, a couple of cups of tea, and a glass of water (yes, a glass and silverware too), and leg room. I’m old enough to remember pre-cattle car days when at least the leg room and food with silverware were more accessible. Of course there was a smoking section.

But such extortion is common. One of our students bought a ticket on a plane he was flying standby. He paid the ransom, just as we did—and the airline benefits from being incompetent. They had delayed, not canceled, our outbound flight, so that they were liable only for some $12 meal vouchers (mine didn’t work). The bulk of our party couldn’t take off from Quito for “weather” reasons—given the temperature the filled to the brim plane, maximizing filled seats, couldn’t get the needed lift. That delay led to them missing their connection (a couple of students had the door close in their face) and several different subsequent improvisations—the buying of the ticket to get on the standby flight, flying a different airline, different standbys with the last of us getting home 48 hours after plan. I was not the last one home, so my suggestion next time is to spend 36 hours in the hospital as a way to expedite one’s travel.

I was with our group leader who, besides taking wonderful care of me, was navigating the bureaucracy for all. It seems that we got hammered by the administrative inflexibility of non-refundable group tickets that required the University’s travel agency being in charge but that office not being around on the weekend. What was meant to be an economy measure probably cost more between the hotel rooms etc.

I am planning a Spring Break trip for next year. It won’t entail going through Miami and it won’t be going to the tropics, but, particularly, right now, I’m not exactly sure if I could handle all the logistics on top of the teaching. I might well have a Webster colleague along anyway, but I might just smuggle along one or both of the other ruthlessly efficient organizers that we Kleindorfs are.

I expected, as I’d written before, to have used wheel chairs in Miami Airport, but I made it through Customs and all the various lines and just kept going. The final indignity was that just before boarding time they shifted our gate from D40 to D15, so off we highstepped it, me too. Still somehow I made it on time and managed back home in steerage with my gut compliant.

It was 80 degrees in Miami and 40 in St Louis. E met us at the gate with coats and we got ourselves home.

Finally.

A veteran traveler and keen observer of how things really work commented on a previous post. I agree that it’s not just this airline. A friend was bumped back into the main cabin as they probably sold her upgrade out from under her. I’ve had Southwest Airlines meltdown on me a couple of times. United is in the news with some problems, including, I think, near collisions on the ground. And I went to the airport expecting to get to London a dozen years and having to turn around.

He writes:

“I’ve flown on most US airlines, and many foreign airlines in the course of business, government work, and personal. I fly a lot even now. I know of no American airline where your most recent adventure in flying couldn’t happen. It was bad before the Covid interregnum, awfully bad during it, and is worse now. Not enough pilots, not enough maintenance staff, overworked air traffic controllers working an technologically obsolete air traffic control system, serious crew shortages, supply chain problems for parts, and more. I’ve lost track of stories as bad and worse than what you just went through. Having said that, it’s not every time. For every trip with some sort of problem or delay, the next one will leave on time and arrive on time. It’s a crap shoot.”

I thank him for these insights as he delineates all the reasons and is right in taking a big step back. From that vantage point, the indignities of any particular fiasco have a context. But that context is that the system for systemic reasons isn’t working. Airline travel serves a relatively privileged layer (one of our students hadn’t ever flown before). We may not be able to get from Tokyo to the Super Bowl on private planes, but we have more opportunities to travel than, I would guess, the cab driver who slept in his vehicle waiting to take us to the Quito Airport. The system isn’t reliable for our layer.

It hasn’t been reliable for the likes of that cabdriver around even more important things like health and education for a long time.

Conclusion/s

Was it worth it? Though a reasonable question, I answer with an emphatic yes.

It’s true that my active Galapago-ing was from midday Sunday (shaky from lack for sleep for two days) to the rain out Thursday late morning (with illness coming on. Those four days compare to another four devoted to travel and three of being pretty sick. And there are hospital costs and the Business Class extortion. The money, I have the luxury of saying, is secondary.

I have indulged indentifying with Charles Darwin throughout, in particular as a supernumerary with peculiar interests. I heard the kids expressed concern for their historian just as the HMS Beagle crew called Darwin Philosopher. They were wonderful, welcoming, and exciting in their interests and curiosities. Observing them in a boundaried but not detached way was the first acquisition. We all went through so much together.

But Darwin’s time on the boat was a consistent misery of seasickness and he spent as much time ashore as possible. But, without minimizing that suffering, he knew that whatever suffering he endured the wonders of what he saw was worth it. Me too.

The beach near but not, I guess, at Darwin Bay is, I realize, the most spectacular memory. On Day 3, I wrote, “…around to a beach which, in succession, required stepping over iguanas on the path, frigate birds perched but 12 feet above us in a tree, and a sea lion which started to waddle up to one of the retreating students.” Add the absolutely genuine jawdropping joy of one of the most bird-loving but distant students at the frigate birds was special.

I had a tortoise walk right along the path by me and at a good clip too. The tortoises were charismatic and specific to their refuge.

I wasn’t ill but I was waning as the full crew marched over volcanic rocks to a peak at La Loberia. But I got an hour of watching the crash of Pacific waves that will more than tide me over until looking at Great Lakes over the summer. Waves are a great joy and I got them.

I was assigned to the sea lion researchers and I enjoyed seeing them then and during my walks downtown. It is odd to be rather complacent about such magnificent animals. Indeed, I’ll say it again, my wet boots smelled like them and, in the hospital, that was the closest to being nauseated as I got. Interestingly, I get hiccups when there are rumbles in my gut that cause the diaphragm to spasm. It is they who are my example of the extreme lack of fear among this fauna.

And I snorkeled! Sure I was dragged but I saw urchins and rays and eels and spectacular fish. I managed all that. And the boat ride brought us near blue footed boobies and frigate birds. Being on the water has to be part of the island experience.

I enjoyed the ceviches and the grilled fish, but for now those remain suppressed memories. The fresh fruit juices were nice for not being over sweetened to US tastes. But for now food memories are, I’m afraid, fraught.

I got into the Southern Hemisphere at least a little. Quito and the Andes are now real in my mind as are examples of what imperialist exploitation has wrought.

At the moment, I feel pretty old—and I don’t like it. But I’m not too old for this shit. I wouldn’t do this specific thing again as that would be stupid. But I have no regrets whatsoever.

[solardick]

Hahah, watch me get a warning, or fired, for getting it done. Any use of positive enforcement is capped by response. Sorry for working?

Hour left of work? What?! No. Here. Third skid done, now its only going to you half hour at tops. But my times out. We aint supposed to do overtime. But, you know dont really have a choice. Cant fallow one rule without breaking another.

In this case, one chooses the more constructive choice. The topic theming optional outlets. What one does One plug in.

Oh, yeah, nice. Give her the devil card. Which means i’ll have to buy the deck again.

This one. I like this one. Moon in neptune with a dash of pluto. Card 15 holding 7 stars. Card seven chariot. Want to ride? On numbers 15 becomes six. The lovers and shows a sequence of progression forwards as 6 counts to 7. Cards are full of these. The A-fool shows a first image to creation. From 0, nothing, to one. It implies in itself a sequence of movement. As in the devil card of the man walking up the step, and the allure clouding over him. The image shows projection as well as the seven stars are mirrored by the seven swords below him. Thid being a modern” deck places the influence of waite in their atmoshere. As the seven of swords being this.

The seven stars may be viewed as the ether form of mater. Coins. 7 of coins combined to that of cups. As ether is t really anything else than beyond matter and blends to that which isn’t….if i have that right.

Transcending this duality of bs. Bringing the sevens back together. They equal out to 14. It creates a sequence of three. 14 here equals out to the pope and temperance. It preceeds the door. Have a level head, weight the options and the purse and rely on the logic which is the basis of the frame of mind the old testament is formed from. Or other options as to the gita. Becaise believing the bible because it tells me to while reading it even thoigh its incomprehensable half the time is trashy.

Well thats if one goes back a step first to see what one is looking at. Cheers bud. For thebonly letter left in this lone up of three is… the tower. Card 16. Poor man walked in and fell apart.

Three can’t mean jupiter can it? Three in the qwerty is the high priestess. She possesses the three. C? The three are formed to her image. Gross. In the tarot 3 is the empress. One whim brings form to matter. She matters. More than anything. If anything did at all. It would be her. And so the heart fills up with love. Mother or mother Mary, or blessed virgin daughter. Love here is as pure a white as white can be.

Pls, luv come to me.

Free my friend.

For temperance breaks down into the E-fool. Which is found in the essence of the emperor. The emperor here is framed by truth into the image of war. Destruction, poverty and pain. But here in the current context the emperor and the fool, being one and the same gives to the impression of the male. Is more of a descriptive factor that lends to the present script. The E-fool to bring coherence back is in time as a despot. Orphan. Coming from a path opened by death or darkness. A serpent per say fallowing through the gate. Sensible to the feeling of guilt. But the emotion isnt obligatory or set by law. So the poor man bereft of any foundation of familial love, if not purposefully made the dogs bark. Disrupting the peace at the make beleive thing dogs are known to sound at. Lowers ones resistance to the call of happiness and emotional security.

And people complain about the little things for your safety and well being. And yet. People like to live dangerously. It’s natural.

[wibble-wobbegong]

urge to make a big post about how mike doesn’t fit anywhere vs bigger urge to include it in the jtr timeline thing im working on

[thenon-fictiondays]

Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 1-4

Chapter 1: The first time.

Part 4

Part 3 || Part 5

T/N: (1) In Japanese schools, the new school year starts in springtime, so that's why the first years are said to be new students as of late-June.

(2) Schools can be very strict about all aspects of students' appearances including hair dye, to the extent that some schools will force you to dye your hair to black even if your natural color is lighter. This school doesn't seem to be too strict about color though, since this is a slice of life and the character designs need to stand out.

There are four days left until final exams.

In late June, just before summer vacation, the Disciplinary Committee is scheduled to conduct morning dress code inspections at the school gate.

Because there is no morning practice due to club activities being prohibited right before exams, this is the only time of year in which athletic club members come to school at the same time as everyone else.

A heavy sleeper like Kagiura can sleep through even important times like this, and it had taken longer to wake him than it normally does when he wakes up at 5 AM.

Kagiura isn’t the type to take a long time getting dressed, but the fact that he was still half-asleep was a little worrying, so because Hirano had to leave their room first, he had given him a bit of a harsh warning.

That being said, because the inspection is a regular event for which they are given advance notice, there are very few students who violate the rules. It’s almost boring without any disruptions, and Hirano does his best to complete the checks while stifling his yawns.

