#anyway still have to properly finish cold steel first though

[memorydragon]

Yeah, I need to play a happier jrpg next...

[tornado1992]

Tails was hungry.

Chili dogs were warm, quick to make, and they lasted long. Chili dogs were the answer whenever he didn’t feel like cooking but still neeeded something to eat. Chili dogs were his comfort when Sonic spent too much time traveling without coming by to any of his live-in labs.

Chili dogs were the first warm meal he ever ate. Maybe that’s why they were his comfort food, but who could blame him? Sonic made the best chili dogs in the world!

Sonic wasn’t with him tonight though, but he still needed to eat, he had been pulling several all nighters lately and didn’t even have time to wash the grease off his hands or clean the ash on his face, so chilidogs it was.

He hadn’t found the canned chili brand they liked best, it was harder to find it lately, but he had a can a from a few weeks ago, he was planing on saving it for a special occasion, even if it wasn’t his favorite brand, it was still chilli, and he still preferred skipping a few meals to gather enough ingredients to cook his comfort food when he could finally reach his goal than just inhaling whatever he could find while working.

He hadn’t reached his goal yet, he just needed some more time, and Sonic always told him that eating properly was more important than reaching goals or deadlines.

The bread was kinda hard by now, and flattened to thin pieces for being stocked in a raggedy backpack for way too long, but it was edible, he has eaten way worse things before, he had eaten wet, passed, moldy bread scraps back when he hadn’t met Sonic yet, he could eat something like that right now, so he could eat this no problem. It wasn’t perfect, but Sonic wouldn’t be eating this, so it didn’t have to be perfect.

The hot dog wasn’t the best either, being forced to boil it on an old pot over a tiny campfire instead of frying it in a pan in his usual way to cook chili dogs, but getting a pan meant getting access to steel, and getting access to any kind of metal meant getting access to a weapon, he had to prioritize any weapon he could find, even if they were almost useless against the robot armies that appeared around him almost every hour, and even if it meant not cooking his dinner in Sonic’s favorite style of chili dog.

It was okay, campfire meals brought him the best memories anyways.

He wasn’t secure being outdoors, but almost no place in the world was populated enough to be considered safe, not at this point, not since five months ago. The only place know to not being taken yet being the one he never planned to come back to. So starting a campfire and risking himself to being tracked down by the enemy was still better than coming back to the people that turned their backs on him. Even if coming back could mean a roof over his head, three meals a day, and a warm bed, it still meant accepting he was wrong the day he left. And he wasn’t wrong, he isn’t wrong, he just needs more time, and to have more time required him to eat, and if eating out here would get him more time, It was still better than returning to those who refused to believe him.

He cooked double the amount he would usually eat on his own, back when he was home.

No one would join him for dinner that night. He had been dining alone for some time now.

It was out of habit, he knew exactly how much he should’ve cooked for himself. He could eat it all on his own, it’s not like his stomach would refuse to, hell, he could feel his tummy practically begging for a proper meal, the throbbing pain reminding him of a way worse place than the war zone he was in right now.

He already prepared it, he used all his supplies in this single meal, if he rushed he could finish it quickly and put out the fire before anyone could notice him. That would give him energy, that would give him time.

But he didn’t deserve chili dogs. Not when they were his brother’s favorite meal, not his. Not when he stole food from the resistance’s storage room before abandoning them. Not when his brother could be anywhere, alone, cold, and hungry. Not when there was even the slightest possibility of Sonic actually being dead.

And if he was, it was Tails’ fault.

So if Eggman captured him for standing still, near a campfire, just staring at some freshly cooked chili dogs in Eggman Empire territory… maybe it was for the best.

Maybe he’ll take him to Sonic.

[your-local-grubdog]

Together in the Storm Chapter 5: Heart of Steel

Story Summary: Olimar is back home once again, ready to rest and recuperate from everything that had happened. Yet the universe keeps throwing unwanted surprises his way, making rest difficult. He just wants to make his (now rather large) family believe that he’ll be okay. Because he is, for he has to be.

Chapter Summary: Alph visits Olimar to fully recover the ship's AI.

I also took this chance to update the images on the AO3 posting, all images now use the files hosted on Tumblr and all images also have screen reader captions. I'm trying to do better regarding having those avaliable.

Read on AO3 here!

Alph wasn't sure what he was expecting Olimar's house to look like. He certainly didn't expect what he did find, though.

From the outside it looked huge, at least when compared to Koppaite homes anyways, especially when standing at the foot of the small hill it was built on. That fact was true for every house on the street, actually, each one a near carbon copy of each other; two stories high, built on a hill with an underground garage, a gentle slope leading from sidewalk to door, and the architecture in a style Alph didn't recognize. Probably traditional Hocotation, though. The only difference between houses were their colors or maybe some outside décor. Unsurprisingly, trees and flowers crowded Olimar's house, making it further stand out from the neatly trimmed and rather empty yards of the other houses.

"Alph?" Olimar asked, making the younger man jump a bit. "You okay?"

"Huh- oh- yeah, sorry." He ran up to the captain. "Just zoned out a bit. I've never really been to Hocotate properly before, only other visit was to drop you off. So all of this is new for me." He was shivering as he spoke, as Hocotate was also much much colder than Koppai.

Olimar nodded as he led him up the path. "Makes sense. Well, if there's anything I can do to help make you comfortable, just let me know! Always happy to help."

"Ah, you don't have to do anything special sir. I'll get used to it."

"If you say so." The captain began to unlock the front door, which was a sliding door. "I don't know if I could ever adjust to Koppai if the caves are as hot as the surface."

"They're much cooler, don't worry. But, ah, not as cold as this."

"Still, thank the gods." Olimar groaned, opening the door. "I can't stand the heat. Our fur retains it too well. Anyways - welcome!"

The first thing that hit Alph was the smell of cinnamon. It wasn't overpoweringly strong, just enough to be noticeable. It was rather pleasant, actually, but it did make for a strong first impression. The entrance room was much smaller than Alph thought it would be, given the large size of the house overall. It was also slightly lowered from the hallway that led from it. A few family photos and paintings decorated the walls. Alph didn't recognize the artist, nor could he read the signature - it was in a highly stylized Hocotation script he's never seen before. Alph watched as Olimar laid his keys and wallet on a little tray before sitting on a bench pressed against the other wall. He sat down before leaning over to take off his shoes.

"So, how's the little pikmin?" He asked through a few grunts of pain.

"Good." Alph stood there awkwardly, not sure of what he was supposed to be doing. He figured this was just some cultural disconnect he wasn't quite getting. "I just finished up helping Charlie with getting his house ready for it. It seems happy."

"Good, good..." The captain slipped on some slippers(?), still clearly pained by the process. They weren't like Koppaite slippers, they had a backing to them and so took an extra second to get on, but they looked oh so soft.

That's when Olimar's eyes went wide.

"Guest slippers! Ah, dangit - give me one moment Alph, just wait here!" And off he was, calling for his wife.

Ah, guess I'm supposed to have slippers too... Well, he could wait. He went ahead and sat on the bench as he did so. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to use the bench or if Olimar merely chose to. He decided it would probably be a safer call to just mirror the older man's movements, and pray that Hocotations didn't have traditions that were only supposed to be done by very specific people. Then again, this was Olimar - Alph didn't know him well, but he got the feeling that he would understand his bumbling perfectly fine.

Eventually Olimar returned with another pair of house slippers. "My apologies for that, people usually bring their own slippers. D-Don't worry, you don't have to buy your own! We didn't expect you to!" He had added that last bit on rather hastily, in response to Alph's drooping ears. "Uh, they may not be your size but if they're too uncomfortable we'll get you new ones. Or you could just go barefoot." He chuckled a bit. "Little casual but you're a friend so - anyways! Here!"

Alph couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he took the slippers. "Thanks, sir."

"I've told you before, you don't have to call me sir or Mister Olimar." Olimar explained as he watched Alph put the slippers on. "Just Olimar is fine."

Alph nodded. "Alright si- Olimar."

At that the Captain chuckled as well. Once Alph was done (the slippers were a little loose, but not uncomfortable) he beckoned him into the hallway. "I'm not sure how long it'll take to do what you're planning, so if it's alright with you I'd like to introduce you to my wife first."

Alph nodded. Really, it wouldn't take him long, but doing introductions first seemed like a good idea anyways. "What about the kids?"

"Ah, they're at school."

"Okay!" The hallway barely lasted two steps before they turned right into... Alph wasn't sure what to call it. It felt too open to be called a hallway as well, but it also seemed to have no use beyond leading to all of the different parts of the house. No furniture was here aside from the occasional console table, all well decorated in a manner Alph wasn't familiar with. There was a staircase leading up to the second floor, Alph thought it was placed oddly but maybe that's just how Hocotations preferred it.

"If you go past the stairs and take a left, you'll arrive at the bathroom." Olimar explained. "And over here is the living room!" He turned right through an archway. The room was well decorated, with yet more family photos and paintings, though some paintings looked slightly messier than the others. It appeared as if those had a different signature. A TV stood at one end, nestled into a cabinet of sorts, a couch and arm chairs opposite of it. Interestingly, there was also what appeared to be a small dining room table between the TV and couch, though it was rather low to the ground. Pillows surrounded it.

Sitting in one of the arm chairs and reading a book was Olimar's wife. She must've been quite absorbed in it, as it took Olimar a few tries to grab her attention. She quickly stood up, putting the book away as she bowed shallowly and awkwardly. Alph felt equally awkward, to be quite frank, unsure of how he was supposed to read the bow. "Ah, my apologies." She stood upright again. "I'm Rose. It's nice to finally meet you, Olimar talks about you three often."

"Do you, now?" Alph teased lightly, unable to help himself.

Olimar flushed and crossed his arms, looking away. "Well - you guys saved me and all- so of course I would!"

Rose began to laugh. "Anyways, you're supposed to help Olimar with a ship's AI?"

"Yes! The AI to Olimar's old ship!"

"Well," Olimar began. "It wasn't mine, just the one I was assigned to. The company owned it... Uh, did you move the AI or copy it...?"

"I moved it. No trace was left in the ship. So, technically, this is theft... You still want to do it?"

Olimar and Rose both nodded. "The company will be fine." Rose replied in a suddenly bitter tone. "They won't even notice it."

"Yeaaaah..." Olimar sighed. "Minus the fact he's angry the ship was totaled. He's heavily suggested that once I'm back at work, I'll be sent back to get the ship-"

"He what - Olimar, he's working you to the bone, you've been slee-" She looked at Alph, pausing for a second, before seemingly deciding it best to just get to her point. "Please, for once let me call your boss and talk him out of this!"

"Promise to not threaten him?"

"... Alright, I won't call him, then."

Alph shuffled in place for a moment. "If I may," he began, "Well, firstly, I think Rose should get to threaten him."

"Alph gets it." Rose teased, earning a groan out of Olimar.

"PNF-404 is not a place you just go to, you need a good reason to do so. I don't think recovering a single, mass produced ship is a good enough reason - even more so since we got everything important."

"... Yeah." Olimar quietly agreed. "But my boss isn't the one going there again, so hard to say how much he cares..." Ears pinning back now, he asked "What was the other thing?"

"Do you keep up with Koppaite news?"

Olimar shook his head as his wife answered "Not directly, but I have some friends who talk about it. They don't seem to know much, probably got it from word-of-mouth too."

Alph wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was an entirely different nation, why would they keep track of Koppaite news? He supposed he just thought that Olimar or his family would at least hear about this detail. "We mentioned you, Olimar, when telling our story. The whole planet wants to know who you are."

That made the captain stagger a bit. "H-... What?!" His eyes went wide as he stared and leaned into his wife a bit.

"What - what do they want my husband for?" Rose asked, also seeming nervous.

"Well, we saved Koppai from starvation. And we only could because of his notes on the fauna of PNF-404. We mentioned as such - but we avoided giving any personal details beyond race and first name. We didn't want anyone to bother you. Anyways, Koppai is interested now. Academics want your notes."

He wondered if Olimar was still even with them, mentally speaking. He leaned against his wife more as he stared at nothing. After a few seconds, he asked "M - my notes?"

Alph could only nod.

"What for?" Rose asked. "He's poured a lot of love and time into those, I don't want them misused."

"Just to study from." Alph answered. "PNF-404, it's special to us now. A star that has saved us. There's always going to be a few cruel people, don't get me wrong, but most Koppaites just want to understand and appreciate the planet." He then smirked. "From a distance, I think we scared away all but the daredevils and desperate from exploring the planet."

"That's - oh great gods!" Olimar suddenly stood up properly, though he hissed with pain from the effort. "This - this is a dream come true I - I always thought of it as just a dream but - Rose, Rose! My notes, they - my notes!" He was suddenly so excited, even bouncing in place from it. "This - This is amazing!"

Rose nodded as she smiled warmly, holding his hands. "It is, it really is, but Alph." She turned to the younger man now. "What does this have to do with Olimar's boss?"

"Well, nothing direct. More so his job." Alph explained. "We - my crew and I, that is - could pull some strings and get you a new job in Koppai's academic sector. It may not be perfect and will come with new issues, but it'd be so much better."

Olimar's response was immediate. "I'm not leaving Hocotate. My family and their friends are all here. I can't go to Koppai for work."

Alph was a little surprised Olimar didn't mention friends of his own, but he decided to ignore it for now. "We could find a remote job. Or generally make that a condition."

Olimar and Rose just stared at each other, eyes wide and hopeful.

When they stayed silent for a few moments, Alph added on "Just give it some time. I know this isn't something you can just jump into-" though he couldn't help but wonder if the two were desperate enough to do so anyways - "In the mean time, would you like the ship's AI set up?"

"Huh - oh, yes!" Olimar squeaked. "Yes, right this way, follow me - We'll be a bit, Rosie. Love you!"

She sighed affectionately and kissed his cheek. "Love you too, dork. And good luck with this AI thing."

Olimar let out a short chuff, choosing to urge Alph to go with him with a hand wave rather than speak, seemingly in a dreamy state from the interaction with his wife. Snickering lightly, Alph followed him back out into the hall room. He was led to a room close to the entrance with a transparent door. It looked glass, but Alph had the feeling it was made of something much sturdier. Looking in, it was obvious that this was the office.

Olimar let him inside it. It was also well furnished: bookshelves filled with books - mostly about biology from a quick glance - and a rather messy desk near the back. There was an easel with a partly finished painting that caught Alph's eye. "Does someone here paint?" He asked.

"Hm? Oh, both my wife and I. We hang our paintings around the house - though she's always hesitant to. She thinks she's not too good, so most of them are mine. I think she's a great artist, though! That one's hers."

Alph's eyes widened as he looked over the unfinished painting. "You're both good."

The captain chuffed again. "Thank you."

"Of course, now the AI-"

"OH! It's stored right here." He lifted the black external hard drive. "So, how are you going to do this?"

"Easy. You know about those home computer systems? Can just ask a question out loud and a speaker somewhere will answer for you?"

"Uh, vaguely. There's only one company that sells them here on Hocotate and they're far beyond what I could afford. But even if I could, they're kinda in legal hot water right now over breaking privacy terms."

"Oh, ouch... S-Sorry. Well, t-this one is free! And shouldn't cause problems. That's what I'm going to repurpose the ship's AI into."

At that Olimar snickered. "Ah, it'll work just like having it when I'm on a delivery run then? Joy."

Alph paused for a few moments, unsure of how to read Olimar's tone. "Do... you not want this-"

"Huh? Oh! It's fine, don't worry. It sounds helpful." He chuckled nervously. "Ah, do you uh..." He paused for a moment. "I don't mean this in a rude way, but do you struggle with sarcasm?"

"Usually, yeah." Alph admitted as he pulled a few things from his bag. He plugged the central "hub" of the home-system into the computer before searching around for files. Man, this computer feels ancient, but it's clearly powerful. Or at least powerful enough. Guess Hocotate didn't change their systems of OS design? Koppai certainly had sleeker OSs, at the very least.

"Ah, noted. My boy can struggle too sometimes, so I kinda get it. I'll keep it in mind from now on."

"Thank you, sir." A pause, then, "Which boy?"

It seemed it took Olimar a bit to realize what he was being asked. "Oh! Uh, Nova. You haven't met him, you will when he gets home though!" He chuckled a bit. "S-Sorry, we kinda only recently took Louie in. He's still absolutely like a son to me, but it takes time for certain habits to develop."

Alph's ears wiggled at that. "Really? I thought he was your biological kid?" He finally found the files he needed. Now he had to just port the AI to the "hub" and make a back up of it to the laptop. On that note, maybe he should prep the external hard-drive to serve as a frequently updated redundant back up system... As the files inside it were now, it wouldn't exactly be easy to do so.

"Oh! No, no." Olimar shook his head, laughing. "I was only eighteen or so when Louie was born. No, I just got attached to the scraggly kid my boss handed me and told me was my responsibility."

Alph snickered at the characterization, before going quiet to focus on his work. It took a while to transfer files and format everything properly and set the hub of the home system. When done Alph groaned and leaned back into the chair. "Okay, so here's how it works, at least the terms we use on Koppai. This round disk is the main computer of the entire system - we call it the hub. Keep it somewhere safe. It'll connect wirelessly to the nodes - they have speakers and mics. The hub has those too. Put them wherever you want access to the system. Just know that while it is private - it won't connect to any outside networks beyond looking stuff up online - it will still hear anything in a room unless the node is off. Keep it in mind when setting it up. I also have two back-ups of the AI, one on your computer and one on the external hard drive. Here, let me show you how to update the backups - I'd say do so around once a month, to preserve info it learns - and how to restore the system using them."

It took Alph a little while to explain it to Olimar, though it seemed the captain's main issue was just the complexity of the AI rather than any sort of computer illiteracy. Once everything was fully explained, Alph turned to the hub. "Now, to turn it on for the first time!"

He reached over and powered the hub on. After a few seconds, a monotone woman's voice came from the hub's speaker. "Powering on. Please standby..." It read off a few diagnostics checks and, after confirming everything was good to go, a different voice began to speak. More masculine and more robotic yet somehow more lively than the previous. "Louie? Is that you? Are my optical receptors offline - no, no this... Is a different machine. How did I get here?"

"Hey there." Olimar began. "Louie's n-"

"Is Louie okay?" The AI cut him off. "Last time I was online the ship... crashed."

"He's okay. Your old hull was completely totaled. Won't be easy to get it back. Uh... Alph here, he's from Koppai, he got your AI from the ship and ported it to a home system."

"A home system? So I'm not at Hocotate Freight anymore?"

"No, you're ah... At my house, if that's alright."

The ship's AI was quiet for a few moments. Then, it answered "Yes, that is okay. Thank you for coming back for me."

"Of course, of course... But really, thank Louie and Alph. I wasn't the one to go get you..."

"Well, thank you Alph. Is Louie here, too?"

"No, not right now. Whenever he visits again I'll make sure he says hi."

"Alright... Wait, so then the rest of your family is here, Captain?"

Olimar nodded, though the ship's AI couldn't see it. "Well, kiddos are at school at this moment. Rosie is here, though, if you wanna say hi."

"Isn't she the one who stabbed someone?"

That caught Alph's attention. "She what?"

"She never stabbed anyone!" Olimar insisted. "When I first met her, she basically saved me. One of the guys got cut but nothing more!"

"Uh-huh." The ship replied, unconvinced.

"Still, she cut someone-?" Alph began.

"When we were teens, and in order to save me." Olimar insisted.

"... And I suppose it's how she won you over?" the younger man asked.

"Weeelllll..." Olimar shrugged. "You know, when you see a woman in punk attire who looks like she could break you in half and who also has a bloody knife in a bloody hand... Yeah I uh, ran the first time. But we met up again later and look at us now!"

Alph just stared.

"Anyways, enough of that! I was thinking, before we - er, Louie and I - just called you ship before. But I don't think that'll work as well now. So how do you feel about a new name?"

"N-Not to be rude-" Alph intervened, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "But the AIs don't really feel anything."

Olimar's shoulders sagged then as he sighed. "I know... I know how they work. It's just - it makes me feel better to treat them like they do. Yes it causes stress at times but... I donno, it's hard for me to describe."

Alph nodded, his voice soft. "No, I think I get it."

"... If it's any consolation, sir," the ship spoke out now, "If a machine like myself was to ever experience emotion, it would be me and be because of you. Granted, the emotion I would feel is pure annoyance, but it is emotion."

Olimar began to chuckle, though he smiled softly as he did. "Oh please, you love me too much to find me annoying."

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. Whatever makes you feel better."

Alph couldn't help but laugh a bit as well. He usually found the AIs uncanny, as most Koppaites did. When they used them, they never used the emotion mimicry feature. But he had to admit, the "personality" this one built up was pretty funny and even enjoyable to be around.

"So what wonderful name have you chosen for me, huh?"

"Ah... Is - is Cetacea okay?"

The AI paused then, processing the information given. It then made a groan sound. "What is it with you and marine mammals, huh?"

Olimar huffed, crossing his arms. "They're cool! And fascinating! A creature that lives in water and can't survive on land but can't breathe in water either? Fascinating, I say!" He then paused, voice softening. "I could pick a different one, though."

"No, Cetacea is good. I like it. I just also want you to know that you're a complete nerd for naming me after a taxonomy category."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." Olimar chuckled again.

"Well..." Cetacea began to go on and on about some complicated physics thing, clearly pulling from some online data base.

After just a few seconds Olimar groaned. "Okay, okay, stop. Point made."

"Only doing as you asked, sir." It replied. Alph wondered if it was being sarcastic.

"Well, Olimar, if you want I can set up all the nodes now!" He offered.

Olimar nodded. "Yeah, sounds good to me. Then my wife can pester it too."

"Gods..." Cetacea groaned.

"You're part of the family now." The captain chuckled. "So you'll have to learn to deal with it."

======

It took a little while to set up all of the nodes, but they were able to get it done together! There were not too many of them - just the hub in the office and nodes in the kitchen, living room, first and second floor halls, and the entry way. For the first floor hall, however, finding a good spot proved difficult.

"Why can't we use the console tables in there?" Alph had asked.

Rose seemed shocked that such a question could even be asked, though Olimar just sighed and calmly explained "Those are the family shrines."

Oh, that made sense. "Ah, s-sorry."

"Don't be. Here, I can explain them a bit as we find a better spot for that."

All three of the shrines were explained one by one. The first was close to the entrance, right below a window. There were a few framed printouts of art there, alongside unlit half-used candles and a spot to light incense. A few rosaries were also present, each with a differently shaped charm attached. "General shrine for the Gods Above." Olimar explained. "We're not particularly religious, so we haven't chosen one to worship..." He sheepishly brushed some dust off of a framed picture of some abstract art. "Nor do we generally use this outside of the holidays, heh."

Alph couldn't even begin to decipher the meanings and symbolism behind the objects chosen, but he didn't want to make Olimar explain too much either. So instead he just nodded along, taking in the soft yellows and oranges and occasional pinks of the shrine.

The other two were on either side of a door that, according to Olimar, led to a currently unused "elder's room", though he didn't elaborate on that front. To the left of it was what he simply called the family shrine. It had photos of Olimar, Rose, Nova, and Luna from many different time periods, plus a few seemingly random objects such as a mouse figurine, some sort of fabric patch, a really cool rock, and a preserved lunar moth, among more. There was also an incense burner on the shrine. "We chose everything ourselves. Stuff that we find important. For example," he pointed to the rock, "Nova put that there a long time ago. His first gift from his best friend."

"Sounds like he really likes his friend," Alph teased, smirking slightly.

Though, it seemed the tone was lost on Olimar. "Yeah, he means a lot to my boy." He chuckled a bit as he walked to the last shrine. "Always makes sure his friend is okay and feels included, I've even seen Nova patch him up after some playful rough housing went a little too far by mistake. They're really great friends."

Alph raised an eyebrow at that, but decided not to push it any further.

"Anyways, this one is the extended family shrine. Rosie set it up! She has all sorts of stuff for her siblings and parents, though the meanings are personal. I don't even fully understand some of it." Again, it was decorated with family photos - seemingly Rose's parents, brother, sister, sister-in-law, and nephew - alongside many random little objects, plus an incense burner.

"Is there one for your parents?" Alph asked.

At that Olimar paused for several awkward moments. Eventually, he mumbled out "If they were represented, they'd be on this one."

Alph then felt sick. "Oh, s-sorry-"

"You're okay. Let's just find a place for the node, yeah?"

======

They eventually found a good place for the last node, and no sooner had they found a spot did some more people arrive back to back. First were Olimar and Rose's kids, who were excited to meet the Koppaite. They didn't talk much though before Louie also arrived. At that point, Olimar decided to gather everyone in the living room so that they may all have a place to sit.

"So, Alph came over today to help me with something." Olimar explained to his kids who looked up at him with wide eyes. "And so now there's someone else for you to meet!"

Nova grew even more excited while Luna seemed to become weary. "Cool! Who is it?"

Olimar just smiled and spoke out, "Cetacea, you online in here?"

The node on the coffee table then turned on. "Yes, I am. Hello, everyone."

Nova gasped. "Wait, you bought one??? I thought you said-"

Olimar shook his head. "Nope. I didn't buy anything. Alph gifted us the hardware. And the AI inside is the same one that was in my previous ship. The hull was destroyed, but we saved the personality inside of it."

"THIS WAS A SPACESHIP?" Nova practically squealed, making his sister flinch.

"That is... Mostly correct. Close enough." Cetacea answered. "You may call me Cetacea."

Olimar let a light chuff at that. "It can have an attitude, but it is very kind and helpful."

"Hey, don't start with this now. I don't have an attitude, I just have two major pains in my side. I am not above calling you an idiot infront of your family, sir."

Olimar just groaned in response while his kids began to giggle at it.

Luna, now calming down a bit, nervously asked "So can you answer questions?"

"So long as I can find it on the internet, yes."

"What about questions about the pikmin planet?" Nova then asked, making Olimar tense.

Cetacea paused for a bit while it deliberated on something. Then, "Sure. For one, I can tell you far too much about how so many of the creatures inner workings function, as your father had a rather nasty habit of dissecting beasts within my hull."

Olimar sighed with relief at the same time Nova made a face of disgust and Luna went wide eyed. "Coooooool..." She cooed.

"... Yeah, you're certainly his kid." A couple of people chuckled at that, though soon Cetacea silenced them all. "Before we get too far... How are you, Louie? The last time I saw you was before my hull was destroyed."

Louie shifted around a bit. "I'm okay. Been helping grandma. Work is... Work. And I spend time here."

"... That's good to hear. I'll have to catch up with you later."

There was an ominous tension in the air that hung between Louie and Cetacea. The last time they saw each other was during the crash landing... Cetacea probably wanted to push for information he wouldn't give in front of a group like this. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have noticed the tension (aside from maybe Rose).

Alph sighed as he stood up. "I'm glad everything worked out regarding Cetacea. But I do think I have to go now-"

"A-Already?" Olimar asked, surprised. "You can stay longer, we have a guest bed for you and some extra plates."

The Koppaite just shook his head. "Sorry, but I have a lot I need to get done. So I need to get going now. It was nice to see you again, Olimar and Louie, and to meet everyone else."

"... Alright. But feel free to visit whenever, okay?" Olimar offered a warm, if nervous smile. "You're always welcome here."

"Thank you, sir. Take care!"

They all said their good-byes as they waved. Alph headed back for the entrance area to replace his guest slippers with his own shoes. As he did so, though, Louie approached him.

"... D-Do take dad up on his offer, okay?" The tall man asked, voice quiet. "We'd lo- he'd love to talk to you more."

Alph sighed a bit as he smiled, standing up now. "Of course. I wanna hang out with everyone more, anyways. I kinda miss being able to talk to you like we did on the Drake. Right now though, I gotta focus on making sure Koppai will be okay."

Louie looked down as he rubbed his arm. "O-Okay..."

"But don't be afraid to call me either, alright? I'm always happy to talk."

Louie nodded slowly at that, a soft smile forming on his face. "Okay."

[shih-coulda-had-it]

37. NanaHiko, please

37. “Because I love you goddammit!”

Consider this my sourdough starter for a Nanahiko Die Hard AU. If it ever comes into a fully-realized oneshot spectacular, well. Maybe for Christmas. Anyways, this is, believe or not, a break-up scene.

//

Fighting with Sorahiko is never pretty.

To clarify, Nana doesn’t mean physical fighting. They’ve honed that particular aspect of their partnership to near-perfection (always room for improvement), and when Nana has extricated herself from a fight, sometimes she has enough time to watch Sorahiko work his brutally efficient magic on loose ends.

That kind of fighting is pretty from a professional point of view.

Anyway, what Nana means is—having an argument with Sorahiko. It’s not the first time they’ve engaged in a war of cold shoulders and barbed words, digging up old insults and humiliating stories, resolved to leave reconciliation to the other party.

Nana has always thought it boded well that it never took a mortal injury to get either her or Sorahiko to apologize. 

She is, however, very close to inflicting a mortal injury.

Sorahiko also looks close to committing partner-cide. They are spending a break from patrol by cooling their heels on a rooftop no employee bothers to spend a cigarette break at, and for the past ten minutes, have been politely exchanging words like, “Please do this,” and, “Fuck doing that.”

A full month has passed since Nana digested the whole conspiracy theory about a supervillain controlling Japan’s underground. En’s transferral of One for All had been traumatic for all parties involved, even if Sorahiko didn’t have to witness the horror that was the shoulder socket gushing blood and the half-buried body. Why? Because the first time Nana tested out her new Quirk, she had broken her notoriously hardy partner’s arm.

