#but ‘he doesn’t even pronounce his last name properly how dare you call him part italian😤’ 😭😭😭

[chxrryrose]

i can’t believe the latest f1twt daniel hate train is over his italian heritage and whether he’s… italian enough?

[dragonrajafanfiction]

What is Bondarev (BSB ver) actually like in the novels? In my WIP, I’m trying to be as close to the lore as I can with certain parts, so it’s hard to write in a character that I have no clue what his personality actually is like. Also does he have a full name? Is Bondarev his first or last name? I noticed Herzog has a full name thanks to the Fandom wiki you and Hectab are working on :3

Ask and Ye shall receive. (very long post below with allllllllllll of the stuff you asked for.)

VERY HANDSOME

This was a man who was a sight to behold, handsome and straight, with iron gray hair neatly combed back and styled with hairspray, and a muscular body that was defined and supple. Many would describe him as sexy. The sentry had seen such handsome young officers in Moscow, but this one was too unbelievable. He was actually wearing only military shorts and sleeveless undershirt, sweating in the -10 degree wind. The man fished out a lighter from his shorts and lit it with aplomb, the sterling silver case etched with the words "70th anniversary of the October Revolution".

The sentry could not refuse this kindness and went over to light the cigarette.

"Here you go." The man tossed the lighter to the sentry, "In such a cold place, you need to use aviation kerosene with low freezing point, you should save that for the summer."

The sentry then realized that he still had the unlit lighter in his hand, the man's insight was actually keen to this point. Furthermore, people should be eager to find a warm place to rest at this moment. This also shows that he still has energy left for skiing in such extremely cold weather. The man took out a dark gray officer's uniform from his military duffel bag, and after a few moments, he finished putting it on and solemnly pinned a "Red Flag Medal" on his chest. A minute ago he was a skier, a minute later he had a frown of determination, a young man of power from Moscow.

"KGB Major Bondarev, I'm from Moscow." The man pulled out his papers, "Take me to Dr. Herzog and tell him that this is the moment of survival."

"Yes! Comrade Major!" The sentry saluted.

The man stated his identity in the simplest terms; he was an envoy from Moscow, a key member of the secret intelligence service. In the days of the Tsar, such a man was called a "minister".

********ICE PROOF*************

He pressed the detonator in his hand, after a short dull explosion, the marble base in the snow was blown up, Lenin bronze statue slanted in the snow. The noise of this micro-acoustic thunderstorm was so small that it was muffled by the wind within a few steps. The Black Swan Harbor is notoriously heavily guarded, but the most important aspect is the extreme cold, and standing outside for ten minutes on a night like this can lead to severe frostbite. Because of the blizzard, visibility was less than five meters. The soldiers did not expect anyone else to dare to move outside, and they ignored the fact that Bondarev had an extraordinary tolerance for the cold.

-----

"I sometimes think that people who like to drink can't be bad. So I like you a lot, you know vodka." Dr. Herzog removed the Makolov pistol and handed over a cold glass.

A light struck down from above, enveloping the Doctor and Bondarev. The glass reflected the light, as clear as the most expensive crystal glassware, but it was carved from a whole block of solid ice, pure ice, without any air bubbles, with cornflower patterns carved on the outer wall. The two men gently clinked their glasses and drank the wine in one gulp.

　　Bondarev played with the ice carved glass: "It's wonderful, the spirits wrapped in ice, as moving as a stunning young woman under the appearance of an iceberg. I think my hands will freeze and to it."

　　"Usually people who drink from such an ice glass have to wear leather gloves, and only people like you, Major, who are not afraid of the cold can hold it in their hands. It is carved from old ice in the -30 degree strata and also kept at -30 degrees, making it the coldest drinking vessel for the warmest of wines." The doctor said, He said so, but he was also holding the glass with his empty hand, his slender hand was stable and did not tremble at all because of the low temperature.

****** SUPPOSED ROYAL FAMILY and EXTREMELY RICH ***************

　　"Bondarev, a KGB major, from Moscow, these are the truth. I only concealed from you the name of my great-grandmother, her name was Nastasya Nikolaevna Romanova." Bondarev slowly pronounced this long, awkward name, like a magician reciting a forbidden spell.

　　The doctor was stunned: "Was it the last royal daughter of the Romanov dynasty?"

　　Nastasia was the last princess of the Romanov dynasty, the last dynasty to rule Russia until it was overthrown by the October Revolution in 1917. in 1918, the last Tsar Nicholas II and his entire family were secretly executed by the Red Army. Nastasia was the youngest daughter of Nicholas II, and although she was young, she was given the title of "Grand Duchess", which made her more honored than other royal princesses in Europe at the time, and princesses were required to curtsy and address her as "Your Imperial Highness" during their audiences. It was rumored that she was the only one who escaped execution, and that her name Nastasia meant "resurrection".

　　"Since there is still me, the grandson of the emperor, I can't say that she is the 'last' royal daughter." Bondarev smiled.