A lot of the first years that started school just a few months ago are still nervous about high school life, so they’re hung up on wearing their uniforms properly.

Students are told ‘keep your collar button fastened outside the school’, ‘don’t loosen your necktie’, ‘avoid wearing vests and cardigans in flashy colors or bold patterns’, and other such statements, but the most important rule is to not wear their uniforms outside of school, so as long as they pass the school gate there is nothing to worry about.

No penalty was inflicted on Hirano for his blonde hair besides a written apology, so although he is responsible for enforcing dress code regulations, he has not dyed his hair back to black. 

Last year he had dealt with it very seriously because he was a first year, but dyeing it black and then immediately blonde again would seriously damage his hair. The chemicals would take unevenly, and the color would probably be blotchy. Considering the potential damage, it was much easier to write the apology letter, and for this year he decided to put off dyeing it black for as long as possible until the end of school ceremony.

Kagiura arrived all of five minutes before the bell.

“You’re cutting it awful close. I thought I woke you up properly this morning.”

“Yeah…sorry. By the way, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Hm?”

“Who was that guy you were talking to just now? He had a mole under his eye—”

I’ve been talking to a lot of guys over the course of my duties, Hirano thinks quizzically, but the latter half of Kagiura’s words ring a bell.

“Oh, Miyano? He’s a kouhai in the committee.”

“.....Are you close with this Miyano guy?”

“I wouldn’t say close, but I guess I talk to him a fair amount. He’s kind of a weirdo, though.”

Hirano tilts his head to the side as he answers, thrown by the unexpected question.

If you’re curious, try peeking at the class next door, he thinks about adding on, but it seems unlikely that Miyano has anything to do there.

“Hmph.”

With that, Kagiura clams up, but he doesn’t move to walk away, and to the nearby committee members, it seems as if he’d been caught breaking the rules. Some of them steal glances, casting him strange looks. It’s only natural, since at a glance there isn’t anything wrong with his clothes or hairstyle.

“Whatever it is, if you don’t head to your classroom soon, you’ll be late.”

When he gives Kagiura’s back a push with a ‘go on’, Kagiura’s spaced out expression finally relaxes.

I see, this was his first dress code inspection, so he must’ve been nervous.

He’s such a loveable guy. Hirano breaks into a grin at his endearing nature, when a voice suddenly calls out from behind him.

“Kagiura, what are you standing around there for? Did you get held up by the dress code check?”

The student, a first-year in a freshly-pressed uniform, seems to be Kagiura’s friend. He’s empty-handed, so he probably stepped out from the classroom after already going inside.

“No, it’s not like that. He’s my roommate.”

“Ah, the rumored Hirano-san.”

“Hey, what rumors are you telling him?”

“I hear that you wake him up in the morning. My name is Niibashi; Kagiura and I are in the same class.”

In a bubbly voice, he adds on “nice to meet you”, to which Hirano, thrown by his vigor, replies only with “ah.”

The student who’d introduced himself as Niibashi is a boy of somewhat small stature. Standing next to Kagiura, he looks just like a middle-schooler, perhaps because of his childish facial features. His physical features are somewhat similar to Miyano’s, but his expression steeped in self-confidence gives a completely different impression.

His stature combined with his soft-looking, windswept hair makes him seem floofy, but he stands up straight, with good posture. If he’s friends with Kagiura, he’s probably the type to devote himself to sports.

“You’re the Hirano-san that gets mad when Kagiura doesn’t take notes?”

“.....Seriously, what have you been telling him, Kagi-kun? What’s up with saying I get mad?”

“Oh, that—it’s because when I told him ‘Hirano-san gets mad at me when I don’t take notes’, he seemed happy.”

Hirano can guess the boy’s character from the way he grins without breaking eye contact.

This kid’s a narcissist through and through.

He is well aware of his angelic face, and has mastered the art of using it to his advantage.

It might be disrespectful towards his new kouhai’s friend, but Hirano is rapidly getting the feeling that he’ll be a pain in the ass.

“......I’d heard that you have a friend that you copy notes from. Speaking of which, Kagi-kun. If you can, take them yourself.”

“I’ll do my best. —Oh yeah, Niibashi, why’re you here?”

Unlike the withdrawn Hirano, Kagiura is much more frank with Niibashi.

It is refreshing for Hirano to see Kagiura banter with his classmate, since he normally sees him in the dorms, where he consistently uses ‘san’.

“Jeez. It’s because I sent you a message and you didn’t respond! I went out of my way to let you know that we have to change classrooms for first period, so you’ll be late if you don’t get to class soon. Show some gratitude. You already get glared at by the teacher for falling asleep in class.”

He had lowered his voice so as not to be overheard, but his words reach Hirano, who is standing nearby.

Hirano had assumed Kagiura just stopped writing when he didn’t understand the subject matter, but he had been sleeping?

That must be why his notes have such gaps.

When he reflexively glances at him, Kagiura quickly averts his gaze. He has some nerve.

“Kagi-kun, when we go back to the dorm I’m making you solve some past test questions.”

Advanced course Hirano and comprehensive course Kagiura have slightly different electives, but their first-year curriculums have much in common. Many of the subjects they’re responsible for learning are the same, so if he learned it last year, Hirano is also capable of teaching it.

Now then.

While the hastily departed Kagiura lets out a sigh, Hirano gives the other committee members the signal to start retreating from their positions. 

Hanzawa, who is also the vice-chairman of the Disciplinary Committee, collects the notes and materials used for the inspection and hands them over to the teacher. After this, a few teachers are to continue the dress code inspection of students who come running up at the last minute.

From the clear skies that have made a break in the rainy season, the sunlight beating down even this early in the morning makes his head feel hot.

Of course, Hirano was the first and foremost offender of the dress code inspection this time.

*****

Part 3 || Part 5

[quinloki]

Some Direction

Fem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 3: Bad Directions

"The sun's still up, I'll be fine." You assure Mihawk again, but you can already feel yourself wilting. The stern man doesn't budge and won't take no for an answer.

The rest of the meeting had gone well. It was decided that you would move into the Dojo. Mihawk would be available to help mitigate you and Zoro adjusting to one another, you wouldn't be any further from your job than you already were, and there was help in breaking your current lease and getting moved. The Government did it's best to accommodate what it was forcing people to do, so that was a bit of tension off your shoulders.

"You are an impending member of this family now," Mihawk insists. "You two need to spend as much time together as you can. It might not seem so right now, but it will help to ease this transition."

"Ah, then I am in your care." You cave in and bow slightly as Zoro steps through the gate and waits for you to follow along.

The walk to the bus stop is quiet, but it wasn't much of a walk to begin with. You grab a bus schedule from the small shelter by the stop and begin to look through it. You know the bus schedules fairly well, but you want to be sure of what your new schedule's going to be to get to the library for work.

"You're taking all of this well." Zoro says. He wasn't looking at you, he was watching for the bus while you were looking over the schedule.

Not like there was much choice, you muse internally. "So are you."

Zoro grunts, and it makes you smile. There really isn't much else to say about it. It is what it is and it's going to be whatever it's going to be. You can make plans, and hope for the best, but this is something that takes two people to work and there's no way around that. If one takes the lead too forcefully over the other, then resentment could grow down the line.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, and I don't have a shift at the library, may I come over?"

"There'll be classes."

"If I don't disrupt them, may I sit in and observe?"

Zoro's dark eyes fall on you for a second before he goes back to watching for the bus. "Don't complain if you get bored."

"What time can I come over?"

"Breakfast is at 07:30. First class is at 08:30."

So as long as you showed up before one of those thresholds you wouldn't be disrupting anything. His sense of direction might be complete garbage, but at least he was easy to understand.

"If it's not rude of me to invite myself to breakfast, I'll be there at 7."

"... It's not."

Something felt warm in your chest, and you smiled softly to yourself. Neither of you said more until the bus showed up. You got your bus pass out, and noticed Zoro was doing the same. You almost said something, but if he hadn't intended to get on the bus, he wouldn't have taken the pass out. He knew what Mihawk was thinking more than you, so there was no reason to point it out.

He inclines his head, and you get on before him, the soft beep sounding behind you signaling that you were getting escorted all the way home. There were plenty of empty seats, and you sat in the middle-ish of the bus, with Zoro sitting beside you.

He draped his arm behind the back of your seat and crossed his legs. It looked more like he was getting comfortable than anything else. The closeness was a little more than you had anticipated, and you felt yourself become overly aware of him. It was as the bus began to move that you realized you were still wearing the tie.

"Here, let me give this back to you before I forget." You say, loosening the tie and rolling it up for him.

He stuffs it sourly into his pocket, his disdain for the tie pretty obvious. You'll have to make sure that any suit he has to wear for the wedding doesn't require a tie. You were sure as the bride you'd be able to push back on Mihawk's love of tradition at least a little bit.

You manage to relax a little as the bus ambles along on its stops, slowly closing in on your apartment. With two more stops to go you feel a chill go down your back. It was like earlier, there was someone looking at you, but this was less of a look and more of a piercing gaze. You fingers clench on the tops of your thighs, and the air around you feels thick. You've struggled with social anxiety since the first few bad reactions from people regarding your past, but this felt like your instincts kicking in.

Zoro's arm shifts, and his hand rests on your shoulder.

"(Y/N)." He says it softly, and you look up at him with concern. His brows knit at the expression on your face and you notice his gaze slipping around the bus as his body tenses. The oppressive feeling fades after a moment and as you unclench a fist you pat the top of his thigh a couple times.

"It's passed," you say quietly.

Zoro's hand on your shoulder flexes, but he doesn't move it away, and you feel the rest of his body relax. Even with his body relaxed there's something that feels sharp coming from him. Most of the time he seemed to be extremely apathetic about everything, but right now it was like he was trying to be aware of it all. With him on alert in that way you felt yourself relax.

When you got to your stop, Zoro got off the bus with you. He took the top of your arm firmly and led you away from the bus stop a little way down the block. The look on his face stopped you from pointing out you were going the wrong way. He wasn't hurting you, or dragging you, but that sharp look and feeling were both back in force.

You waited until his grip relaxed before you said anything. "Everything okay?"

"How often have you felt that?"

"Felt?" You were confused for a moment before realization came across your face. "Earlier today, I felt something kind of similar. Not as... hostile though. I didn't think much of it, but it's not something that's been happening for weeks or months or anything."

"Tell me if it happens again." His sharp gaze was on you, and you nod.

"Is it safe to go to my home now?" You ask quietly.