… It’s been a scary month all around.

“I’m not,” her partner grits out, “going to just quit being a pro-hero.”

“I didn’t say you should ditch the license,” Nana says reasonably.

“You might as well have!”

She rolls her eyes. “Splitting up for a solo career would probably mean better pay for you,” she reiterates. “Better pay, more taiyaki. You’d be a treat by yourself, Gran Torino. Any high-profile agency would want you on the payroll.”

“The salary isn’t the point,” Sorahiko snaps. 

“And you shouldn’t conflate your position as a pro-hero with your position at the Eyrie! Don’t let the agency limit your ambitions!”

“What ambitions?”

“You know,” says Nana, gesturing aimlessly. She’s trapped herself with that useless encouragement. Sorahiko is so thoroughly unambitious, he would let a pet rock win an election to Prime Minister. “Whatever made you get into heroics.”

He stares at her.

“Get out there,” she adds. “Chase your dreams.”

“You’re being stupid,” he says.

“Don’t start.”

Sorahiko starts. His mouth twists into a snarl, eyebrows drawing together under the mask, frustration creeping into his posture. He is madder than she’s ever seen him, and Nana once witnessed Sorahiko yell bloody murder at his landlord. The landlord had been reduced to tears, and furthermore, had reduced the rent for the entire complex.

Nana does not intend to yield.

“First you inherit a transferable strength Quirk that knocks you out of commission for a week,” he says, “then you get all weird about tanking hits you know I can take, and now you’re advising I leave the Eyrie by myself? For my own good?”

“Yes,” she says, already feeling miserable.

“Are you on some kind of power trip?”

“No!”

His gloved hands curl into fists, mirroring Nana’s, or maybe she is mirroring him. Another side-effect of being friends for so long; she can’t imagine what kind of pro-hero she is without Gran Torino next to her. 

A pro-hero that won’t drag their best friend into the worst conspiracy theory to come true. 

“I won’t quit until you do,” Sorahiko swears. “Are we partners or not?”

“Partnerships dissolve.”

He flinches back for once. “You don’t mean that.”

“People sometimes grow in different ways. It doesn’t mean they’re abandoning their partner, it’s just… You don’t have any obligation to hold my hand for my entire career. If there’s a roadblock ahead, and you see it, you should be able to jump out of the car, right?” 

“Shimura. Shut up.”

“I really mean it,” Nana continues doggedly. “One for All attracts way more attention than we agreed we should aim for, so if we split paths now, you don’t have to suffer all the cameras tracking and recording your moveset. Did I say cameras? I meant henchmen of some evil bastard. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t sign up for,” he hisses.

“Well, I have to guess,” she says, “considering I never saw your origin story, haha!”

His face goes a blotchy pink, starting with his ears. Sorahiko’s jaw visibly clenches. Nana, however, is one-hundred percent serious. Despite being friends with Sorahiko from primary school up till now (excusing the few years of junior high), Nana still has no idea what drives Sorahiko to be Gran Torino.

Reuniting in Class 1-A of U.A. High had felt a bit like fate. 

“You have to guess?” he grits out, sounding slightly incredulous.

“You’re a very private person. Ah, don’t tell me I’ve somehow forgot it.” Nana puts her hands at her hips, trying to drag this fight back into friendly banter. “Not for the applause. Not for the legacy, assuming the Commission ever gets their memorial site set up. Are you sure it wasn’t for the money?”

“Shimura.”

“C’mon,” she says coaxingly. “What’s the dream-goal, Gran Torino? Why heroics?”

“Shimura.”

“Don’t worry about harming my feelings! Oh! It’s for your namesake, huh? Ah, Sorahiko, you really gotta let that one go, I don’t think you’d have any fun driving around these streets. You’ll just scare all the pedestrians into throwing tomatoes at your precious baby—”

“Because I love you goddammit!” Sorahiko shouts, barking it loud enough to frighten some voyeuristic pigeons. 

“What,” Nana says. She has to process his words even though they ring in her ears. His confession is a curse. Typical Sorahiko, Nana thinks hysterically, except this is not typical at all. Torino Sorahiko, admitting to love? 

Torino Sorahiko, not being done yet, rails on. “Because you’re my best friend, and I like myself when I’m with you, so stop trying to cut me out of your life! If you—if you hate me, then just say it! Say I’m annoying! Clingy! Useless! Don’t just tell me to step out the front door and leave you behind!”

Oh, he’s properly mad now.

Thing is, Nana’s mad too.

“Don’t you use that against me,” she says, fury seeping in, because how dare he? Like confessing to loving her settles this argument, some deus ex-machina device that will defuse Nana’s very sincere attempt to prevent Sorahiko from being murdered. She can’t believe the nerve of her partner, trying to manipulate the part of her that’s a hopeless romantic. “Don’t lie.”

“Lie?” Sorahiko echoes, enraged. “You think—?”

“I think you would do a lot of things to win a fight,” Nana seethes.

“You’re impossible.”

She wants to punch his stupid face so badly, but Sorahiko’s hands are already scrabbling at his domino mask, ripping it off. After blinking several times to reorient his senses, he refocuses his glare at her.

“What part of that confession sounded fake?” he demands, crumpling the black silk-composite in one fist.

“The timing. The whole concept. Everything!”

“You don’t think I’m capable of it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nana objects, but her immediate gut reaction had been to say, I’m not worthy of it. She has a name for Gran Torino’s behavior now—his loyalty, devotion, affection—he tied himself to her so long ago, and Nana never even knew she was holding a leash. How unfair to him, how stupid and shortsighted of her.

Sorahiko takes a step into Nana’s personal bubble. He persists. “Say you hate me.”

She can see where Sorahiko wants to take this.

“Do you hate me, Shimura?”

Nana bites her tongue from its reflexive denial; when she tries to lie, it sticks in her throat.

“Do you really want me to go?” Sorahiko asks, and without his mask, he looks vulnerable. Pale brown eyes catching the sunset, gleaming gold. How much of Sorahiko’s life has been deferring his dreams to follow hers? What has he given up that Nana’s never asked about? Does he have any commitments outside of heroics? 

“I think,” Nana finally forces out, “we need some time apart.”

One beat of silence. Two.

“You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Sorahiko breathes, a steady and barely audible sound, and Nana finds herself mirroring it. She crosses her arms and looks to the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sorahiko slowly uncrumpling his mask, smoothing out wrinkles with his forefinger and thumb. Methodical for a nervous tic.

“It’s not that you’ve done something wrong.”

“Spare me the bullshit,” he says. The bitter tone sends a chill through Nana’s heart, but she steels herself. “How long?”

“Long as we need,” she deflects.

“What’s the goal here?”

Nana glances at Gran Torino, notes the grim set of his expression, and restrains herself from poking at the down-turned twist to his frown. Instead, she says, “You said you like who you are when you’re with me. I don’t think you’ve ever really been without me, so… Figure yourself out, Gran Torino.”

“And Sky High?”

“We’ll shelve the idea for a later time,” says Nana weakly, as though running an agency together hasn’t been their—her?—dream since high school.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

Together, they survey the cityscape. They will finish the day’s patrol. Gran Torino will, for the first time, clock out early and storm home.

And Nana will quietly file her two-week notice.

There’s an international pro-hero exchange program being organized with the United States, and Nana intends to join. The probation period is a year; if Nana can make it through that, then she can apply to be a mentor to aspiring pro-heroes, all the while cultivating One for All on the side.

(She doesn’t mean to forget the confession. But then again, who knows if that’s really what Sorahiko felt for her?)

[collabwithmyself]

1-3: Turnabout Transfix (1/2)

Ray and Maya both teased him about his "old man phone," but in Miles's opinion, it worked perfectly well, so he saw no point in replacing it. It was simple, it was solid, and most importantly, he could still customize a ringtone with it.

This meant that waking up abruptly to a tinny rendition of the Steel Samurai theme song had him in a marginally better mood than if it were a normal, repetitive ringing dragging him out of slumber an hour earlier than usual. He fumbled blindly for the cell phone chiming away on his nightstand and dragged it over to him, squinting futilely at the caller ID before answering.

"Mlejerth," he managed.

"My!" screeched a voice, shouting directly into his ear and startling him into sitting up. "It's a disaster!"

"Wh-- Maya? What happened? Are you in danger?"

"It's the Steel Samurai!" Maya wailed. "He killed the Evil Magistrate!"

"Well, that seems largely out of character for him," Miles mused, rubbing his eyes. "...Wait, hold on, where did you get this information? Why are you giving me spoilers?"

"I mean in real life! Turn on the TV, or whatever it is you old men do to get news!"

"In real--" Miles's sleep-addled brain struggled to comprehend what Maya was trying to tell him. "You... do you mean their actors?"

"Yes! Duh!"

He fell back against the headboard in shock. "You're telling me Will Powers killed Jack Hammer?" Why didn't she say that in the first place?!

"That's what the police are saying! You're a defense attorney, My, do something! There's no way the Steel Samurai would kill anybody!"

"Wh-- Maya, you can't expect me to be able to catch the attention of a celebrity, let alone be picked by him to defend him in court! I've only acted as an attorney in two trials!"

"Yeah, and you beat Sascha von Karma! That's better than a whole resume of cases or whatever! Come on, My, you gotta!"

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. "You won't stop pestering me until I agree to this, will you?"

"Nnnnope!" Maya popped the P emphatically. "Meet you at the detention center!"

"Yes, I'll see you--"

Click.

"...there..."

What had he just gotten himself into?

⁂

"So this is Global Studios?" Maya asked, hands on her hips as she peered around. "I kinda expected it to be... I dunno, bigger."

"Bigger isn't always better, you know," Miles replied, pushing up his glasses. "They make do excellently with what they have, wouldn't you agree?"

"You can say that again!"

Maya strolled closer to the gate, standing on her tiptoes. "Geez, where's the handle for this thing? You think we might have to climb it?"

Miles gave her a look that he hoped conveyed his lack of amusement properly. "We are not breaking into the studio. I highly doubt they'd let just anyone in, especially after a murder just took place. We might need to go back and get, well, a permission slip from Mr. Powers."

Maya smirked at him. "You just wanna get his autograph."

Miles's ears burned. "It's important to the case--"

A horrible screech startled them both, and Maya sprang back from the gate, reflexively snagging Miles by the sleeve and making him flinch a second time. It took him a moment to recognize the piercing cry as a human voice instead of some furious animal.

"Hey! You there! You wanna get in, you're gonna have to go through me! Honestly, all day I've had to deal with nothing but gawkers and sightseers, it seems like nobody in this city knows how to keep their nose out of things, they've all got another thing coming if they think they can get past me--"

He turned to find a person in blue storming out of the nearby security station and towards them both. Intimidated, but knowing better than to let that show, he straightened up, and beside him, Maya did the same.

"Er, pardon me. I'm a defense attorney, and this is my," Miles hesitated, "paralegal. We're here on behalf of--"

The elderly woman squinted at him, then brightened like a light being turned on. "Oh! What a lovely young man you are, aren't you just a sweetheart?"

Miles blinked at the praise. Beside him, Maya made a sudden retching noise, though he couldn't fathom why. "Er, I'm representing Will Powers," he continued, gesturing to the badge on his lapel, "and I was hoping you could let us in to conduct an investigation? You are the security guard, aren't you?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Wendy Oldbag, Global Studios security, but you can just call me grandma!" The old woman waved a hand at him. (Miles was... not going to do that.) "Why, you're so polite, not at all like most people these days, so pushy and impatient, looking to sightsee just because something horrible happened! No, I can tell you're an honest young man, you wouldn't dream of causing trouble, would you?"

Miles shook his head. Oldbag continued to ramble, so his gaze slipped away from her and towards Maya, who looked positively mortified.

"My, I think she likes you," she stage-whispered.

"Is that not a good thing?" Miles was puzzled. "She'll be more likely to let us in."

"Ohh, boy..."

It took a lot of convincing to assure this woman that they didn't need a personally guided tour, thank you, and it was Maya being her blunt self that eventually got her to take the hint and leave in a huff.

"That was..." Miles searched for the right word as he gazed about the studio grounds.

"Yikes," Maya finished.

"Maya, she was a perfectly agreeable woman--"

"Are you that oblivious, My? She was totally into you!" She threw her hands into the air. "You get such a bad crush you practically block out your memory when Mr. Powers talks to you, but this lady flirting with you doesn't set off any alarm bells?"

Miles spluttered. "She was not flirting!"

"She was totally making kissy eyes at you!"

"This is an entirely irrelevant discussion topic anyways, we should be investigating."

Maya puffed her cheeks out, balling her fists. "You can't just stand there and let weird old ladies creep on you, My!"

"Believe me," he huffed with finality, "I would never let any weird old person get into my head."

They didn't get far before a figure standing under the archway leading to the studios spotted them. The already large detective puffed up in anger when they approached.

"Hey! Aren't you that murderer from the other day?!"

Maya squeaked, bravado evaporating. "Yikes! It's that himbo detective...!"

"I-- I beg your pardon, Maya, what--"

The detective - Gumshoe, was it? - stomped a foot in frustration, chest heaving. "Prosecutor von Karma's real upset because of you! All frustrated and can't focus on work, staring out the window and muttering..."

Maya seemed to regain her resolve. "How is it our fault she's a sore loser, huh? And besides, if anyone's at fault, it's you for doing sloppy detective work!"

This only served to agitate Gumshoe further. "Don't you insult my boss!" he exploded. But then, all at once, he deflated, brows knitting together guiltily. "...I did my best..."

Maya looked thrown. "Um... s-sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings..."

The detective shook his head. "Nah, you got a point, pal... I shouldn't be blaming other people like that..."

Miles refrained from pointing out that it was pretty much his job to be blaming other people, along with his boss's. "Well, I suppose there's always the next case."

"Yeah... hey! Speaking of which! What the heck are you two doing here?!"

Maya put her hands on her hips and tried to make herself look bigger. "Well, we're on this case too, pal!"

Gumshoe's mouth fell open in offense. "Hey! You can't just go around calling people pal! That's my endearing character trait, pal!"

"Well, what are you gonna do about it, pal?!"

"Pal, I'm gonna--"

"Are you here," Miles interrupted loudly, "on behalf of Miss von Karma?"

It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, as Gumshoe set his jaw again. "I told you to address Prosecutor von Karma by the proper title! Don't let me catch you saying that around my boss, or you're in for it!"

What an odd thing to insist on, Miles thought, but he nodded along nonetheless. "Well? Are you?"

"Am I what...?" Gumshoe took a moment, most likely replaying the conversation in his head. "Oh! Yeah! Prosecutor von Karma's on this case, and this time, we've definitely got it in the bag!"

Miles remembered the strange, uneasy feeling he'd gotten when staring down that woman in court. How her eyes burned with a disgust and hatred Miles couldn't hope to decipher. How her cold composure had dissolved into furious outbursts and frantic bluffs in an effort to save face as Miles took her case apart. How angry, humiliated tears had pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she'd clung anxiously to her right side like she was preventing a wound from bleeding out.

"I'd be worried about her punching you, My," Maya had said to him, "but I think she might just break her hand trying."

How the scrawny brunette managed to be so imposing, Miles had no idea. Everything about her made his stomach twist, like something was inherently incorrect about her. He almost felt sorry for her, having to be raised by a man like Manfred von Karma, but she had been molded into his likeness - a ruthless prosecutor who sought no less than a perfect win record - which made her his enemy.

Some part of him wondered if they could have been friends in another life - a life where they'd crossed paths earlier.

But Miles had far more important things to worry about than that.

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Got a little carried away with this one, so I’m posting it a bit later in the day. If people enjoy it, I’ll likely write a part two for this. I got some ideas rattling around in my head for some fluff to soothe the angst - just want to focus on trying to finish the rest of the prompts first. Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Day 3: Protect

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission. The Kishin egg that had been terrorizing a small mountain town in Kazakhstan was at a relatively low threat level due to the small number of souls it had consumed. 

It was once known by friends and family by the name of Erasyl when it was a human - a large, mild-mannered and hard-working man who often kept to himself. No one could understand what had caused him to go down the path that he did, but after consuming the souls of six innocent people over the course of a few months, Erasyl no longer resembled anything close to a human. 

One of the creature’s massive arms came swinging at Maka’s unprotected side, flinging her body several feet in the air and smashing through what was left of a window and out into the blustery night air.

She was somewhat relieved to take the battle outside of the cramped quarters of the dilapidated sawmill building they had been fighting in. The lumber yard was something of an obstacle course strewn with old, rusted equipment she’d have to be careful to avoid tripping over, but at least she had more room to move about.

She wasn’t too enthused about the way she had landed jarringly on her left shoulder, though. That was sure to hurt in the morning.

“Dammit, Maka! Don’t stay in swingin’ range of that thing for too long. Strike, and move back!” Soul’s tinny voice vibrated in her hands.

Maybe she had lingered in close quarters of her opponent for a little too long, but she was becoming worn-out from the unexpected length of the battle and a little tired of her partner’s unsolicited coaching. 

“It has four arms for death’s sake! It’s hard to dodge every time, okay?!”

“Just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. Your frustration is makin’ you reckless,'' he growled. “Head’s up, Big Ugly is comin’ our way,” he added before she had a chance to continue their banter.

She was back on her feet right as it smashed out the remaining bits of glass from the gaping opening of the window and swiftly climbed over the sill. The hand that had been gripping the side of the building had spread a thick layer of ice across the surface, vapor rising from its fingertips. She took quite a few steps back, bringing herself closer to the tree-line of the woods and putting strategic distance between herself and her enemy.

“Hey, you saw that, right? Didn’t think your average Kishin egg would have elemental manipulation powers. Stinks of magic intervention, I’d say.”  

“Yeah, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she replied between breaths.

A Kishin egg with such a low kill-count shouldn’t have been this difficult to defeat. It was uncharacteristically cautious and surprisingly nimble for its imposing size. Now with the discovery of its freezing abilities, she was fearing the possibility of witch involvement. They didn’t have the necessary back-up to be in a situation like that. 

She startled at realization that she had no idea what ice powers could do to Soul’s weapon form. It had even attempted to grab him from her multiple times. She would have to be more careful to avoid letting it touch her weapon. 

The troll-like monster only took a few ground-tremoring steps before it halted, still quite a bit of feet away from her. Its eyes were pure white making it impossible to truly identify where its gaze was held, but it craned its neck to the side, ears twitching, searching for something. She got the distinct feeling that it was staring at something out in the dense forest that surrounded them. It was deathly still. What the hell is it doing?

For some inexplicable reason, the temperature sharply dropped and a chill that had nothing to do with the sudden cold ran through her entire body. It was so quiet, even the harsh winds around them had stilled completely. 

“Maka, something is in the woods-”

In the blink of an eye, the beast in front of them lunged forward, dropping to the ground to sprint at her with the use of all of its arms. The air around them began to whip about violently.

She dashed to the left with every ounce of strength she could push into her legs, desperately trying to find some kind of cover - anything to become an obstacle between her and that thing if only for a couple moments. She needed to buy time, think up some kind of advantage that could bring her close enough to it without putting Soul in danger as well.

The sooner they took this bastard down, the sooner they could confront whatever the hell it was that was out there waiting for them.

She dove behind a rusted old flatbed full of lumber, but her enemy was quick on its feet as well and practically materialized in front of her. She swung her scythe in a smooth arc towards its abdomen, causing it to leap to the side reflexively, but not before throwing two of its arms forward.

She ducked down, but soon felt her stomach sink at the realization that it hadn’t been aiming for her at all. 

A chain snapped loudly behind her and all of the thick logs that had been held in place on the truck lurched forward from the force of the strike and began tumbling towards her.

She was agile enough to roll to her side, keeping Soul’s handle tucked against her stomach - but the Kishin egg didn’t allow her the opportunity to properly evade. 

It smacked one of the falling logs with two of its arms, launching it towards the direction she had flung herself in. While she was able to avoid having her head and torso crushed, it had landed on one of her legs that had outstretched in an attempt to give her an extra push away from hazard.

Searing pain immediately shocked her system and a raw shriek ripped from her throat as she was pinned between the log and the front wheel of the truck. 

The beast lurched forward, and she could only watch with wide and teary eyes as she saw a flash of light and the telltale sound of Soul shifting from steel to flesh and bone.

“Soul, don’t!” she cried despite knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

He met the fearsome creature no more than a foot in front of her, blades sprouting forth from all over his body. He had successfully impaled and immobilized the creature’s bottom two arms with the blades poking out of his shoulders, another larger blade sticking from his chest was embedded fatally in its abdomen. His arms were outstretched and grappling with the beast’s two remaining arms, keeping its broad wrists in a vice grip. 

Maka took this time to brace herself with elbows digging into the ground as she used a free arm and leg to attempt to roll the log off of her. Thankfully, the log’s state of decay made it somewhat lighter and easier to move, but the blinding pain of it rolling over her already broken shin and off her foot was almost unbearable, causing her to bite down on a scream. She grabbed onto the wheel of the truck for support and made to stand, but the moment her punished leg made slight contact with the ground, she was down on one knee and holding back a sob. 

She couldn’t even stand and walk, what could she even do to help him? 

He was visibly shaking with the tremendous effort it took to hold the giant brute at bay, and one of its hands was getting dangerously close to his throat. Smokey frost was budding from it’s open palm.

 His heels were dug firmly in the dirt, but it pushed him back until he was nearly bumping up against the log she had just pushed herself out from.

It took a considerable amount of energy for him to even maintain this many external blades at a time, but somehow he pushed himself to manifest two more scythes from his trembling arms that sliced through the Kishin egg’s remaining appendages. 

The large hand that had been desperately grasping for his throat had icicles hanging off of it, and the blood that had been leaking from its wounds had begun to freeze in place. 

Its left arm was dematerializing, breaking down into ribbons of black matter that shortly vanished into air. It was dying, but so slowly. 

At this realization, the beast seemed to gain a final burst of energy from its rage. Its jaw unhinged and it let loose a bellowing roar, saliva flinging in all directions. Soul responded with a rasping animalistic shout that likely scraped his throat raw as he bared fangs of his own.

It suddenly jolted against him, sending him backwards in surprise. He bent his knees slightly to avoid tripping over the log behind him and his back slammed into the front cabin of the truck, denting it with the sheer force. 

Only the one arm fully remained, but it strained against him, outstretched razor-sharp claws finally making contact with the vulnerable skin of his throat, digging in. 

Soul howled in pain, planting both of his hands against its chest and shoving with all the strength he could muster to send the beast stumbling backwards. 

Its jaws were gaping open, eyes bulging out of its swollen head, but no sound came out. It dissolved into fleeting inky blackness and vanished before it even had the chance to hit the ground. The glowing red, scaly orb of its soul remained suspended in the air.

Soul only stood there swaying slightly, gulping in breath after shuddering breath before falling to his knees with a thud that brought a cloud of dust from the ground.

“Soul!” she screeched, ignoring the agony that lit up every nerve in her leg as she dragged herself towards his limp body. She caught the back of his head with her hands the moment he collapsed onto his back. The gashes in his throat were brutally deep and blood was welling up, trickling down his neck and soaking his shirt at an alarming speed. 

His breathing sounded wet and labored, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he weakly croaked out her name.

She was removing both of her gloves, placing them against the wound and pressing down in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. One hand held the quickly reddening cloth against his neck while the other stroked his face.

“Don’t say anything else, Soul. Please , please stay with me - you’re going to be okay. W-we’re going to get help, just don’t leave me,” she pleaded, choking on a sob.

He kept his mouth shut, jaw trembling from involuntarily clenching it too hard. His pale brows knit together and his eyes were shining with an emotion that he didn’t have the ability to vocalize. He brought a shaking hand towards her face, so gentle as he tried to brush the tears from hers eyes to no avail as new ones only took their place. 

He offered her a tight, apologetic smile. He was blinking sluggishly, the erratic puffs of breath coming from his nose were slowing down, evening out. His hand fell from her face to rest at his side. His eyes finally closed.

Maka’s breathing became frantic and a low wail squeezed out of her tightly clenched throat. The blood had already soaked through both of her gloves and she hastily ripped her coat off to help press against the wounds. 

She hadn’t even registered that the winds had stopped again. The air was frigid and her breath formed in thick white puffs in front of her.

She hadn’t dared remove her hands from Soul’s wound, refusing to give up on providing him medical aid. She kept her body close to her weapon, but she looked up when she sensed the presence of another soul emerging from the darkness of the forest. A powerful soul - a witch.

She’d obviously been using soul protect; playing spectator to their battle - but she was done hiding now.

In short time, the witch stepped out from the cover of shadows that the trees once provided her. Barefoot and clad only in a simple white gown, she took silent steps closer and closer to Maka. Frost covered the ground wherever her feet met it. 

Her eyes, much like the beast, were entirely white and she had no eyelids to cover them. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a wild mane of black hair that seemed to float eerily behind her. Despite the freezing temperatures surrounding her, fireflies flew around her head like a glowing crown. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Maka snarled like a cornered animal, clutching Soul close to her chest. 

The strange witch stopped short only a foot away from her. Something was so unsettling, so otherworldly about her presence. 

When she spoke, her voice was ethereal like it was no more than a wisp of wind, so soft yet carrying itself in all directions. She spoke a language that Maka couldn’t understand.

“Please,” Maka whimpered, “Please, do whatever you want with me. Just, let me get him help. Let my Soul live - take me and let him live, I’m begging you.”

The witch regarded her with that same unreadable expression. There was no malice that could be found in her face, but she hadn’t felt kindness present either.

She crouched down to level herself with Maka, and spoke again, but this time in words that she could understand. “You have taken my protector from me. Now, your protector is being taken from you. If the universe wills it, you shall be alone - as I am now alone. We are sisters in this same loss.”

The witch’s gentle words chilled her to her core. She looked up pleadingly into the milky voids of her eyes.

“No - he doesn’t have to be taken from me. He could still live, he’s still breathing. Please.”

The witch nodded once, “Perhaps so. If he does not die today, he shall die another. As it is your nature to seek out battles, it is his nature to protect you from them. His death will not be a peaceful one - this I can promise you. It is not in my hands.”

His pulse was weak, and she could barely feel any air coming from his nose anymore. Time was being wasted on this conversation.

Maka shakily pulled out their portable mirror from Soul’s front pocket, breathing against the glass and smudging the proper number to contact Kid. A trauma team could still be sent in time. She didn’t have to lose Soul despite any cryptic bullshit this woman was espousing. 

“Maka? Is your mission completed?” Kid’s voice rang out from the mirror, but she didn’t bother looking at him - or the witch. She kept her eyes on Soul’s face, fingers buried in his hair and stroking his cheek with her thumb. 

“I need a trauma team sent out to my location immediately. Soul’s been wounded, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Please hurry,” she mumbled numbly, still refusing to look away from her weapon.

“What?! What’s happened-” he was cut off when she snapped the portable mirror shut. 

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger there.

“You hear that, Soul? We’re getting out of here. I’m not losing you tonight, so don’t you dare let go before they get here,” she whispered against his skin, fresh tears beginning to roll down her cheek.

When she finally looked up, the witch was gone along with the corrupted soul. 

 The wind was blowing again.

[someone-worth-racing-for]

Me after seeing lando vs uno, now we can get uno and pinon as match makers in carlando fanfics, them getting tangled into each other because pinon and uno run around and tie them together with their leash,, god the fanfic potential, it's god tier, seriously though i wanna be with lando just to hang out with uno

I just had to because this thought was so cute! 🥺😍❤️

You can read the story on AO3 or here below..

Who needs a wingman, when you can have Uno and Pinon?

Since the first time Lando had seen this masterpiece of a Spanish man a few weeks ago, he couldn’t stop his heart to beat all strongly in excitement against his rips, whenever he entered the park. Of course, he had also already enjoyed it before to spend some time with his dog Uno together, to get outside into the nature, inhale some fresh air and forget about all the things he still had to do for the university.

It was really a nice and beneficial distraction for him and he also had no excuses any more to not get outside, no matter how the weather was. Uno just had to get outside at least three times every day. They always went for a run in the morning, got into the park after he had come home from the university and in the later afternoon they always went for a short stroll.

And since Lando had spotted that one very handsome, Latin man, he also didn’t bother about it any more, when it was raining outside, all cold and stormy, as long as he was able to see him again, even when it was sometimes only for a few minutes.

The man took his own dog for a walk into the park, he only always saw him there. Sometimes the Spaniard was sitting all alone on a bench, stroking his dog behind its ear sitting next to his feet and if Lando was serious, he had already played with the thought more than just once to join him there, but in then he had always been way too shy. He would only embarrass himself in the end anyway with not knowing how to start a conversation and even if he had been able to open his mouth, about what should he talk to someone like this Spanish god?

So Lando stayed right where he was and watched the stranger hopefully all unnoticed from a safe distance. He watched him, while he was playing with his dog, when he did throw some small stick for his dog just to praise him, when he brought it back to its owner. Sometimes the young Brit even followed him through the park as long as it was safe to not get noticed.

Lando just liked to watch this beauty of a man as long as possible and sometimes also only from the corner of his eyes, while he was playing with Uno, but it was always enough to make his heart flutter. His whole body was tingling in excitement, whenever he asked himself about what the stranger’s name might be, how his face had to look from near, how his eyes will light up when he was smiling, how he did smell.