　　"How do you prove yourself?" The Doctor asked.

　　"I saw Rasputin's signature at the end of the tunnel, and that heretic who had been canonized had been here before, so I should say he was the one who found this cave, right?"

　　"Yes." The Doctor said, "This cave is his legacy."

　　"Then you must know that Rasputin was a guest of the Tsar and a close friend of Princess Nastasia. The fact that I could find this place means that I have Rasputin's secrets, secrets that he told my great-grandmother. This is the proof of my status as the last royal grandson of the Romanov dynasty." Bondarev held his head up proudly.

　　"So, what were the secrets that Rasputin revealed to Her Imperial Highness?"

　　Bondarev smiled slyly: "I think there are certain things I know that you do not know, and of course there are things you know that I do not, so we might as well exchange information about each other. Then we might be able to sit down and talk about cooperation."

　　"After you." The Doctor raised his muzzle.

　　"This matter begins with my great-grandmother's escape. A Red Army bullet did go through her heart and her body was thrown into an abandoned mine, but three days later she awoke and the wound miraculously healed. It was then that she remembered what Rasputin had told her, that Rasputin said he was willing to share the secrets of the world with his great-grandmother because she, like himself, was God's chosen one. Like Rasputin, she had an unparalleled power of life and could even return from hell. She later married a Red Army officer, and in those days the only way she could gain refuge was to marry a Red Army officer. My great-grandfather, who later stepped into the high ranks of the military, was a very good man and always protected my great-grandmother from revealing her identity. Great-grandmother would sometimes wake up in a dream and shout, 'The Red Army is coming with guns,' and great-grandfather would reassure her, 'I am the Red Army, and as long as I live, the Red Army guns will only protect you.'"

　　"Touching love." The doctor said faintly.

　　"Great-grandmother decided to give up her past identity, so she rarely talked about the past of the Romanov dynasty, with the exception of one thing. She bade her great-grandfather that there were relics of God in the north of Siberia, which the saint Rasputin had told her about. That saint found the cave where God created life on the shore of the icy sea. But he did not announce it to the world, but sealed the miracle with iron water, because the miracle had degenerated into the cradle of the devil, and inside it were hidden fallen angels. Generations of our family descendants have to be on guard against the reopening of that cave, and the day it reopens, the end comes with it."

　　"So you are here to check if we are guarding the miracle properly?"

　　"No, no, my great-grandmother was a good and devout Orthodox Christian, but I am not. I have a great curiosity about everything, and after I inherited the secret, I am bent on finding the miracle. If I were to find it, I would definitely open it and take a look. Not long ago I found an engineering map from the ruined archives." Bondarev drew out the map roll and rolled it along the ice toward the Doctor, "It marks the elevator that leads deep into the tundra."

　　The Doctor scanned the map, "It's not the original map, someone drew it from memory."

　　"It was drawn by a madman who used to be the engineer battalion commander of the 13th Konrad Infantry Division and was ordered to participate in the excavation of the tunnel, after which he was brainwashed by drugs and became a regular in a mental hospital. All he remembered was that he was engaged in a big project on the northern coast of Siberia, and the project was to dig a cave. Suddenly I realized I had found a breakthrough. But as the investigation progressed, I found that the matter was becoming more and more mysterious. Many years ago, the army had built a port in the almost unnavigable northern part of Siberia, about which there was no information, and even the coordinates had been erased. Below that port, sappers had dug through the hard permafrost and opened a long-closed cave. So I decided to come and see for myself. As a KGB officer, I easily applied for a charter to investigate this mysterious port, so that I could drive in as the 'Minister of the Admiralty'. Sure enough, I found Rasputin's signature at the end of the passage, and I finally arrived at the place I had dreamed of since childhood." Bondarev looked around, "But it doesn't look like there's anything interesting here."

　　"I'm sure you noticed when you came here that the closer you got to the door where Rasputin signed, the more bones there were in the tundra, and they all crawled out through a gap in the rock wall. It was those things that Rasputin was talking about when he said this cave would breed demons. But now the cave is dead, and the mysterious forces in the cave have dissipated."

　　"I don't think so. If this cave was no longer valuable, you would have left long ago."

　　"If this cave was really valuable, I should have shot you and monopolized the secrets of this place."

　　"Wait a minute! I have brought you a gift! Won't you take a look at the gift before shooting?'' Bondarev took an envelope from inside his clothes and slid it along the ice toward the Doctor, by which he showed that he had absolutely no intention of resisting.

　　The doctor tore open the envelope, inside was a Swiss bank cashier's check - a cashier's check for $200 million.

　　"This is a rare and large check, what do you want to buy from me with this check?" 'Doc asked.

　　"Not a purchase, just a gift." Bondarev smiled, "We believe this gift will be useful to you. Your research has been going on for decades, consuming huge amounts of state funds every year, and it must not be finished yet, right? But now that the Soviet Union is about to split, your backers have fallen, which means you no longer have access to funding to complete your research, and no one to help you keep it secret."