Zoro lets go of your arm, looking around once more. "Lead the way."

You walk Zoro to your apartment. There's no real reason for him to remember the way, in a couple weeks you'll be moved into the Dojo, and you'll spend as much time as you can over there in the meantime.

"Um..." You feel your face flush even though you're not trying to do anything with him. "Did you want to come in? There's not much, but if you're worried about earlier, you can stay for a drink."

Zoro was still looking around, and not at you, but he mutters a "Yeah, sure." And you turn away from him and unlock the door before your blushing face becomes an issue. Your modest apartment was pretty sparsely decorated, but you had enough furniture and dishes to entertain a single guest.

"You can leave your shoes on, I don't have slippers." You state, slipping your own shoes off out of habit.

"It's fine." Zoro replies, his shoes already coming off.

You step further in, pointing as you explain the important parts. "You can sit anywhere in the living room, and the bathroom's through the bedroom on the left. What would you like to drink? I have water, tea, coffee and, uh, well, I think that's it."

"Whatever you pick for yourself is fine." He answers, walking through the apartment slowly.

You tilt your head a bit, but you don't say anything. You decide to make some tea, it was a little too late for coffee, at least if you wanted to be up in time to make it to the dojo by 7am tomorrow. After a few minutes you'd made two cups of tea and Zoro and stopped pacing around your apartment.

"Were you looking for cameras?"

"...Yeah."

"I'd be impressed if there were any in here." You admit, taking a sip of your tea and sinking back into your couch. "A few years back I got really paranoid that someone was watching me, and I started checking for bugs every time I got home from anywhere. It was exhausting, but it turned into a habit and I still check every week."

"I thought you said this wasn't ongoing." His grumbles.

"It isn't ongoing. That was like... six years ago. Today's the first time since then." You clarify.

"Did you report it?"

Your eyes stare into your cup and you fall silent for a moment. You sense Zoro's gaze fall on you and mutter your response before taking a drink. "No."

Zoro doesn't say anything more, and the two of you sip your tea in silence for a long while. The silence itself isn't uncomfortable, but you're both on edge, listening for any weird noises, and mulling over the events of the day. Despite his brusque nature, you were happy to realize you weren't afraid of him, even completely alone with him like this.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the sun was down when Zoro finally stood up to leave.

"I should head back."

You nod and stand up to show him out.

"Make sure you lock the door."

"Of course."

"Call me if something happens."

"Uh, sure."

"And, uh..." Zoro rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." You reply, smiling happily. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Zoro grunts as he walks off. You try not to watch him, thinking it wouldn't do much good to make yourself worry about him getting lost. He's survived this many years one way or another, there wasn't much you could do about it anyway.

You lock the door, and the bolt, and decide to put the little chain thingy across the door as well. After a moment of thinking about it you go around all the rooms and double check that the windows are locked. By now your nerves are on edge, but you still need to try and sleep, so you decide to reinforce the door by putting the recliner in front of it. Grabbing a blanket, you opt to sleep in the recliner to add more weight to it.

Your assumption is, if someone breaks a window, you'll have a couple seconds to shove the recliner free and run out of the door. If someone comes through the door, you'll have plenty of time to call Zoro and arm yourself. Both scenarios feel acceptable, so you set an alarm, cover yourself with the blanket and sink into the cozy recliner with little effort.

. . . . . .

Sleep found you in fits. Your dreams had been more like nightmares, even though you couldn't remember them as you groggily shifted in the recliner for the half dozenth time. It'd been some time since you had such bad nightmares, and of course since you needed to be up early it was happening tonight.

The last few emotions from your nightmares left you feeling unsettled, but since it was still dark out and your alarm hadn't gone off yet, you tried to drift back off to sleep when something caught your attention and froze you in place.

The doorknob shifted. You could hear it and see it.

Your eyes went wide, and your senses were immediately on edge. You were 100% awake, and staring at the doorknob, straining every sense you had. There was a soft scratching sound from the other side of the door that went on for a few long seconds.

For a brief moment it sounded like mice in the walls, but you realized it was coming from the doorknob itself.

Then the lock popped.

... Shit.

Next Chapter

[gyoobies]

Worst Impressions

Pairing: Kun x Fem Reader

Genre: a little angst, a little fluff, implied smut

Warnings: Explicit content 18+, Minors DNI, suggestive, Kun is annoying but means well.

Summary: You'd been wanting to get to know Kun since your brief encounter at Ten's gallery showing, but you soon regretted ever crushing on him when he starts to work your last nerve during what should have been an easy beginners pottery session.

Y'all know the drill, if you see mistakes... no you don't 🤎

-----

You were 2 seconds away from kicking the entire group out of your studio.

When this evening's party rolled into your studio for their private pottery class you were pleased to find it was a group of men, ridiculously good looking men that you'd come to know in passing thanks to your neighbor Ten, but as the night went on you began to regret opening up your studio for private parties. It wasn't the whole group, really, just one person in particular, Mr. Perfect. You'd come to learn his actual name was Kun, Qian Kun.  

The group had only been there for an hour, and right out the gate it was easy to see who in the group was the know it all.  He was so hell-bent on being your teacher's aid, constantly adding on to the instruction you were giving, and smiling at you as if waiting for confirmation or praise for being knowledgeable on the subject. If it wasn't for the fact that you’d actually gotten pretty close to Ten you'd have asked Kun to leave the session for disruption, but the look of silent begging from Ten kept you quiet. 

Another hour passed with you silently screaming everytime Kun over-explained your previous topic of discussion. Finally able to leave them to work on their projects alone, you took the opportunity to step away from the studio for a quick break.

 When you'd first met Kun weeks ago at one of Ten's gallery showings you didn't get this annoying, know-it-all vibe from him. In fact you'd kind of been interested in getting to know him better, really interested actually. He seemed charming, and his smile could put anyone on their knees, but after today you had no doubt in your mind why someone so handsome was single. Who would want to have someone constantly stepping on their toes? Just as you let a sigh leave your lips you heard a familiar voice greet you.

You turned to see a smirking Ten.

"Hey"

"I know you can do better than that." You spat. Rolling your eyes, causing Ten to laugh.

"Wow! You're really laughing right now."

"I'm sorry, it's just you're so cute when you're annoyed."

"Well I'm about to get even cuter if you don't shut up."

"so fiesty!"

"TEEEEEN!" You whined. "Why didn't you tell me your gorgeous friend was a pain in the ass?! Like you seriously let me ask if he was single, his interests and didn't once mention that being a top tier annoyance was #1 on his eligibility resume!"

By this time Ten couldn't fein seriousness any longer  (not that he was doing a good job of it in the first place) and sent a chorus of laughter through the halls.

"I'm so sorry! Really, I am. I didn't tell you because he's not usually like this. I really can't explain his behavior today, even Hendery said he was acting a little odd and that's a big deal coming from him of all people. Maybe he's stressed and this is a response to it? I really don't know, but while you finish trying to quell your blinding fury I'll talk to him."

Letting out an exasperated sigh you thanked him. 

Upon reaching the doorway of your studio, Ten's eyes immediately fell to Kun who was in the middle of giving advice, again. Calling out his name to get his attention, Ten waved the man in question over to the door and ushered him to a spot a few feet away from the outside of the entrance.

"Is everything ok?" Kun questioned. 

"Well, not really. Why are you acting so strange today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how you always say you hate when someone talks over you  or attempts to break down what you've said or ..." Before Ten could continue Kun interrupted. 

"I'm that guy today huh?"

"Yes! And I'd appreciate it if you didn't make my newest friend feel like she wants to throw you off a cliff for the rest of the class."

"Well, I really messed this up."

His extremely defeated face prompted Ten to pry a bit as to why he was being so annoying. 

 "What do you mean? I'm  sure in time she'll forget this day and you can eventually be friends." Ten watched carefully as his friend's shoulders slumped.

"Ah! I see! So, you like her and this is... what? A poorly thought out attempt to impress her? That explains your pottery knowledge that we had no idea you had."

At that moment, a thought crossed Ten's mind, and he giggled, causing his somewhat defeated friend to glare at him.

"I'm sorry, but just thinking about you studying up on pottery is killing me."

Ten reached out to stop his friend that was now storming away, but just missed grabbing his shoulder as he turned from him.

"Where are you going?! The class isn't over!"

"To the restroom!" He shouted back.

 You headed back to your studio assuming they'd be far enough along that you’d be able to offer suggestions for improvement or answer any questions, if Kun hadn't already done that. Just as you rounded the corner to the studio you caught a glimpse of a pretty somber looking Know-it-all walking back into the studio.

The next hour was much better as far as instructing everyone with no interruption, but you couldn't help the slight feeling of guilt when you noticed how withdrawn Kun had become. You only wanted him to respect you and not take over your class but seeing his zoned out expression led you to believe maybe Ten was right and he hadn't meant to steal your thunder.

As you gave a few pointers to YangYang you noticed how good Kun's piece actually was.

"Wow! This is beautiful." You complimented, not realizing you were about to rest your hand on the sharp end of one of the sculpting tools. Just as Kun looked up to you, you let out a yelp at the pain of the tool, puncturing your palm.  It didn't even take a second for Kun to realize what happened and immediately he reached for his satchel and grabbed your hand to lead you to the restroom down the hall. He didn't say anything when you entered the restroom, he simply got to work. Picking you up, and sitting you on the sink, he rinsed the palm of your hand, gently dabbed it dry and pulled out a first aid kit from his bag. You were very grateful that he, for some reason, carried around a first aid kit, but gratitude couldn't stop the giggle that escaped you because of that fact. He was clearly too focused on tending to your wound to notice it or the way you scanned his handsome features. If he was oblivious or just avoiding looking at you because of the talk Ten had with him you didn't know, but he couldn't ignore you any longer when he finished. He slowly looked up at you and gave you a tight lipped smile. You had even realized what you had done when you caressed his cheek until he grabbed your wrist, startling you, and kissed your freshly bandaged palm while apologizing for being such a pretentious jackass. Dropping his head in what you presumed was embarrassment, he further explained that he was only trying to impress you with his knowledge of pottery.

"It's not like I even studied pottery or sculpture, I just researched enough so that I could impress you."

You were flattered, never had anyone ever studied up on your field just to try to woo you. 

"Well you failed miserably, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered that you wanted to impress me, even though you didn't need to." You said as you hooked your leg around the back of his knee causing him to stumble into you a bit.

" What made you think you needed to impress me?" You whispered, not needing to speak much louder as he was only inches away from your face.

"The gallery." He whispered as he moved a little closer.