Yeah, that handsome man was really every day the highlight of his walk into the park, when not even of his whole day, until over already one week ago. The stranger was suddenly gone from one day to the other. Maybe it did sound wrong, because actually Lando didn’t know him or anything about him at all, but he kind of got worried about that something might have happened to him.

Lando stayed longer than usual in the park on the days the Spaniard was missing. He also walked at least three times through the whole park to make sure the man hadn’t found a new favourite place or maybe a new route for his walk. Maybe he had finally noticed Lando watching him and he got uncomfortable about it and didn’t come to here any more because of him.

But over one week later, the young Brit’s face lighted up instantly and his lips formed a wide smile, when he finally spotted the handsome man again next to a tree, while he played with his dog. “Uno, look. There he is finally again.” Lando whispered into his dog’s ear, when he got down onto his knees right next to him and stroked through his fluffy fur.

Like already so often, Lando watched the stranger from the corner of his eyes and maybe he was only imagine it, but the man looked even more tanned under the spring sun today. His skin almost looked like sweet, delicious caramel and somehow also his smile was even more gorgeous than it had been before. How was this even possible, he asked himself with lightly parted lips, overwhelmed about his beauty once again.

But then, he didn’t know himself how this could happen, the man was suddenly gone and he hadn’t seen where he did go. A little disappointed, because he wasn’t able to watch him longer than he would have liked to today, while the man was looking that good and after not being able to see him for so long, Lando kept on playing with his dog in the meadow for some more, before he put on Uno’s leash and they made their way back home.

They had almost made it outside the park, when suddenly around a corner the handsome man and his dog came straight into their direction. Lando had to swallow hard and for one quick moment he had really played with the thought to turn around and go another way or hide behind some bushes, but then he got it that this was his chance.

Maybe not his chance to talk to the man, not even mention to start a conversation, but maybe his chance to see him from near at least for once, even when it will only be for a brief moment, and maybe also to say a small, shy hey into his direction. So Lando took that chance, breathed deep through once again and hoped for the best, at least to not embarrass himself like usual.

His hands were shaking and he looked up to the man through his lashes now and then, but also didn’t take his eyes away from the ground to not fall over some root, stone or anything like that. But because his whole focus was on the man coming closer and closer and to not embarrass himself for once at least, Lando hadn’t noticed that Uno obviously had other plans, when he began to walk faster and faster right into the direction of the handsome man’s dog and so his leash got longer and longer with it.

The closer the man came the more Lando’s eyes stayed on him, he just couldn’t look away from him any more. He was so damn gorgeous, it wasn’t fair, he should actually get arrested to look that good and steel his sleep for already so often, because Lando had to think about him the whole night long.

He knew it, he just knew it that the stranger did look even more handsome from near than he already did from far away, of course he did. First Lando had only looked at the man all shyly through his lashes, not wanting to get caught, but still enough to check him out unnoticed.

But then he had wanted too much and the man caught him staring just when he had noticed how beautiful shaped his lips were. Lando only got it being caught, when the Spaniard’s full lips formed a smile. When he finally looked back up into his pretty eyes, he got it that this smile was for him.

Even without wanting it, his cheeks began to blush instantly, while he gifted him an insecure smile back. Just knowing that these beautiful eyes were fixed on him at the moment, caused a shiver running down Lando’s spine and his heart skipped a beat.

Ashamed about getting caught, he quickly looked away and tried to give his whole attention back to his dog, but just at that moment it happened. Before Lando could prevent Uno from it, he reached the stranger’s dog and the two of them got a little too excited about meeting each other for the first time.

They sniffed happily at each other with the result to just get even more nervous about the other's presence and before one of their owners could do anything against it, they did run around in circles and did so tie their leashes together into a big mess.

Oh no, Lando thought to himself. When it wasn't on himself, his dog had to embarrass him, of course Uno had to, it was his dog and at least as clumsy as Lando himself. He and the stranger reached their dogs at the same time and tried to handle the mess with somehow getting them apart.

“Uno, stop that. You only make an even bigger mess.” Lando tried to stop his dog, but in the end it was he himself, who stopped his whole movements, when he could hear the stranger’s voice for the first time, when he pleaded his dog to stop as well.

The man really tried to handle it, to unravel his dog’s lash with Uno’s, but in the end he gave up and only started to laugh about their overjoyed behaviour. Lando was still only frozen and tried to make the best out of the situation with taking advantage of it, while looking at the handsome man from near as long as he was still able to.

The younger one still did so, when the stranger finally straightened himself and their eyes meet. Now that gorgeous smile was once again only meant for Lando, while they looked right into each other’s eyes for the first time.

Hazelnut, with some sparkles of a golden summer and framed from thick, long lashes. Of course. Lando began to melt instantly under his gaze, under those marvellous eyes and he suddenly had forgotten about how to speak properly. But luckily the man opposite him didn’t seem to be speechless and that overwhelmed, when he said with that thick, Spanish accent of his

“I guess we have to wait then, till they are finished.” He was still smiling all brightly, it also reached his eyes, which were shining as well on this warm afternoon. Lando could only nod in response, still unable to form any words.

So they both watched their dogs in amusement, while they looked at each other from the corner of their eyes from time to time. Their dog’s silly and at the same time cute behaviour finally also caused Lando to relax again, before he began to giggle heartily, which got the Spaniard’s whole attention.

Now it was him, who couldn’t take his eyes away from the younger one any more. He had never heard someone laugh so adorable and sweet and the smile he had on his lips was cheeky but also so beautiful at the same time.

And even when it was Lando, who caught the man staring this time, his cheeks still began to blush instantly, just thinking about that those stunning eyes were on him and from the still present smile on his lips the man obviously adored what he had seen.

“They seem to really like each other.” The younger one finally pointed out, before the stranger’s dog so obviously also got his presence and came over to him as well. Lando stroked the dog behind its ear and greeted him all sweetly with going down on his knees to shake his paw.

“His name is Pinon.” The man introduced his dog, while he also got closer to Uno to greet him as well. “Hey, Pinon. Nice to meet you.” Lando talked to the dog, before his attention got to the man next to him, stroking his own dog at his favourite spot behind its ear.

“Hola, little one.” Lando just had to smile, because of the handsome stranger’s accent and the cute way he talked to his dog, causing so goose bumps on his arms. “His name is Uno. Uno, the clumsy one would fit better.”

The Spaniard giggled and Lando just couldn’t believe it, that it was him who had caused that sweet sound from him and managed it to make him smile this breath-taking way. He then took his whole courage together, when he added once again a little more shyly “And I’m Lando, by the way.”

With his charming, dark brown fawn eyes the man looked up at him and almost caused his heart to stop working completely by that view. Quickly he finally straightened himself again, before he offered Lando his hand and told him “I’m Carlos, it’s really nice to meet you and your dog, Lando.”

Carlos. Now he finally knew the name from the man of his dreams. “It’s also really nice to meet the two of you.” The young Brit answered sincerely, while his whole body felt like it was on fire, while shaking hands with stunning Carlos.

The electricity rushing through his body had caused Lando to frozen again and the body contact had also caused his cheeks to blush lightly once more. Carlos had probably got his discomfort, because he quickly ended the silence, when he asked “You take Uno often for a walk to here, right? I mean, I have already seen the two of you a few times.”

Lando needed to swallow hard after hearing so, because obviously Carlos had already noticed him before. Him, Lando, the clumsy, young man who still hadn’t managed it to reach puberty. It gave him chills, just thinking about that the Spaniard’s eyes were on him already at some point before.

But why? Maybe because he had once again been all awkward and had so got his attention. Hopefully it wasn’t something too embarrassing, Lando prayed to himself. Because why should some as gorgeous and perfect like Carlos fix his eyes more than just three seconds on someone like him?

“Yeah, Uno and me come to here every day after I have got home from the university.” Lando explained to which Carlos nodded his head in understanding. And somehow the upcoming silence caused the younger one to panic, when he quickly added “I have noticed the two of you also come to here pretty often. Except from the last few days, you were suddenly gone.”

Best Lando wanted to facepalm himself right in front of the older one for his thoughtless statement, because now Carlos knew he had been watching him for already a longer time and he had even noticed him being not here in the last week. This was really stupid and so embarrassing, even for Lando.

But Carlos didn’t seem to bother about his attention towards his presence. He wasn’t worried about it or thought it was strange, it once again only brought a smile on his full lips, like it wasn’t a strange thing at all.

But still Lando added once again and he really had to learn to keep his mouth shut, even when the silence will become uncomfortable “At least Uno told me so.” Carlos began to laugh about his cute but unsuccessful try to blame his own dog about it.

Lando bit down onto his lip to pretend himself from laughing out loud about his own dumbness. “I see Uno is a pretty good observer.” Carlos winked down at the younger one, exactly knowing the truth even without Lando ever telling him so.

The man reached out for Uno then to stroke through his fur, before he finally went on. “Yeah, I have visited my parents in Spain last week.” That explained his delicious looking, tanned skin, Lando thought to himself.

Understanding he nodded his head, but this time he had learnt from his mistakes and kept his mouth shut and preventing himself so to get into an uncomfortable situation once again. Both of their attentions got back to their dogs, who really seem to come along pretty well.

“What do you think about the idea to first manage to unravel this mess of leashes, before we will take ourselves some coffee and let the two of them play in the meadow for some more?” The Spaniard suggested and for one brief moment Lando really thought he was in one of his dreams.

Quickly he nodded wildly agreeing his head, not thinking for one second about the whole work he still had to do today. Spending time with this charming, good-looking man was way more enjoyable and important for him than the whole stuff for the university together. “I would really like to.” Lando agreed now also vocal to the Spaniard’s suggestion and he couldn’t hold back the big, wide grin on his lips any more.  

But obviously not only Lando liked that idea, because suddenly also Pinon and Uno agreed to it, when they began to bark and ran all excited circles around them, causing so their leashes to tie around their owners legs and getting so tangled to each other.

Unwanted Lando and Carlos got closer and closer to each other and when the younger one began to sway because the leashes around his legs became even tighter and he actually wanted to prevent himself to get even closer to the Spaniard than he already was, Carlos saved him from falling just in time, when he caught him.

In the next second the young Brit found himself in the safety of the strong and obviously also pretty trained arms of the older one, looking up at him with blushed cheeks, while his palms did rest against his broad chest.

Yeah, Lando had always dreamed about being close to him, but he had never expected or even dared to dream about to get that close to Carlos, to be able to inhale his scent, to feel his warmth, his breath against his skin, to be even able to count the little freckles on his nose.

They were still looking deep into each other eyes, when their dogs suddenly began to bark in triumph next to them and brought them so back to life. Also Lando and Carlos finally began to giggle about their helpless situation, before they somehow manage it to unravel the leashes around their legs.

Carlos could free himself first, before he helped Lando and whenever their fingertips touched lightly each other skin, it sent a new wave of electricity through Lando’s whole body and caused him to shiver and feeling all warm at the same time.

When they were on their way to the next Subway, Uno looked back at his owner and Lando really thought his dog was smiling at him. Uno was the only one who knew about his big crush towards the handsome Spaniard from the park and now it was thanks to him, that they were on their way to get themselves some coffee and spend the rest of the afternoon together.

Maybe Uno was as clumsy as Lando sometimes, but he was at least braver than his owner. The young Brit could only smile about the thought, that it was maybe really his dog’s intention to make Carlos cross his way. Lando did really owe Uno some treats.

[avas-inner-demons-are-babies]

Ohana

Ship: None (Though you may take implications as you please)

Summary: Leif has always insisted that he should be allowed to do things on his own. Well, now he’s on his own and honestly...he isn’t enjoying it. Perhaps a bit of new company can help him sort out his feelings. 

A/N: Hey everyone! World’s most confused college freshman here, bringing you another MID fic that took waaay to long to get typed up. Legitimately, this has been sitting in my Google Docs for months, just taunting me. But there’s been a little less stresso in my espresso lately, so I took time to actually make myself sit down and get it done. I may not ship Ava and Leif personally, but their dynamic is just *chefs kiss*. I’ll never get over that whole “If you promise not to kill me then I won’t leave you behind.” “You’re with me till you die” scene. It makes me feel things. But anyways, this is nearly 14 full pages in G-Docs, and I hope you can all enjoy!

A/N 2.0: So apparently one of the cons of staying up late to finish a fic is forgetting to attach the actual fic itself to the post. My bad guys, here she be. 

In his couple hundred years of living, Leif can proudly boast that he has done many, many things; some very common for Daemos of his age; others common to those much older than him; and there have even been a few select occasions when he has done things that even the most aged and experienced elders cannot ever claim to have done (getting exiled, befriending a prince, travelling dimensions to a world full of humans, befriending a human, living with a human, laughing with a human...the list seems to grow daily now).

However, out of all the various activities that he has taken part in throughout his life, he can safely say that people-watching has not been one of them. Back on Daemos, staring- like most other interactions, whether they be direct or otherwise- often resulted in battle; which, in turn, resulted in a lot of shouting and blood-shed. It was a silent show of disrespect and of challenge; and only idiots and warriors sought out battles willingly. And while the title of ‘warrior’ technically goes hand-in-hand with Leif’s recently earned place as a knight, the position is just that- recently earned. And despite what some may say, he is not an idiot. Considerate? Scholarly? Absolutely not. But street-smart and clever? Let’s just say he hadn’t become an infamous assassin by running solely off of reckless impulse and uneducated whims. But now, here on Earth, almost all of those skills have fallen into uselessness, and he can people-watch without any real concern for his life. 

And by the Gods is he watching.

He is watching and scanning and listening and praying. Praying for a familiar face. Listening for the sound of a high voice discussing things of no importance, or for a loud, bratty complaint about anything at all; for a gentle-but-stern reprimand laced with patience, or a subtly nervous acknowledgement of some strange discomfort; even for a soft-but-proud observation of something completely obvious. Scanning for a flash of hot pink eyes or a bobbing carrot-top head of hair or a giant amidst the crowd of short humans. Watching so intensely for all of these things that the rest of the world seems to have filtered down into a watery hum. 

To put it quite plainly, Leif is lost. Very lost in a very crowded place, with no idea where his group has vanished to or where he himself should (or even can) be. It had been fun at first; being able to do as he pleased; wandering wherever his whims decided to take him, stealing food from a group of small humans, kicking over trash cans, and just overall being a minor nuisance. But invigoration tends to fade very quickly  when one is travelling a lot of unfamiliar terrain, and as it goes, so too does energy. It doesn’t help that they’d been at this “music festival” -as Ava had called it- for quite some time before he’d broken away from her and the others, and admittedly, he is starting to feel the strain on his feet from all the walking. In addition, the ridiculously large gathering of humans that bustle around him is beginning to leave him overwhelmed. And on top of that…

  “...it’s starting to get cold” He pouts internally, suddenly rather grateful for the double-layered, long sleeve human shirt that Ava had gotten him. Ever since the Fall Festival, he’d noticed the air outside growing chillier by the day. It was starting to get to the point where their thoughtful human host unusually protective prisoner was considering going back to the Sacred Ma’all and obtaining them some “coats and hats and stuff”, to quote her specifically.

As a particularly nippy gust of winds arrives, lashing the tips of his ears as it dances through, he finds himself wishing desperately for these objects that he can not even properly picture.

Looking up at the sky, Leif can just make out the thin line of orange coating the horizon as the sun begins its lazy descent. Eyes narrowed, he decides to take a break. Plomping himself down on a nearby bench, he sighs, combing his fingers through his absolute mess of a mane. 

  “Ava promised.” He whispers, “She promised. They’ll be back. They have to come back.”

The city-dwelling regulars that skitter past him hardly spare a glance for the strange, mumbling man on the bench. It’s nothing they don’t already see on their daily commutes, and most would not blame them for their experienced silence. But Leif, who has no way of knowing what they know, takes their purposefully imposed ignorance as a personal offence. He feels segregated from their reality. Invisible.

Alone.

Leif hisses in a sharp breath as the word taunts him. Pressing his head into the palms of his hands, he represses a shudder. He should be used to this by now; being left to his own devices. How many times now has it been? How many betrayals and abandonments? Four? Five? More than one person should be able to count. He has been able to handle himself just fine before. So why now? Why now is he having such issues with finding his own way? He might call it ironic if he knew the meaning of the word.

  “It’s because you got used to the cushy life.” A small voice in the back on his thoughts croons, “You liked being chummy with the Prince and his guard dogs. You liked that there was always food at the ready, and that you never had to worry where you were sleeping next. You liked the stability. The safety. And in time, you even came to like the laziness that this new world allowed.”

  “That’s not true!” Leif barks back, not realizing how loud the proclamation was until several humans passing by wince and stumble as their paces quicken. He is sure to lower his voice as he continues to mumble to himself, “I can still take care of myself. I haven’t gone soft. I can do this.”

Taking in a long deep breath, he steels his will against the unpleasant thoughts racing around in his head. He bows his head and closes his eyes. When he opens them again a few ticks later, there’s a clear change. They’re collected. Focused.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this.” He reassures himself, feeling some of that original vamped-up feeling return, “I’m a Daemos dammit! I don’t need some human to hold my hand! I’ll find my own way home! And then.-then I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them for leaving me!”

The mental pep talk does great things for Leif. Now enraged and brimming with confidence, breathing heavily and nearly quaking with the emotion of it all, he puts on a sneer and glares out into the crowd. His fingers flex as he summons forth his sickles, ready to swing them out at any unfortunate soul that crosses his path. He stands, his knuckles white around their hilts. The dying sunlight has no effect on him anymore. His goal is apparent in his mind. He is prepared. Determined. 

He takes one strong, bold step forward…

...and is subsequently swept off his feet by the force of a group of teens pushing past him.

Nearly losing his balance, Leif’s arms flail in an attempt to regain his balance, and he immediately bumps into a young couple. As they turn on him with vicious glares, he steps away from them. Disorientation takes this chance to rush through his system. As he fumbles about, one of his sickles manages to catch on the shirt of a small child toddling by with his mother. Leif jerks one direction while the boy jerks in the other. A shirt sleeve tears, and the little one goes sprawling to the ground. An ear-piercing shriek explodes from tiny lungs. All heads turn in their direction. Wide-eyed Leif throws away his weapons and presses his hands against his sensitive ears. While staggering away from all the attention, he runs into yet another man who- being caught completely off guard- falls back into someone behind him. As the domino effect continues, the noise and panic cause the poor Daemos to go into full flight mode. Gritting his teeth, he gathers just enough control to take a flying leap over the top of the completely bewildered mob. He lands back near the bench and grasps it tightly to keep himself from falling to his knees. As he takes a seat once more, the humans are all glancing around and shouting at each other in offense. The child continues crying.

Thoroughly defeated, Leif allows his head to fall back as he slumps down into the wooden comfort. Then, he lifts it back up only to cradle it in his hands. The unwelcome tears brought on by pure fear sting at the corners of his eyes. Releasing a shaky sigh, he finally gives into the thought that he has so far been refusing to voice. 

  “I’m doomed.”

***

Soaring high above the head of one particularly shaken Daemos, a careless pigeon makes its way around the festival with ease. Drifting aloof above the sea of hundreds of singing and laughing humans, it follows the breeze along the street and down towards one particular block, where a vendor has been handing out pretzels. And at this moment, it just so happens that a young woman, with flowing dark hair and vibrant pink eyes, has just dropped the remaining half of her salted treat on the ground. The pigeon is quick to join several of its other brethren in tearing at the free meal to pieces, completely unaware that shock is what delivered this wonderful treat to them. Although, they learn very soon after, as said young woman lets off a loud, horrified shout. Grey feathers go flying as the band disperses in a threatened rush. 

The group of men trailing behind the woman jerk in surprise.

  “Princess Ava? What’s wrong?” The youngest, a concerned looking redhead, calls out. 

Ava stares at her companions with a feverish look. Pointing at each of them individually, the others can hear her counting them, over and over again.

  “One, two, three, four...two, three, four...three, four, four, four! Why are there only four of you!” Her voice raises in both pitch and volume, “Where’s Leif?!”

Her words seem to settle with them all at the exact same time. The tallest of the bunch, Pierce, begins flickering his gaze from face to face, searching for the former-assassin in the horde of people around them. Rhys, Noi, and Asch all turn off in different directions, then come back and share a look. They all focus on Ava, who has turned to the ground with guilt-ridden eyes. 

  “How could I...he was just with us not too long ago, right? Right?” Her frantic question is only met with uncertain silence from her companions. Rhys goes as far as to look away, nibbling on his ice pop, “Oh God. We have to find him! Leif!”

Ava begins pushing her way through the crowd, crying out to her missing friend. The boys stick to her like frightened ducklings as they mimic her steps. Their screams rise above the swell of music and voices. 

  “Leif, where are you!”

***

As his friends begin their desperate hunt a few streets away, Leif finds himself aimlessly ambling along through the park. He has discovered that there are less people back within these tree-sheltered pathways and he is grateful for it. He is on the hunt for something, although if he were asked he would not be able to say exactly what. Shelter? Company perhaps? A sign pointing home would be nice, but he can’t really read all that well, and he doubts that there is one around regardless. For a natural-born hunter, he certainly does have an awful sense of direction.

His fingers tap against his thigh as he walks. On occasion, he mumbles curses at himself for getting stuck in this situation. The night sky is clear and bright, and more than once he finds himself staring up at it, feeling as though the stars are laughing at his plight. Gaining a little comfort in the embrace of the shadows, he sticks to them, glancing over every now and again to see a straggling human stroll by. He passes the fountain where he and Ava had encountered the threatening ‘clique’;passes a large stone statue of some long-dead human frozen in time; passes what looks to be a small garden area, where brightly colored flowers glow in the moonlight. 

Eventually, Leif reaches an area that he first assumes to be abandoned. The quiet and empty wrap around him like a blanket. His only company seems to be the soft glow from the scattered lampposts. The peace here cradles him in its arms and promises him safety. He’s almost relaxed, resigning to spend the night in whatever tree provides the most cover and warmth, when suddenly-

  “Heya there compadre.”

Leif startles back several feet and does a neat little twirl to face the direction of the slow and kindly voice that had called out to him. How he had missed the strange human before him in his first look around is beyond Leif, but he certainly sees the man now. He sits leaning against the nearest tree with an air of remiss and a smile on his face. Upon seeing Leif’s reaction to his greeting, he puts his hands up in reassurance

  “Hwoa there! Didn’t mean to startle ya friend. Just couldn’t help but notice that you were lookin’ a tad lost.” 

  “We’re not friends.” Leif interjects so instinctively that he nearly cuts the stranger off. Then, catching his own tongue before he says anything truly offensive, he reroutes with, “But...yeah, I am lost. I got seperated from my group a while ago and haven’t been able to find them since. And I’m not very familiar with your kingdom yet, so I can’t just go back home.”

Thanks to the poor lighting between them, the Daemos misses how the stranger’s eyebrows quirk a little at his self-correction (and yet not the use of ‘kingdom’?). But as he makes his way over to this new human, Leif does begin to take in the man’s overall messy and unkempt appearance. His long, auburn hair is wrapped up into an extremely makeshift ponytail, the length of which surpasses even that of Pierce’s or Ava’s. The many rebellious strands held back out of his face by a thick, green fabric headband that’s stretched across his forehead. It must have been made to match the long, tassled poncho that he wears, their colors the same. Beneath it, he only seems to have a miserably stained grey shirt, and pants so baggy that Leif can not imagine them being comfortable. His skin, which at first appeared to simply be naturally dark, is actually merely a deceptive tan which highlights every freckle, scar, and wrinkle. Leif is sure that if he were to touch the stranger, he might have an almost leathery feel to him. Teeth no whiter than a well-worn paperback fill in a broad smile that brings to life the creases around the edges of both the stanger’s lips and eyes. Eyes that are brown like a healthy farm soil, and seem to hold a level of spirit and life that Leif can never recall having seen in any other person before. It’s unfiltered blatancy is surprising to him.

  “Well ahh, what’cha waitin’ for?” The stranger suddenly picks up the conversation, scooching slightly to the right and patting the ground beside him, “Come’n take a seat. We can vibe while the universe carries the train of life down its long tracks.”

Leif hesitates. The human before him might be a stranger, but he emits an image that reminds the Daemos of the forest spirits that could be found back in his own world. The Earth seems comfortable around him. If one squinted, it would almost seem as though the tree’s trunk and roots had warped to form a throne around him.

  “He seems like a powerful sage. I should stay. Maybe he can help me.”

Nodding to himself more so than the man, Leif takes his place on the grass. This results in a wide, toothy grin on behalf of his companion, and being so close now, Leif is able to notice how one of his canines is missing.

  “Joyous day! You’ll be the first bit of company I’ve had in a long time my fellow wanderer. Say now, what’s your name?” 

  “They call me Leif.”

  “Leaf? The name of a freelancer. A young man born for travel and change. A soul that dances in the wind, its colors ever uncertain.” The man’s smile softens and his eyes stare off in Leif’s general direction, and yet seem to be staring at something miles away, “You and I, I’m sure we’re the same. I’ve had many a name myself, but most around here know me as Jingle. It’s a pleasure to meet’cha.”

Jingle holds out a hand and they shake. Leif has seen this done enough times on the tee-vee to be able to properly pull it off, even if he doesn’t quite understand the significance. Then, glancing over his shoulder, Jingle proceeds to reach back and pull, from behind the tree, a forgeign looking object. 

The thing is clearly made from some kind of light and polished earth wood. Its beige surface has been very delicately carved with a swirling, wave like pattern that decorated almost the entirety of its pear shaped body. A large round hole rests a little ways above the bottom. Stretched taut up its middle and along the long arm protruding from the top are six silver strings, wrapped at both ends around small metal nubs. At the head of the arm are six knobs all turned in various directions. None of the silver pieces shine, and in fact seem quite well worn. Nearly all of the impressive wood surface is riddled with scratches.

Jingle positions the thing against his chest. 

  “What is that?” Leif asks, eyeing it with unease.

  “This here is my trusty guitar Taylor. I know she isn’t much compared to those clunky metal demons they’re selling out there-” Here, he nods his head out in the direction of the still-ongoing festival, “-but she does me just fine. So long as I keep her pretty, she sings like an angel.”

  “It...sings?”

  “As sweet and humble a tune as you might ever hear. Here, have a listen.”

With his nimble fingers already poised to play, Jingle wastes no time in coaxing a tune out from the air. From the first pluck of a string, Leif finds himself utterly enraptured. Each swift movement of the human’s hand brings forth another new wave of sound so soft and breathtaking that the Daemos doesn’t even know how to process it. It is as if Jingle’s soul is completely in tune with the instrument in his grasp. Leif sits stunned, feeling the music tempt his very heart and bring prickles to his skin. A minute passes, and he soon finds himself lying completely relaxed against the tree trunk, eyes closed, and merely absorbing.

Jingle plays for some time, and for that time the two are in their own universe. It is very dark now, and Leif can feel his mind just starting to slip off in unconsciousness. His body is heavy. Connected to the very grass he sits upon by an unnamable force that he chooses to call exhaustion. When his company eventually brings the song to an end, it takes Leif a few moments to reconnect with reality. Green eyes blink several times, and turn to find that Jingle is already watching for his reaction.

  “That was amazing.” Leif breathes in as soft a tone as he’s capable of.

  “Jus’ like I told ya. Voice of an angel.” Jingle hums, parroting his earlier words. He shifts to place Taylor on the ground beside him. When he turns back, he finds Leif staring into the space above them with a small frown on his face, “My friend, what troubles you? The world weighs heavy on your shoulders tonight.”

  “I’m not sure. I just…” Leif trails off, searching within himself for an explanation for the crushing weight in his chest, “I think I miss my friends. I keep wanting them to be here, but they probably already left. I don’t think they’re coming back for me.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes. Jingle peers off down the park path. Leif clears his throat in a battle against the tight feeling that fills it. He jumps when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder. 

  “Lighten your soul wanderer Leif. Everyone leaves sooner or later, but just because they’ve left doesn’t mean they are gone. Pray tell, what doubts whisper in your ear tonight?”

  “Eh?”

  “Why do you assume so quickly that your friends won’t return to you?”

  “Oh. The way you talk is really weird, you know that?”

The human man only smiles at him, patience and expectancy in his eyes. He makes a light gesture with his hand, urging Leif to continue. And after several seconds, he does with a tamed sigh. 

  “I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I cause more trouble than I’m worth.” The simple admission seems to close a giant force around his ribs. As it squeezes painfully, he finds himself emptying more words than he ever knew he had been filling up with, “I know I tend to go overboard most of the time, but I never- no, I guess just lately- I mean, I haven’t been meaning to cause problems recently. Everything is just so...so calm here, and I don’t know how to live like that. Back on- I mean, back where I’m from, peace and quiet always meant something was wrong, and we hardly go anywhere or do anything, and I just get so bored! I hate just sitting around and doing nothing, but it seems like that’s all the others want to do anymore. And I know I could probably just go out for a while on my own and burn some energy but your world is so big and I just...I don’t want to end up on my own again.”

He gives a forced and pitiful huff of laughter.

  “Although I guess it’s too late for that now. I’m sure they probably already went home and forgot about me. They’re probably relieved to get rid of me.”