　　"It does sound like I'm facing a lot of trouble." The doctor said.

　　"Then why not work with my family? We know politics, we know technology, and we know war, and we're willing to invest in this cave as long as its secrets pay off. We can continue to support you in this project and share with you all the benefits it brings. I have already shown my sincerity and told you everything I know. Shouldn't you also tell me what I don't know? After that you will still have time to shoot me."

　　"You are very calm, Comrade Major. You think I won't shoot you if you produce this $200 million cashier's check, don't you?" There was a hint of sarcasm in the Doctor's tone.

　　"There are not many people in the world who can refuse two hundred million dollars." Bondarev smiled, "And killing me wasn't the best option. If I do not return safely to Moscow, the family will know that something has happened to me, and they will not spare you. At that time the secret of Black Swan Harbor will be made known to the world."

　　"Ten times." The doctor threw the cashier's check back to Bondarev.

　　Bondarev froze: "What did you say?"

　　"Your family needs to increase the bid tenfold. I need three years and two billion dollars to complete this research. At that time we will share the whole world."

　　"That amount is beyond my expectations and not easy to raise even for my family."

　　The Doctor laughed coldly: "It seems you really don't know the secret of this cave, in front of which two billion dollars is too small a figure, what is here no one can afford, it is priceless! Your family should be proud to offer this two billion dollars."

　　"Everything has a price, weapons, women, secrets, even souls." Bondarev said.

　　"But who can put a price on God?" The Doctor asked.

-------

The Lenin's mooring is only 40 kilometers from Black Swan Harbor, and they will be here soon. This new flare is so great that American spy satellites will recognize it as an aurora borealis." Bondarev said.

　　"You had said that the Lenin would not come." The doctor said.

　　"Moscow is not prepared to send the Lenin to Black Swan Harbo, but we can, and now the Lenin is at my family's beck and call."

　　Black shadows rose above the sea level, the roar of a giant bee on its wings approaching at high speed, snow dust twisted into a tornado by the helicopter's rotors, red five stars flashing in the white tornado. It was the "MiG 26" heavy helicopter, codenamed "Halo", one of the pride of the Soviet military industry. The helicopter hovered over the cast iron dock, the searchlights broke through the haze of the night, the hatch opened, and five captains lined up, saluting Bondarev. The communication lights below the belly of the plane blinked up, signaling greetings to Bondarev in Morse code.

　　"Glad to see you're safe and sound, Your Imperial Highness!" The doctor read out the greeting.

　　The fact that they called Bondarev "His Imperial Highness" instead of "comrade" meant that the helicopter and the Lenin on the icy sea were no longer loyal to the Soviet Union, but to the heir to the Romanov dynasty. The name Romanov is about to shine again after almost a century of obliteration in history, and with the power of the Dragons, it is not impossible for them to re-establish hegemony on Earth.

　　Bondarev handed a letter to the Doctor: "This is a letter I wrote to the family, please read it."

　　The Doctor scanned it and handed the letter back to Bondarev.

　　"If things go well, we will be able to relocate within a few weeks." Bondarev handed the letter to a captain who descended down the zip line, "We will build you a brand new research base in the warm and pleasant Baltic Sea, along with a vacation villa."

　　The captain placed a mouthful of boxes at the doctor's feet, containing a case of aged Red Label vodka.

　　"A small gift, so you don't have to worry about running out of booze until we leave Black Swan Harbor." Bondarev said.

　　"I guess I picked the right partner." The Doctor smiled.

***** HE VERY STRONG AND CAPABLE ***********

Bondarev looked alert, his muscles bulging under his uniform. He was a highly trained soldier, capable of breaking a wolf's neck with his bare hands, and had no need to fear this delicate boy, but not daring to take it lightly in the presence of something supernatural, he adjusted himself to a state of immediate danger.

------

Bondarev noticed a transparent figure flashed from his side. It was just a short blink of an eye, a fraction of a second, but Bondarev was trained to the rigors of the KGB and he was absolutely certain it was a person!

-------- IS A HYBRID THAT HAS NO ISSUE KILLING PEOPLE, INCLUDING KIDS ------------

The lieutenant on duty in the boiler room collapsed on the duty desk, a bottle of Red Label vodka still in his hand. A steel-core bullet had penetrated his heart, and Bondarev stood behind the lieutenant with his Makolov pistol.

---

At that moment the doctor heard the wind change behind his head, and the beam of the searchlight struck him. He turned sharply and saw huge black shadows hovering in the air, their rotor blades churning the snow into a flurry. It was Halo, the heavy helicopter from the Lenin, which had ventured to Black Swan Harbor in such bad weather.