"What about the gallery?" Now it was your turn to inch a little closer.

"I was impressed listening to you discuss all the paintings in depth with Ten, and  I quickly noticed I wasn't the admirer you had." He tried to inch closer again but you placed a hand on his chest to keep him in place, signaling that you needed him to elaborate further.

"I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of your circle."

"I see, so you opted to look like an idiot in front of your circle instead." You moved closer this time. "My circle was definitely not in attendance that night, and based on 

the things I learned about you from Ten, you shouldn't ever worry about needing to impress anyone."

"You asked about me?"

"less talking." You groaned, causing him to flash that gorgeous smile before moving in to kiss you.

His lips were even softer than you'd imagined when you first laid eyes on him, and the way he kept his body pressed against yours was dizzying.  He was gentle, never  taking more than he knew you were willing to give. He let you lead, happy to know you were just as into him as he was you, happy just to be the one you wanted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he quickly pulled you closer. Grunting at the feeling of you subtly grinding against him. You pulled away to lean back and enjoy the sight of him, hair disheveled from your fingers raking through it, eyes heavy with lust and adoration and a very noticeable bulge in his pants. Well, that was the plan, but instead you ended up wincing at the pain when you had foolishly forgotten how you ended up in the bathroom in the first place. 

Kun was quick to pull you forward again, holding you flush against his chest, kissing your palm and making sure you were ok. 

"How does it feel?" He asked softly.

"So good" you said as you pulled his hips into you more, still able to feel how turned on he was.

Kun bit his bottom lip as he watched you squirm in an attempt to feel more friction. 

The thought of feeling you wrapped around him was driving him crazy, but he wanted to make sure you wanted it just as much as he did so he took his time. Slowly, he undid the button on your pants, pausing to give you a chance to change your mind if you wanted before removing them. You smiled at how much of a gentleman he was being even though you were about to let him fuck you in a public bathroom, at least that's what you were both hoping for but a sudden jiggling of the door knob accompanied with a "shit!" followed by quickly retreating footsteps startled you both but left the two of you giggling.

"Maybe we should find a more suitable place for this."  You laughed.

 Kun agreed as he fumbled to redo the button of your pants.

"They're probably wondering where we are by now." He stated while helping you down from the sink, sighing as he thought about the looks and suggestive jokes they were 100% going to make when you weren't looking, but when you took his hand to lead him back to the studio he decided he didn't care.

As you stepped confidently back into the studio you paid no mind to the smug look on Ten's face, and began to look over everyone's pieces. Kun on the other hand was doing a horrible job of being unbothered by prying eyes, blushing immediately the second someone pointed out his disheveled hair. 

Ending the class went well, you explained how you'd fire them in the kiln and in a week or so they could come back to paint them. 

Never missing an opportunity to be nosey, Ten made his way over to you as everyone else placed their pieces on the rack in the corner of the room.

"My new neighbor fucking my best friend in a bathroom while we made clay pots was not on my bingo card." He whispered. 

"I didn't. We kissed and it got a little heated." You explained, recounting the poor guy that probably shit himself running to another restroom while the two of you attempted to straighten up.

"Well, you should probably think about picking up where you left off. It's been a while since he's gotten any, he might explode if you don't finish."  

You laughed and turned to face Ten, motioning him to come closer to hear you.

"Oh I have every intention of finishing, on that table, that chair, and the loveseat against the wall." You whispered as you pointed to each location.

"Eww, please disinfect everything before we come back." He laughed as he walked away to put his piece on the rack with the others.

Your eyes traveled to Kun after saying your goodbyes to everyone  as they began to pack up to leave the studio. You were pleased to see he hadn't made any attempt to move from his seat.

"Not coming to eat with us?" Hendery questioned before moving toward the exit.

"Not this time, I'm going to have a meal with her."  He nodded toward you.

"You could both come." 

"They're trying to" Ten laughed as he grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him out the studio, closing the door behind him.

I love him SM, but I deadass feel like if he likes you he might try too hard, when he really ain't gotta do much except exist.

[featherfur]

A New Way to Announce an Engagement

Silence at Lotus Pier is never a good thing. Neither is a suddenly very nervous nephew. Putting them together means Jiang Cheng is in for a hell of a surprise.

Characters: Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling Warnings: Implied Jin Ling x Lan Jingyi, Cursing, Mention of an OC Words: 1.5k

Tea with Jin Ling that didn’t involve paperwork or other Sect Leaders was a rare gift that Jiang Cheng normally held dear to his heart.

It should have been a perfect day. Fairy was curled beside her master, tail thumping every now and then whenever someone walked past their room. The tea was Jin Ling’s favorite blend, a little on the bitter side but without a horrible aftertaste that Jin Guangyao had always preferred. It wasn’t quiet the sweltering heat of midsummer, a little humid but nothing bad. The lake was peaceful and quiet, only the occasional sound of footsteps to disrupt the frogs croaking.

Which was the problem.

Lotus Pier was never quiet.

Jiang Cheng swallowed down his glass of tea, glancing at the side window and then back towards his nephew. At twenty three, his nephew looked more and more like a fully grown man who now stood taller than Jiang Cheng himself. Yet, right now he looked like a guilty eight year old who just got caught in the mud trying to catch frogs with the Yunmeng kids in town. He kept stroking his left wrist anxiously and Jiang Cheng was not sure he wanted to know what was being planned.

“Have you spoken to Li Caihong recently?” Jiang Cheng asked slowly, watching Jin Ling’s face run through various shades of red. That menace of Jiang Cheng’s was definitely in on this, whatever it was. He didn’t know how, why, or what was going on, but she was definitely involved and Jin Ling was a lot easier to break than she was.

“No, why would I be talking with one of your disciples?” Jin Ling said stubbornly, staring into his tea cup. Sixteen years of living with Jin Guangyao and seven with Wei Wuxian popping around, and Jin Ling couldn’t figure out how to lie decently?

Clearly Jiang Cheng still had a lot to teach him. If Jin Ling couldn’t lie to him about whatever bullshit he was in on, how was he supposed to lie to Sect Leader Yao’s face about being busy and not available to talk?

“Hmm… Strange, I believe she was the one who met you at the gate? You may remember because you were tackled by her and Jiang Yusen… Your cousin? The one you got mad at me for saying isn’t actually your cousin?”

Jin Ling immediately spilled his tea with a yelp, turning his head to check that the door behind him was closed.

“Don’t say that Jiujiu! He’s my Biao-di! What if he heard you, why would you make him cry?” Jin Ling looked so offended at Jiang Cheng’s words that Jiang Cheng was honestly taken aback. Of all things for Jin Ling to get up in arms about!

“He’s fifteen he shouldn’t be crying over the fact that he’s not your cousin. You’ve been spending way too much time with Wei Wuxian, you don’t know how bloodlines work anymore. His dad was adopted into the Jiang sect, not into my bloodline. He’s not my kid and he’s not--”

Jin Ling’s lips were pressed together to keep a laugh from escaping and Jiang Cheng realized he’d fallen directly into his trap.

Maybe Jin Ling did pick up some skills from the snakes of the Jin Sect. The only lesson Jiang Cheng was going to teach this brat was that no matter how old he was, Jiang Cheng could still toss him in the lake.

“You little shit! What the hell are you and Li Caihong planning? I swear to god if it’s something fucking stupid I’m kicking her out of the sect and you can deal with her.” Jiang Cheng snapped, feeling rather vindicated when Jin Ling looked horrified at having the nineteen year old prior street rat and Wei-Wuxian-level menace running around his sect.

“I’m not planning anything, Jiujiu, why are you so suspicious-”

They both fell silent as the building they were in shuddered.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes slid closed, fingers pressed against the top of his nose. He loved his nephew, he did, he was sure of it. He loved his sect, of course they were annoying but he loved them very very much. He was grateful for their existence and he’d never want them gone...

He kept repeating that to himself, certain that if he said it enough then he could keep himself from committing murder.

“What. The. Fuck.” Jiang Cheng growled, mostly to himself as Jin Ling shrunk into his seat to pretend he wasn’t there. He stood with a flourish, carefully avoiding Fairy’s suddenly thumping tail, and marched out of the room.

He glared out over his home, looking for the source of the racket and found it almost immediately. He definitely should have known that if Jin Ling was visiting, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be far behind and neither would Lan Jingyi. Neither of which should be anywhere near Li Caihong for the sanity of everyone in a 50 li radius. None of them had braincells on a good day, adding them together somehow managed to make them even more idiotic.

“No wait Jiujiu-” Jin Ling yelped, scrambling after him with a rather concerning crash of the teacup against the floor.

He swerved around his uncle in a mess of golden robes, arms held out to stop him. His only advantage was his height and that was actually rather helpful and left his uncle scowling glare directed at him instead of whatever was going on at the water’s edge.

“A-Ling… Did I just see Lan Jingyi missing his headband and in Li Caihong’s pink Yunmeng Jiang robes?” Jiang Cheng growled, squaring his shoulders to make himself look more stern than he actually felt.

Oh they were in trouble, they were all in trouble. Even the Jiang Seniors who didn’t intervene were in trouble. But the ten seconds glance of Lan Jingyi’s face blackened with soot and Li Caihong covered in algae took more than a little edge off of his anger. No need to let Jin Ling know that though.

Jin Ling glanced over his shoulder, cheeks adorably red and Jiang Cheng missed the days he could squeeze them. By the time his nephew had turned back around, Jiang Cheng recognized the stubborn set to his jaw and-

“Do not even think about lying to me, a-Ling. I raised you better than that.” Jiang Cheng snapped and Jin Ling gave in immediately.

“.... Jingyi wanted to blow up a boat.” Jin Ling mumbled, looking appropriately abashed as he flicked his eyes up at his uncle.

“I’m sorry… He wanted to do what?” Jiang Cheng hissed, staring at his nephew with wide eyes. What in the hell was his twenty-three year old nephew thinking?

Jin Ling shuffled, lips pressed shut stubbornly before it all came blurting out like he’d been holding it back for hours.

“He wanted to blow up a boat! Sect Leader Lan said no but Wei Wuxian said you wouldn’t mind but we couldn’t get caught not being Jiang or else you’d yell at us and Caihong-meimei said she’d let us borrow some robes. And I had to keep Jingyi’s headband safe because you know it’s a big deal and that it would give him away.”

For a moment Jiang Cheng couldn’t do anything more than stare at his nephew and wonder where he had gone wrong in his life. He was disowning everyone and moving to the mountains for some peace and fucking quiet.

Then the irritation came rushing back.