Leif hadn’t meant to let that flooding fear leak into his words. Or that harsh scratchiness of his throat, which left breaks in his sentences. The uncomfortable rhythm of his heart and the mild shaking must be showing through as well now. It makes no sense to him. He’s only felt this terrified once before- the day they had lost Ava at the Fall Festival. And although the circumstances now are similar, he can not imagine what it is about this strange human that seems to make those insecurities rise up in ten-folds. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have the others with him now. Maybe it’s because he really has no idea where to go from here.

The panic had set on him so fast the Leif didn’t properly notice it until it was being chased away by the strong and defendant strums of a guitar. The first twang brought him to a jerking halt at first. But as the singing notes continued, his mind returned to the harmless reality. He came back to find himself looking at the stars. 

Jingle- as if noticing Leif’s inner plight- had picked up Taylor once again.

  “It is not so easy to forget one’s friends.” He murmurs as he plays, “Do not so swiftly dismiss your own worth my snowy-haired partner. If the universe truly believes you were meant to be with these people you seek, then it will surely guide them back to you. And it sounds to me that affection has already been allowed to roost deep in your soul.”

The younger has nothing to say to that. He only closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and nods. Drawing his knees to his chest, he crosses his arms and lies down his head. All these new emotions are exhausting.

***

Ava slumps down against the frigid stone of the fountain, pulling her knees up and hiding her face in them. 

  “I can’t believe this.” The muffled moan that escapes her is full of pain, “How could I lose him? What kind of friend am I? God, he probably thinks we abandoned him.”

  “I don’t get what you’re so worried about.” Asch harrumphs, doing a single lap around the structure before taking a seat on its edge, “We haven’t encountered anything dangerous since we’ve been here on Earth. Leif can take care of himself for one night. Why can’t we just go home? It’s cold out here and I’m tired!”

Despite his childish whining, he at least has the decency to look sheepish when she turns to glare at him.

  “Well if that’s the case Asch, why don’t we just leave you out here tonight? You’re always going on about how you’re so much better than Leif anyways, so if he can make it out here on his own, then clearly you can too.” During her short reprimand, Ava stands and crosses the few steps between them. Her eyes hold a level of rage that the Daemos can never recall having seen on her before. And despite the fact that he could easily beat her in a confrontation- physical or verbal- he feels himself shrinking in shame before her petite frame.

With a satisfied huff, Ava walks several paces away. In the short time it takes her to regain her composure, her anger morphs instantly into guilt. Her posture slumps as she glances back at Asch, whose hurt expression is turned towards the concrete.

  “I’m...I’m sorry Asch.” She sighs, “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know.” Comes the humbled response from behind her.

  “I’m just really worried about him.”

  “I know.”

The next few minutes are shared in silence. The other three Daemos choose not to express a word on the exchange just yet, only shuffling about in their own thoughts. There is a level of complete loss between them. No one wants to leave Leif behind-- but Asch isn’t the only one whose focus and determination is beginning to wane.

A particularly nippy breeze blows through, causing Ava’s already shaking body to jitter violently. In a second Pierce seems to simply materialize beside her and pull her sniffling form into a warming embrace. 

  “Perhaps Prince Asch is right. We should go for now.” He suggests quietly as she leans into him.

  “But Leif-”

  “-Will be easier to find tomorrow when it is light out.” Rhys jumps in, “We are all concerned Princess Ava, but Asch does have a point. It is unlikely that Leif has found himself in any sort of real danger, and even if he has, he is a trained warrior. None of us are suggesting we abandon our search completely, but we are all at our limits. Even if we were to find Leif tonight, at this rate we may all end up sick by the morning. Please, we will follow you no matter your choice, but think reasonably.”

There’s a gentle hint of pleading in his voice that prevents Ava from denying his claims outright. She looks between all of them in turn, searching desperately for some counterargument that never comes to rise. It doesn’t take long before she finally lets herself really take in the heaviness of her own body; the stinging left in her feet from walking for so long; the need to close her eyes and rest that is becoming harder and harder to fight away. The boys watch with patience as her mind wears itself down, and they don’t miss the surrender that wins over her stature. There’s a quiet breath, then:

  “...fine. Let’s just go home.”

Dear reader, have you ever managed to convince someone you love to do something they don’t want to, only to be hit with a horrible wave of guilt when they give in and agree to go through with it? Have you ever wished you could travel back in time just a few minutes, if only to stop yourself from being so damn persistent? If so, then maybe you can imagine how the Daemos boys feel at this point in time. The deep disappointment they observe in Ava’s eyes as she pulls herself from Pierce’s arms is enough to make their very souls wince. Three sets of eyes meet as their minds change almost unanimously, and Rhys can tell the other two are waiting for him to come up with some sort of clever escape. And being the man he is, he complies.

  “Well, ah-just a moment Princess Ava. We...we haven’t heard from Noi yet! A decision such as this should be agreed upon by everyone present, yes? And perhaps if he believes we should stay out. Noi?”

Rhys shifts, hoping to prompt Noi into insisting that they stay. But the younger Daemos- who has been noticeably absent from the entire conversation- doesn’t appear to have even noticed his name being called. In fact, he likely missed the discussion as a whole, seeing as how he stares off down one of the darkness-swallowed paths with fully focused attention. His amber eyes sparkle with wonder. In listening closely, one may have heard him humming.

Debate temporarily forgotten, Ava and the rest focus on him with quirked eyebrows and tilted heads. 

  “Uhh...Noi?” Asch beacons tentatively.

  “Do you hear it?” Noi whispers in response, to all of them and yet no one in particular.

  “Hear what?” Ava asks, frowning, “I don’t hear anything.”

Pierce steps forward and rests his chin atop her head.

  “I hear it.”

  “Me too.” Asch adds after a moment.

  “Me as well.”

  “Wait, seriously, what are you guys hearing? It’s just quiet for me.”

  “It’s music.” Rhys says, “Different from what the humans at the festival were playing. It’s quieter.”

  “Softer.” Pierce adds, and the scholar nods.

  “Earlier there were voices too.” Noi finishes. 

  “Wait, voices? But who else would be out this la-” Ava’s eyes spark up wide. Before the guys can even hit the same realization she has, she’s already gone; taking off with flying feet and a new swarm of adrenaline buzzing through her veins. “LEIF!”

  “Princess Ava!” A chorus of Daemos voices rise up through the night, and they sprint, one after the other, along her trail. Her voice bounces off the surveying trees.

  “Leif!”

***

  “Leif!” 

Two men sitting beneath a canvas on moonlit leaves jerk their heads up in unison. The elder lowers his guitar and puts on a muted, knowing smile. The younger goes tense as he strains his ears for the echoes of the voice that had rushed at them in the night. His green eyes go wide as can be, quite literally glowing with hope. He places one, prepared hand on the ground…

  “Leif!”

Springing to his feet faster than should be natural, he runs only a few paces forward. 

  “Ava?” He breathes. The sound of rushing feet pouding closer out of the darkness causes him to gasp and with the new air in his lungs he shouts out, “Ava! Ava, I’m here!”

Leif steps into the light just as his human friend barges into its threshold. He’s tossed off his already imbalanced feet as she tumbles with a football-tackle force into him. They go down together onto the rocky ground. Ava clings desperately to his shirt, as if afraid he will vanish into thin air at the impact. Before either have fully taken to their jarring landing, he finds her burying her face into his neck, sobbing almost hysterically with relief. Her sporadic hiccups seem to be contagious, and for the first time since quite possibly his toddler days, he finds himself holding onto another person like a lifeline and shedding tears that he hardly cares if others see. 

  “I’m so sorry.” Ava manages through uncontrollable gasps, “I’m so, so sorry Leif.-”

  “It wasn’t your fault, I’m-”

  “-I didn’t mean to leave you. I just turned around and you were gone and-”

  “-the one who walked off. I’m an idiot for thinking-”

  “-we looked everywhere for you! We almost went home-

  “-I got so lost without you-”

  “-I didn’t want to, but Noi heard you and I’m just-”

  “-I’m just-”

  “-So happy you’re back.”

The unorganized scrambling over each other’s apologies ends with synchronization. Still sniffling, Ava lifts her head from his shoulder and meets his gaze. There’s a pause. Then broad, toothy smiles replace quivering frowns, and their foreheads press together as they share a laugh. 

It’s around this time that the other four Daemos reach their position, only to find their newly reunited friends on the ground, trying to hold back bursts of giggles. The picture absolutely throws them. More so because of Leif’s bubbly demeanor than Ava’s, though both are certainly a sight to behold-- with tousled hair and dusty clothes, goosebump rippled skin now detailed with red marks where they had slid against the concrete. And yet the two grin and carry on in that way that can only be done after one’s stress-forced sense has left them, their cares evaporating into thin air. Earth truly must be turning them soft, because the once strict and stone-cold warriors- upon surveying the scene- give genuine smiles of their own.

It takes a little bit of time before the pair actually settle down enough to sort themselves out and stand once again. Even then, Ava makes sure to link her arm with his, swearing inwardly to never let him out of her sights again. Leif on the other hand, does his best to recollect himself, not wanting to give the others any more reason to pester him later about the blatant displays of emotion. He hides his flushed face in his sleeve, pretending to wipe a smear of dirt off his face.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again.” Rhys says with only a hint of scolding behind his words, “Though if you ever run off like that again, you’re finding your own way home.”

  “That’s fair.” Leif replies with a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t miss how Ava studies his reaction from the corner of her eye.

  “Did you miiiss us?” Asch drawls mockingly, stepping forward with a smirk on his face. Despite the remark, he gives Leif a friendly knock on the shoulder- a habit he’d unknowingly picked up a few weeks ago.

Leif only scoffs, but it tells them all they really need to know. He looks downwards briefly and mumbles something that only the young Prince seems able to hear. Asch blinks in recoil, then replaces his cheeky grin.

  “What was that?” He asks incentively, “I don’t think we all heard you.”

Leif growls a low growl.

  “I said-ugh-thanks for...looking for me.” Then, adding on more softly, “It’s nice to know you guys actually cared enough to find me.”

  “Well duh.” Ava’s response causes him to lift his head in her direction, “I made you a promise didn’t I?”

His mind flashes back to that day they were shopping for decorations. He’d almost convinced himself it was a dream.

  “Yeah. I guess you did.”

  “Besides-!” Suddenly, Noi appears in front of him, beaming in the friendly boyish way that used to get him mocked back on Daemos, “You’re one of us! No man left behind, right?”

  “I-”

  “Exactly.” Rhys cuts him off in affirmation, “Despite your chaotic personality and violent tendencies, you are still an important part of our group.”

  “You-”

  “Yeah.” Asch sighs, carefully selecting his next few words, “I’m not sure where we’d be without our healer honestly. And...I will admit that you’re the only one here who’s any fun to spar with.”

  “Yes.” Finally, Pierce, “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

As Leif gapes at all of his friends in turn, something new solidifies within him. See, when Asch had saved him from execution all those years ago, the Prince had earned his life. And with that, over time, there came undying loyalty. But it was always saved for Asch alone. The others had been tolerable companions at most, at least until they got to Earth. 

Then came along Ava, who unintentionally became their focal point. She was important to him- to all of them. But he wouldn’t have died for her. Not at the start. That problem arose when she became fond of them, and they- in turn- of her. It only took a couple weeks after Leif had admitted to himself that she was actually rather preferable company, that he seemed to swear away to her the same things he had gifted Asch. His life. His loyalty. Fresh off the line went his affection as well. And although at this point, he was close to the other Daemos, he still felt separate. A product of his own mind and the upbringing that was so very different from their own.

It’s taken until now for that last link to click into place. That camaraderie which he’d been lacking now swarms through his morals and rearranges itself among those mental pieces. He feels some of his outlooks shifting. Most importantly, a single, powerful thought plants itself in his mind and takes root.

  “They want me.”

His chest swelling, the most Leif can manage is, “Thank you.”

The sound of quiet shuffling a few feet away accidentally breaks through the touching moment. The emotional bunch all turn their attention to a man standing like a startled cat beneath a nearby tree. Clearly, he had meant to scuttle away unnoticed.

  “Who is he?” Noi asks.

  “Oh that’s  Jingle.” Leif tips his head in the direction of the musical man, who has gathered his meager belongings in his arms. At the mention of his name, he winces slightly and gives a wave, “He’s been letting me sit with him. He's pretty cool for a human. The way he talks is weird though.”

Now, Ava, the Earth and city specialist of the group, immediately recognizes Leif’s apparent companion as a member of a nomadic homeless community that had just taken its annual place in one of the far back corners of the park. She’d never spoken to the man in true conversation, but she can recall exchanging a few words with him last year after she’d heard him playing the exact same guitar he now cradles to his chest. He had an impressive talent that convinced her to deliver him several dollar bills and whatever meager change she managed to hold onto after her sparse commutes to the mall or grocery store. She can vouch for the fact that he does say some fairly strange things on occasion. However…

  “Hey, you’re that chill guitar man I met last year.” She says, hoping to spark some comfort in his cautious air, “Have you really been hanging out with Leif this whole time?”

Jingle nods, shifting into a more permanent stance.

  “You didn’t have to do that. But I’m thankful that you did.” She smiles warmly, “Honestly, I was worried he might have gotten himself into trouble.”

  “It was no problem young miss.” Jingle makes the effort to reply, “I’d seen you all together early in the day, and happened to catch my fellow wanderer out on his own. He looked like he could use someone to hold him steady until his world righted itself again.”

  “Ah...yeah. I don’t doubt that he did.” Digging into her pockets, Ava pulls out five dollars- the sole remnants of cash that was pretty much all spent on food, “Here, please take this. It isn’t nearly as much as you deserve, but it’s all I have.”

The older human steps forward to accept the money from her outstretched hand with a grateful expression. Immediately after pocketing it, he spins back around in the other direction and walks away into the night. Ava silently determines to continue her tradition from before if she can manage to find him again in the coming weeks. But before any of that-

  “Come on you guys. Let’s get home.”

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Martin and Jon go "home" to clean up, recover, and decide what to do next.

Read on AO3 above or read here below!

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters here

***

They made it to the flat without much trouble. It was within easy walking distance, an unimpressive one-bedroom, virtually interchangeable with anywhere Jon had ever lived. It was also just as stark, but they didn’t waste time looking around. Instead, they headed straight to the bathroom. Being clean was the only thing Martin wanted more than sleep.

He got a look at himself in the mirror for the first time. Beneath the layer of dirt and blood and whatever else that he’d expected, he noticed a dark red mark on his skin, peeking just above the neck of his jumper. He pulled down at the collar, trying to get a better look at the apparent injury, but the full line of it extended well below where he could reach without taking it off. He recalled how the shirt he’d removed earlier had been torn and bloody around the shoulder, but at the time he’d just assumed that was from Jon.

He turned on the water in the shower to let it get hot, and left Jon to undress on his own as he steeled himself for whatever he was about to find. He pulled the jumper up over his head and was finally able to view the whole thing. It was completely healed, of course, but it ran from the top of his chest back over his collar bone and partway down the right side of his back. Parts of it were smooth and barely noticeable, but there were a few parts where it looked like the skin had been torn wide open—jagged edges that had healed poorly, like they had been stitched back together without being lined up properly.

He was so engrossed in it that he startled when Jon touched his shoulder.

“Hey.” He started to turn toward him, but Jon stopped him.

“You should—here.” Jon ran a hand down Martin’s arm to a spot on his forearm, just below his elbow, where he felt around for a moment. “Right there.”

Martin touched the spot, and found a small, hard ridge that stood out from the bone. He didn’t remember that, and it didn’t match the same place on his other arm.

“What—what is that?”

“It… broke.” Jon met his eyes in the mirror. “Before we came here. I’m sorry. It was a clean break, though. Also… here.”

He touched another spot on Martin’s back, which he turned to see, craning his neck to get a good look at it in his reflection. It was another scar, left over from what would have been a very large, deep gash, about halfway down his spine.

“Wait.” Martin took Jon by the shoulders; there was no way Jon had escaped undamaged if he looked that bad. He inspected his chest, his neck, then turned him firmly to look at his back, which Jon tolerated reasonably well—better than Martin would have given him credit for, anyway. Beyond the scars he already knew about, he only found evidence of a few smaller scratches, and wasn’t sure he believed it. He kept searching.

“Martin, I’m fine,” Jon sighed.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Martin pressed his hand pointedly to the stab wound on Jon’s chest.

“I meant”—Jon finally moved Martin’s hands away—“that I didn’t get hit when the tower went down.”

“How?” Martin asked. “I mean, look at me. How is it even possible that you—”

“Because you wouldn’t let go.”

Oh.

Martin wasn’t used to finding out he’d done something right. Once he unfroze, he was so grateful that he ended up pulling Jon into him, which he almost never did when Jon wasn't dressed. Thankfully Jon welcomed it, and allowed himself to be held, even leaned into it. It felt nice to be so close, to feel Jon’s skin on his, to be relaxed and warm from the steam of the shower that had finally heated up. He could have stayed there like that for a long while, and under normal circumstances he would have insisted on it; this time, though, the need to wash up won out.

“You go first,” he told Jon as he pulled away. “I can wait.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t think we’ll stay awake long enough for that.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Oh, for god’s sake. It’s soap and water. No, I don’t mind.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to shower with Jon. He supposed part of him still wasn’t sure where the lines were, what would make Jon uncomfortable, although they had taken a bath together at Upton. Several, actually, just because they could. That had been a little different, though; they’d had a large garden tub and plenty of room. Plus, although he’d seemed happy enough about it at the time, he wasn’t sure Jon even remembered it.

If he’d understood what taking a functional shower together was going to be like, though, he wouldn’t have bothered worrying about it. First, there wasn’t enough room for two people to stand under the water at the same time; second, if the shower was at the right height and angle for him, it definitely wasn’t right for Jon, and vice versa. They only had one bar of soap between them, and there was a lot to scrub off. The water at the bottom of the tub ran almost black for the first few minutes. He was grateful to find that Jon was at least well enough to wash himself. Martin only helped a little with his hair because, well, he wanted to—plus it sped up his turn with the shampoo.

Martin would have been happy to go straight to sleep when they were done, but as soon as Jon sat on the bed his stomach interrupted with a noise that went well beyond a growl. “Right,” Martin said, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was still pretty hungry himself, and Jon hadn’t even finished the peaches. “You stay. I’ll go see what there is to eat.”

There wasn’t much in the cupboards, and Martin didn’t think it was possible to be hungry enough to try the fridge after two months, but he did find a couple of ready meals in the freezer that didn’t look too bad. He heated them up and returned to the bedroom to find Jon face down with his legs tucked up beneath him, head toward the foot of the bed, in what he assumed was a failed attempt to stay awake.

He did have to keep an eye on Jon while they ate, as he kept closing his eyes with the fork halfway up to his mouth, but was glad to see that his appetite was good. Finally, when they had eaten what they could, he set the trays aside and wrapped his arms tightly around Jon as they lay down. At least he didn’t have to worry about keeping him up.

The next few days were like a long fever dream. They did wake up occasionally, sometimes apart, sometimes together, for maybe an hour at a time. When they did, their top priority was more food. Martin managed to have groceries delivered, which he was quite proud of.

When they were able to accomplish anything, they left scrawled notes for each other on the single pad of paper they found on Jon’s desk. At one point, Jon completely emptied their bags of clothes again and came out with a second phone that had apparently belonged to Martin. That’s useful, Martin thought when he saw that particular note. There was another little scribble off to the side that looked like it read “wallet.” Probably also useful, Martin thought, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Mostly, though, they slept. The best was when they didn’t dream. When Martin closed his eyes and he woke up and time had passed and he felt a little bit less tired, and he could look at Jon breathing deeply or even snoring a little and he could close his eyes again—that was ideal.

When he dreamed, it was usually not too bad. It was different than it had been. He knew he’d had nightmares during the apocalypse, but he never remembered them; it was always Jon who told him about them later. Here, at least, the dreams were his, and he did remember them, sometimes. Sometimes they were the same ones he’d always had, meaningless, dreams about building things or walking aimlessly through empty hallways or even the one where he forgot to show up for an exam. Those were fine.

His bad dreams, though, were bad. He relived things he hadn’t wanted to live the first time. Endless webs he couldn’t escape, filthy with spiders, while Jon read statements he couldn’t understand; there was only that voice that had never quite belonged to him and never seemed right. Then they were back in Jude Perry’s domain and Jon was burning, Jon was literally on fire and he wouldn’t save himself and Martin was too terrified to go in and drag him out. He didn’t need an interpreter for that one.

Then there was the dream where he killed Jon again, only in the dream there was no here, no somewhere else; there was no together. There was only Jon bleeding out in his arms after his flesh and muscle gave way and the knife went in. There were only his dead eyes and hands that went cold so fast, and Martin screaming for him to come back, begging him, telling him how sorry he was. He screamed until he couldn’t anymore and there were only tears left, silent gasps for air, and he was clutching at the back of a corpse that used to be Jon and he was alone; all he could feel was dead hands on his body, and when he woke, he was pushing Jon aggressively away from himself. Even when he realized he’d been dreaming, all he could see was the mark on Jon’s chest that he’d put there and he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t breathe and he had to get out, he had to do anything but stay in that room and suffocate.

Just minutes later Jon, now in a t-shirt, came in to find him on the couch with his face in his hands. Softly, so he didn’t notice at first, Jon’s hands started at his waist and made their way up his back, to his shoulders and around his neck. The weight of Jon’s body on him was enough to stop the shaking after a few minutes, and get him to where he could lift his head and speak without his voice breaking.

“Go back to bed, Jon.”

“When you do.”

He stayed a little longer, trying to slow down and match his breathing to Jon’s, until Jon began to fall asleep on his shoulder.

“Jon. Go to bed.”

“No.”

He gave up and they went back to the bedroom together. He fought to stay awake at first, but when Jon crawled to him under the covers to rest against his chest, groggy, familiar, warm, he couldn’t help himself. He slept again.

That still wasn’t the worst, though—not for Martin. The worst was when Jon dreamed. When Jon woke up it was like Martin wasn’t there. He sat and stared and waited, sometimes for seconds, sometimes for minutes, before he finally saw Martin or felt his touch—and sometimes he simply went back to sleep, and it was like Martin was never there at all.

They were awake; they were looking at each other. Jon reached for Martin’s face. He didn’t exactly seem happy, but his expression held maybe a broken kind of gratitude.

It was enough.

Sometime later, still in bed, Martin asked Jon what they were going to do.

“I don’t know,” Jon answered.

“Well… what do you want to do?”

“I still don’t know,” Jon said, this time with a wry smile.

“Fine, I get it. Can I ask you something, then? About—where we are?”

Jon’s smile faded a little. “I probably won’t know that either.”

Martin sighed. “Look Jon, I’m sorry I used you like—like post-apocalyptic Google. You don’t have to know everything, all right? Sometimes it’s ok just to talk. Figure things out instead of—”

“It didn’t bother me. I liked knowing things.”

“You miss it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jon answered nonetheless. “Yes.”

“All right. You said once that you—that you liked feeling people’s fear, too. Do you miss that also?”

Jon paused. “Was that what you were going to ask me?”

“No.”

“Then I think I won’t answer.”

“Fair enough.” Martin didn’t know why he’d asked, because he really didn’t want to know. “Here’s what I was going to ask. You said you thought that Elias was in charge of the Magnus Institute here because—well, because he was in our world. And also just the Institute itself, and Tim, and Sasha, and… why?”

Jon screwed up his face.

“And I get that you don’t know, I just want to hear your thoughts,” Martin added.

“All right,” Jon started. “It was more a feeling—”

“That’s fine.”

Jon gave him a look and Martin held up his hands in apology. “It was more a feeling, but… when we were pulled through, the web connected the dimensions, but they weren’t… open.”

“Like… knocking on locked doors.”

“Yes? Actually?”

Martin ignored the implications of Jon’s surprise at his understanding. “And this dimension?”

“I think they got desperate. They were running out of… strength? Energy? They were dying. They couldn’t go back, and this dimension was—adjacent to ours, maybe. Nearby. Not physically, obviously, that doesn’t mean anything—”

“Ok—”

“—_but _there were other connections, older ones, different from the web, the tape. And this dimension was connected to ours. They’ve probably pulled on each other, influenced each other, maybe from the beginning. Ours may have been especially strong because of—well, never mind, I don’t know. But it was easier for them, to come here. A refuge, I suppose.”

“That—that actually makes sense,” Martin said.

“Does it?”

“I mean, as much as anything. Let’s just say I’m willing to accept it?”

“As a theory,” Jon said firmly.

“Fine, as a theory.” Martin looked at Jon. “Did you really feel all that? I didn’t—I didn’t feel anything.”

“Who knows. Maybe it was all in my head.”

“I doubt it. I just feel bad I wasn’t really there with you.”

“You were, though.”

Martin let the silence linger for a few minutes before he pressed on.

“Jon, what… what do you think happened to the_ _Jon and Martin that were here before? Are they dead?”

“No idea.”

“I mean… it had to be because of us, right? It probably wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Probably not.”

Martin took a deep breath. “Do you think we—did we Helen them?”

“What?”

“You know—do you think we—did we trap them inside us somehow?”

“Like the distortion?”

“Yeah.”

“No. No, that’s something different. Something like that—that could only be done deliberately. And it would be awful. At any rate, we would feel it.” Jon seemed convinced of his answer, and it made Martin feel a little bit better. “But I do think… I do think we intersected with them, somehow.”

“Do you think… Is there any chance that they could come back?"

“Doubtful.” Jon shook his head. “But I—I don’t know.”

Martin accepted this, but wasn’t any closer to knowing how to feel about it. All he knew was it still made him extremely uncomfortable. It had been one thing to talk about theoretical Archivists and Martins and whatever else might exist in another dimension, but now…

“Can I ask something else?”

Jon shrugged.

“How did I get here?”

“What? You know how we got here, as much as I do.”

“I know how you got here. I’ve been thinking, and I know Annabelle”—he found he really disliked saying her name, even more than he thought he would—"said there was a chance she might be pulled along with the entities, if they left. Because—because she was—well, all web. Nothing else left.���

Martin paused, and Jon waited.

“So I don’t really want to think too much about what that means for you—I don’t—but I _get _it. But—how did I get here?”

Jon turned it over for a moment. “I took you with me.”

That answer was much too brief for Martin, so he pushed. “Ok, but—how? Could you have brought anyone? Like… could you have brought Basira?”

Jon laughed sharply, clearly not having anticipated the question. “No. No, just you.”

Martin sighed. “Ok, look, that’s real… _romantic _and all, but—how?”

Jon took so long to answer Martin thought maybe he wasn’t going to, but he finally did.

“Remember you told me that Annabelle said our bond was… complicated?”

“Yes?” Martin wondered immediately what Jon knew that he didn’t. This had I didn’t know how to tell you written all over it.

“And she talked about the Lonely.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize it at first, but when I… when I came after you, it… Look, Martin, the Lonely—it’s not—people aren’t supposed to be together there. That’s the whole point of it.”

“Sure.”

“Well, it did something. To us, I mean.”

“Like…?” Martin was trying his best to be patient, but he could tell that Jon was reading his irritation and starting to get flustered.

“To the entities we’re—we’re sort of—we’re the same.”

Martin saw through that explanation right away. “What you mean is that I’m an extension of you. A part of the all-mighty Archivist.”

“Well… yes. To them.”

“Great.” It made sense, though—how Martin had been able to go with Jon through all the domains, why the former archivists guarding the tower and the tunnels had left him alone, and of course, how he’d been able to come here. He turned on his back, crossing his arms over his chest, and allowed the smallest grumble to escape him.

“Martin, you know _I _don’t—”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Well, like I_ _said I didn’t realize it at first, and then—”

Martin turned his head toward Jon but kept his arms crossed, specifically to demonstrate how unimpressed he was.

“All right. All right, fine. I didn’t want you to think that was when I fell in love with you. Happy?”

Martin forgot to be annoyed. “What?”

“I didn’t want you to think—”

“No, I heard_ _you. Why would I have thought that?”

“Because we never—I never told you before the Lonely. I didn’t really—”

“Ok, Jon? I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m aware we’re a bit… messed up, but I know that you love me. Like, really love me. And I love you too.”

“I know, but… don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said, crises and trauma and all that.”

“Jon. I said that made us compatible. I didn’t say we don’t actually love each other, or that it was some kind of weird fear reflex.”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“Jesus.” Martin moved toward Jon, touching a hand to his shoulder. When Jon didn’t pull away, he moved closer again, taking him properly in his arms until he knew what he wanted to say.

“Jon—you asked me once if—well, no other way to say it—if I would gouge my eyes out and run away with you.”

“Oh, I remember.” Jon’s voice was muffled against Martin’s shoulder. “Although technically _you _were the one who said ‘gouge your eyes out,’ I would have settled for—”

“Yes, yes, all right—well, I would do it now.”

Jon stiffened.

“Or I mean, we could try it without blinding ourselves too, you know, test it out first? But the point is—we could leave. We could just go. Jon, you’ve—you’ve suffered enough. We don’t have to stay here. We can tell them whatever you want. Or we can tell them nothing. They’re smart, though, they’ll figure it out if it comes to it, and maybe—maybe nothing will happen, maybe there won’t be an apocalypse, maybe never. Maybe they’ll even figure out something we didn’t, some way to destroy—"

“Where would we go?” Jon interrupted softly.

“Anywhere. Back to Scotland, maybe. I could work in that little country store, and you could—I don’t know, you could do nothing if you didn’t want to, you could read all those books you told me you never got around to, there’s time now—”

“Martin—”

“Or we don’t have to go there! We could go—well we don’t have to decide right away, we could just travel for a bit—”

“Martin.”