　　"Didn't you say Halo couldn't fly in a snowstorm of this magnitude?" The Doctor froze. Something hard pressed against his back, it was Bondarev's Makarov pistol. One by one, the steel-core bullets pierced the Doctor's chest, tearing the aging heart into a million pieces. The Doctor spat out a mouthful of blood, mixed with fragments of his lungs, which had been destroyed in the process. He braced himself and turned his face to look at Bondarev, his eyes filled with shock.

　　"You can't complete the research without me ......," he hissed.

　　"We didn't even try to finish your research." Bondarev's pupils swirled with a gorgeous gold.

　　"Who the hell ...... are you?"

　　Bondarev held the Doctor in place and injected him with adrenaline using an air needle, "Hold on one more minute for the most magnificent scene."

　　The Black Swan Harbor suddenly trembled up tremendously, the sound of a series of explosions spread upward from the ground, but it was not a vacuum bomb detonated in advance, if it was a vacuum bomb, a square kilometer around would be leveled to the ground. A fire rose, and countless pieces of frozen earth spilled onto the frozen sea.

　　"Engineering explosive mines?" The Doctor asked in a hiss.

　　"The new engineering burst mines, even 10,000 years of permafrost, as long as the right eye is chiseled can be blown up. Now in a place you can't see, there is a huge hole with a depth of 180 meters, leading to Rasputin's cave, where we will use the laser to cut through the ice and take away the precious collection that originally belonged to you." Bondarev said, "You have been isolated from the outside world for too long to know the progress of engineering, it is no longer difficult to cut through the tundra in an instant today, once I probe its location."

　　"You ...... want to take that dragon!" The Doctor understood.

　　"Yes," Bondarev replaced the magazine, walked over to the sled, and fired four bullets into the chests of each of the four children.

　　The children died without a struggle from the potent hypnotic drug. It was pure carnage.

　　"You are not the only one who is willing to sacrifice human lives for a great cause." Bondarev pressed his chest in silence for the children he had just killed, looking reverent.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

AO3 Link here 

Masterlist here

Their daughter enters the world squalling, tiny and pink and bloodied and somewhat wrinkled but healthy which is all that really matters), and Atsumu’s eyes widen before immediately filling with tears when the doctor places her in his arms.  

‘You did amazin’, darlin’ he whispers, running his finger against their daughter’s cheek reverently. ‘She’s perfect’. 

‘Make sure you count ten fingers and toes before you say that’, she manages to say before dropping her head back into the pillow, bone weary from her labour, and he laughs through his tears. 

They name her Shino, which means stem of bamboo. She reasons that if their daughter is going to take the Miya family name, she should in fairness have a name that represents her side of the family – and besides, she’d always been drawn to the whimsicalness of the tale of the bamboo cutter, but thought naming her baby ‘Kaguya’ might be a little on the nose. Atsumu’s grandmother isn’t terribly pleased, but her stoic father bursts into tears when they tell him, and immediately sends over a crate full of toys carved out of the bamboo from their family’s ancestral grove. 

The press has a field day when MSBY’s PR team releases news of their marriage and Shino’s birth, but thankfully the full weight of the team’s PR machine manages to twist the coverage to repackage Atsumu’s image as a wholesome family man, so the articles remain relatively positive. Still, they’re forced to sit through a number of photo shoots to keep the press happy, and she shudders at the office gossip she knows she’ll have to face when she returns back to work. 

His teammates crowd to greet Shino when she brings her out for one of their matches for the first time. Atsumu presents Shino proudly to his teammates - ‘look at what I made’,  he demands, dangling her in his hands so they can ooh and ahh over the little girl - ‘ I learnt it from one of  those kiddie cartoons I watched at night when she wouldn’t sleep!’ he tells her later when she scolds him for the precarious hold.

She has to shoo Hinata and Bokuto away when they try to hand Shino a volleyball, the ball looking comically big against the baby girl. Sakusa stands at a respectful distance away, but hands her an adorable onesie in MSBY’s black and gold, wrapped carefully in plastic. The corner of his eyes crinkle behind his mask when he tells her it’s so Shino can support them properly at their next game. 

‘Aww, Omi-omi! I always knew you liked me deep down inside’ Atsumu crows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands.

‘You’re insane to marry him’, Sakusa tells her, refusing to even acknowledge Atsumu’s tomfoolery.

‘Maybe I am’, she grins, warmth furling and unfurling in her chest. 

Despite her initial fears, Atsumu falls head over heels for Shino, and continues to allow their baby daughter to wrap him around her tiny finger. He wakes up without complaint for night feedings, spends nights pacing their little apartment coaxing Shino to bed, and straps her on his broad chest for what his pronounces ‘daddy-daughter’ adventures during the off-season when she’s away during the day for work. On weekends, they bring Shino to the park to watch the birds and the clouds in the sky, to the aquarium to watch the fish in the sea, and to the museum to marvel at dinosaur bones from a distant past. 