“I’m going to yell either way! What the fuck is wrong with all of you?!? And where is his Lan headband? If you lost it you’re telling Teacher Lan.”

The relief that had started to spread on Jin Ling’s face at no longer having to hide the truth was wiped away with a dark red flush of embarrassment. It was so reminiscent of Jin Zixuan whenever Yanli would flirt with him that Jiang Cheng almost couldn’t breathe.

“Wait hang on… you said you were keeping the headband? Why would you be… a-Ling, why exactly did you come visit suddenly today?” Jiang Cheng said, curiosity making his voice soften momentarily. There was no way Jin Ling was…

Jin Ling’s left hand suddenly disappeared, tucking it behind his back as he gave an I-dunno noise and shrugged his shoulders. When Jiang Cheng tilted his head after the arm, Jin Ling managed to get even more impressively red and stubbornly held up his head, jaw straight out and hid the arm even moreso.

Well… That was one way to keep Jiang Cheng from being angry.

“... I won’t kill Jingyi… The rest of them are fair game.” Jiang Cheng said, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and lower the headache that was building as Wei Wuxian’s cackle reached his ears.

Jin Ling looked relieved, both hands reaching out to grab Jiang Cheng’s other sleeve like he was a child again. His eyes were bright with excitement, nearly vibrating where he stood with happiness.

“Thank you Jiujiu!”

“Yeah yeah, I want a fucking wedding. If you even think about eloping like Wei Wuxian I will disown you. Now. I have a few bodies to prepare for a funeral.” He cleared his throat with a gentle shake of his hand to remove Jin Ling and stepped around his nephew. “Wei fucking Wuxian! Li Caihong! Don’t think I don’t see you, Cai Bolin!”

Jin Ling watched with a smile, turning to Fairy whose tail was thumping the floorboards rapidly.

“Caihong-meimei was right. That really did get him to accept the engagement faster than expected…” Jin Ling turned to watch Wei Wuxian body slam Jiang Cheng and Jingyi in the lake, the juniors around them scattering at Jiang Cheng’s screeching. “Probably should have told him before the explosion like the original plan though…”

[queen-scribbles]

The Long Burning Torch ch 5

I have vanquished the internet demons and finally bring you the next chapter of my @shepherds-of-haven 20s AU :D ----

After spending a few more minutes annoyed at her inability to talk to Red about the gala, Xaeryn managed to wrench her thoughts back to the case. There was still daylight, she had time to investigate the alleyway following up on what Ferrin had said. Just in case she wound up pushing toward evening, however, she opted to drive rather than walk. There’d been a few news articles recently about an uptick in pickpockets, and it wouldn’t do to make anyone worry.

There was, as luck would have it, a spot not far from the mouth of the alley, and she deftly maneuvered her car into the space between two much newer-model automobiles. Their gleaming black finish made hers look positively dingy by comparison but also brought to mind her tail from the last visit to the museum. Neither, however, had accents of any color, and she was equal parts disappointed and reassured as she headed for the alley.

She started at the entrance and worked in toward the gates, figuring she could continue down the other side if she came up empty. Part of her was cynical about finding anything so long after the fact, but the stubborn part--frustrated by her slow progress on this case--refused to give up without confirming. It didn’t look like this alley was cleaned all that often, maybe there was something useful. 

Besides, it was a distraction from the other thing she needed to find--the nerve to ask Red about the gala. It was much more elusive quarry than anything case related.

What was so hard about asking him?

I don’t want to inconvenience him when he’s already doing so much for me.

You know he’d be happy to help, floated through her mind and only made matters worse.

Disrupting his schedule to travel all the way to Haven is a little different than turning him loose on a research project, she countered, nudging aside a tattered tarp with her shoe. Nothing.

He just told you he doesn’t have as much going in right now. And both of you would drop everything to help the other and you know it.  

Alright, fine, I don’t trust myself. The fact sat solid in her chest as soon as she admitted it, brusquely poking around a stack of discarded pallets. I’m afraid if I ask him to do this, even if it is genuinely as a friend, I won’t be able to hide the way I feel under those circumstances.

It was a tricky thing, carrying a torch for your best friend. And delicacy had never been a strength of hers. She was all honesty and no varnish, too blunt-

Forthright, Red’s voice corrected gently in her head.

--too forthright to be good at playing games and she dreaded what might happen if Red picked up on something bothering her. 

Well, your options are ask him or not go, so if you want to make progress on this case you better get ahold of yourself. You can do this. You are a professional, aren’t you? 

Her foot hit something that skittered away with a clattery rasp, breaking through her internal debate. A keen glance after the object revealed only a rusting crowbar, and Xaeryn gave a soft growl of disappointment. Not far from the crowbar, however, something silver and promising glinted from a jumble of discarded paint cans and crate frames half-stacked into a shelter. She shifted the debris enough to reach and found herself holding a fine black leather sheath, dagger-sized, silver tipped and accented. A silver insignia at the top, opposite the beltloop, bore an unfamiliar crest--what looked like crossed lightning bolts or vines surmounted with a sword, or maybe a lance. It was difficult to tell at that scale.

She balanced the sheath on a nearby broken crate, pulled out her notebook and a pencil and took a rubbing of the crest. A quick shorthand annotation where she’d found it, and then she started to stash it all in her handbag. It would be a bit of a tight fit, but better than carrying her find where it would raise eyebrows.

Xaeryn paused just before slipping the sheath in her bag. She studied it again, catching her lower lip between her teeth. What if... A quick glance at the wall behind her to ensure it was relatively clean and she leaned against the stone while focusing hard on the small sheath. There might, if this belonged to the green-haired man, be enough trace of the owner left to Scry a clue.

The world fell away in a watery grey roil, clarifying into a scene almost as disorienting as the shift itself. The viewing angle was odd, a blur of motion off-center drawing her attention. It shifted into focus, resolving into a pair of figures mid-scuffle. One was a green-haired man, clothes decent but nondescript aside from currently being mussed by the fight, the other she couldn’t make out beyond a wild beard and the impression of ragged clothes. A street bum maybe? They tussled, each getting in a few good licks, there was a gleam of metal in their grappled hands, then one’s foot caught the sheath, sending it spinning toward its resting place and jolting Xaeryn out of the vision.

She teetered, slapping one hand to the wall for balance. After a few moments, her head cleared and she looked at the sheath clutched in her other hand. Now to figure out the heraldry, see if this clue could carry her even further.

“Finally, something solid to chase,” she muttered under her breath. It was a relief, like gaining purchase after trying to run on ice.

Satisfied she’d gleaned what she could from the sheath, Xaeryn slipped it into her handbag and continued searching to see if there was anything else. An hour or two combing the rest of the alley came up empty, but she didn’t mind terribly, not with the dagger sheath tucked in her purse.  A flash of discordant color caught her eye as she passed the back gates again despite the lengthening shadows; a drip of red paint on the cobblestone and one metal gatepost. Dried, but not faded, so fairly recent.

Her thoughts went to what Ferrin had seen; the green-haired man trying to grab or touch one of the trucks. What if, rather, he’d been marking it somehow? Worth looking in to.

Two clues for the price of one. Should’ve given him more money, Xaeryn mused as she headed out to her car. She checked her watch. The library would be closing soon, not enough time for a proper research session. She could do that tomorrow. As well as making a couple phone calls.

Nerves fluttered in her gut, knowing what one of those needed to be. She took a deep breath and pushed them down. It was just Red. She could talk to Red. She did it all the time.

About this sort of thing? the skeptical thoughts broke in again.

Xaeryn ignored it, settling herself behind the wheel and starting the car. She could ask him about this. Hopefully without fumbling. It was just asking a favor of a friend, one she knew he’d be amenable to granting because he’d said as much.

So why wouldn’t the butterflies go away?

She shook her head to chase away the thought and headed back to her office. Today had been very productive. Whether it was further cowardice or simply pragmatism, she was done with... anything tied to the case for the night.

---

Xaeryn stared at the telephone as if it would bite her. The same internal debate that had kept her up half the night still raged in her head.

God’s blood, woman, just because you’re dizzy for the man... Call him. It’s for a case. Not like you’re asking him on an actual date or confessing your feelings or anything like that. Just asking for a favor. A slightly awkward favor, maybe, but just a favor.

Before she could talk herself out of it (again), Xaeryn snatched up the receiver and dialed Red’s office number. Maybe she’d get lucky and he wouldn’t be in, she could put it off-

“Hello?”

She fumbled a moment, trying to get her stuttered heart back in rhythm. “I... almost didn’t expect you to be in this early.”

“Ryn?” The surprise was clear in his voice.

“Mm-hm.” She shifted the receiver to her other hand and bit her lip. “There’s... I forgot to ask you something yesterday.”

“Oh.” Red still sounded off-kilter, but the usual warmth was creeping back into his voice. “It’s good you called, actually, I did-”

“More research?” Xaeryn guessed archly, laughing when his silence served as an answer. “Liefred, when do you sleep?”

“When I need to,” he said, which was... not the answer she wanted, but was the one she’d expected. “What did you want to ask?”

“It can keep a few minutes,” she said, happy to take a little longer plucking up the nerve. “What did you find in this research?”

He yawned, which made her smile and wonder if he’d been asleep at his desk. “Given the source is a book of legends, I’m not sure if this is truth, or hearsay, or a complete tall tale, but if someone believes it’s credible I guess that’s irrelevant b’cause it could still be motivation-”

“Liefred.” She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take anything you were kind enough to find me.”

A sheepish chuckle. “Just wanted you aware, so you can take it with the appropriate grains of salt. There’s supposedly, according to this legend, a ritual that at least the original tribe to find Solimer’s Torch used, that could... focus its general protection and good fortune on an individual for a short while. The scholar who recorded the tale wrote that her source claimed this ritual could make the subject... invincible. I’m not so sure about that part,” he admitted, voice straining briefly as if stretching. “Seems a bit far fetched. Focusing magic can be done, but a good luck charm making someone fully invincible is a bridge too far for me without more evidence.”

Xaeryn laughed softly. “Fair. But like you said; doesn’t matter if it’s actually true, all it takes is someone believing it is to become a reason they’d try to get their hands on it.”

“True,” Red said wryly, “though I wish them the best of luck getting it to work in that case. This book was buried in the dustiest corner of Solhadur’s library and it’s the only thing I’ve found that so much as mentions such a ritual. And even this only has vague descriptions of what’s involved, hardly point by point instructions to make it work.”

“Mmm. Can you tell me what it says, regardless? Never know what’ll be important.”