Martin stopped.

“It sounds… lovely.”

“But you won’t do it.”

“No.”

He held Jon just a little tighter before letting him go. “I figured you’d say that. Thought it was worth a try, though.”

“It was worth a try.”

“So back to my original question—I guess we do know what comes next, then. Back to the Institute.”

“You don’t have to,” Jon said. “You could work somewhere else. Or not work. Or you could leave, I’d find a way to—”

Martin shook his head, then pressed his forehead against Jon’s. “You know the deal, and that’s not part of it.”

“I do,” Jon sighed.

They fell into silence again, this time for a long while.

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

what makes life so sweet (chapter 1)

This one’s for @ladyvaderpixetc, and can also be read here on AO3. Beware; there’s fluff, quickly followed by way less fluff. It gets worse before it gets better.

- - -

There aren’t a lot of songs and stories about Witchers at court.

Kings and Queens want the common folk to think of their knights and guardsmen as the heroic slayers of monsters, the protectors of the people, not the strange, barely human men living on the edges of society. Though no matter how far away they’re pushed by ugly whispers and rumours, Witchers are still needed, desperately so, and offending or denouncing them outright is considered unwise.

They’re like bastard children, almost; rarely acknowledged, yet still always present.

Ciri doesn’t know what to expect of Geralt of Rivia. He can’t be bad, she thinks, or her grandmother wouldn’t have sent her away to find him, though that isn’t all that much to go on. Not bad doesn’t automatically mean good or decent, it just means—not bad.

But then Geralt turns out to be kind, above all. It isn’t immediately obvious, of course, what with the almost permanent scowl and all that grunting, but he is. He hugs Ciri back, that very first day in the forest, hesitant and unpracticed as it may be. He hugs her back for as long as it takes Ciri to stop crying, and then he picks her up as if she were a small child again, letting Ciri bury her face in his neck and hide, from everything, for just a little while.

And the kindness shows, again and again, in all these different ways. In the first town they ride through, Geralt buys a much warmer, less conspicuous cloak for Ciri, then spends what remains of his coin on a room and a bath for her. He hunts and cooks for the two of them, and teaches Ciri how to do both for herself as well, in case the need should ever arise. Ciri learns how to lay snares, how to skin rabbits, how to build fires and shelter, how to defend herself with only her body, then also with a dagger and even Geralt’s steel sword she’s barely strong enough to lift.

During cold nights out on the road, Geralt lets Ciri snuggle against his chest and holds her close, keeping her warm and safe. And when she wakes from nightmares about things she’d rather forget, shouting and sobbing, Geralt strokes her hair and hums, soft and slow, until she falls back asleep.

“Did you learn about music?” Ciri asks one day, after a particularly bad night of terrible dreams, perched on Roach in front of Geralt. “At Kaer Morhen?

Geralt doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when Ciri cranes her neck to look up at him, his face is full of what she thinks might be regret. His voice, when he answers, is quiet, almost sad. “No, we didn’t.”

Assuming that’s all she’s going to get, Ciri turns back around, startling when Geralt continues, haltingly, “We learned to whistle, to mimic bird calls. Useful things. Someone—a friend. A bard. He was always singing, humming. Talking constantly. Still is, presumably.”

When she glances back at him again, Geralt is smiling wistfully.

Ciri can recognise loss when she sees it, so she doesn’t pry. Instead, she leans back against Geralt, and hugs the arm he has wrapped around her tightly against her stomach.

It’s all the comfort she knows how to give.

*

Stick bread has become one of Ciri’s favourite roadside meals in the weeks she’s been travelling with Geralt. The dough is simple to make, if they can spare the coin for some flour, and roasting it over the open fire is much more fun than simply watching their food cook itself. They’ve even got some leftover spices Ciri’s thinking of adding for some extra flavour.

She doesn’t realise she’s been singing to herself until she stumbles over the words, and Geralt offers from the other side of the fire, “But neither pictures nor sounds nor words, can describe what happened to me, in this certain place when I saw you, and what glow you sparked that night.”

For a second, Ciri is rendered speechless. But then she grins, wide and happy, and asks excitedly, “You know it?”

Geralt doesn’t look up from where he’s methodically cleaning the sticks for their bread, but he does offer a curt nod. It doesn’t seem as if he’s going to add anything more to that, but Ciri’s learned, by now, that waiting him out is the best way to go, sometimes.

And it takes several minutes, but eventually Geralt mutters, “Jaskier used to like it.”

“Your friend?” Ciri guesses, trying to sound casual and not as if she’s near to bursting with curiosity. “The bard?”

Geralt grunts out, “Yes,” and then presses his lips together, obviously done talking for the moment.

Ciri finishes the dough, preening when Geralt compliments her on her choice of spices, and wraps it around the prepared sticks, handing one over to Geralt to roast for himself. Geralt keeps an eye on the sizzling meat while they wait for the bread to finish, and they pass the waterskin back and forth in companionable silence.

It’s when they’re halfway through their meal that Ciri ventures, “Did he travel with you as well? Jaskier, I mean?”

Geralt glances over at her, his face carefully neutral. “From time to time.”

Intrigued now, Ciri wants to know, “But not anymore? Why not?”

She regrets the questions almost immediately, when she sees how Geralt’s mouth turns down at the corners. It’s there and gone again in an instant, but Ciri catches the sorrow that flashes in his eyes.

But before she can apologise, Geralt says, nearly too quiet to hear, “We had a falling-out.”

Then he chuckles, completely without mirth, and shakes his head, gaze fixed firmly on the burning logs in the fire. “I was cruel. Unjustly so.”

“Well,” Ciri muses, tearing off a piece of bread to pop in her mouth, “did you apologise?”

Geralt winces, which, truly, is answer enough.

Ciri frowns at him. “You should. Tell him you’re sorry.”

Geralt looks at her at that, properly, smiling faintly. “I should,” he agrees, and then, nodding at her plate, says, “Finish your food.”  

Respecting the dismissal for what it is, Ciri decides to change topics. “Are there any of the dried figs left?”

Geralt’s smile turns more genuine, a little teasing. “You’ll find out once you’ve finished your food.”

*

He doesn’t say so, of course, but Ciri can tell something’s on Geralt’s mind, and that it’s bothering him more and more the closer they get to Oxenfurt. It’s not difficult to guess what, or rather who, might be the root of his unease, but if there’s one thing Ciri has learnt about Geralt over the course of the last few months, it’s that being pushed before he’s ready to talk only makes him clam up entirely.

So, instead, Ciri attempts to distract him as best as she can.

She’d been to Oxenfurt once, years ago, as part of the royal Cintran delegation who always attended the annual summer festival. There had been lanterns on every building, food stalls lining the streets, and groups of musicians at every corner, singing and playing merrily.

It’s almost winter, now, but Ciri is excited to return anyway, and chatters happily at Geralt, relating everything she can remember from her first visit. Geralt doesn’t say much in return, but that’s all right; he hums or grunts in all the right places, and whenever Ciri chances a stealthy peek at him, he looks much less troubled than he had before.

They stable and tend to Roach first once they arrive, then go about buying a room at the nearest inn. It’s early evening already, so they wander deeper into town in search of a tavern and some supper. The stew is hot and hearty, and Ciri eats with gusto, although Geralt is frowning into his bowl.

It becomes clear why soon enough, when the bard in the corner finishes his set with a bow, to the cheers and applause of the other patrons, and Geralt grumbles under his breath, “Good fucking riddance.”

Ciri doesn’t even bother to hide her laugh. “Not as good as Jaskier?”

Geralt shoots her a look that fails to be stern, his mouth twitching tellingly.

“Oh, it’s a shame, ain’t it?” the barmaid clearing the table next to theirs sighs with a sad shake of her head. When Geralt turns his unblinking eyes on her she flushes, but pushes on, “So sudden and unexpected, poor lad.”

Something cold settles in Ciri’s stomach, ugly and foreboding, and she grips her spoon a little tighter as Geralt barks, “Speak plainly, or don’t speak at all.”

The barmaid glances between the two of them nervously. “Well, I assumed you knew, of course,” she stutters, wringing her rag between her hands. “Thought you of all people must.”

Geralt bares his teeth at her. “Must know what?”

“Your friend, well, you see,” she says, swallowing visibly, “he died, didn’t he? Couple of months back. Tragic, it really was, we’ll all surely miss him, of course—”

She keeps talking, but Ciri barely hears what she’s saying, all her attention fixed on Geralt.

He’s still, unmoving, and though he’s looking right at the barmaid, Ciri can tell he doesn’t notice her at all. He’s unseeing, his expression vacant, completely void of everything she’d painstakingly learned to read in it over time.

Ciri has never, in all the time she’s known him, been afraid of Geralt, but right now?

Right now, she’s scared for him.

“Geralt?” she asks tentatively, not sure what to say next when that empty gaze falls on her. On a whim, she stands and offers him a hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Geralt merely blinks at her.

“Let’s get Roach and go,” Ciri coaxes as she grabs his hand. She gives it a tug, smiling encouragingly when Geralt stands. “Come on, Geralt. Let’s go.”

Ciri leads, and Geralt follows.

It doesn’t feel right.

- - -

A/N: The song Ciri and Geralt are singing is called Dein Anblick and is by German folk rock band Schandmaul.

[real-fanta-sea]

MICHAEL APPRECIATION WEEK Day 7: Free choice

For this day, I have prepared something special - this fic was laying around in my drafts for almost a year and I’m so happy to finish and publish it!

The name is The leap of faith and happens after Michael falls to his dead during ending B. It is rather heavy and lacks happy ending + there is a mention of attempted suicide and canon death. It is not graphic, but some of you might prefer not to read about it and I think it’s fair to warn you. Oh, and the pairing mentioned is Trikey. For those of you who prefer AO3, click here to get redirected to the work. For the rest of you guys, just click on “keep reading”. Hope you’ll like it! 😊

The thunder rumbles through the air, vibrating everything in a deep and untamed matter.

“Michael! Let’s just-” 

Michael looks up, trying his best to look tough while somewhere deep inside, he is scared shitless as the same thunder echoes through him. He’s holding desperately, palms sweaty, onto his life. Franklin, holding his forearm as hard as he can, let his mouth gape open in a shock. Finally, a true, fucking human emotion.

A few heavy, ice-cold raindrops dampen Michael’s forehead. This all feels too familiar, he thinks to himself. This time, though, he won’t wake up with a jerk, sweat pearling up on his back. This time, there won’t be anything else than a void, sucking him in. He won’t stare back at steel grey sky as it dissolves into his perfect white bedroom ceiling. Not this time.

Another lightning illuminates his final scenery. Michael peers at depth down below his feet and then back up to a familiar face. Franklin fights with himself - he can see it in his sharp sculpted face. The rain falls heavily now and drenches his cheeks, and the moist reflects red and white signal light high above their heads. How the hell did he end up this way? Here, up above his concrete grave? Up here, hanging down the chimney railing, with this snake of a friend being his last straw between life and death? And then, the sudden realisation washed over him like a cold tide. And then, without a blink or a second thought, he lets go. A pair of hazel eyes, troubled, terrified, torn and lost, sink down into darkness. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” is a distant echo of a raspy, terrified voice in between the rain and thunder. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” A fraction of a grin passes Michael’s lips “But hell was I more than ready to leave you…” is his last thought as he lets go and let the gravity pull him down.

“MICHAEL!”

The world slows down with the first agonizing beat of his heart. Raindrops around him freeze in place, fire red and shiny like a scattered bloody diamonds carrying his weight. A flash of lightning illuminates the terrified face above him, hand outstretched, desperately trying to reach for him but also knowing damn well it’s too late. Michael looks around him. Everything perfectly sharp and visible, tinted scarlet and blue, with every edge glowing wildly. The weightless eternity of his existence, just hanging above the ground in between his heartbeats.

Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light blinds him for a second before he realizes where he is. The smell of an old truck, speeding on a dirt road is something hard to forget, especially when the smell attacks his nostrils so violently through an open window. Michael looks around him. The insides of the truck are darkened against the painfully bright sun reflecting the crisp green and warm ochre outside. The fuel tank is almost empty, the gas pedal glued to the floor. A photo of a nameless naked girl printed on a car scent card, swaying in a breeze under the passenger seat. Plush dice furiously swinging from side to side on the rearview mirror. All of this is oddly familiar.

Michael dares a look in the rearview mirror. He stares into a pair of bright blue eyes, full of determination and perhaps a bit of fear. He could swear he knows them too. A strand of dark hair combed back neatly, falls down to them, making him blink and swing it right back. He looks at his hands and sees no ring, only a rim of the leather sleeve of his jacket. Inspecting it further, he sees a couple of sewn symbols as it hangs nonchalantly by the sides of his muscular torso. He grins stupidly as his eyes follow lines of muscles sticking up against a tight white fabric of his tank top. He continues to check himself as the engine roars and hot air breaks apart on his windshield. His jeans are as tight as his top, and sneakers just as worn out as they should be to still be called fashionable. “Wow, this can’t be me” he grins as he checks his face in the mirror again. No wrinkles. No worries. No assassins after his ass. Just a pair of bright, ocean blue eyes and a cocky smile of a kid who hardly knows what future lays ahead.

Michael laughs as he pushes the gas even further, stomping on it like a fucking maniac. The engine groans with pain but accelerates anyway. Suddenly, there is a horn ripping apart the perfect memory. Michael looks into a mirror curiously, frowning his perfect eyebrows, a faint wrinkle haunting his forehead. A second truck, with the same roar and even greater speed, emerges from the turn behind him and by the looks of it, the driver is furious with him.

“Oh shit, here we go again… Just perfect!” he swears below his breath and takes a sharp turn right just as the truck reaches the back of his own vehicle. There is a high pitched screech as the truck turn in top speed, trying it’s best not to fall oven, rolling on only one set of wheels before falling back on all six with an angry thud sound. “I must find the damn plane, it should be around here somewhere, fuck” Michael swears and feels a couple of sweats drops pearl on his forehead. He looks back into the mirror. The truck is behind him. Closing in. There is a familiar shine of a gun in the dark behind the windshield. “FUCK!”

Another turn. Another screech. Sweat. Curse. Heart racing. Heat. Engine roaring. Plane. Where is the fucking plane?

Michael literally flies over the top of a ditch as he desperately tries to land the truck on wheels and not on its side. There is a glimpse of shiny metal in the distance suddenly and his heart races. This is it. Just to get there before the jerk gets him. He bites his lip and stomps on the gas again, furiously, desperately. The metal of the plane shines again as he gets closer and he looks for a man he was supposed to meet. Somewhere down in his guts, there is a fear mixing with anticipation and stirring his insides like a bloody blender. He can’t wait to see him and be saved.

A pair of slender jeans-clad legs twitch impatiently in the shadow of the plane. There he is.

If it wasn’t for a fact he could destroy the plane, he would have never braked so hard and just circle around to get the look again and again forever. He could, in fact, do it - this is his memory so he could do whatever he fucking please - but everything feels too real, including the young man leaned back on the wing of the plane.

Something in his pose is so captivating Michael can not quite put his head around it. The man’s elbows are supporting him, placed on a grey painted wing. Leather aviation jacket with a maple leaf sewn on it, wrinkled on his shoulders which were as wide and strong as his chest showing below his a worn-out t-shirt, yet slender and elegant as the line of his body run down to a perfect waist, accented by a belt of his jeans. One hip slightly raised as he relaxed one of his long legs, probably to even the weight of his heavy boots. Michael inhales deeply and gulped down something that feels almost like… Well, he can’t name it, but the look is captivating. The man looks in direction of the other truck, so Michael has a couple of seconds to study his face. It is framed by a thick mane of brown hair, and aviator shades, too big and dark to see his eyes properly. His nose as sharp as his cheekbones and jawline, with a trace of baby fat still there, giving him a dangerously adorable look. Where Michael loses it are his lips - full and with cupid’s bow curved in a perfectly kissable way, almost unreal for a man to have. Compared to his thin line of a mouth, these lips are angelic. Something deep inside of him awakens with a roar and the feeling of warmth fills him up completely, as he looks at the young man’s face again.

“Trevor…” he hears himself whisper. “T…” as tender as the letter can be, escaping his lips all over again to numb the sharp pain in his chest. What exactly is this feeling? Did he always feel this way about Trevor? Is his dying mind playing tricks on him?

He loses himself in a plump curve of Trevor’s lips for a moment once again before he’s torn from this perfect world with a wild screech of brakes and violent blow of a horn.

“Come out right NOW!” A hoarse voice calls from the other truck as a middle-aged man does his best to get out of the driver’s seat. Michael caught the sight in the mirror. While he takes a deep breath he kicks the door open and jumps out of the truck. 

“What’s your problem, old fart?” he yells, as cocky as he possibly can to cover how fucking frightened he really is, puffing up his chest, putting up a toothy grin and holding onto his hips to appear larger. “Can’t get it up so you drive all the way here to beat my ass for fun?”. The old man clenches his fists, squaring up his shoulders and cracking his neck. Michael blinks a couple of times as he watches the familiar figure step out of the shadow of the truck. As the man moves closer, Michael’s cocky grin freezes and slowly twists into pure horror. The man raises his head and if there ever was a bit of doubt in who it was, it vanished right into a face of the impaling summer sun.

It’s the older version of him. De Santa part of his soul, peering right back at him through a familiar frown with all the self-hate and beast-like cruelty written all over his wrinkled face. Michael’s mouth opens and closes in a shock. Is this who he has become? He can still remember all the things he did in his life as if his old self got caught up in the young body. He remembers, gets glimpses of memories, but it’s not the same thing as to face who he inevitably grows to be. De Santa looks him in the eyes as if he knows exactly what he is thinking about with an evil grin. As fast as he can, without blinking, De Santa raises his gun and points it right at Trevor.

Michael gasps. “What the fuck are you doing, you prick?”

Trevor flinches and presses his back against the plane with a deep growl.

“Put that down or I’ll make a pudding out of your brain right fucking now!”, Trevor utters with the only gun he could retrieve from the plane in a second, which, to Michael’s eternal amusement, is a fucking flare gun. De Santa shows a couple of teeth as he grins at Trevor. “The only thing I want is a second to talk to my little friend here. Don’t be stupid, Trevor, and give me a chance to make things right for both of us” The man with a flare gun raises his eyebrows and lowers the gun a few millimetres before raising it again. “Fuck, I don’t know where you heard my name or who snitched it but I swear to god if you botch this job you won’t see the sun up tomorrow you cake filled fuck face!”

Michael chuckled as he heard Trevor give his older self familiar names. He really let himself go too far to be called fit and made a mental note not to waste his second chance in life to eat the hate away. De Santa seems pleased as well, a heartwarming smile crossing his lips before they are solid and serious again. “Michael, I know what you felt back then, and what you feel now. I know you are going to chase it until you lose interest and leave a broken shell. Wasn’t it your... our favourite pastime after every game? Get a girl, get the most of it for a week and then ditch her without a second thought?” Michael blinks and searches for rusty memories. With eyes wide and lips pursued, he nods. “You see Trevor there? He’s not a stupid cheerleader you can play like a fiddle. Even now, with this badass facade of his, he feels something for you.” Trevor fidgets uncomfortably and Michael catches with a corner of his eye how Trevor swallows and lets his lips part for a second. Fucking Bingo.

“And you feel it too. That is a serious business, Michael.” De Santa pauses to raise his gun again. “You know what happens in future, don’t you? Say a word and decide - should I kill him and let you forget, get a normal life with normal wife and normal kids, the one you’ve always wanted…” he pauses to turn to Michael now, who instinctively raises his hands and stumbles a couple of steps back with a gun pointed at him “or should I kill you both to get this Shakespearean shit over with before it even begins? We both know too well what he means to..to us.” Michael exhales and feels the world slow down once more as he watches a tear roll down De Santas expressionless cheek and turns to Trevor. The wind plays with Trevor’s hair and his hands shake as he throws down his shades. A pair of amber eyes, wide with awe, pierce him with the same question. Growing old with or without him? Can he bear living without his precious punk? Can he let all the memories slip right out of his mind and fill it in with a long line of one night stands and even longer lines of coke? Oh, and why does his chest clench so much? Could it be...love?

Michael inhales carefully and turns back to De Santa, with time raging in the normal speed now. “Kill me. You know too well I could never live without him by my side.” A hot blow of wind carries a sound of a trigger, sudden and unforgiving. Michael blinks and watches a flare screw into De Santa’s eye, as he pulls the trigger too. The bullet licks his ear and jams with a hiss into the truck behind him. A high, blood-chilling scream pierce his ears and adds to wild pounding in his ears. Right before his wide eyes, De Santa’s body is fighting inevitable, hands trying to pull the flare out, only to help it dig deeper. Burned flesh and skin shed dreadful black shreds onto the dirt below their feet. Deep grey smoke fills the air with sweet stench and cries right out of hell. And then, silence and a pair of terrified amber eyes, vanishing into another flash of light.

Ba-dum

Michael opens his eyes to see a mouldy ceiling of a random motel, illuminated with a mix of orange, pink and blue neon light splattered across the room. His body feels hot but exhausted at the same time, gradually allowing him to sink back to full consciousness. He looks around, blinking to get rid of heaviness on his eyelids. Stark naked, his skin shiny with sweat, brilliantly white, glowing with reflections of light as a perfect opposite of the damp dark sheets.

Michael turns to his side, instinctively looking for a pack of cigarettes. He has always had one ready on a nightstand wherever he went and remembers this too well. He has always smoked after sex, he realises with a smug smirk and almost makes it to the pack before a pair of tanned arms wrap around him. A deep “Mikey...don’t leave me” comes from behind him, half snore, half sleep talk. Michael freezes for a second before turning around to make sure the deep, smooth voice belongs to the man he thinks it does.

Just as he remembered, Trevor stretched his arms in his sleep, for once looking peaceful and even angelic in all his content and innocence. He looks like a child, curled up on his side, hair in his mouth, stuck to open lips with a string of saliva. Eyes shut, barely moving, eyelashes long and shaking to the rhythm of his own light snores. “Mikey” Trevor whimpers again and curls even more, clutching the blanket, brows knotting. “Shh… I am right here,T” Michael whispers, and as gently as he can, brushes the lock of hair out of Trevor’s mouth. Trevor smacks his lips and smiles sincerely from his sleep. “I love you, Mikey...”. Michael jolts a bit but tries his best not to wake his sleeping companion. Was this even the same memory, or is his dying mind making a damn fool of him? Has Trevor actually said that? He blinks a couple of times, supporting himself with his elbow on his side as he brushes Trevor’s cheek absentmindedly with his fingers. With wide, serious eyes, Michael observes the goosebumps on Trevor’s arm, showing with each end every careful stroke of his fingers. Trevor’s snores and low mumble gives him the strength to continue down his neck, fingers outstretched, tracing smooth skin below his fingertips. Trevor moans from his sleep when Michael’s fingers gently brushed past his nipple. “You always had a soft spot here, T” Michael whispers under his breath and let his aching heart rule him for once. All the uneasiness and tense are suddenly gone as his tongue circles around his lover’s chest. The skin below him is salty and hot, and the taste lingers on his tongue, driving him mad. His hand wanders down the outline of Trevor’s body, tracing down his abdomen to find what he is looking for. Trevor’s cock welcomes his hand with a jolly throb and fit into his palm much better than he would ever admit. “Mmm” Trevor moans and arches his back, biting his lower lip “so much for sleeping with a horny cupcake beside me, huh?” and greets Michael with a toothy grin “Ready for round two, pork chop?” Michael chuckles, stroking Trevor slowly but firmly “I was born ready, baby” and let himself be pulled into a kiss.

The room dissolves around them as Michael seals his lips with Trevors, and some kind of force pulls them both up, right into the star painted indigo sky. His lips desperately caress and sucks Trevor’s and his tongue explore and swirls with a hunger he has never felt before. Just the kiss, just the taste, just the sensation is enough for him to forget who he became, where he belongs and what he was about to do in a couple of years in this reality. It is just his lips and Trevor’s lips under the moonlight and everything feels right in the centre of this universe.

He pulls back eventually, gasping for air, licking his lips frantically not to waste a bit of the heavenly taste of his lover’s lips, fading back to the stained sheets. Trevor pants below him, lips curved into a toothy, genuine smile he has only seen once or twice before. Michael can not help but smile back, cupping Trevor’s cheek with one hand, running his thumb alongside Trevor’s lower lip. Trevor purrs deeply under his touch, staring right back to his eyes. Michael feels something building up around his heart - a heat that could only mean one thing. “I love you too, Trevor” he exhaled, voice deep with honesty. With a smile, he watches the change in Trevor’s expression, eyes dark and wide, mouth open in shock. “What did you just…” Trevor gulped, tears collecting in his eyes as he crawls away from Michael’s touch. Michael’s chest suddenly hurt as if someone squeezed it. “Shh, I mean it - trust me, Trevor. Just trust me, baby, ok?” Michael whispers with a smile still playing around corners of his mouth, but not as certain as it was a second ago. Trevor jerks and jumps of the bed, retrieving slowly towards the window.

“Why are you always like that, Michael? So fucking full of lies” His voice trembled as much as his knees. Michael’s eyes look his body up and down, and only welcoming part is his dick, twitching, helplessly calling for a fondling hand “Why do you do this to me?”

Michael blinks a couple of times, trying hard to remember what he did to earn this reaction. As far he knows, this was one of those nights they spent together, drinking or drugging, crawling on top of one or the other, riding the hell out of the high, bodies twisted into a hot, sweating mush. It won’t hurt to ask, right? 

“Trevor, calm down. What the hell happened to you?” his voice firm and certainly more annoyed than he had meant it to be. Trevor puffs up, clenching his fists. “What happened to me? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ME?” Michael stiffens as a shockwave of Trevor’s angered roar washes over him, leaving him speechless.

“Are you serious? You have a fucking audacity to ask me what happened with that knocked up tramp waiting for you at the altar now? What the fuck am I to you then, huh? Am I just a fun old cheap bitch you fuck after a score? A toy you toss away when it doesn't comfort your taste anymore? Or.. or a dumbass to do all the dirty work for you just for a meaningless fuck?” Trevor’s voice trembles again, but only to gather enough strength to rumble through paper-thin walls again. “I am not stupid, Michael. I can see the pattern. You get high, you tell me you love me, fuck me and then you sober up and get on with your oh so great denial only to do it again and again. You dance around in your pathetic suit pants, killing anyone calling you a faggot! Oh, and while you are at it, you knock up a hooker and marry her just to show everybody you are a good old boobs’n’snatch family guy. Do you want your American dream family with a coke-snorting bitch and a batch of white trash bastards? Well then be my guest and get the fuck out of here, Michael”

Trevor kicks the door open, spitting his name out with a sting of disgust that lingers in the air long after it is said. A familiar blue haze of Michael’s anger pierces right through him and floods his system. With clenched fists, he springs up. “Okay, whatever, dipshit. Just make sure you are not late tomorrow” is what escapes Michael’s lips, without him even noticing. Something constricts his chest as he pulls up his jeans and throws his t-shirt over his head, facing Trevor. There are wet trails on his cheeks for sure, but something dark creeps behind them. Michael looks up to see two broken mirrors of amber eyes, staring back at him. For once, he feels the urge to fight the memory and stay. Stay a little longer. Cup Trevor’s face in his hands and tell him he won’t ever leave his side. Tell him he means what he said and they should elope, riding scooters hand in hand to the sunset. Trevor’s sob brings him back to reality as he approaches him carefully. “Trevor, I’m sorry…” is the last thing he utters before the memory fades in the familiar explosion of white light.

 Ba-dum

Michael blinks as he opens his eyes, looking around. He hardly recognizes the surroundings - judging by the scattered tombstones, people hunched down dressed in black and a thick layer of snow, he is somewhere up north, and on a goddamn cemetery. With all the white around him and heavy snowflakes falling down from a steel-grey sky, he should have been frozen solid at least 15 minutes ago, but somehow, he feels fine. Weightless even. There is something odd in a way people pass him by, without noticing him standing there, walking right onto him “Hey, watch it!” he hisses as an old lady walks right through him, leaving but a swirl of air where an outline of his torso was a second ago. Her sniffs and crunches of fresh snow under her shoes fade out into a deepening silence. She didn’t even notice, did she?

Michael looks at his hands, terrified. They are... translucent? What the hell happened to him? Is he a ghost? Michael’s eyes widen and his mouth fall open. Did he die already or what? With a deep breath of crisp air, he once again raises his head and scrutinizes his surroundings. His head feels like it might explode with all the wild ideas and questions swirling inside it. Has he ever been here before? The place seems familiar. Why is he here? Is it somehow significant? Michael inspects the closest tombstone on his right and chuckles lowly. Of fucking course. This was his grave. Michael fucking Townley’s grave.

This is where the boy from the nameless Canadian airfield lays along with his dreams and ambitions, dressed in his old football gear. What’s left is a ghost, a memory, levitating in the air, thinking about what went wrong with his life to end up like this. Hated, hunted, betrayed by a man he considered his son, left by the one he called brother. 