It’s at the museum that Shino says her first word, sitting between Atsumu’s legs in the museum sandbox, digging her chubby hands in the sand in search of fake fossils. 

‘Say that again’, Atsumu laughs wetly, pressing kisses to the top of their little girl’s head. 

‘Oto-san!’, Shino crows, the look on her face so reminiscent of Atsumu’s expression whenever he’s pleased with herself that she’s torn between feeling pride at her precocious little girl - and horror that she’s going to have her hands full with a mini-Atsumu. 

‘You’re daddy’s little girl, aren’t you, princess?’ Atsumu says proudly, and Shino claps her hands as he cuddles her close to his chest. He later tries his level best to empty out the museum gift store of toys to commemorate the day and she has to slap his hands from tossing in  ‘just one more toy’  into their checkout basket.  

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks him later, after they put Shino to bed. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asks with a puzzled frown. ‘I have everything I need.’ 

‘Just checking’, she replies, her doubts forgotten when he tugs her into bed. 

For Shino’s first birthday, both their families squeeze into their apartment to celebrate by strapping a giant piece of mochi that Osamu made to her back, a tradition to rid young children of any impurities. Atsumu nearly trips over himself trying to capture a photo of the auspicious moment Shino falls over on her butt, and showers kisses on her proudly when she does not cry. 

They also carry out the erabitori ceremony, setting in front of Shino several objects symbolising the various paths she might choose in the future. Aside from the common items like an abacus, writing brush or books, her brothers insist on including a knife (sheathed, of course), earning raised eyebrows of Atsumus’s family. Osamu tosses in a kitchen spoon and Atsumu naturally places a volleyball right in the center of the spread. 

‘Cheatin’ pig’, Osamu mutters when Shino ends up picking the volleyball (attracted by its bright colours, he maintains), but Atsumu ignores him, tossing the little girl in the air in delight.

‘Darlin’, come take a look at this! Kageyama-kun’s playing his first game in Rome, and it looks like - I can’t believe this, why does his technique look better than before?! What - is the water he’s drinkin’ overseas magic or something? How’s he getting so good?’ 

‘Tsumu, could you keep it down? I just got Shino to bed, and I really need to finish the work I didn’t have time to do ‘cos I took over her pick-up today’. She replies wearily, typing furiously at her laptop. 

‘Sorry. I’ll pop over to chat with ‘Samu then, be back late!’

She nods distractedly as she hears the door click behind her back. 

‘I can’t believe I screwed up so badly at practice today’ Atsumu grouses, chin propped up on the wooden countertop of Onigiri Miya in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I kept missing my serves, and then that asshole Omi-omi dared to laugh when I ran around trying to get my head back into the game –‘ 

‘Tsumu’. Osamu cuts in, setting another onigiri in front of him. ‘As much as I want to listen to you complain about your no-good, very-bad day, could’ya help your poor wife out a little bit?’ 

‘Thanks ‘Samu’, she musters the energy to give him a distracted smile, juggling a bowl of rice porridge she’s trying to persuade Shino to eat and preventing said little girl from smearing rice grains all over the place.

Atsumu plops Shino onto his lap, and continues talking over her head. She takes the opportunity to stuff her face with food –  glorious food, and doesn’t notice when he maintains a sullen silence as they walk home. 

A hush ripples across the stands like a tsunami when Atsumu gets substituted midway during the last set of the match. She isn’t surprised, not when he started playing badly during the set – there was a little kid that screeched just as he was about to serve, and he’d hit the ball way out of bounds. That had been the start of his downward spiral during the game – his dump shots got picked up, his blocks weren’t quite on point, and worst of all – he’d somehow managed to misjudge the timing of a toss to Hinata-kun, the ginger haired spiker looking confused when the ball missed his hand. 

He’d stormed off the court the minute the referee’s whistle sounded, frustration and anger written all over his face and she’d made a beeline for the locker room, tucking a sleeping Shino into her carrier. She can hear him yelling (at himself, most likely) and the distinct sound of flesh hitting metal, and is about to burst in to comfort him when Sakusa steps neatly in front of her to block her way. 

‘Sakusa-kun’, she greets him, eyes darting towards the door. 

‘Miya-san’, he nods at her, face already hidden behind his usual mask. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb him just yet.’ 

She opens her mouth to object, but Meian Shugo, the team’s broad shouldered, good natured captain, plants a hand on her shoulder to gently steer her away. ‘It’s not a pleasant sight when he’s in a funk’, he tells her quietly. ‘Let us deal with it, we’re used to him. Do you need me to call you a cab?’

‘He’s my husband – I should be the one to deal with him’ , she wants to say – but doesn’t, because Shino jolts awake and starts to wail. ‘It’s fine’, she does say, hushing her little girl. ‘I’ll hitch a ride home with ‘Samu instead’.

She meant to stay up to wait for Atsumu, give him his usual kiss and listen to him talk about his day, but she’s out like a light when her head hits the pillow (it’s been a long day, in her defense) , and she has to leave in the morning for work before he wakes.    