“See, this is why you always aced tests,” Red teased. “You write everything down.”

“Hence the shorthand,” she returned lightly. “You can fit more on a page and I was tired of spending a fortune on notebooks.”

“I figured it was something like that.” He rattled off what he had, and Xaeryn scribbled it all down with a note in the margin about the dubious veracity. “So, what did you want to ask me, Xaer?”

She’d completely forgotten the purpose of her call, chinning about history, and the reminder felt like being shoved off a cliff. “Oh. Right. Um.” Her gut twisted in a knot and she swallowed hard, pencil tapping rapidly against her knuckle as she scrambled for the best way to do this. “You remember mentioning the King of Elinden was going to be at a gala here in  Haven, if I wanted to take the opportunity to talk to him?”

“Mm-hm.” The quiet grunt was laden with blatant curiosity. Of course he remembered, it had juts been yesterday.

“Well, Ms. Aescar, the current owner of  Solimer’s Torch, is also going to be there.”

“Sounds like the perfect place for you to investigate; two for the price of one,” Red said. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me?”

“I need a date,” Xaeryn blurted, then fought the urge to bang her head against her desk because that was the wrong way round.

The dead silence on the line meant she’d caught Red more than a little off-guard with it, too.

“The Merchants Guild, well, Whitestone Couriers, can get me tickets to this gala, but it’s apparently unseemly to attend solo, so I... need a date. Since I’m not seeing anyone, I was... hoping you could come? It’s tomorrow night and I’m so sorry for asking last minute-”

“Of course I can,” Red cut her off, fondness in his voice. “Anything for you, Xaer, you know that.”

A strange mix of emotions she did not want to deal with blossomed in her chest, relief so sharp she could taste it. “You’re sure? Don’t you have classes or-”

“I’m sure. I can get other teachers to cover whatever needs it. The students will probably be happy to have someone who doesn’t veer off down rabbit trails every twenty minutes,” he said dryly, then cleared his throat. “And I told you it’s a lighter load right now, anyway. You said tomorrow night?”

“Mmhm. Starts at six.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Liefred, you’re a lifesaver,” Xaeryn said fervently. And I could kiss you.

“What’re friends for?” he countered warmly. “I’m happy to help.”

“Oh, and it’s, um, black tie, so you’ll need a suit,” she warned, her equilibrium coming back, then added teasingly, “assuming you still have one.”

“I’ll dig it out of mothballs,” Red retorted with a laugh. “See you tomorrow, Xaeryn.”

“Mm-hm. Thank you, truly.” Xaeryn bit her lip, more hovering just on the tip of her tongue. But the words stayed stuck as always, tangled on a decade’s absence, on things she’d left unsaid before. So she settled for another grateful hum of acknowledgement when he insisted it was no trouble, they exchanged farewells and hung up.

Xaeryn braced her elbows against the desk, rested her face in her hands, and let out a long sigh of relief. Thank the One-God that’s over with. It wasn’t really; she’d still have to get through him being here, seeing her office and home, keep her feelings tucked away through him accompanying her to this gala.

“If there’s dancing, I might not be strong enough,” she mumbled into the heels of her hands. But at least the asking part was behind her. She could call Ms. Aerin and confirm she had a companion, pass along the needed information. And she had a few new questions of her own, after the visit to the alley last night.

A couple deep breaths to truly regrasp her composure and she picked up the telephone again. This call would, at least, be much easier to make.

“Whitestone Couriers, how may I help you?” Ms. Aerin answered on the first ring.

“It’s Detective Shrike,” Xaeryn said, leaning back in her chair. “I was able to find a companion for the gala and wanted to give you the details you needed.”

There was a brief rustle on the other end, then, “Go ahead, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn gave her the names and titles to pass along to the museum. “I also followed a lead last night which bore fruit, along a couple branches, and raised some follow-up questions for you, if you have the time.”

“We aren’t busy yet,” Ms. Aerin confirmed. “Ask away.”

“First off, I assume after a completed delivery, all of the vehicles involved are returned to the garage for maintenance to make sure they’re in good working order?” Mr. Syndran seemed the type.

“Correct, standard procedure,” Ms. Aerin said briskly. “It’s the best way to catch minor issues before they turn into major ones. They are also cleaned, checked for heavier wear and tear, that sort of thing, before you ask.”

“That is where I was heading. Do you keep records of anything found and dealt with in this maintenance?” Xaeryn tapped her pencil against the notepad, absently doodling a bird in one corner of a page.

“Mm, Mr. Syndran insists on detailed reports. So if any vehicle is consistently having problems it can be replaced, and if any driver is repeatedly rough on their vehicle they can be reprimanded.”

“Do you have the records from the artefact delivery handy?” She added a tree below the doodled bird, telephone wedged between cheek and shoulder.

“Oh, yes. They haven’t been filed yet, they’re still on my desk.” A rustle of paper. “Are those the only ones you need?”

“Yes, I believe so. I’m just wondering about something from this trip, not comparing to previous ones.” Xaeryn shifted to hold the receiver. “Did any of the trucks have paint on them?”

“Mmm...” There was a pause as Ms. Aerin shuffled through the pages. “Yes, actually. Trucks one, four, and six all had green paint on their tires, wheel wells, running boards. Truck four also had some red streaked on the rear panel and tailgate,” she read off. “They said there was a painter’s truck that upset on one street. Is that helpful?”

“Very.” A buzz of anticipation had started at the back of her mind. “One other record I do need; do you have the manifest of which artefacts were on which trucks?”

“Not in front of me, but just a moment.” Ms. Aerin set the phone down with a soft clunk, there was a minute or two of silence--which Xaeryn filled with more doodling--and then, “Miss Shrike? The Torch was on truck four.”

Gotcha. Xaeryn grinned. “Thank you Ms. Aerin, you’ve been a tremendous help. I’ll see you tomorrow night at the gala?”

“If all goes well,” Ms. Aerin confirmed. “Goodbye, Miss Shrike.”

“Goodbye.” Xaeryn hung up and steepled her fingers. This lead was paying off so well, she might toss Ferrin another deucalion if she ever encountered him again. Although, she mused, I did have to chase him down to get it. Maybe we’re even.

For now, though, she had more work to do. And if she walked to enjoy the weather, the library would be open by the time she got there. She flipped back to the notebook page with the insignia rubbing to confirm it was clear enough she wouldn’t need to bring the actual sheath to research the design. Satisfied it was, she jiggled the drawer knob, then pushed to her feet to fetch a hat and head out.

---

The library was even quieter than normal this early, which made the argument the reference clerk wanted to have seem all the more asinine.

“Why can’t I see those books?” Xaeryn demanded in a harsh whisper. “I don’t even need to take them out of the building, I’m quite happy to do my research right here.”

“It has recently become a trend among the youths and miscreants of the city to... deface our books,” the clerk replied stiffly, adjusting one sleeve so the cuff was straight.

“Do I look like either of those things?!” Xaeryn hissed.

She didn’t miss the look the clerk flicked at her illadrin-glow. “Irrelevant, as the time and funds spent repairing or replacing books has led to the decision against lending out some of our more vital or venerable texts unless an acceptable reason can be given.”

“I need them to do research for a case,” she said with a huff, just barely holding back the you twit she wanted to stick on the end.  She wasn’t going to pass this off on Red, too, she wasn’t. He’d already gone above and beyond and this was simple enough to do herself. Or so she’d thought.

The clerk arched a brow. “You hardly look like you belong to the police force, miss. And they have their own records, anyway.”

With an exasperated sigh, Xaeryn pulled out her ID and PI license. She fanned them out to display. “Freelance detective, not police. May I please use the reference books to work on my case? I’ll sit right where you can see me if I really have to.”

After a narrow-eyed look at the cards, the clerk sighed and relented. “Very well. I’ll bring them out, you take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Xaeryn muttered, shoving the cards in her skirt pocket for easy access in case anyone else gave her trouble. She understood and even endorsed caution in caring for books, but these lengths struck her as a little screwy.

It only took a few minutes for the clerk to wheel out a small cart half-full of thick tomes, leave it beside her table, and retreat behind the circulation desk. Xaeryn wasn’t fooled; she would be under scrutiny the entire time she had these books. The sensation of being watched was not going to help with doing this quickly.

She sighed, pulled out the reference books, and tried to ignore the eyes-on-her-back feeling as she dug into her research. It didn’t take long before she was surrounded by an array of opened books; flipping pages to cross-check information, scribbling notes as she read. The hours flew by, and she barely noticed when the original clerk was replaced by a young woman with white blonde hair in an unseasonably warm sweater. (She only noticed at all because the woman asked brusquely if she needed anything, which Xaeryn met with an equally brusque assurance she didn’t, not even looking up from her book.) The books were very informative, perhaps too much so. There were at least fifteen countries, city-states, or sects with lighting in their heraldry. Dozens, both archaic and contemporary, with a line or weapon of some sort surmounted over lightning or vines or the like. She finally narrowed it down to a half dozen with heraldry that was close match to the rubbing she’d taken of the sheath’s insignia. Two of them belonged to factions currently embroiled in the conflict on Elinden; the current king--Kaza; more of a warlord, if she was reading right--and his strongest contender. She wondered briefly if that made clashes between them confusing as she neatly stacked the books on the edge of the table near the cart. She knew how librarians were about shelving books. She stowed her notepad in her handbag and approached the circulation desk.

The blonde still seated there raised disinterested lilac eyes and arched a brow.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m finished,” Xaeryn said. “So someone can reshelve the books.”

“Sure,” said the blonde with barely a glance at the table. “Have a good day.”

“You as well,” Xaeryn replied, despite the farewell lacking any warmth and sounding more rote than genuine. She mulled over what she had found on the walk home. Too many threads were tying to Elinden for it to be a coincidence. The island’s distance from Haven--and insular focus on a four-way civil war--would explain why it had taken so long to arise as a possibility. There was also, she mused, a high concentration of Mages among the populace, which would increase the odds of unusual hair colors. Like green. She really needed to find a way to talk to the king at the gala, and maybe some of his retinue as well, if she could swing it.

Xaeryn was so lost in thought as she approached her street, the sudden, harsh yank against her handbag caught her completely off-guard. She still instinctively curled her arm in to hold on to it, but the thief had too much leverage with the element of surprise on his side, and she lost her grip.

She lunged after the bolting figure, noting what she could of his appearance as he dodged around a corner. Xaeryn was trailing by just enough that when she rounded the corner he had disappeared from sight.

“Dammit,” she growled, scuffing one shoe against the walk. She ventured a short way down the alley, but with no dagger--it had been in her bag--she didn’t press too far.