A muffled sob from behind him makes him jump and turn around. A tall man in a stained thick coat looks right trough him and brushes his nose with a hand dressed in an old fingerless glove. Michael stares at him in awe - what the hell is Trevor doing here? If he is right in his assumption and the grave is still too fresh, the place would be swarming with FIB agents, waiting for those stupid enough to come his grave. Michael raises his hands to place them on Trevor’s shaking shoulders, but in his new form, his palms go right trough them only to fall back to each of his side. “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, TREVOR!” He tries as a feeling of panic raises within him. The taller man not even flinch. “TREVOR!!!”

The only answer he gets is the sound of teardrop crash landing in the snow beneath his feet. It is the first time Michael notices the broken posture and his shaking chin, with a stream of tears flooding it. It is the first time he sees Trevor truly broken. It is the first time he sees what Trevor meant when he told him he loved him.

“I know you hate it when I’m crying Mikey, but I… I just can’t help it” Trevor uttered in a high, shaky voice. “I’m just so sorry!”. Michael instinctively jumped when Trevor fell to his knees where he would stay if he had a real body, not holding back anymore. “I’m so sorry Mikey! This is all my fault!”

Even in his current form, Michael’s chest tightened. He has never admitted he hated to see Trevor cry only because it hurts him a great deal, and now with his closest friend kneeling broken on his alleged grave, the pain comes uninvited and sits on his back as heavy as a fucking mountain. 

“If I… If I stayed... if I was the one who helped Brad you could…”

“No, Trevor. If you stayed, you would be dead. Don’t blame yourself for my fuck ups.”

“It’s funny, I can almost hear you now, you know?” 

Michael freezes on the spot. Could it be... “Trevor, T, can you hear me?”

A low chuckle escapes Trevor’s mouth before it is muffled by sobs once again.

“Yeah, I know, it’s bullshit. Of course, I cannot hear you. I am just imagining things, I guess... I just want to hear your voice once again. I want to hold you and kiss you one last time. Remember that time,” Trevor blows his nose and takes in a deep breath, finally getting a grip of his crying “Remember when we stopped by a lake in the middle of nowhere, and you wanted to go swimming? How we planned to stay for a night but ended up camping for a whole week? I’ve never told you how beautiful you are in the morning light - I just called you a fatso then and you smashed my head with a pan.” Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch with a shy smile upon the memory. Michael just watches him, desperate to hold him close and never let him go. Of course, he remembers the summer of ‘89 and the glint in those amber eyes whenever they watched him. He remembers the bubbly laughter, flat beer and the smell of campfire in Trevor’s hair when they made love.

“Remember how we drank so much we started slow dancing at midnight and the sky reflected in your eyes? That was the first time I told you I love you. You laughed and shrugged it off. But I meant it then and I mean it forever.” Trevor’s tears easily tear down his weak self-control and make his fists hit the ground with crushing force. “You told me I had no idea what love is, but I do, Michael, I DO!” A sudden yell made a couple of other people increase their pace and turn around in fear. “AAAARGH, I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH MIKEY IT TEARS ME APART!! I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU!”

Only now that Trevor hunched over the grave has Michael noticed a rope, resting stuffed into one of Trevor’s coat pockets. Oh no. Oh fuck. What is he going to do? Is he really going to… “TREVOR!”

The man in question just let tremors run through his body, hunched over the grave.

“TREVOR! DON’T TELL ME YOU WANT TO HANG YOURSELF!”

The only answer is the man slowly rising to his feet, chin pressed to his chest, dirty hair falling to his eyes.

“T, PLEASE, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Trevor turns his gaze from the tombstone to an oak and its bare branches, standing mortified in the far end of the cemetery.

“NO, T, DON’T DO IT! I AM RIGHT HERE, PLEASE T!”

Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch in what could be a smile, but Michael knows deep down it is relief. With the love of his life dead and gone, the world turning its back on him, with no future whatsoever, Trevor wants to go down the path of the last resort, the path Michael dreads.

“T, PLEASE!! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON’T!”

An easy, tired smile settles on Trevor’s lips. 

“Today is different, Mikey. I think I really hear you now - it is as if you said you loved me and wanted me to stay. But we both know I can’t love a whisper in the wind. You are here now and in a second you are gone. As always.”

Trevor takes a few steps, crunching of the fresh snow piercing the darkening sky.

“I want to be there with you, to see you and feel you the way you let me when we were young and high.”

Snow under Trevor’s feet listens in fear of what is it about to witness. Michael reaches out but fails to get hold of his friend once more. Trevor’s shoulders tense for a second before relaxing once again with a heavy sigh.

“Please don’t try to stop me, Michael. I have nowhere else to go. I need you.”

Trevor’s steps grow frequent as he inevitably approaches the tree and halts right in front of it, his fingers brushing over the smooth cold bark.

“Goodbye, Mikey. For now. I’ll see you in a few.”

Michael’s panic rises to levels he didn’t think were possible. He knows he can’t help Trevor, he knows he can’t reason with him but fuck him if he does not try to save him.

His eyes frantically search for someone, anyone he could call and alarm. The cemetery is almost empty. The only sound is the soft swish of snowflakes and screeching of Trevor’s boots as he climbs the tree to fasten the noose. There must be someone here - Michael knows his grave is the perfect moth trap - and fuck him if he’s wrong but there is a familiar figure leaning against the metal fence. “Oh shit, it can’t be…”

Dave Norton has just returned from his afternoon break with a cup of steaming coffee and a fresh issue of Los Santos Times when a strange touch of ice-cold air on the scruff of his neck makes him shiver. It’s not like he’s not used to long hours in freezing temperatures, but this one is oddly different. He puts down his cup and traces the back of his neck with hot fingers, but the snowflake he is searching for is nowhere to be found. “Oh well, whatever. Just a wind.” He thinks as he grabs for a cup when is suddenly tumbles over and spills all the coffee into the snow. In many years he has been an agent, Dave learned not to be surprised by a lot of things. Tax evasions, sex scandals, terrorist threats. It all shaped him in a twisted way and let him harden enough to act cold and precise in any situation he happened to be in. But this shit, it surprised the fuck out of him. He didn’t even touch the cup! There is absolutely no logical explanation of why it would bounce up and spill like that except for something grabbing it and letting go. Suddenly, the cold sensation was back and made little hair on his neck stand up in fright. Turn around. Look behind you. Turn around and look now. Those words bounce inside his head as if it was a pinball board and someone stubbornly added more and more balls to it. His head throbs, fighting the intrusion to no avail. In one bright flash of white light, a simple sentence appears right before his eyes: Turn around PLEASE!!

Ok ok, he’s turning NOW and… oh shit…

Michael has never felt this spend and tired in his life. He can barely see the outline of his own ghostly body now as it slowly dissolves into the void. Even if he wanted, he would barely give a fuck with the scene right before his eyes.

Dave stands below Trevor, forcing him up and back onto the branch. Trevor’s reddened face is damp with tears and his voice is hoarse when he shouts at Dave and begs him to let go, kicking a couple of times. Dave grabs for his gun and cuts the rope with a couple of shots that echo through the dark and bounce from one grave to another. Trevor falls into the abused snow below him with a loud thud and curls up in a fit of pained cry that makes Michael feel like shit. It is all his fault. The dark purple ligature mark in place of Trevor’s future “cut here” tattoo screams at him accusingly what his own mind has offered him so many times he stopped counting.  He always put himself first and made people who cared about him miserable. If only he could lay beside him if only he could comfort him, if only he was given a chance to tell him how much he loved him, how much he cared, how sorry he was for things to come to this end. His final thought before he dissolves in the crisp air is of a pair of warm amber eyes looking up at him with so much love and care it makes him shiver. “Please forgive me, T.”

 Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light led him back to his body this time. A roar of thunder kick-started the time. The shining diamonds of the raindrops hit the ground with a final splash before glazing the concrete with a red light covered wet coat. Up above him, Franklin curses. What a nice kid. “I forgive you,” he thinks as he braces himself for the impact. “I have the death I deserve” When Michael feels the cold touch of death on his back and draws in his lasts breath, the pure white light shines back in time with his racing heart, each flash brighter than the one before. All the pictures of his life run before his eyes - the first time he saw Trevor, the first time they kissed, the birth of Tracey, her first laugh and first uncertain steps, Jimmy’s first words, years of denial, broken promises drowned in whiskey and his recent flashbacks. He is about to die with a regret, Michael notes with a bitter taste on his palate - and that would be to make all of this right. If only he was strong enough to see past his beliefs and just let things happen as they were meant to be. If only he could turn back time, hug Franklin and let him handle things the way he wanted, call Amanda and let her go figure out her own happiness, give his children enough money to go to college and live on their own and then run into the pair of arms he sorely missed. If only he could tell him how sorry he was and how much he truly meant to him. He would hold Trevor close right there, in his ramshackle, grim-soaked trailer, stroke the summer heat out of his hair and whisper his feelings right into those beautiful ears. Yet another strike of thunder reminds him of what happened in the cemetery and the last teardrop escapes his eye and slips down his cooling cheek only to join millions of its kin on the ground as he exhaled one last time.

I love you, M. “I love you, T.”

[thefamouswhitewolf]

The inn was noisy and far too hot for Geralt, but Jaskier seemed to be drinking it in as he sang from table to table, the patrons inside throwing coins at his feet and the cheekiest of them even tucking them into Jaskier’s waistband as he passed by. It wasn’t that they wanted to touch him but a pretty bard that could also sing rather well was a rare commodity in that part of the Continent.

Geralt sat in the corner as usual, a pint of ale in his hand while the pitcher sat beside it, still dripping with condensation. The ale got rather cold in the winter months and the innkeepers often had to bring the casks in from the storehouses because they worried about them freezing, though the notion that alcohol can’t truly freeze solid was still a foreign concept to most of the back-water brewmasters.

The Witcher enjoyed his ale fairly cold anyway so he wasn’t complaining, tossing back the rest of his pint as Jaskier started into one of his well-known songs, the cheers of the crowd actually hurting Geralt’s ears a bit. He wasn’t grumpy or in any mood south of complacent, but certain things in day-to-day life still pained him. Strong scents, both foul and pleasant, for one. Loud, raucous yelling, for two. Seeing someone manhandle his bard, for three.

The song cut off as a large man about Geralt’s size reached out to grab Jaskier by the doublet, hauling the bard back against himself as he stood up. Jaskier’s first response was to one-hand the lute and reach into that same sleeve with the other, his intent on fetching the dagger hidden within. Geralt wasn’t immediately on his feet until he saw the glint of the steel, not wanting a scene since they’d already paid for a room and the night had barely just begun.

Jaskier didn’t often need saving any longer; he’d trained under Geralt to properly wield daggers in a close-combat fight, and to throw them when it was long-distance. The bard didn’t put them to real use that often either; men usually backed off when they saw the look of hate in those pretty grey eyes, daggers in both hands and ready to put holes in them. The threat alone was usually sufficient, and this case was no different.

One of the drunk’s companions slapped his hand away from Jaskier’s clothes and dragged him away immediately, leaving Jaskier to tuck his dagger back into his sleeve as the innkeeper roared at the drunkard, forcing him and his friends to leave. He stated that they were worth less than what he’d paid for the bard to be there for the night--Jaskier had made a handsome sum of money because he’d become well-known on the Continent over the years--and he’d rather have the bard and his brooding fucking Witcher there, than the drunks and their piss-poor manners.

Geralt sat back down, not a weapon bared and slightly perplexed with how smoothly the situation had handled itself, and went back to drinking. The place calmed down but the interruption caused a lull in Jaskier’s performance, giving rise to the bard wandering back to Geralt’s table and sliding himself onto the bench facing the Witcher.

Pouring a mug of ale for Jaskier, Geralt eyed the bard curiously, judging his state of mind. Jaskier took the mug and downed half of it, giving a light cough and a bit of a wheeze, as the ale hit him full force. It was a good brew, and he was sure Geralt would order more if needed. They had coin enough for ten men since Geralt’s slaughter of a gryphon in the neighbouring kingdom, and no expense had been spared in the weeks following it.

“Getting faster with those blades, bard,” he rumbled, a light smile on Geralt’s face. “Could be you’re going to surpass me on that front.”

Jaskier snorted softly and reached across the table to touch the back of Geralt’s hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled when Geralt didn’t immediately pull away. They’d been in what Jaskier termed a committed relationship for the better part of a decade, but Geralt was still sketchy about showing it off in public. Their type of romance wasn’t unheard of and was oftentimes encouraged in places where males made up the majority of the population, but romance at all was always going to be a touchy subject to Geralt.

“Hardly. I saw you get up to defend me, you beast. That man was nearly your size and he backed off as soon as he saw my blade, did you see? I’ve found that the bigger the man is, the faster he falls when faced with real danger.”

“Is that so?”

Jaskier nodded. “You, my dear Witcher, are the exception. The only thing I’ve ever seen you fear, is losing me.”

Geralt felt his stomach fall right out of himself at the mere mention of it. Jaskier was right. Decades of living alone, not having someone to care for, or to be cared for by, had turned the Witcher into something of a love-lorn damsel. He’d kill any man that put his hands on Jaskier--or any woman, for that matter; some were more fierce than the men and Geralt had scars to prove it.

“I think you should go finish your performance, bard. Night’s still young and the ale’s good. I’ll sit here for the remainder of it, and then we can retire when you’ve had enough.”

Geralt changed the subject of love often, but Jaskier already knew the truth. Geralt talked in his sleep and he got chatty when he’d been into the good ale, so the bard gathered up his lute and started right back into the unfinished song, sure that he’d be told everything he wanted to hear later that night in the comfort of their bed.

[peculiaridealist]

Trouble In Paradise (Literally)

Chapter 2: The Escape Plan

Kara suddenly jolted awake when she heard an annoying sound coming from the room’s speaker.

“What is this god awful sound?” Kara asked in irritation as she slowly got up, rubbing off the remnants of sleep on her eyes. “And why is there a speaker in the room?”

She heard Maggie yawn and answered. “It’s an alarm for all of us so that none of us will be late for our designated schedules. It takes time but, you’ll get used to it eventually.”

The blonde seemed to realize that she was not in her room. She almost forgot that she was trapped in a facility. God, I thought that was just a bad dream.

With one final stretch, popping some bones into place which made her give a satisfied hum, she hopped out of her bed.

“Morning, Mags.” She greeted with a hoarse voice.

“Mornin’.” The shorter woman greeted- or more like grumbled- back with the same sleepy voice.

This made Kara giggle in the slightest bit. “I thought you’re used to it by now?”

“Hey. Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean that I have to like it.” Maggie shot back which made Kara’s giggle turn into laughter. The shorter woman joined in the laughter a second later and they both got out of their room to freshen up.

After Kara had her bath and finished her morning routine, she was then escorted to a dressing room and was given a fancy dress that stops just above her knee to change into. It wasn’t Kara’s kind of clothes but she just accepted it. She wasn’t in the mood to argue with the attendants.

They left her and the other patients- err... residents- to change. Apparently they seem to know what privacy is so Kara was thankful for that but much to Kara’s dislike, when she had put the dress on, the zipper was at the back and Kara had a hard time reaching for it. Apart from that, there was also a ribbon that needs to be tied also at the back.

“God, why is this dress so difficult?”

A few more seconds of struggle, she huffed in exasperation and gave up. There was no way that she could zip it all the way up without any help.

“Need a hand on that?” Kara whirled around just in time to see Lena standing behind her, their faces just an inch apart which startled the blonde and made her step back.

“I- uhh… Y-yeah. I do, actually.” Kara stammered but Lena seemed quite distracted because she didn’t even bother to give Kara a teasing remark. She just gently turned Kara around and slowly zipped her dress up.

Then it hit her and her eyes widened comically. Thankfully, she wasn’t facing Lena. That would've been embarrassing. She cursed herself internally for forgetting what she and Lena had agreed on. The brunette must have waited long for her before deciding that she wasn’t going to show up. Kara felt like she stood Lena up- which, in a sense, she did- and she immediately felt really bad.

She opened her mouth and was about to apologize when Lena beat her to it.

“Sorry about last night. I don’t know why but I was knocked out cold as soon as I hit the bed.” Lena whispered just like how she had whispered the night before as she tied the ribbon on Kara’s dress. It was like she was afraid that someone might hear her though they were alone. But then, she understood why. They say even walls have ears after all. “Did you wait long for me?”

Anyway, Kara was shocked to hear Lena apologizing and was relieved at the thought that the brunette didn’t have to actually wait for nothing. Wait… Doesn’t that mean if I had been awake last night, I would have been the one who was going to wait for nothing? Snapping out of her internal monologue, she answered Lena’s question.

“No, I… actually fell asleep, too.” Kara confessed.

Lena chuckled silently. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“Miss Zor-El, your therapy is in five.” An attendant announced which Kara just nodded silently to.

She then turned to face Lena properly and asked. “What kind of therapy are they giving out here?”

The brunette gave her a half-hearted shrug. “Just some questions that you needed to answer, letting you talk about your feelings and stuffs. Saying and making you do something that might change you.”

“But I don’t want to change.” Kara muttered, her voice dropping low and for the first time since she had arrived here, she felt fear. “There’s nothing in me that needs to be changed.”

“Then don’t let them change who you are.” Lena then offered her a small smile and it somehow placated Kara’s fears. “Never let them change you. And if you somehow feel that you’re changing, I’m here for you. I’ll set you right back on your tracks. I’ll always be here for you as long as these people and the time would allow us.”

“What do you mean by as long as they would allow us?” Kara asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Well…” Lena paused and there was a split second where Kara saw the brunette hesitate before steeling her resolve and continued. “It won’t be forever. Us being here, I mean. Time will come that they would decide that we’re done with our therapy, whether it may be successful or not, and one of us would eventually be shipped back to the mainland first.”

“How long have you been here?” Kara asked which only made Lena smile sadly and the blonde found herself to be dreading the brunette’s answer.

“Almost seven months.”

It took all Kara’s will not to draw a sharp intake of breath. Lena had been here a month even longer than Maggie and there was a high chance that Lena was close to being brought back to National City’s mainland.

“Hey…” Lena held her hand and squeezed it gently. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” Kara answered as she licked her lips that had seemingly gotten dry. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Lena looked at her, forehead creased with worry. Kara could see that the brunette wasn’t convinced with her answer so she just gave Lena a smile before she was being called by an attendant again.

“Miss Zor-El?”

Lena’s gaze flitted towards Kara then the attendant then back at Kara before stepping back.

“I’ll see you later.” The brunette uttered softly and left the room to go who knows where.

As for Kara, she took one final glance to where Lena was just a few seconds ago before letting herself get whisked away by the attendant.

**

After her session, Kara trudged towards a shade near the facility’s entrance and there she saw Maggie standing beside a bench as if waiting for something or someone. When Maggie saw her, the shorter woman’s eyes lit up.

“You’re back!” Maggie exclaimed, looking excited by Kara’s return. So it was her whom the shorter woman had been waiting for. It had already been two hours since Kara’s therapy session started and it was quite unnerving if you ask her.

“I am.” Kara gave the shorter woman a small but genuine smile before sitting on the bench. Somehow, Maggie’s excitement seemed to affect her mood… in a good way, that is. Then she remembered something. “You know, you could have sat while you waited, right?”

Maggie waved her hand dismissively. “Nah. I had been sitting for quite long already, actually.”

Kara just nodded and stayed silent. Then Maggie, being Maggie, lobbed her a question.

“So…” Maggie drawled. “How was it?”

“She asked me tons of questions.” Kara answered. “Personal questions. After that, I was sent to a room and they made me watch a video of Mike introducing his self and saying a bunch of crap about who he really is. They even played it on loop!”

Maggie gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s their therapy for you. If it makes you feel any better, Reign also asked me personal and very sensitive questions, too, and made me open up about my sexuality when I first stepped foot on this island.”

“Huh... It somehow did make me feel better.” Kara said as she chuckled.

“Kara?” Maggie visibly stiffened at the sound of Lena’s voice.

Kara just gave her a look before acknowledging Lena’s presence. “I’m here.”

Lena made her way towards the blonde and she noticed that she had company. “Sawyer.”

Maggie gave Lena a curt nod. “Luthor.”

“Mind if I join you two?” Lena asked though Kara was aware that the brunette didn’t really need the shorter woman’s permission. She was just being polite… she can’t help but to feel a sudden tension between the two though.

“If I said no, would you leave?” Maggie asked challengingly with a raised brow. The blonde knows that even Maggie knew what the answer was already.

Lena chuckled silently before answering. “Perhaps not.”

There was a moment of silence which made Kara uncomfortable and the blonde was about to break it when the tension suddenly dissipated as Maggie laughed lightly. “Then, no. I don’t mind. Not worth the hassle.”

Lena laughed as well and sat beside the blonde. If Maggie was being skeptic that Lena was there with them, she didn’t let it show. Instead, it was like she hasn’t shown Kara her dislike towards the Luthor.

“Are you okay?” It was the first thing that Lena asked when she already had Kara at a proper talking distance. Worry was lacing her tone and it warmed Kara’s heart to know that Lena was worried about her.

“I will be.” Was what Kara answered and gave the brunette a small smile. “It’s- I mean, I’m just overwhelmed with just about everything here.”

Lena gave her the same sympathetic look that Maggie gave her just a few minutes ago and just placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“So…” Maggie drawled again. “What’s up with you two?”

Kara looked at Maggie with furrowed brows. God, I swear I would really end up having a wrinkle at the age of 26. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno.” Maggie shrugged. “I mean, how did you both meet? Like, one minute you were asking about her for you didn’t know who she was then the next, you are close as hell.”

Lena’s brow shot up and she gave Kara an amused look, the corner of her lips quirked up, bordering a smirk. “So you really didn’t know who I was before.”

Kara’s cheeks were tinged with pink in embarrassment as she glared at Maggie. The shorter woman just gave her an apologetic smile and another shrug.

“To answer your question, Maggie…” Kara was still glaring at the short woman as she gave her answer. “She’s the one I told you who screwed me over yesterday.”

“And she’s still holding onto that grudge." Lena added which made the shorter woman grin.

Maggie noticed that the blonde was still glaring but she seemed unperturbed at Kara’s glare and she even manage to chuckle. “You’re adorable when you make those faces, Zor-El. You’re not even close to being threatening at all.”

“What?!” Kara asked in disbelief. “Hey! I can look really mean if I want to. Right, Lena?”

Lena made a face as she shook her head. “As much as I want to side with you, darling, I’m afraid detective shorty over here is right.”

This earned Lena a protest of “hey!” from Maggie which made her snort.

“I hate you both.” Kara mumbled and both Lena and Maggie cooed.

“I know you don’t.” Maggie said with a grin.

“You are most definitely incapable of that kind of emotion, darling.” Lena added.

“Whatever.” Kara just grumbled and before she knew it, she was already sandwiched by both giggling women, giving her a tight hug which made her whine in protest. Deep down though, she liked it. She liked not being alone in this island. She liked how kind Maggie and Lena were to her even though she and Lena had gotten on the wrong foot at first for a little while. And she liked that both women were starting to get along. Just like what Kara had initially thought, all it needed for Maggie and Lena to get along was just a little conversation to slowly get to know each other.

**

Days have gone in a blur and it had been weeks since Kara had been prisoned in the island. In that span of weeks, she had the time to take a stroll on the whole island and it was breathtaking if only it didn’t serve as a prison, in a way, for them. The shade had been their spot and so far, no one still had any idea about hers and Lena’s cave. They eventually told Maggie about the cave for they didn’t want the shorter woman to be left out. They went at the cave occasionally, sometimes the three of them together would come but it was mostly just Kara and Lena alone, when things gets a bit rough for either one of them.

Right now, the three of them just finished their respective therapies and they were given the time of the day to do whatever they want…with certain limitations, of course.

“You know…” Maggie uttered, shattering the silence that was looming between the three of them. “… the two of you had been really close.”

Kara tilted her head in confusion, side eyeing Maggie. “Haven’t we all?”

Maggie shook her head. “No. What I mean is, like, really close. Like there’s something going on between the two of you.”

Lena stayed silent and had seemingly decided to let Kara do all the talking. Kara noticed it as well and the blonde read it as a discomfort so she immediately wracked her brain to give Maggie an answer in order for the short woman to drop the subject. “There’s nothing going on between the two of us, Mags. We’re just friends just like you and I are.”

“Yeah?” Maggie was clearly unsatisfied with Kara’s answer. “We don’t hold hands like you and Lena do. I don’t give you affectionate kisses on your cheek like Lena gives you. I don’t blush at something both of you says, and I, unlike Lena, certainly don’t give flirty remarks towards you openly.”

“Why do I suddenly feel attacked?” Lena quipped with a slight smile.

Kara snorted. “You’re not the only one, Lee. But, really.” The blonde shifted her attention back towards Maggie. “There really isn’t something between the two of us. You’re just reading too much into it. And besides, I once mentioned that I already have someone back home, right?”

“What?!” Maggie asked in shock and even Lena was giving her a weird look. “I thought you’re not interested in that douchebag?”

“I wasn’t referring to Mike, silly. You remember I told you about James, the nobody that my aunt loathes?” Kara asked then Maggie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when she remembered that there had been indeed one time where Kara had mentioned about that other man and Kara saw how the shorter woman flitted her gaze towards the brunette and her eyes flashed something that Kara would only presume as worry much to the blonde’s confusion.

Apart from that, Kara also noticed how Lena had stiffen with her lips pursed into a thin line and Kara was worried that Lena might be mad for keeping this kind of information about her from the brunette when Maggie knew about it. She wanted to say something, to apologize, but she didn’t know what to say or where to start so they finished their stroll in an awkward silence. Even Maggie went completely silent, looking like she was engrossed in her own thoughts in just a snap.

“Lee? Are you okay?” Kara asked worriedly when they have reached their spot.

“Hmm?” Lena asked distractedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know…” Kara looked down as she nervously played at the hem on one of the sleeves of her dress. “You just seemed unusually quiet.”

“Everything’s fine, Kara. Don’t worry.” One reason that Kara knew that there was something wrong? Lena dropped the endearment she always used in addressing Kara. She had never called Kara by her name anymore after her conversation with Lena at the comfort room and when the brunette came looking for her after her first therapy and she knew right then and there that she was the reason of Lena’s unusual silence.

“Lee,I-“ Kara was about to apologize and explain herself when Lena had cut her off.

“I forgot that there was something important that I had to do. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Without waiting for any response, Lena slinked away from them and headed inside the facility. As Kara was watching her leave, she couldn’t help but to feel like there were thousands of needles pricking her chest and she felt dread at the pit of her stomach. What did she do? She was unaware that she was gritting her teeth and was clenching her fists tightly when Maggie gently eased her hands.

When she opened her hand, she saw her nails had blood on its tips and there were crescent shaped cuts on both of her palms.

Maggie looked like there were a lot of things that she wanted to say to Kara but decided to keep her mouth shut and settled on a soft “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

Kara nodded silently and let herself get whisked away by Maggie, her thoughts just kept wandering towards a certain brunette.

Maggi led the blonde in their room and rummaged at their personal first aid kit. When she had gathered everything that she needed, she made Kara sit on her bed and started to assess Kara’s wounds.

“Do you think I did or have said something wrong?” Kara asked Maggie as the shorter woman tended her wounds.

There was a moment of silence before Maggie answered her. “No, Kara. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why do I feel bad?” Kara asked again in what seemed to be in desperation. “It’s like I’ve said something that made her somehow distant in just a snap. Was it because I didn’t tell her about James?”

Maggie sighed as she wrapped Kara’s hand up. “The only person who can answer that is Lena herself. Now, I want you to keep this on for a while, okay?”

Kara’s brows furrowed with how Maggie answered her. She can feel that Maggie was holding something back and has no intention of telling Kara what it was, instead, Maggie was changing the subject.

But Kara didn’t want to drop the subject.

“Maggie, I know that you know something given how perceptive you are.” Kara pushed and Maggie pursed her lips. “What happened a while ago?”

“Do you like Lena?” Maggie countered with a question of her own which made Kara even more confused.

Nevertheless, she still answered. “Of course, I do. Like you, she’s also my best friend. Why wouldn’t I like her?”

Maggie shook her head. “I mean, do you like her in a way that isn’t platonic?”

That made her pause and think. Does she? Sure, she likes Lena more than anyone, even a little bit more than Maggie, and that she’s feeling something strange whenever she’s with the brunette but, that’s only because she’s her best friend… right?

“Mags, you know that James is the one that I like.”

“That doesn’t answer my question though.”

Kara rolled her eyes at how difficult Maggie was currently. “What does this have to do with Lena’s behavior? Is Lena hiding something from me?”

“It isn’t really my place to tell.” Maggie uttered softly.

“So you do know something.”

Maggie nodded slowly, avoiding Kara’s gaze. “I mean, technically, she hasn’t said anything. I just put two and two together. I’m quite sure that even Lena knows that I know.”

Kara then scoffed. Call her shallow but never had she ever felt this betrayed before. “And it’s okay for you to keep me in the dark?”

This made the shorter woman look directly at her with wide eyes. “What?! No! I told you, I’m not in the position to say anything even if I wanted to. Like I said, Lena doesn’t know that I know and mind you that it’s also just a hunch. What if I’m wrong, huh? You have to understand, Kara, that I’m not saying anything because I respect Lena just as much as I respect you.”

“Really?!” Kara was getting more and more frustrated at how Maggie was being cryptic that she wasn’t even thinking about the next words that came tumbling out her mouth. “Because from what I remembered, you weren’t really keen on making friends with her in the first place.”