‘Everyone has their off days, but you’re an incredible setter, you know?’ she does tell him that night over dinner. Shino squeals and smashes her hand into the bowl of food. 

‘Of course I am’, he frowns at her, almost as if he thinks it’s odd for her to even feel the need to say that, and turns away to ruffle Shino’s hair.

She waits by herself in the lobby of her office building for five minutes before she gives in to her impatience and calls him. 

‘Tsumu? Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch today?’ 

‘Oh shit – I’m sorry, doll, I promised Hinata-kun that I’ll come in for extra practice today. I’ll make it up to you some other day, ok?’ 

She sighs through her nose. ‘Ok – have fun dear’, she replies reluctantly, and he ends the call before she can say any more. 

She can feel the gaze of her colleagues on her back, and plasters a smile on her face before marching off to her favourite dessert place, comforting herself with a box of mochi. She buys an extra box for Osamu (they had a specialty flavour just for the season, and she knows he’s been dying to try that) , and drops it off on the way back home. 

Atsumu complains about only getting one piece of mochi when Osamu sends him a picture of her gift – she can imagine him gloating even though the picture is unaccompanied by any text. 

‘You don’t even like chestnut!’ she scolds Atsumu, and he sulks. 

‘Tsumu! Could you come help zip me into my dress?’ she calls, checking her watch impatiently. The babysitter should arrive in five minutes to take care of Shino for the night while they’re away at the team’s annual gala party.

‘Yknow’, we’d get there a lot faster if you hadn’t sold your old scooter’, he tells her, as he steps into the room, immaculately dressed in his best suit. 

‘I told you – it’s not practical to keep a scooter around when we have a young child’, she answers, already weary of a conversation they’ve had multiple times before. 

‘I’m just sayin’, he says lightly. ‘Oof – sorry, darlin’, the zip ain’t budgin’. 

‘But it fit perfectly fine the last time I wore it’, she frowns. 

‘You must’ve put on some weight’, he says absently, the heat of his hand burning on her hip even after he walks away. 

‘Tsumu, seriously? I told you yesterday morning that we’re out of milk powder and diapers!’ she growls into her phone, cramming her way onto the subway. ‘Fine – whatever, you go for training, I’ll deal with it myself’, she ends the call, dropping her phone like a hot stone into her pocket. 

She runs to the supermarket during her lunch break, cursing herself for wearing heels instead of more comfortable flats, picking up two packs of diapers, a double can of milk powder, and a pack of wipes on discount - all things Atsumu should have picked up last night, but he claimed he was too busy with training and club events to pay attention to a simple errand like this – 

She’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t notice when her foot misses the curb and lands on her knees in the dust, the contents of her bags spilling onto the road. There are scores of people on the street but no one stops to offer their assistance, so she ignores the searing pain to pick her precious supplies up before they’re lost in the crowd. 

The blood from the cuts on her knees drips down her calves, and she limps her way back to the office.  

‘Trouble in paradise?’ Yuna-san asks with a curious smirk on her face when she heads back to her seat, eyes red, knees wrapped with white bandages. 

‘No, nothing like that’, she answers the office gossip, keeping her voice deliberately light. 

Atsumu only grunts when she asks him that night how his day went, kneeling down to greet Shino with a hug. 

‘Won’t be stayin’ for dinner, got a team event at night’, Atsumu calls out to her, one foot out of the door. 

‘What? You should’ve told me earlier, I’m already halfway through preparing dinner’, she shouts back, hacking at the vegetables on the chopping board with a vengeance. 

His only reply is a slam of the door, which startles Shino enough to cry. In her hurry to get to her daughter, her hand on the knife slips, and she cuts open her hand. 

The space beside her remains empty throughout the night, and she falls asleep pretending the only pain she feels is from the bleeding gash on her hand. She’s so exhausted she does not wake until her alarm rings, not even when the surge of rain overnight batters her windows and water floods the streets. 

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 2 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 3 / 4 / 5 

_____________________________________________________

~Nesta~

The day after meeting my fiancé, I drop Alexei off at the plane, tell him goodbye, and drive further down the tarmac to where Cassian’s waiting in a completely different private plane.

Very environmentally conscious, our lifestyle

The stairs are unfolded, so after making sure my luggage is transferred over, I head inside.

Cassian’s waiting, sipping bourbon despite the fact that it’s nine in the morning.

He’s dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a black long sleeve t-shirt that makes the tattoos on his hands and knuckles seem even more pronounced. He seems more comfortable now than yesterday.

Like he’s not trying to fit into the mold of a respectable gentleman in a suit.

He looks over as my heels click against the floor, eyes dragging up my legs, pausing at my chest, and scanning my face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t know what else to say.

My lips twitch as I slide into the seat across from him, staying silent for now to throw him off.