She made her way up to her office, mentally scolding herself for her distraction the whole way. She knew there were pickpockets and purse-snatchers in the neighborhood. There was worse, too, though that, fortunately, was still rare. It was still not a good idea for her to have been paying so little attention.

When she reached her door, Xaeryn sent a small prayer of thanks to the One-God that caution had paid off in one respect and withdrew the office key on its chain around her neck, clinking softly against the one for her desk. Bordering a dodgy neighborhood as she did, it was prudent to keep her keys safe from said pickpockets. Just in case. She entered, checked the sigil--no sign of further attempts to enter--and removed her hat before sitting at the desk to take stock  of what she’d lost.

Pocket change--a couple deucalions and a handful of lyss--she wouldn’t miss too terribly, a plain but serviceable dagger about which she could say the same-- and her notebook. Her ID and PI license were, thank God, still in her skirt pocket, and she set them on the desk with a small sigh of relief. They would have been a pain to get reissued.

But her notebook. All of her notes, all of the interviews, all the info Red had found for her. All gone. And to someone who would like as not throw it away.

It was a bad day for her and the thief both, Xaeryn reflected, unless he had been in the market for a dagger. Not much money, and the notebook was worthless to anyone but her as they wouldn’t be able to read it. But to her it was hours or work, pertinent information, ripped away just when she needed it most.

With a much heavier sigh, she pulled out a sheet of paper and started rapidly recording everything she remembered from the library. Best to start with what was freshest, and she could try for other things after that.

---

She wrote until her hand cramped, then a little bit more before reluctantly coming to  halt. She also jotted down and roughly sketched what she’d caught of the thief’s features. But there was a reason she usually doodled nature rather than people and this was a reminder why.

Xaeryn tucked the pages she’d filled in the desk drawer with the photographs and sheath and locked it. With research and other excitement out of the way, and her entry to the museum gala confirmed, there was another matter that required tending to, much as she dreaded the thought.

She needed an evening gown.

---

The rest of the day passed uneventfully; the tedium of shopping and then some more time spent reconstructing notes from interviews and such. Trying to ignore the steadily building flutter in her gut at the thought of what tomorrow held.

One-God only knew how she slept that night, but she did. Xaeryn very pointedly did not look at the garment bag protecting her evening attire as she dressed. That was for later, now she pulled on her favorite blouse--blue with white and green embroidery at the collar--and wide-legged trousers. The day was spent copying her sloppily scribbled notes into a new red-bound notepad that had been one of her purchases yesterday for clarity’s sake. She did a little more poking around the museum, but they were starting to increase security for the gala and she didn’t want to draw suspicion, as that might complicate her entry to the gala later.

Really, there wasn’t much to do until she could interview Ms. Aescar and the King of Elinden, which left her at loose ends. Xaeryn hated that feeling with a passion on normal days, today was even worse.

She cleaned her kitchen--something she’d been meaning to do, anyway, and a good way to fill the time--then tried to read a book. But even Tarquin the Elder’s grandiose theories weren’t enough to hold her focus today, and she was almost relieved when a knock on the door interrupted her eighth time through the same two pages.

She marked her spot and hurried across the room, glancing at the clock as she went. If this was a client, she hoped they were succinct. Red would be here--

She opened the door.

---now. She blinked. “Liefred.”

He smiled, warm with only a hint of hesitation. “Xaer. Don’t tell me I spoke to a very clever imposter on the phone and this is an unexpected visit.”

Xaeryn laughed, the moment’s teasing enough time to gather her wits.  “Unexpected, no. Earlier than expected, yes,” she admitted.

Red’s smile went sheepish and he ran one hand through his hair. “Yes, sorry. We may have overestimated how long the drive in would take.” He gestured to a familiar figure behind him in the hall.

“We nothin’,” Pan laughed. “That was all you, Liefred. Ryn, good to see you.” He held out a hand to shake in greeting.

Xaeryn did so with alacrity. “And you, Pan. Though I am surprised” --turned back to Red as she motioned the pair into her office-- “you didn’t just translocate.”

“Not a good idea with an unfamiliar city this size,” he said, running a curious eye over the room and its furnishing as he spoke. “Especially one so developed. The odds are too high of ending up on a roof or halfway through a wall, or somewhere you shouldn’t be, that sort of thing.”

She grinned and half-sat on the edge of her desk. “Why does that last one sound like the voice of experience?”

Red coughed, ears coloring to match his hair at her teasing tone. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Pan nodded broadly behind his back, mouthing ‘Tell you later’, which made her snicker.

Red ignored the exchange. “And, anyway, it didn’t seem worth the bother when I have a friend with a car.”

“And I thought it would be a good chance to see a couple of old pals,” Pan continued, leaning against the wall. “You, of course, and Neon apparently got himself a job with a Mage company that specializes in Enchantment and Binding; I was gonna see if I could track him down and surprise him.”

“Neon’s in Haven?” Xaeryn said, brows arching. She wished she’d known.

“At least a few months now,” Pan nodded. “You didn’t know?”

“It’s a big city,” she sighed, shrugging. “And I hadn’t been in touch with anyone from Solhadur for a decade until recently.” She almost thought she saw Pan smirk when her gaze drifted to Red. But it was gone a moment later and she chalked it up to imagination. “So I assume that’s what you’ll be up to while we’re busy tonight?”

“Yep. And if it doesn’t work out, well,” Pan shrugged, “I’m sure there’s plenty to do, either out and about or back at our hotel.”

“The Quarters’ Rest,” Red volunteered before she could ask. “I figured the gala will run late, they usually do. So we can just sleep here and worry about getting back to Capra in the morning.”

“Smart thinking,” Xaeryn said. It was a good hotel; decent, clean, and modest enough it had escaped being booked up by the visiting wealthy. She bit her lip in thought. “It’ll be good to have the time at the gala; you never know how much conversation it’ll take someone to loosen up. And it gives you somewhere to relax, with a bit of elbow room when it’s time to change. On that topic” --she braced a hand against her desk and smiled at Red’s examination of her bookshelf-- “should we meet at the hotel to head over, or do you want to meet here? This is a bit closer, and if the weather holds we may even be able to walk. If it doesn’t, I have a car.”

“Let’s say here,” Pan suggested before Red even opened his mouth. “I can drop him off before I go hunt down Neon, pick him up again at, what, midnight?”

“That works for me,” Red agreed. “Ryn?”

“Cat’s meow,” Xaeryn confirmed. She drummed her fingers against the desk. “Be here at twenty of six so we have time if we walk, then we’ll aim to return at midnight.”

Red and Pan both nodded.

“We should go check in, get settled,” Pan said, pushing away from the wall.  “Xaer, again, good to see you.”

“You didn’t do that first?” She hoped no one had bothered their luggage, sitting on the street unattended. Not a worry that would usually occur, bit with that dip snatching her purse yesterday...

“Somebody” --a significant look at Red-- “insisted you be our first stop.” He grinned and headed out the door.

“I wanted to make sure you knew we were here,” Red said with a one-shoulder shrug.

“Telephones exist, Liefred,” Xaeryn said dryly, but couldn’t help a smile. (Or deny her heart skipping a beat.)

One he returned with mischief in his eyes. “I also confess to curiosity about your office. Since you’ve gotten to see mine twice, it seemed fair,” he teased, then cast an approving look around the space. “You’ve made a nice niche for yourself here, Xaer.”

Xaeryn’s smile widened and she fought down the flutter in her gut. “Thank you. I quite like it myself.”

“It suits you,” he said warmly, turning toward the door. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting...”

“Of course. See you later.”

“Twenty of six,” Red confirmed with a nod, giving her arm a friendly squeeze on his way to the door. “I won’t be late.”

---

He wasn’t late. There was a small part of Xaeryn that wondered how much credit belonged to Pan for that and how much had been Red remembering the time on his own.

Any teasing she’d been contemplating to that effect, however, was precluded by the matching low whistles from Pan and Red when she opened the door.

“Guess that answers the question of if I look presentable,” she laughed instead, face and neck warming. It had been a very long time since she dressed up, and never this fancy.  Or maybe that heat was from Red in a tuxedo.

“I think presentable is, uh, underselling it,” he fumbled, and the flutter growing in her chest got stronger.

“Yeah, I thought you gumshoes worked best with a low profile,” Pan chuckled.  “Gorgeous dame walking in with glad rags like that, your profile’ll be anything but low, Ryn.”

“Thank you, but I think you underestimate the quality of people who attend these sorts of shindigs,” Xaeryn demurred. Regardless, she couldn’t fight a pleased smile as she ran a hand down the shimmering deep-blue evening gown, playing briefly with the long silver-tasseled necklace that matched the sparkling headband nestled among her hair. She turned to Red, smiling--unsteadily, but hopefully he missed that part--as she ran another look over his ensemble. “Fortunately, I do believe we’ll fit right in. You’re looking very handsome, quite a bit beyond presentable yourself.”

And despite the joke about digging his tuxedo out of mothballs, it fit like it had been tailored that day. The deep black and crisp white shirt were a flattering contrast to his tan skin, and Xaeryn feared distraction would be a bigger problem for her than subtlety tonight.

Red laughed and glanced out the window. “Thanks.”

“Though I see your hair’s up to old tricks,” she said fondly, throat dry around the words. She stepped closer, praying her pounding heart wasn’t too obvious, and gently ran her fingers through his hair to comb it back into place.

Red went still, a soft laugh escaping as she finished. “Thank you. It seems no matter what I try to tame it, it maintains a mind of its own.”

“Persistence is key, I suppose,” Xaeryn said with a wry and somewhat shaky laugh of her own. God’s eyes, I don’t know if I can do this.... One last smoothing of wayward red strands and she withdrew. “There-”

Red’s hand brushed her ear and it was her turn to freeze, heart in her throat.

“Your, ah, earring is crooked,” he said by way of explanation, gently nudging the jewelry into a proper position.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, watching a muscle in his jaw twitch in time with her heart skipping a beat. Her fingers grazed his when she instinctively reached for the earring as well, even knowing he’d taken care of it.

“So,” Pan spoke up, and Xaeryn couldn’t suppress a flinch at the reminder of his presence, “midnight’s a good time for me to come back?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat. His tone might be casual, but they’d been friends too long for her to miss the mischief in his eyes and it made her nervous. “Yes,” she replied, hoping she had enough composure to sound just as casual. “That should give plenty of time for me to have my conversations, perhaps do some other investigating, if warranted...”