“You’re really going to pull this stunt on me, Zor-El?” Maggie looked at her with sheer disbelief and Kara could see the hurt reflecting in the shorter woman’s eyes and it doubled how bad Kara felt when she realized what she had just said.

“No, Maggie, I-“ She scrambled on to apologize but just like what happened with Lena, her apology was cut short when Maggie spoke again.

“I’ll admit that I didn’t want to do anything with Lena before but just in case that you forgot, you were the one who suggested that I should try and talk to her and talk to her was what I did. And guess what? You were right. You shouldn’t judge someone without proper investigation so, I gave her a shot. Now, just because I’m showing respect towards our friend, you’re gonna dig whatever that was already buried deep in the past?” The fire in Maggie’s eyes weren’t something that Kara has ever seen from the shorter woman before and it made the blonde visibly shrink.

“I’m sorry…” Kara whispered shakily as she felt a sting in her eyes.

“Here’s the thing…” Maggie paused and breathed out a deep sigh before she continued. “I know I already told you this but, I feel like I should say it again. Everyone is entitled to have their own secrets, Kara, so as soon as you get your shit together and ingrain that in your mind, the better.”

With that said, Maggie left her alone and it suddenly became so silent that the only sound that you’ll hear was the sob that escaped from Kara’s lips.

**

Dinner came and Kara wasn’t really ready to face the two. She wasn’t even sure if Maggie would still be sitting with her or if Lena would even be there.

“It’s now or never, Kara.” She mumbled to herself as she made her way towards the garden.

When she got there, much to her surprise, she saw both women sitting at their usual table, talking casually and this caused her to hesitate. Would they still welcome her? Or even if they did, would they still talk to her? Kara was about to just turn on her heels and run back to their room when Lena noticed her and the brunette waved at her. This gesture made Maggie turn her line of sight to where she was and the shorter woman offered her a small smile.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she trudged towards the two and sat on her usual seat, silently looking down at her plate.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Lena commented. “Are you okay?”

Kara bit back a retort about how Lena behaved just exactly the same way earlier but just settled on a silent nod. She doesn’t really know what to say because, first and foremost, she was ashamed on how she behaved towards Maggie and secondly, she felt bad on how she left Lena out about an important piece of information on her.

“Smile, Zor-El. You look like the world is ending any minute.” Maggie said with the usual playfulness in her tone.

Kara looked at the two of them and it was enough for her tears to start building up again. Maggie and Lena both jumped up their seats and scrambled on their feet towards Kara immediately as soon as they saw Kara’s glossy eyes.

“I- I didn’t mean to… W-what I said… I’m sorry… Please don’t hate me…” Was all that Kara could say and though broken, the two understood what the blonde meant and they engulfed Kara with a warm hug.

“Shh… It’s fine.” Lena reassured her and kissed her forehead. “We can never hate you.”

And though Maggie didn’t say anything, she gave Kara’s hand a gentle squeeze as she stroked the blonde’s hair in a comforting manner.

Kara was beyond relieved that she didn’t do any permanent damage on their friendship because she doesn’t know what she would do if she loses either one or both of them.

“Everything okay here?” An attendant queried as he noticed them.

“Yes, everything is fine.” Lena immediately answered.

“Just that Zor-El here is having homesickness.” Maggie added.

The attendant seem to have bought the lie when he nodded in understanding. “We get that a lot here.”

“I’m sure you do.” Lena agreed and gave the attendant a smile what seemed like a genuine smile but Kara knew Lena’s smile was faked. God, how does she look and sound so convincing?

“You know, if you want to get out of here fast, you have to show that you’re having a progress.” The attendant told them and Kara saw how Lena and Maggie shifted in a defensive manner. Even Kara herself had visibly stiffened as well. Was this attendant mocking them?

“Yes, we’re quite aware of that. Now, will you please leave us in peace now?” Maggie snapped and the attendant looked apologetic. Like genuinely apologetic which was something new to the blonde. Attendants don’t give a damn about them not even bothered to have a proper conversation to them but this one… this one Kara felt was different among the rest.

“Of course. Forgive me if I have overstepped a line and had offended you unintentionally. If you need anything, you can look for me. Anything at all.” He bowed and lowered his voice. “I wasn’t really trying to imply anything but… a hint of how to get out of here fast.” Kara’s eyes widened and she was sure as hell that Maggie’s brow was raised and Lena… well… she can only guess that Lena would have a schooled expression but she knows that the gears on her head were turning.

“Just so you know I don’t trust the way they run this facility. I’m just here for the salary and the technology.” He confided.

To say that the three of them were shocked was definitely an understatement. They never thought that they would get to see the day that an attendant of this facility would say that. Not to mention that he was saying that to patients- err… residents- who are quite reluctant in succumbing to their medication.

“Excuse me, mademoiselles.” He turned to leave, which Kara could guess to avoid suspicion, but before he could even get further away from them, Lena called him.

“Hey. Attendant.” He turned to face them again and the brunette asked. “What’s your name?”

Kara swore she saw the attendant blush when he gave his answer and she suddenly felt irritated for no reason.

“Winslow Schott Jr. at your service. And may I add that I’m a huge fan of your inventions, Miss Luthor. It’s really an honor to meet you. Also, your researches are also awe-inspiring most especially your research for a cure for cancer.” The attendant rambled. “If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Luthor, is it really under development? The cure, I mean?”

“Wow. You really are a fan. I can’t say I’m not flattered.” Lena said with a light laugh and Kara’s irritation grew even more. Why does he get to make Lena laugh so easily? “Thank you and yes. The cure is under development but it isn’t really a hundred percent sure if it will work or not. Call it a trial and error.”

“Whether successful or not, it is still amazing.”

Lena nodded. “Indeed it is.”

“If looks can kill, I bet that attendant is already dead on the spot.” Kara slightly and almost- almost- shrieked when Maggie suddenly spoke way too close in her ears.

Seeing this reaction made the shorter woman snort and she gave the blonde a nudge. “What’s the matter? Your eyes look like they’re shooting out laser beams.”

“Nothing.” Kara answered curtly.

“You sure?” The shorter woman egged on which made the blonde roll her eyes.

“Yes, Maggie. I’m quite sure.”

“Well…” Maggie drawled on as she gave Kara a shit-eating grin. “… it didn’t look like nothing to me.”

“What didn’t look like nothing?”

Lena interjected in between their banters. As they were preoccupied with their bantering, they didn’t notice that the attendant had already dismissed himself and had started to cater other residents.

“Nothing!” Kara squeaked and she internally berated herself. Really subtle, Kara. Really subtle.

“Oh… okay.” It was quite clear that Lena was still skeptical but, much to Kara’s relief, the brunette decided to just drop the subject.

“Celebrity over here.” Maggie jeered, obviously changing the subject, with a smirk playing on her lips.

Lena let out an unladylike snort followed by a light chuckle. “Shut up.”

“He has a crush on you.” Kara pointed out as she wiped her tearstained cheeks.

“And you’re jealous.” Lena retorted with a grin.

Kara rolled her eyes. “Am not.”

“You sure as hell are.” Maggie chimed in.

Lena rested her chin the blonde’s shoulder as she mimicked Reign’s intonations. “Don’t you worry, my little sweetheart. I assure you that I would most definitely pick you over any other man or woman in a heartbeat.”

Kara hoped that Lena didn’t hear her breath hitch and she was thankful that the brunette’s line of sight couldn’t reach her face because she was sure as hell that, by the look of amusement Maggie was giving her, her face would rival a tomato’s redness.

“I hate you both.” Kara mumbled under her breath but it was loud enough for the two women to hear it.

“Nope.” Maggie said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “You love us.”

“Mhm.” Lena hummed in agreement which made Kara roll her eyes, again, good-naturedly.

More than anything else. She thought to herself and let herself be engulfed with hugs again.

“Could we trust him though?” Maggie later on then mused out loud and a chorus of “I guess not” and “definitely not” came from the brunette and the blonde.

Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “Of course we won’t.”

“But, I think we should give him a shot.” Lena suggested and quickly elaborated when her friends gave her a weird look. “I mean, if what he had said was true, I think he could really be of great help. Think about it. Having help from the inside could help us escape this goddamn island.”

Maggie and Kara were silent. Both were thinking about what Lena had just said.

“Well, shit, Luthor.” Maggie eventually voiced out. “You really are a genius.”

Lena just shook her head and chuckled as she returned to her seat and started to eat the dinner that was served. Apparently, Lena was the only one who appreciated these, what Kara and Maggie would only think of as a poor excuse of a dinner.

Kara would quote and unquote that Lena specifically said that what the attendant told her was: “Our diet is individually calibrated for your optimum physical health and your mental equilibrium.” and Kara grimaced afterwards which made Lena laugh.

**

The next morning, Kara was frantically searching for something and Maggie couldn’t help but notice Kara’s distress.

“What are you looking for?” Maggie asked out of confusion.

“My necklace.” Kara briefly answered as she tossed her sheets and upturned her pillows.

Maggie tilted her head with her brows furrowed. “Wait, what necklace?”

“The one that I’m always wearing.”

“The sapphire?”

“Yes.”

“That’s weird.” Maggie started to help Kara find the missing necklace. “You never take it off.”

“I know!” Kara exclaimed as she threw her pillow that was currently on her grasp. “I can’t lose that necklace. It’s… it’s a family heirloom and I just can’t lose that necklace.”

Kara was on the brink of tears when Maggie placed a comforting hand on her arm.

“Hey… we’re going to find it, okay?” Maggie reassured her. “I’ll help you find that necklace.”

The blonde sniffed as she slowly nodded.

“Good. Now, how about you trace your tracks yesterday?” Maggie suggested. “I’ll try and search other grounds.”

“Okay.” Kara acquiesced. “Let’s do that.”

They parted ways and Kara retraced her tracks the day before. She had been looking and asking everywhere for a while already yet there was still no sign of her necklace.

“Come on, where are you?” She grumbled to herself as she looked under the bushes of the garden.

“What’s a pretty woman like you rummaging the bushes, let alone dropped on the ground, this early in the morning?” Kara jumped in surprise and spun around to see a smiling- and much to her confusion, was tired looking but still beautiful- Lena and she was immediately stunned to see how beautiful the brunette’s eyes were under the sun. It wasn’t new to her for she gets to see it every day but every time she gets to see it, there are just some moments that she gets enticed by it. It actually never ceases to amaze her.

“You okay?” Lena’s smile didn’t falter and Kara swore that Lena had the most charming smile she had ever seen.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Lena’s expression now shifted with worry when Kara wasn’t responding and Kara internally kicked herself for spacing out… or was she really spacing out? No. she was daydreaming.

“W-what? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I- I mean, no! I most definitely am not.” Kara stuttered as she remembered why she was here and she started to ramble. “I woke up this morning then I started to stretch, just like I always do- not that you needed to know that, but yeah- and w- when I… when I try to clasp on my chest, it was gone and I can’t possibly lose it! I-it’s… I mean, my parents gave it to me and-“

“Hey, hey. Slow down.” Lena cut Kara’s rambling. “What happened? What’s gotten you so worked up this early in the morning?”

“My necklace is gone, Lee. The one with a sapphire on it.” Kara answered, her voice was already quivering.

Lena looked from left to right looking like she was scanning her surroundings. “Come with me.”

The brunette grabbed Kara’s hand and laced their fingers together as she pulled her towards a direction that was already familiar to the blonde and Kara felt something in her stomach. Like it was churning or something like that and her heart was beating fast like it always has whenever Lena was around and she was definitely sure that it wasn’t normal anymore. When they have reached their cave, Lena whirled around to face her. “Look… I need to tell you something.”

Though she was a bit bewildered as to why Lena dragged her on their secret spot, Kara gave Lena an expectant look and prompted for the brunette to continue. Lena nodded and fished something out of the pocket of her dress and her eyes widened when she saw what Lena had gotten out of her pocket.

It was her missing necklace.

“Where did you get that?” Kara demanded, her voice bordering irritation as she snatched the necklace from Lena’s grasp.

“I- I, uhh…” Lena stammered as she constantly shifted her weight from one foot to another, trying to find the right words to tell the blonde. “I got it last night. I sneaked in your room and I took it off from you.”

“You what?!” Kara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t even think how Lena, of all people, could do this to her. She was looking at Lena like it was the first time that she had seen the brunette. Somehow, there was a flash of hurt crossed Lena’s face by how Kara was looking at her.

“Kara, let me explain. Please.” Lena pleaded and Kara could hear the desperation in her voice. “Please?”

Closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath, Kara slowly nodded. She wanted to be mad at the brunette but, she wanted to hear Lena’s side first. Lena must have a good explanation as to why she had done this…

And apparently she did.

“You see… last night was the first time that I had ever stayed up the whole night.” Lena started.

“So that’s why you looked tired.” Kara said as she realized the reason why the brunette had bags under her eyes.

Lena nodded to confirm Kara’s statement. “Pretty much, yeah. Anyway, I did the same routine that I do on a daily basis. Eat everything they offered. Do every exercises and activities that they instructed for us to do. Took a stroll and ate dinner with you and Maggie, but there was just one thing that I didn’t manage to do…”

Lena pursed her lips as she paused for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t drink anything that they served last night.”

Kara’s brows were furrowed in concentration as she held on to every word of Lena. The more Lena explained, the more she became enlightened.

“Have you ever wondered why I’m still here even though I know how to get out of this island? Why we’re always knocked out cold when our bedtime comes?” Lena queried which made the blonde wonder why exactly Lena was still here. The thought never really crossed her mind until now. And yes, she admits that she sometimes lacks awareness on her surroundings but, that’s currently not the issue here.

“Hey.” She was brought back to reality when someone snapped a finger on her face. “Kara, are you listening?”

“I’m so sorry. I spaced out for a bit.” Kara immediately apologized, face flushed with embarrassment. “You know I tend to do that sometimes.”

“I do but, this isn’t the time for that. Please do focus.” Lena sighed and Kara felt bad. She now gave the brunette her utmost attention, silently swearing that she would pay attention. “As I was saying, we were knocked out not because we were tired. It’s because they’ve been drugging us. They have been doing it this whole time.”

Kara breathed out a shaky breath. She didn’t realize that she had been holding her breath while Lena was laying out everything she knew. “How… how did you know that it was the drinks?”

“Winn, the attendant we met, though not directly, gave me the tip.” Lena answered. “I was about to drink my share when our gazes met and he was like giving me a signal. If I wasn’t paying any attention, I would’ve missed it, but luckily, I was indeed paying attention. When the rim of the glass touched my lips, he subtly shook his head and when I had set my cup down, he was like giving me a nod of approval.

“I waited for the right time and when I was dead sure that everyone was already asleep, I snuck out of my room and went to yours. To test my theory that we really have been drugged all along and there was nothing that could wake us up, I took your necklace. You didn’t even stir in your sleep. Whether you’ve been looking for that necklace or not- which I knew that you would- believe me, Kara, I still would’ve given it back to you.”

The brunette gently grabbed Kara’s hand again and tugged her at the back of the cave. Of course, she knew about this part of the cave even though they didn’t really bother going on this particular side. What she didn’t know was what was hiding within it. Behind a large rock, just enough to obscure the view, there was a rowboat waiting to be used.

“I’ve been planning on escaping this island for months now and I didn’t get the chance to because every single fucking night, I always end up falling asleep.” Lena started to explain again and Kara slightly winced at the way Lena cursed. “Now, I know that we really do have a chance at getting out of this island.”

“But… how?” Kara asked again. “This island is heavily guarded.”

“Not at night it isn’t.” Lena immediately answered. “Sure, they’re still patrolling the grounds… but not the sea, they don’t. Apart from sneaking around, I also checked outside. There was nobody around the sea’s perimeter. Seems like they’re far too confident that all of us are already asleep and that there’s no way that we should be able to escape.”

“Lee…” Kara didn’t know what to say. She was overwhelmed with the information that she had just learned.

Lena now held both Kara’s hands as she gazed at the blonde’s sapphire eyes. “I’m leaving tonight. Come with me. It’s only ten miles, Kara. We can do this.”

Kara stared at Lena for a moment before she dared to ask. “Where would we go?”

Lena shrugged. “Somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Like, back to our old lives?”

“It depends… but it doesn’t have to be like that if you don’t want to.”

The blonde was silent still trying to process everything when a thought just hit her. “What about Maggie? We can’t just leave her here.”

“I know. We’re taking her with us.” Lena reassured her.

“I’m telling her now.” Kara was about to run off to find Maggie when Lena stopped her.

“Kara, wait.” She turned to look at Lena and waited for the brunette to continue. “Just… be careful. Don’t give out too much information. We don’t know who’s lurking around, listening to anything and everything. After all, even the walls have ears.”

Kara nodded and bolted towards the facility. This was it. Freedom was finally within their grasp and Kara couldn’t wait to get out of the island together with Maggie and Lena.

[moody-bloosh]

moth to a flame (Risotto Nero)

passione project time, i know i haven’t finished any of the series im working on but i have no self control so here it is. wow, im so so happy to finally be able to share this story with you all, i’ve been working on this since 2019 and i am so so glad that this first part is done. y’all know this was supposed to be a story with abbacchio. but while i was coming up with the finer details of what i wanted the story to be i felt like risotto fit the story more. so anyway here it is. also this is a bit of a spicy piece, so please be warned. I think this is one of the heaviest fics I’ve ever written so please skip this if you are feeling faint. 

also finally i wrote a cheating au with risotto! but this time, you guys are the ones cheating!! i had another one planned but mayhaps, please enjoy this food for the time being. uwu 

i hope you all enjoy this beCAUSE I SURE DID ENJOY WRITING THIS SUFFERING. also fem!reader im sorry i couldnt write this with gender neutral pronouns :( 

content warning: cheating, domestic abuse

pairings: (mentioned) Diavolo x Reader, Risotto Nero x Reader 

“We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.” - Aemon Targaryen, A Game of Thrones 

You are not his.

He knows that, he knows that very well. But still, he tempts fate. Because what is he to do when the love of his life belongs to another man? Belongs in fact, to the strongest man in all of the land: the Emperor, himself, Diavolo.

It is routine for him now, to visit you long after the Emperor has left your bedchambers. He clasps the jar of soothing balm in his hands and when he is sure that there are no more prying eyes trained on you or him. He slowly knocks on the door. He makes sure to vary each knock so that you know it is him and no one else. 

He hears you shuffle around your room and then your small voice comes through the door, telling him to, “please, come in.” 

Risotto steels himself; he has seen more horrific things in his life, in his line of work, it is inevitable. But he can never quite get used to the sight of your bruised up body as you open the door for him. 

As always, your smile is radiant, beautiful, unhindered even by the bruises that dot your body. He brings a trembling hand over your cheek, to brush against the bright red mark left undoubtedly by the emperor’s own hand. You lean into his cold touch, a soothing balm against your burning cheek. And your heart grows heavy at the thought of him standing outside your door, privy to all your crying and pleading. 

“I am sorry you had to witness all that unpleasantness, Risotto.”  

He kisses you on your forehead as gently as he can. So that he doesn’t cause you any more pain than necessary. 

“I am sorry I cannot protect you from him, your majesty.” 

And though some part of you hates it, some part of you wants him to just take you away. You know that doing so would only be a death warrant. No, he could not protect you from Diavolo now. But someday soon, if Heaven was kind enough. Soon you could do as you wished, but for now you had to endure. You had to survive. 

Some day, some day Diavolo would receive his comeuppance. But for now, you would hide your fangs and bide your time. 

it was much easier passing time when you had Risotto by your side, after all. 

When Risotto enters your chambers he is no longer just your bodyguard. He is your beloved, the only man who has ever treated you with a shred of sincere kindness since you entered the palace. You can still remember the day he had been introduced to you. All doom and gloom, a monster in the shape of a man, you had thought. And Diavolo had smirked at the sight of your fear. 

You were so frightened by his strange eyes, but upon closer inspection. You found something familiar lurking within them. So even though it frightened you, you resolved to be kind to him, you decided to give him all the love you were not given a chance to devote to the Emperor. 

Because you saw little parts of yourself in him, someone broken, someone lost, someone cast out. And you had hoped that perhaps, if you could befriend him, you could stave off the loneliness that you believed you would be resigned to. 

For someone like him, who knew only of taking and destroying, for you to gift him with softness and tenderness, how could he ever have stood a chance? Before he knew it, you had planted yourself firmly into the labyrinth of his heart. Where once he had hoped only to serve you, to protect you… He found himself wanting you, desiring you for himself. 

Though in the past, he had attempted to deny his feelings for you, he gradually found that it was as futile as attempting to count the stars in the sky. He was drawn irrevocably to you, the sweet Empress with a smile that could warm even his cold, blackened heart. 

The two of you were permitted to be together only under the cover of darkness. In the pitch black secrecy that night offered, he could call you his and you could call him wholly and truly yours. 

He treats your wounds and bruises as calmly as he can though it breaks his heart each and every time to see you so battered. Every fresh bruise has him imagining how he will kill Diavolo, how he will make him suffer as you have suffered. And this he will never admit out loud, but some deep, dark part of him marvels at how you have managed to last this long. He thinks that perhaps in some twisted way, even Diavolo, himself, was not immune to your charms. 

He takes on a dangerous expression as he considers the Emperor. The man who was the primary cause for all your suffering. And you reach out to him with a soft touch, you ruffle his hair playfully and bring him out of his dark thoughts. 

“Tonight, let us not think of displeasing things, my love. I don’t want to waste any of these precious moments I have with you, after all.” 

As you leaned in to kiss him, he would hold you. And when you pulled back for a breath, he would pepper feather light kisses all over your face. He would touch you with a softness you never would have known that he would be capable of. Some days he indulges, he holds you while you sleep. Some days he is weak and with your permission, he gives in to his more carnal desires. Usually, he holds your hand as you fall asleep. 

And always, before you drift off to sleep, you tell him. 

“I love you.” 

Risotto always tells you that he does not deserve your love. But you had simply thought that such declarations were simply part of his reserved, humble nature. 

You had no idea that it was because there was a weight around his heart that prevented him from truly reciprocating your affections. He had a secret, a secret not even you were allowed to know. 

But he was your darling, beloved Risotto… Your only friend, your only ally. 

He could never hurt you… could he? 

“Serve the Empress well as her bodyguard,” Diavolo instructs. 

He doesn’t even bother to look at Risotto when he issues his commands. His gaze is trained only on the portrait of you set haphazardly in a corner of his room. Later, he will instruct some servant to set it up properly before your arrival. He had to keep up appearances after all. 

“And when the time comes that I have no more need of her…” 

Risotto keeps his eyes trained to the floor. He is impassive, already used to whatever outlandish thing the Emperor demands of him. These days he wonders, if he had known you sooner, would he have reacted differently? 

“Eliminate her.” 

Risotto bows, “as you wish, Imperatore.” 

That night replays in his mind like bleeding out on the floor. It cuts into him, day in and day out, never fully healing. He feels the wound grow deeper whenever you smile and look at him like he is all the good in the world, whenever he feels your soft breath against his chest as he holds you on nights that are too difficult, whenever you tell him you love him… 

He holds you tighter then and you remain blissfully unaware as to his true function. You think that he is simply being sweet with you, so that will prompt you to hug him back. You nuzzle against him and you tell him that you love him. Not knowing that your kindness, your tenderness, only twists the knife lodged in his heart. 

“I will protect you, _____,” Risotto tells you quietly. “I swear it.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” you say, a radiant smile blooming on your lips as you look up at him. “I feel safest when I am with you, my love.” 

He kisses you then. He feels guilty, he feels delirious, he is so in love with you. That is why, he doesn’t want to tell you, he doesn’t know how to tell you. And how could he? How could he bring himself to reveal that he was sworn to end your life should the Emperor wish it? So he kisses you instead, as if that will solve everything. 

He hopes that you can forgive him for his selfishness. 

He loves you. He loves you more than anything in this world. 

And that is why he cannot tell you. 

All he can do is hope that the day should never come that he is to end your life. 

Until then he will serve you with all his might, he will comfort you when you weep in his arms, he will kiss you with all the passion he keeps barely restrained, he will bring you the medicine you so desperately need to treat the scars and bruises that pop up more and more frequently when your husband visits. And on nights where the Emperor is far away and there are no eyes trained on the two of you, he keeps you company, he keeps your bed warm.

He is your bodyguard, sworn to protect you even at the cost of his own life. And yet, he does not even know how to protect you from himself. 

[herpowerisdeath]

Affected { Nessian Fanfic }

Summary: Nesta decided that the time for her to learn how to defend herself has come and passed, but Feyre seems restless in her “invitations”, so, one day, just to shut her youngest sister's mouth, she agrees.

This history is part of “The Blue-gray Fire”. Check for other works here.

Check here for more ACOTAR fanfics. 

I.

The mirror’s reflection would make her shudder, if she was willing to show any body reaction.

Nesta was using pants for the first time in her life -- dark, tight and reinforced on the knees with leather. It was Feyre’s, of course. Her sister had borrowed her a pair of training clothes almost two weeks ago, after their last arguing about how Nesta was dealing with her own abilities after the war.

“I said no.” Nesta’s voice was like a whip, cutting its way thru the air around them.

“I heard you from the first time, and the second, and the th--.” Feyre answered, just one step behind, keeping Nesta from avoiding it again.

“Stop following me like a starved dog.” She hissed, trying hard to not increase the rhythm of her steps.

“Then give me a good reason.” The youngest fae raised her index finger, going around Nesta to stop her. “One, and I’ll never ask again.”

Feyre’s eyes were burning with the untamed dare. The same eyes as her own, the same eyes as their mother. She knew that her own eyes were pale blue flames now, her heart racing with the challenge. And then, just as a cold winter wind, it was all wiped away, the warm emotions living her core, her critical and rational mind taking over.

She turned to the other side, dismissing Feyre completely, and restarted walking.

“Tell me when you quit hiding.” 

And that was it, that single line made her column straightened, her nails digging into her palms with strength enough to hurt as she stormed in the direction of her room.

Nesta blinked, trying to get used with the reflection, with the feeling of the tissue touching her legs. Should it look like this? 

The only women she saw dressing it were Feyre, Morrigan and Amren and the illyrian outfits had looked different in any of them. Feyre’s was tight, but not much, Morrigan’s was like a second skin, much like the boys’, Amren looked like a child’s suit, which she supposed it was, even if no one mentioned.

Feyre’s clothes were a little big on her body, she decided after a detailed examination. Her slim legs didn’t have muscles enough to stretch the material, but at least they were the same waist and hip size.

Nesta rolled up the sleeves of the matching shirt, folding them past her elbows. The tissue was slightly transparent, just enough to give a light sensation and allow her skin to breathe under it. You will be sweating like a farm worker, her mind remembered with a disgusted noise.

And, if she stayed one minute more standing there, she would have done a great job in convincing herself to dismiss Feyre entirely. But she wasn’t hiding, she would never hide again from her sisters, not when they needed something, not when they wanted something. Never again.

II.

Nesta has always been silent, a whisper of steel and flame, contained, controlled, and her steps matched it. The fae grace had shaped her walking in something barely audible, unless she wanted to be heard -- which was definitely not the case.

It wasn’t hard to find the right spot, the sound of laughs reached her down stairs and ended before she finished going up. Small crashing sounds followed and she hurried just a little, without even notice the worry running in her veins.

Feyre’s back was turned to her, her once skinny body now detailed with slim muscles. She saw her sister’s hair braided tight, flying as she threw a sequence of punches -- right in Cassian’s covered hands. 

Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? The first thought in Nesta’s mind revealed how much she had absorbed in a few seconds. His long hair was wrapped with his usual strand of leather, or most of it -- a few threads had escaped and now clinged to his sweat-damp face. His controlled breath smashed into her as a wave, his heartbeat overloading her fae hearing. The lines of sweat that started at his neck followed a path down the dark hair on his chest, lower and lower until the waistband of his training  trousers.

Immediately, she stopped her gaze, a stone-cold mask taking over her features. After the battle with Hybern, she has been… How could she say? Sensitive, yes, sensitive to his presence, which, of course, bothers her to no end.

“What the hell, Feyre?!” Cassian complained, recoiling his hands, surprised with the sudden punch.

A tug in her lips threatened to form a smirk when she noticed that he had been distracted by her presence alone. Feyre turned, following Cassian’s forceful gaze. The smile in the other’s face was brighter than the golden light of the sun, casting its warmth in the roof, when she spotted Nesta.

Feyre moved forward, for sure to include Nesta right away in whatever she was doing, but the elder sister rose a polite hand to stop her. 

“I’ll observe for a while.” Showing certain in each step, she found her way to a long chair, propping her elbows in her knees to give Feyre - and Cassian - her full attention. 

She thought she saw her sister giving little excited jumps in her way back.

III.

Even if she wouldn’t admit, she enjoyed her accurate senses and was glad, at some point, for being able to see all their quick movements, catch the glimpses of change,  watch the light dancing in their wings when Cassian tried over and over to explain how the balance of Feyre’s body should be changed to use the wings in their full strength and power.

Feyre was positively terrible. She kept committing the same mistakes and her left wing could do everything faster than her right wing. 

It was beautiful, though, and it suited her well. Feyre has never been a creature of small vision, her dreams were higher than Nesta’s, she has known it since the day Feyre painted the night sky. One day she would fly thru it -- except  that it would be figuratively and not with real wings.

Her sister spreaded her dark wings, mimicking Cassian’s moves. He folded one wing as he punched forward, using the move to push him stronger. He did it with ease, repeating with the other side of his body to show himself, apparently. 