As expected, he shifts in his seat, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Then, like he realizes what I’m doing, he narrows his eyes. “You realize that a woman who just sits there, looks pretty, and doesn’t argue is pretty much a man’s dream, right?”

A smile tugs at my lips, but I sigh like I’m not the least bit amused. “Good morning, Cassian.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to determine the proper response for such a ground-breaking conversation opener.

He finally decides on: “You don’t have an accent.”

“Not when I speak English.”

Alexei, the hypocritical bastard, said English should sound like English and Russian should sound like Russian.

“Do you speak any other languages?” he asks, apparently not having looked in my file. He’s probably trying to figure out if his secret conversations with his fellow countrymen are safe.

“I speak Italian, since that’s what you really want to know.”

He grins, playful light in his eyes. “I think I’d like to hear that.”

An amused laugh escapes me at that, but I give him what he wants as I murmur, “Sono sicuro che lo faresti.” I’m sure you would.

His eyes seem to darken, and I roll my eyes. Men.

“I speak a little Russian, but not much,” he tells me. Considering I, unlike him, I did my homework, I already knew that.

Done with this conversation, I close my eyes and attempt to sleep. A plan that goes out the window when Cassian says confidently, “I usually only speak Italian when I fuck.”

I know he’s trying to feel me out, get a rise out of me, so I keep my voice completely deadpan as I reply, “Interesting. I tend to choose French.”

He laughs, face splitting into a humongous, goofy-looking grin. “Now that, I can’t wait to hear.”

Ah, yes. Because the idea I won’t sleep with him is unthinkable.

To me, too, but at least I’m not an asshole about it. Time to humble him a bit.

I feign like I’m not attracted to him in the slightest as I make a show of looking him over. “I never said you would, tupitsa.”

Before he can respond to me calling him a dumbass, I close my eyes and go to sleep.

~Cassian~

My fiancé passes out in a matter of seconds. It’s a little impressive, honestly. One second she’s teasing me with the thought of French whispers under silk sheets, the next she’s dead to the world.

I, unfortunately, am stuck on the first part.

Fuck, she’s hot.

It’s an effortless sort of beauty, considering she isn’t wearing makeup and her hair appears to be naturally blonde and straight.

Regardless, she looks like she just stepped off a runway.

Delicate bone structure, fierce eyes, full lips that sounded so good saying my name it took me a moment to formulate a response.

Distracting curves, sweeping hips, long legs that are currently crossed and allowing the slightest hint of lace at the top of her stocking to show.

My dick takes notice of that site, and I remind the greedy bastard she’s a Russian--an enemy--but he doesn’t seem to care. Nope, he wants me to peel those stockings down. With my teeth.

What’s somehow hotter than even her choice of legwear is the fact that she isn’t doing it on purpose. She’s completely relaxed, asleep for God’s sake, not trying to seduce me.

I grit my teeth and look out the window.

Like every other time I fly, I get restless after about ten minutes. I pull out my phone and make sure everything’s ready for when we land, work on my laptop for a bit, stare at Nesta sleeping for a longer bit, and pace the aisle like a caged lion when I start to feel like a creep.

Because I’ve been dealing with administrative shit like getting engaged, it’s been a while since I’ve done something to quell the rush in my blood.

Business, surprisingly, is boring when an army of hateful Russians isn’t trying to kill you all the time. I haven’t fought in days, haven’t shot my gun in longer.

I send Ricardo a text and have him set up a fight for tonight, but even the thought of the coming violence does nothing to help me calm down.

By the time we land, I’m more than ready to get the hell out of this plane.

Nesta wakes up when the wheels touch down, stretching and looking annoyingly well rested.

As the plane taxis, I tell her, “I have to work tonight.”

It’s a lie, and she cocks her eyebrow like she knows it. But she doesn’t call me on it, doesn’t even seem that interested. “I already requested a separate car.”

My brows furrow because I hate being predictable, but I keep my mouth shut.

Nesta stands as the stairs drop open, straightening her dress and pulling it down over the lacey top of her stockings that are now right in front of my face.

Before I even realize what she’s about, there’s a sharp smack to the bottom of my chin that forces my head up. She tsks, shaking her head teasingly.

“What was that for?” I ask, even though I already know.

She grabs her bag, and I follow as she walks down to the tarmac. “Somnophilia.”

I take a second to look up what the hell that is, laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes when I find the definition. Nesta shakes her head, small smile on those distracting lips, and walks to her waiting driver.

“I’ll see you at home, wife,” I call, not able to resist.

She just flips me the bird over her shoulder, making me laugh again.

Like I said, not what I was expecting.

~Nesta~

Things with Cassian are going... well, I guess.

He has the emotional maturity of a seventeen year old boy, but he isn’t terrible. As long as he stays out of my way, I dare say this marriage might work.

He’ll go about his business, I’ll go about mine, and we’ll avoid each other for happily ever after just like the fairytales say.