“Don’t forget time for mingling and dancing if they have it,” Pan pointed out, grinning now as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “So you don’t blow your cover.”

Who’s the detective here? She bit back the retort with some effort, pulse fluttering at the thought, and restrained herself to a, “Yes, of course. If we happen to not be back yet when you get here, you can go have fun for another hour or go back to your hotel and we’ll call when we make it back.”

“Right.” His grin widened. “I’ll see you later, then, pals. Try not to have too much fun.”

“He’s knows we’re going to a museum, right?” Red muttered, and she huffed a quiet laugh. The location was tailor-made for them to have too much fun.

“This is business,” Xaeryn returned primly, slipping her arm through Red’s like a proper aristocratic couple. “And unlike some, we know how to behave ourselves.”

Pan laughed--“Touche”--and pulled the door closed behind him.

“So...” Red began, looking down at their linked arms.

“So...” Xaeryn echoed, trying valiantly not to let the warmth soaking through his suit jacket distract her. “I know I mentioned walking, and it would normally be my preference, in all honesty. But I was thinking about it, and for an event like this it might raise eyebrows if we arrive on foot. We should probably take my car.”

“Mm, good thought,” he said, making no move to slip his arm free of hers even if they were still just standing in her office. “Aren’t you worried about it getting damaged?”

“Not particularly. Events like this typically have valets, who tend to be careful, given the consequences of mishandling a patron’s automobile. Besides, while mine is nice enough to not be an eyesore, it isn’t so nice I’ll be distraught over a few dings.”

“Practical and pragmatic as ever,” Red teased, lightly elbowing her in the ribs.

“It’s part of my charm,” Xaeryn rejoined just as lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment by admitting the opposite usually proved true. People tended to be off-put by her manner almost as much as her magic.

Red chuckled. “Well, since we don’t need the time to walk over, are we having a chat here, or just going to arrive unfashionably early? This is your show, Ryn, I’m just here to help out.”

“If we go at a mosey we won’t be terribly early,” she said, even if she quite liked the thought of bumping gums with him in her office for a bit. “And it might be good if I can get a slant on people as they arrive.” Just because her clues were pointing to Elinden didn’t mean she was closed to other options.

“If that’s best for you,” he said easily, bumping his shoulder to hers.

Her heart fluttered and Xaeryn bit back a smile. “Just let me get my purse.” The small grey clutch barely had room for her keys, notepad, and a compact in case she needed to freshen her minimal makeup--either in truth or as a ploy to snoop. But it was the most she felt she could get away with for an event like this, and the blue and white beading was an excellent complement to her dress. She returned to link her arm through Red’s once more. “Shall we, Headmaster?”

“We shall, Miss Shrike,” Red answered with one of his dazzling smiles, and they headed out the door.

God help her.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E5; Chapter Five, The Flea and The Acrobat - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

"Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you."

'I can't believe I'm at Will's funeral.'

"Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." The pastor continued.

I spared a glance at the people around me.

I looked to Jonathan, his head bowed, and poor Joyce who was sitting nearby.

I can't imagine what they must be going through.

Joyce was like a second mother to me, and she has always treated as if I was one of her own. I'll always be grateful for that. I lay a hand on her shoulder.

She looks up to me confused like I had pulled her deep out of her thought, upon seeing it was me she smiles thankfully. She put her hand over mine and gave it a few gentle pats and then a small stroke with her thumb to say thank you.

I smiled solemnly at her and let go, listening to the rest of the service.

"It's times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent... could God take us from someone so young, so innocent?"

I looked down at my feet.

"It would be easy to turn away from God... but we must remember that nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love."

I felt a nudge on my shoulder and turned to look at Dustin. He wore a sly smirk as he looked to his right, past me and Mike.

Frowning in confusion, I turned my head to see what he was smirking about.

"Just wait till we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral." Dustin said cheekily.

I scoffed under my breath, rolling my eyes.

"Since when has she cared about Will? She couldn't even get his name right, remember that week she called him Bill?" I huffed, crossing my arms in distaste.

The boys smirked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Somebody jealous?" Lucas smirked.

"No-! Not ev- Shut up!" I scowl.

The boys giggle earning more than a few concerned and offended glances making me smile to myself. Mrs. Wheeler leaned down and shushed the boys making me smirk more.

'Serves them right.'

Soon enough, the casket had been lowered into the growd and roses had been thrown on top. I made my way to the very side of the grave, looking down.

"I know you're not dead. But I swear to God, if you don't come back I'm gonna kill you." I muttered to the casket in the ground.

As people began to filter out, we watched as Mike's mom said her condolences to Will's parents.

"I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, thank you so much for coming." Will's dad said.

I never liked him.

Joyce was just standing by herself quietly, her arms crossed looking down at the grave.

"Yeah, if there's anything we can do..." Mr. Wheeler offered, shaking the man's hand.

"I appreciate it. Thank you so much."

I said goodbye to Lucas who had to follow his parents out, even though we would be seeing him later at the wake. I did the same with Mike, and soon enough Mom was waiting for us so we could get to the car.

"Mom, will you give me a minute?"

"Of course, Pumpkin," She smiled at me with sympathy.

I turned around wove through the crowd that had separated me from Joyce. I tapped her on the shoulder, seeming to jostle her from her thoughts a second time.

Upon seeing it was me, she smiled.

"Hi, Ms. Byers."

"Oh, hi Y/n. Thank you, for coming, sweetheart," She smiled.

I captured her in a bear hug and she gladly reciprocated, giving my several comforting strokes.

"Of course. I'm so, so sorry for your loss." I said, letting her go.

"Oh, thank you, honey. T-Tell me, how have you been holding up?" She asked gently.

My eyes welled up.

"I'm not gonna lie, it's- it's been really hard. I just, I just miss him so much. Your son was such a good person. Always a gentleman." I knew what I was saying.

Even if he is alive for sure, everything I said was true. He always has been nothing but kind to me.

Not to mention, I owe him for so much.

She seemed extremely thankful for hearing that and I was glad I could make her genuinely smile on this sad day.

"Really? Oh sweetie, thank you. That means, just so much to me."

I look back to my mom and brother waiting for me by the car, and I return my gaze back to Ms. Byers.

"Um, I better go. My mom is waiting for me. I guess I'll be seeing you at the wake. Goodbye, Ms. Byers."

"Thank you again, Y/n. I'll see you later, okay?" Her face slightly fell and she smiled at me.

I nod and begin walking backward sending a small wave her way before turning around a breaking out into a small jog to catch up to my mom.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Being at the funeral of your best friend is daunting and quite surreal.

Being at the funeral of your best friend who is quite possibly alive in another dimension and you and only four other people know this is a completely different ballpark.

We had all met up at the wake and regrouped.

The plan was to ask Mr. Clarke if there was anything he could tell us about the theories regarding alternate dimensions. I'm just praying that we don't arouse suspicion given the setting.

"Mr. Clarke?" The tall man turned his attention away from the buffet to look at us.

Mr. Clarke smiled sympathetically. "Oh, hey, there."

The somber look came easily to my face as I looked to Mr. Clarke, Mike, and Lucas on either side of me while Dustin was digging into the buffet.

"How are you kids holding up?"

Lucas speaks up for us, slightly distracted by Dustin's blatant chewing. "We're... in... mourning."

"Man, these aren't real Nilla Wafers," Dustin sighed, shaking his head.

My eyes widen softly, and I look to Mr. Clarke trying to cover for him.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, Mr. Clarke, he's-" I stop midsentence to see him happily munching on more snacks, and look back to Mr. Clarke. "well, he mourns in his own... special way."

"We were wondering if you had time to talk?" Mike asked, wanting to move things along as quickly as possible.

"We have some questions," Lucas added.

I shook my head in agreement. "A lot of questions, actually,"

Mr. Clarke complied and the four of us found ourselves at the nearest table, asking our teacher about other dimensions at our "dead" friends' wake. Not something I ever could have imagined doing.

"So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Segan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?"

"Yeah, sure. Theoretically." Mr. Clarke replies, noticeably confused at the subject of our questions.

"Right, theoretically,"

"So, theoretically, how do we travel there?" Lucas asked.

"You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett's Many-World's Interpretation, haven't you?" A ghost of a smile on our teacher's face.

"Yeah," I chuckled, nodding my head in response.

The boys looked at me, wondering why I had said that.

I gave them a look that said, 'I don't know, just go with it.'

"Well, basically, there are parallel universes. Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there's a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened," I found myself nodding along, not for the sake of being believable, but actually lost in the idea.

"Yeah, that's not what we're talking about," Lucas sighed, leaning back.

"Oh."

"We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows. You know the Vale of Shadows?" Dustin asked, taking another loud bite of his off brand Nilla Wafers.

Not thinking that our science teacher would know anything about Dungeons and Dragons, I was completely taken aback by his next words.

"An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic–"

"Yeah, exactly." Mike said cutting him off.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"If that did exist - a place like the Vale of Shadows - how would we travel there?"

"Theoretically, of course." I add.

"Well..."

Mr. Clarke grabbed an empty paper plate and pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket. He then drew a straight line across the paper plate as he spoke, creating a visual for us.

"Picture... an acrobat..." He drew a small stick figure on top of the lines. "standing on a tightrope. Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules."

He began drawing arrows on either side of the acrobat.

"You can move forwards, or backwards. But, what if..." He drew a very small creature under one of the arrows. "right next to our acrobat, there is a flea? Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?"

"Right." We all agreed.

"Here's where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way... along the side of the rope." He drew arrows indicating the flea's direction around and under the rope, causing me to furrow my brows. "He can even go underneath the rope."

The boys and I all shared the same look before returning our gaze to Mr. Clarke. "Upside Down."

"Exactly."

Mike spoke up. "But we're not the flea, we're the acrobat."

"In this metaphor, yes, we're the acrobat."

"So we can't go upside down?" Lucas asked warily.

"No."

"Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?"

"Well," Our teacher furrowed his brows, a thoughtful look coming upon his face. "you'd have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then..."

He folded the paper plate in half, creasing it shut before shoving his pen directly through both sides of the paper plate. "you create a doorway."

"Like a gate?" My brother asked eagerly.

"Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–"

"Theoretical." I smile, nodding my head.

"But... but what if this gate already existed?" Mike asked, timidly.

"Well, if it did, I... I think we'd know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole."

Mike seems to gauge our reactions, and I'm the only one who met his eye with an equally uncertain gaze.

"Science is neat." Mr. Clarke continued. "But I'm afraid it's not very forgiving."

We all lean back, digesting the information.