Nesta shifted, rolling her eyes, but keeping herself silent. She was trying to show some sort of approval, trust or whatever in Feyre’s abilities, she was trying to look like she believed wholly in the potential of her little sister. 

When Feyre fell face first, she was also trying to avoid the amusement in her eyes.

“Shit.” Feyre complained, rubbing her sore nose, following to rub her forehead.

Cassian’s laughter was still echoing when he offered a hand to help her out. 

“I think it’s enough of punching while having wings for today, I don’t want Az complaining that I’m stealing his job. Or Rhys complaining that I’m ruining his nights because you’re sore all over.” A sensual smirk appeared in Cassian’s lips and she watched her sister punch his arm, tired. He pretended it hurt anyways.

“Nesta could join us for the last part, I think.” Feyre suggested, her eyes big with the request.

“Yeah, Ness, unless you’re enjoying the view too much.” To prove his point, all the muscles in Cassian’s abdomen contracted, showing with more details his heavy worked out body, only cut by his war scars.

She snorted, raising to her feet and walking past him to stand next to Feyre. If the fae was willing to acknowledge, she would notice the change in her breathing, but she stood with an unbothered calm even while his eyes drank the view of her in those tight clothes.

Feyre’s eyebrows got up twice before Cassian retrieved the ability of speaking properly.

“10 push-ups, let’s see if you can lift anything heavier than a shoe.” 

He was staring right into her eyes when he said it, the muscles in his body shifting not with a rational command, but in response to the rage she now showed in her blue-gray eyes. He didn’t get to give her orders like this, who the hell he thinks --

“C’mon, Nesta. I’ll show you how.” Her sister’s hand was in hers after that, keeping her from bark an answer.

She followed Feyre’s lead, placing her arms in the right position and thanking for the leather reinforcing the tissue covering her knees. The first push-up had her going too low, and her flat belly almost touched the floor.

“Not so low.” Feyre whispered, already up again, with her arms straight.

Nesta had to reunite a great amount of force of will to raise her body, and then, down again. She could feel the pressure inside her ears as she forced herself up. Her arms started to tremble in the third push-up.

“You need to contract your core muscles or you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Cassian’s voice sounded very close to her. She could see his booted feet in her line of vision.

If she wasn’t so focused in not to fall, she would have grunted. But she did as she was told anyway, she was goddamn here already. 

Nesta was trying to contract everything, from her neck to her thighs. 

“Breath. In when you’re going up, out when you’re going down.”

How he even knew that she was running out of breath? Her focus had been completely in the strength.

When the eighth push-up came, she decided that it was a terrible idea. The war was over, they won, she had no reason to be here, sweating for nothing. But then she recalled how the things happened, how different it could have been if she mastered her powers, if she knew how to use the right weapons.

It made her go up again, exhaling the air so hard that it made a noise. She dared to look a little to her side as she lowered, very tempted to rest her head in the cold floor. Feyre was waiting for her, holding herself down in the way Nesta should be doing, the right way. Her sister's smile was still there, almost nudging her to the last push-up.

You’re not some weak lady, Nesta. Up, now! The order she gave  herself made her seem ridiculous, but at least her arms brought her up again, trembling terribly, almost giving up.

When she lowered herself, half falling in the floor, her decorum was gone. She rested her face for one entire minute in the cold rock of the floor before caring with anyone else. Her arms were aching and she could swear some weird substance was running in her veins, making her feel some sort of well even with the pain.

The next things were easier, or her body was now heated enough to not feel like one step from dying all the time. She discovered that she could run for a small period and she was good at stretching. In anything else, pretty much a disaster.

When the ‘last part’, as Feyre called, ended, her shirt was clinging to the sweat in her skin and she was thankful for wearing a bra. To her relief, Feyre looked just as wrecked. She wouldn’t give a single thought to the fact that Cassian still looked marvelous.

“Tomorrow, right after Feyre’s training. You better bring a towel, sweetheart.” His voice came from deep in his chest.

IV.

In the next day, Nesta was nowhere to be seen in the town house. She had spent the whole night mind-complaining about the soreness in her limbs. 

Amren’s place sounded like a great choice and she was already there right after breakfast, bringing the books and notes she had been reading. Never existed, in the long history of the fae world, someone like Amren, so they had been searching for similarities, anything to help in the discovery of which powers and tricks the older creature possessed.

It was also a good thing for her own. 

So far, Nesta had learned little about what she stole from the Cauldron, but she had finally being able to see her own mental shields in its complexity. They were not dark and hideous as she feared they would be; indeed, Nesta’s mental shields were made of steel, no a solid mass, but huge pieces of silvery steel, connected by rivers of white light, the same light that had appeared when they faced the king.

She was also able to create fire, a blue-ish flame, different of her sister’s and Beron’s own flames. It could burn all the same, though no smoke came from it and the touch was as freezing as death. She thought that she maybe would be strong enough to winnow, but wasn’t exactly eager to start a new potential failure.

They searched in the books all day, with many pauses to eat and to train their mental shields. Amren wasn’t solid, but a silver-grey smoke that repelled any of Nesta’s tries.

When she was mentally exhausted enough - and before Amren could decide to throw her out of the loft - she found her way to the town house, where a small bottle and a note were waiting for her in her bedroom's door.

“I should have known you would be sore, drink up, I’m flying you at 10am tomorrow.

Cassian.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the sloppy handwriting, but she drank it without a second thought.

V.

Whatever that drink was, it made all her limbs relax, even the tension in her back softened until she could barely feel it anymore. She slept a remarkably wonderful, dreamless sleep and only came back to consciousness when the warm sunlight touched her face.

She mumbled, too relaxed to think straight, turning to the other side to avoid the clarity.

The sheets’ touch in her skin and the comfy pillow almost dragged right back to that nice place in her mind, almost. 

Some rational, annoying part of Nesta’s mind noticed that the sunlight wasn’t supposed to reach her bed in the early hours of morning and that was the reason why her curtains were always open -- by the time the sun started to cast its light inside, she would be completely awake and doing something useful with her morning.

One of her eyes opened - the one which wasn’t buried in the pillow - and she needed a minute to absorb the brightness, the golden glow turning her clear walls in pure light.

It took about five minutes after that to have her leaving her room, right to the kitchen. She had showered as quickly as possible, dressed in the new training clothes that Nuala or Cerridwen or both had brought her, and wrapped her hair in a very messy bun. She hated to be late and hated even more to do things in a rush, not to have time to prepare herself for the next events, to raise her walls to endure the day.

One of the wraiths, Nesta guessed it was Cerridwen for the way she held the plates, had already settled a few breakfast options and the blonde sat graciously.

She choose three blueberry cupcakes and some juice she didn’t know. Apparently, there were many things in the food department that she didn’t know.

“Can I fix your hair while you eat, my lady?” The maid’s voice was a whisper of darkness, quiet and charming. 

“Yes, I would like to.” Nesta answered after swallowing a piece of her cupcake. 

One day, she would thank the maid for it, for the help. She was working on it, because, according to Elain, it was important to be thankful and Nesta was trying to be better to her sisters, or the best she could be considering her personality.

Training for Feyre, thanks for Elain. She repeated in her mind. Learn about faes to help Amren. She remembered to add, because she had connected with Amren somehow.

Nesta was finishing her second cupcake when she heard the known sound of wings cutting the air, followed by a low noise when they landed in the front porch. 

Something eased in her insides, maybe part of her expected that he wouldn’t show up, that she would dress those stupid pants and let Cerridwen wrap her hair for nothing. And, maybe, the other part felt like an elastic loosing, as if some invisible thread had curled inside all of her muscles and been kept taut from yesterday until now.

Feyre strode inside, her hair a complete mess after training and flying and she sat down in front of Nesta with the same lack as finesse as always. It was involuntary to look for wounds, her eyes scanning her sister’s body in a quick inspection.

“I like your new training clothes.” Feyre offered, finding a glass to fill with juice.

Nesta nodded, it hasn’t been her choice, but she supposed it fit better than Feyre’s borrowed one. Slowly, her hand pushed her own plate in Feyre’s direction, so she could have the last cupcake -- her sister always liked blueberries.

After, Nesta grabbed the towel Cerridwen had left waiting for her and walked to the living room.

The sensation of him came before his form appeared, a weird lightness, as if something wasn’t heavier anymore, as if her own body was nothing more than an extension of something. 

He turned to her in the precise moment she stepped in, his bourbon eyes finding hers and she ignored how her lungs found hard to maintain a rhythm. Cassian was finally wearing a shirt, a sleeveless brown shirt, followed by a pair of loose clear pants. They were covered in dirt already, probably courtesy of her sister. 

His feet were bare and there was something about the vulnerability of it, about the unshielded position he stood. He wasn’t ready to a fight, as he always looked to be before, he was… Exposed.

Nesta’s eyes finally met his again and what she saw made every part of her go taut and loose at the same time. His pupils were so blown that they devoured his irises, his mouth was parted and a ragged breath was literally audible. She became extremely aware that he wasn’t looking to her eyes, at least, not only to her eyes. 

His gaze travelled up and down her body, each curve, each exposed part of pale skin and it made her more self-conscious than she thought was possible and it burned. Every spot his eyes landed burned with an urge that she never understood.

The training clothes she was using revealed more than any other thing she dressed in her life -- a pair of elastic pants, high on her waist and down to her calves and a tank top which gave much more support to her breasts. They were some color between night blue and purple, a color she has never seen in a tissue out of Prytian. She hadn’t imagined that it wouldn't be adequate, Feyre had used many similar clothes, but now…

She covered the part of her belly exposed between the tank top and the pants, not more than three fingers uncovered and it made Cassian regain some sanity again. His hands were still in his sides, clenching and unclenching as if they were too far from her body. It made Nesta’s own hands feel empty, even holding the towel. 

“You --” He started, the voice too rough, stuck in his throat. Cassian coughed once. “I’m gonna take you to train.” 

Nesta nodded, controlling with an iron hand her own breathing, not willing to even acknowledge the blush creeping to her face and neck, the heat pushing under her skin. Gripping the towel tight, she headed to the door, his steps following her close.

VI.

Luckily, she had years and years to master her self-control and even after more than one hour of intense practice, the parts of her body he touched were still over-sensitive, and he had been very careful to keep her close to his body while flying, to make sure to protect her from the cold wind, of course.

“I’m gonna touch you.” His voice came from her back and Nesta’s sweaty body trembled. 

Because of the effort. She immediately explained to herself mentally.

They were trying some experimental defense moves, more like how she should stand and where to put more weight. At least she was doing something calm after the running, the push-ups, the abs working, the squats and lunges and whatever those things were called.

His warmth was already too much before he even reached for her, but when his arm curled around her waist, his hand spreaded over her belly, her rational thoughts left her at once, his fingertips touching the both parts of her clothes and all the bare skin in the middle. It was intimate, far more intimate than see him half naked, far more overwhelming.

She became so still that even the up and down of her chest created too much movement. 

Cassian moved slowly, his body inches apart of her, his hand the only point of contact when he leaned in to talk to her. 

“Let’s try some punches, you need to focus the tension right here.” She had never heard his commander's voice from close, but she guessed that was it, the voice he was using with her right now, what was keeping him from echoing the throaty sound he let scape in the town house.

“How?” Nesta asked quickly, not daring to say too much.

But why was she bothering? She shouldn’t be affected for it, for him, no, not at all. Sensitive, yes, but affected? A wave of coldness tried to push the warm feeling away, her mind starting to work thru all this, thru her momentary lack of control.

If he felt it or not, she couldn’t be sure, but Cassian’s fingers digged into her bare skin just a little bit, calling her attention again, keeping it in the moment and not in the many reasons she could find -- that she would find -- to keep herself in a safe zone. 

“Choose a target point and contract your core, feel your muscles working together.” 

She did, trying to keep her breath steady, to focus in her muscles. Paying attention to her own body in that way wasn’t an easy task, Nesta was already too used to her known masks and postures. This was way too new.

“Now, punch.” He commanded, sure of his own body and voice. 

Her right arm followed his command without hesitation, feeling the stretch in her forearm, the clench of her fist. 

He moved, slowly guiding himself to her left side, his other hand finding place in her back. 

“Let the air leave your lungs when you punch, keep your balance. Again.”

Nesta did it many times more, throwing her fist in front, her spine steady by his hands, the sweet pressure Cassian kept when she should contract her muscles and the small release he allowed when she should breath in. Her mind counted twenty repetitions before he moved to her other side, his hands following around her waist without retreat one single inch. 

“Your left side now.” 

It took twenty more for his hands to leave her. 

Cassian walked away only three steps, standing in front of her to offer a real target, his hands up for her to punch as much as she wanted, but his face called her attention immediately and she couldn’t decide what burned more -- his sure hands touching her body or his lustful eyes freeing her mind. 

And Nesta caught herself wondering, hours after he flew them back to the town house, if his mouth would burn the most. 

[fraudulentzodiacs]

never let me down, just lead me home

I’m supposed to be working on my RNM Week fics, but this wouldn’t leave me alone. Inspired by this amazing Bellarke gifset. I hope it’s okay I borrowed this beautiful poem! Set during S2, with Alex disappearing and his return becoming Michael’s sole focus in life. 

For @partsofthesamecosmicbeing and @bisexualalienblast, for just being them. 

Clotho declares “He is gone”

And he breaks

Alex is gone for two days before anyone notices.

Kyle bursts into the makeshift lab he and Liz have set up in Max’s house, both desperately working to find a way to revive a now pod-bound Max.

“Kyle?” Liz asks in a worried tone, and it’s only then that Michael looks up from the latest test results to see the wild, scared look in the man’s eyes.

“Alex is gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Michael feels his entire body tense at Liz’s question, the worry quickly escalating to panic clear.

“I mean, I hadn’t heard from him in a few days, so I drove out to the cabin to check on him, and he’s not there.”

“It’s not too out of the ordinary for Alex to take off. Not lately, anyway.” Liz replies, and Michael doesn’t need her to look at him to know that he’s the reason why Alex has taken to disappearing. They haven’t been on the best of terms since he began dating Maria - in fact, they hadn’t said more than a handful of words since their last showdown at Michael’s trailer the day Max died. Since then, Alex had distanced himself from their group, which Michael understood despite having to live with the hurt and guilt in his girlfriend’s eyes when Alex flatly refused to speak to her at all.

“No, it’s not.” Kyle agrees. “But when I got to the cabin, the door was busted open, and it looked like there had been a fight. One that Alex apparently lost.”

“Jesse?” Michael pushes away from the table, sidestepping Liz.

“No, he’s still in the coma. This is something else.”

“Aliens?” Liz asks, and Kyle’s shrug sends a jolt of irritation down Michael’s spine.

“It didn’t look like it. Looked human, and it could have been any of Jesse’s Project Shepherd cronies.”

“Flint.” Michael states, and Kyle nods.

“Probably. We haven’t heard anything about him since Caulfield, but Alex was digging around in the hard drives we were able to steal. He told me a few days ago that he was trying to track Flint’s movements, see if he could find another blacksite.”

“Show me everything you have.” Michael uses his telekinesis to pull his jacket from across the room, gesturing to the door.

“I don’t need your help, Guerin.” Kyle argues. “I can find him myself, I just wanted Liz to know.”

“It’s Alex.” Michael replies, his voice like steel. “You’re getting my help whether you like it or not.”

“Wish you had been this concerned for Alex while you were busy breaking his heart and sleeping with his best friend.” Kyle throws back, and Liz slips between them before he can escalate the fight.

“That’s enough.” Liz warns. “We all care about Alex, and we are all going to work together to find him. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Michael deflates. “I’ll meet you outside, just give me a minute to call Isobel.” Liz nods, guiding Kyle out of the lab as the man shoots daggers in Michael’s direction.

Once they’re out of the room, a shaky breath escapes Michael as he leans against the wall, the chaos in his head even worse than usual as he thought of Alex missing - Alex gone - with no clue as to where he was or what was happening to him. It was Alex’s deployments all over again, only this time worse, because Michael could do something about it this time, but he had no idea where to start. Tears burned in his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing, and he could feel Isobel on the edges of his mind as his panic increased, probing and searching and Michael is sure that all she can get from him is Alexalexalexalexalexalexalex. He takes a few more deep breaths before hitting the call button on his cell, Isobel picking up almost immediately.

“Alex is missing. Meet us at the Crashdown.” He manages to get out.

“I’ll be there in ten.” Isobel replies. “Are you okay?”

“I have to be.” Is all Michael replies before hanging up. He can’t afford to break right now.

Alex is depending on him.

Lachesis pronounces “You will never have him again”

And he crumbles

Michael spends the next five days in the Project Shepherd bunker. The place makes him physically ill, but it’s the best place to be as they search for Alex. Kyle is there outside of any shift he can’t get out of. Liz alternates between the bunker and their lab - Michael loves Max, but he can’t spare any time while Max is relatively safe in the pod and Alex is gone. Maria and Rosa make sure everyone is properly taken care of and that Michael survives on more than energy drinks, acetone, and pure stubbornness. Maria doesn’t question Michael’s determination, but he can’t miss the faraway sad look in her eyes when she thinks he isn’t looking. He can’t worry about that now, though, because he has to bring Alex home. Everything else can wait.

Isobel is a steady presence, seeming to understand instinctively when to be there to support him and when to leave him to his work. It’s the most together she’s been since Max died, and Michael thinks that it has more to do with Isobel feeling needed when it comes to Michael than a desire to find Alex.

Michael loses all sense of time in the bunker, only marking the passing of the days by his visitors changing their clothes. Isobel arrives with coffee and bagels, and manages to pull Michael away from the computers and into a chair at the table long enough for him to give her a decent conversation.

“Have you made any progress?” She asks as she spreads her bagel with cream cheese, watching him closely to make sure he eats his own.

“No. Maybe. It’s hard to tell.” Michael admits, running his hand through his hair. “It feels like we’re always three steps behind them. I think I found the site they were holding him at initially, but the site went dark before we could even think about getting out there.”

“Why do you think they’re holding him? I mean, they haven’t made any demands or anything. What do they want?”

“To keep him quiet. He knows about everything, but he’s against his father and that makes him dangerous.”

“But, Michael, if they want to keep him quiet…” Isobel begins, but Michael gives a cold glare before she can finish.

“Don’t.” He replies, begs, his voice harsh and sharp.

“I know you want to bring him back, Michael, but maybe you can’t track him because there’s nothing to track.”

“That’s not true. He’s alive, Iz. I know it.”

“Michael…” Michael feels Isobel move her chair closer to his, can feel her on the edges of his mind.

“He has to be alive.” Michael hears the sob in his voice before he feels it escape. “I would feel it, I would know.”

He hasn’t cried, not once, since this whole thing began. He had refused, because - after Max, and now Alex - he’s afraid that if he starts he’ll never stop. Isobel pulls him into her arms and he cries into her neck, her familiar perfume the only thing he can sense with any clarity.

“I can’t, Iz.” Michael sobs, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably despite Isobel’s attempts to calm him. “I can’t, not now. After Max, I…”

“I know, Michael, I know.” Michael can register the wobbly, wet tone in Isobel’s voice, which just makes him cry harder against her.

He slowly calms in his sister’s arms, though she doesn’t let go of him until his breathing is even and steady once again.

“I have to find him.” He finally says, and Isobel nods.

“And we will. We just have to find Flint first, right?”

“But he’s always ahead of us, always gone…” Michael drifts off, his gaze returning to the computer monitors. “We need someone who knows Flint’s mind, who knows his orders…”

“Michael…” Isobel’s voice is wary. “You can’t…”

“Call Valenti, tell him to wake up Manes.”

Atropos taunts “He is lost to you forever”

And he falls

It takes Kyle a full day to get Jesse stable enough to sneak him out of the hospital and into the bunker. Alex has been gone for over a week, and Michael feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin as he waits. He knows that Jesse is their best chance at tracking Flint - at finding Alex - but the thought of bringing the person he hates most in the world out of the coma that’s kept them all safe makes him want to be sick. But, he reminds himself, they’re not all safe, not until Alex is home. Not until Michael can have him in front of him and know that he’s not suffering and dying for trying to protect Michael and his siblings from his own family.

They set Jesse up in one of the small interrogation rooms in the bunker, shackled to an uncomfortable metal chair by his hands and feet despite the fact that Jesse is too weak from months of being bedridden to be any kind of real threat. It’s just him and Valenti in the room with him, Isobel, Maria, Liz, and Rosa waiting in the main room of the bunker.

“Where would Flint take Alex?” Kyle asks evenly, staring hard at Jesse Manes.

“I have no idea.” Jesse replies, his voice lacking any kind of emotion as he stares at the man he shot not six months earlier.

“Wrong answer.” Michael informs him.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been in a coma. How would I know?”

“Because Flint is a good little soldier who always follows Daddy’s orders.” Kyle snaps back. “He wouldn’t do anything as stupid as kidnapping Alex without knowing it’s what you would want. We know he has him, now tell us the locations of the blacksites or how to contact Flint.”

“Why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll let Isobel in here and have her turn your brain into pudding.” Michael points out, and Jesse scoffs.

“You wouldn’t. You do that, and you’ll never find my degenerate son.”

“You help us get Alex back, and I’ll think about not putting you back under. How about that?” Kyle offers, and Michael can see every muscle in his body tense.

“If Flint has taken Alex, he is gone.” Jesse turns to look at Michael, disgust clear on his features. “He is lost, forever, and good riddance. You’ll never see him again.”

Kyle yells out at him to stop as Michael stands so quickly the chair he was sitting in flies across the room. The chains holding Jesse snap as Michael uses the full force of his powers to pull him away from the chair, pinning him against the wall, his healed hand wrapping itself around Jesse’s neck.

“Tell me where he is, and I won’t snap your neck here and now.” Michael growls, using both his hand and his power to tighten his grip.

“That’s it, prove me right.” Jesse wheezes, his eyes cold as he stares at Michael. “Prove that you’re the monster you’ve always been. Kill me. You and my son deserve each other.”

“You’re the monster, not me, and not Alex. Alex is good and kind and all we ever did was love each other. But you couldn’t stand that, could you? Couldn’t stand that he wasn’t just like you. That he was better. He’s better than all of us, he could never kill you. But I could.” 

“Michael!” Maria calls, and Michael pulls away from Jesse, turns to see that the girls have entered the room. He lets his telekinetic hold on Jesse go, the older man slumping to the floor. He turns back to Jesse, coughing as gasping as he stares up at Michael with pure hatred. He crouches down, gesturing over his shoulder at Isobel.

“You don’t want to tell us where Alex is? Maybe you’ll tell Isobel.”

Michael stands and moves to where Isobel is, watching him with wary eyes.

“Do whatever you have to do.” He instructs her before slipping out of the room.

They decree “This time you cannot save him”

And he defies them all

Michael leaves Isobel to deal with Jesse, his breathing heavy as he stumbles out of the room, out of the bunker, and into his truck. It’s the first time he’s left the bunker in days, and he’s not sure where he’s going until he’s driven out of town and is pulling up to Alex’s cabin. It looks just like it always has, Liz, Maria, and Rosa having come over and cleaned it up to give them something to do while they searched for Alex. He uses his power to unlock the front door, the house quiet and still, everything in its place. He wanders through slowly, taking in the small pieces of Alex that he finds. It’s tidy, orderly in a way that Michael has to assume comes from years of living with Jesse Manes and then serving in the military. When he enters the bedroom, however, his eyes go straight to the leather jacket resting on the back of a chair, the jacket he’d been wearing when Michael had finally pushed him away, looked away from him and at something easier, less painful.

He cares about Maria - loves her, even. She is everything that is bright and hopeful and new on this godforsaken planet. She makes him feel lighter. He ran his hand over the jacket, feeling the soft material on his fingers, pictures gripping it in his hands while Alex wore it. Pictures it lying across the counter in his trailer, thrown aside haphazardly as Michael surrounds himself in everything Alex the way he had always wanted to whenever he was near. If he hadn’t been so out of his mind that day, if he had fought one more time for them, maybe Alex would still be here. Maybe he could have protected him.

“I thought I’d find you here.” A familiar voice calls out, and Michael turns swiftly to find Maria leaning against the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and Maria shrugs.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I figured this was where you were headed.”

“Has Isobel…”

“No, not yet. Apparently, he’s fighting her pretty hard despite the fact that he just got out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Michael murmurs, turning his gaze back to the jacket.

“I don’t know how I ever missed it.”

“Missed what?” Michael asks, and he hears Maria sigh. When he looks at her again, tears are bright in her eyes.

“You love him.”

“You knew that.” Michael points out.

“Yeah, but I thought that it was over. But it isn’t, is it? It never has been. It’ll never really be over between you two.”

“Maria…” Michael begins, and Maria interrupts him with a raised hand.

“I’m not going to say it’s okay, because you used me, and Alex was my best friend. We both made a mistake. But, that’s not a conversation we need to have today You have to know, though, that it’s over between us.”

“I’m sorry.” Michael tries, collapsing onto Alex’s bed, his head in his hands. He feels the mattress sink next to him as Maria sits.

“I know.” She replies. “I’m worried about you though. What if this doesn’t work? What if you can’t save him?”

“I will, I have to.”

“Michael, what if he’s already gone?”

“Have you been talking to Isobel?” Michael snaps, his tone harsh.

“She has a point, Michael.”

“No, she doesn’t, because Alex isn’t dead. He’s not, you’re all wrong, and I’m going to save him. I’m going to fix this.”

So the shears break against his thread

And he vows, “Watch me do it anyway”

Alex has lost track of the days.

He knows that he’s been moved several times, presumably from one blacksite to another. But they stagger his meals, keep him in darkness, making it impossible for him to know where he is or how long he’s been there. It feels like it’s been months, though he knows that it hasn’t. They’ve taken his prosthetic, making it impossible to do little more than hobble from one end of his cell to the other. Flint shows up every now and then - usually when he’s about to be moved. He doesn’t say anything beyond ordering him around, and Alex stopped asking questions when he realized that he wouldn’t be getting any answers. The fact that he’s alive, however, has convinced him that they need him for something. He assumes that he’s meant to be bait for Michael and Isobel, a way to get the aliens they’re hunting to expose themselves. Alex prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that Michael doesn’t take the bait, but he knows Michael well enough to know that will never happen. Michael will come for him. Alex knows that in his bones. It’s what keeps him going, because Michael has always been what keeps him going. Despite the pain, and the bullshit, and the military, and Maria, Alex’s faith in Michael is something that never wavers.

He sleeps in fits and spurts, uncomfortable on the metal bed and thin mattress he’s been provided. They never question him, never torture him, and the endless silence has him crawling the walls. He can fight an enemy, an interrogator, but he can’t fight loneliness. He’s been trained to withstand all sorts of interrogation techniques, forms of torture, but this is difficult, the waiting. Perhaps that’s the point, he thinks. Their ultimate goal will be to drive Alex crazy in solitary. Then, Flint doesn’t get his hands dirty with his own brother’s blood. He doesn’t see his father, which gives him some measure of comfort. It means he’s most likely still in the coma that Kyle put him in, locked away in his own body and unable to hurt any of them. But Flint is still obviously following his orders, including holding the son he hates prisoner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a distant crash, the sound of bullets. He pulls himself up and leans against the wall, his ears straining for any other sounds. It gets closer, then there’s silence until the door to his cell begins to shake. The wall groans until the door flies off the hinges, revealing Michael, his hand in mid-air. Alex feels a shaky breath escape him with a short laugh.

“About time you got here.”

“Alex.” Michael’s voice is rough and heavy with emotion as he rushes in. He pulls Alex into his arms, his face in Alex’s neck as Alex’s arms go around him instinctively, gripping his waist tightly.

“I’m here.” Alex soothes, rubbing his hands up Michael’s back. “I’m okay.” He feels Michael drag his face up his neck, then his jaw before burying his nose in Alex’s hair.

“I love you.” He whispers harshly, and Alex grips Michael tighter.

“I know.” He replies as he pulls Michael against him.

“As heartwarming as this is, we really need to get out of here.” Isobel’s voice calls from the doorway.

“They have my prosthetic.”

“On it!” Liz replies, slipping past Isobel with his prosthetic above her head like a trophy.

“I’ve got it.” Michael responds, taking his leg as Liz helps him onto the bed. He attaches it with a familiarity that makes Alex’s heart stutter in his chest. It feels strange to be wearing it again after days without it, but he and Michael follow Isobel and Liz out of the cell and through the winding hallways of whatever underground facility they’re in. Kyle and Rosa are waiting in what looks to be the main entrance, both guarding an unconscious Flint.

“What do we do with him?” Rosa asks, and Michael looks to him.

“Leave him.” Alex decides.

“He kidnapped you!” Michael argues. 

“And he’ll pay for that, but not today.”

“Let’s get out of here before more of their friends show up.” Kyle orders, and soon enough Alex is seeing daylight for the first time in however long. Maria is waiting behind the wheel of his Humvee, looking almost unrecognizable in her stolen Air Force uniform.

“How…?” Alex asks as they move to the vehicle.

“Isobel may have visited your father, forced him to admit some truths.” Michael replies, helping Alex into the backseat before Maria peels away from the blacksite. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I knew you’d come for me.” Alex leans into Michael, exhaustion overtaking him.

“Always.” is the last thing he hears from Michael before he passes out.

For the fates could never touch a love like theirs