I shake my head as Maxim, one of the first New York transplants, navigates us through the city and to Sera. I’ve visited all my clubs at least once, and I have to admit, this one is by far my favorite.

As it should be.

The other three I run in New York were all my father’s originally. Built by a man, for the entertainment of men, I have to say they aren’t places I’d visit myself.

But I built Sera from the ground up, and while it’s designed to appeal to both men and women, men are--for the first time in history--not the priority.

The building it’s located in is a skyscraper, one I rent out to different businesses that don’t need an entire place to themselves. The ground floor is a bank, one that discretely cleans Russian money and makes us more through interest.

All in all, an unremarkable location to the public eye.

But every night, after normal banking hours have long passed, a select number of guests are invited to Sera--a speakeasy-type burlesque club with a hidden entrance in the secondary vault of the bank.

It’s secret, exclusive, and private as hell.

When we get to the bank, I enter the passcode on the side door--changed nightly--and walk through the silent lobby to the back room where the bouncer sits on a wooden stool.

“Privet, boss,” the burly man greets, sweeping the door open and ushering me through with a meaty hand. “Man in the back is asking for the owner.”

I nod and step inside, the door immediately closing behind me.

It’s the perfect level of crowded; enough people that no one stands out but not packed to the point of misery. By design, of course.

Everything seems to be the same as when I visited a few months ago except for the changed flooring I had installed last week. The tables and booths in the back are full of people captivated by the jazz singer on stage, a woman I discovered while walking to a business meeting in Paris.

Her cigarette-roughened voice had pulled me in, much like it does the audience now, and I’d offered her a job on the spot.

One of the bartenders, an ex-con who was locked up for stealing insulin for his diabetic daughter, smiles at me and slides me a tumblr of vodka as I make my way over.

“Good to see you,” Dima greets warmly. “How long are you here for?”

“Permanently.”

His eyebrows shoot up, which makes sense, considering the engagement hasn’t been announced properly. We’re apparently having a party of some kind in two weeks to celebrate the big news.

“I’ll explain later,” I tell him, noticing a group of people approaching the bar.

He nods, and I slip away towards the back corner where a roped-off set of stairs lead down to the basement below.

Like usual, there’s a private poker game happening in the main room of the bottom floor, and I stop to make say a few hellos but eventually move on to the hallway containing offices for some of the management.

The soldier stationed at the door to mine nods in acknowledgement, then tells me a whale’s inside.

My brows raise at the idea of a big-time investor coming to see me at this hour, but I shrug and walk in, shoulders back and face blank. I learned a long time ago to never let my emotions play out on my face.

The man waiting inside looks to be in his forties, richer than sin, and cold. Mafia, undoubtedly. His dark eyes rake over me, and he asks in a tone I don’t appreciate, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Nesta Orlov. You requested to speak to me?”

His bushy brows pinch together. “No, I want to speak to the owner.”

“One and the same.”

“I was told Cassian Azara is the owner.”

My jaw clenches at the thought that we’ve been engaged for less than two days and people already assume my shit is his. “By who?” I ask, remembering our upcoming nuptials aren’t even public news yet.

“My Capo.”

That gets my attention.

Rhysand’s telling people my club is Cassian’s? Why?

Something isn’t right.

I might not know the Italian boss, but I’ve heard he’s straightforward. Ruthless but honest. So why would he lie?

A little voice inside my head whispers, What if he isn’t?

Mind whirling, I turn to the man and smile politely even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. “Would you mind giving me a moment? If you go upstairs, our bartender will get you anything you want, on the house.”

He shrugs and leaves, and as soon as the door clicks shut, I go to my desk and pull up the electronic copy of our marriage contract.

Like I thought, nothing’s amiss.

I read this shit thoroughly enough to know exactly what I was getting into, and in case I missed anything, I had my private lawyer scan over it.

But that little voice, that gut feeling, refuses to go away. So I grab my bag and look through the physical copy, dread unfurling when I notice an extra page tucked in the middle.

It’s a prenup.

One I’ve never seen.

And there, smack dab in the middle, is a line declaring the deed to Sera the property of Cassian Azara.

A rough breath forces its way out of me, and for a second, I’m so angry, so blind with rage, I can’t hardly think. What the hell is going on?

I force myself to think through this, to rationalize what I’m seeing.

Replaying the moment in the Capo’s office, I realize the switch between the original and this version of the contract must’ve happened prior. I was only in there a few minutes and had the papers in my hand the whole time.

Which means...

Alexei picks up on the first ring, like he was waiting for the call. “Da.”

“What the hell have you done?”

He sighs. “What needed doing.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I wasn’t the one who started a goddamn war with the Italians, and yet I’m the one who’s paying all the prices. I’m marrying the bastard, for fuck’s sake. Give him one of your clubs.”

His tone hardens. “He didn’t want anything else.”

“I don’t give a shit! This place is my property. It isn’t yours to give away.” I take a deep breath and try to quiet the rushing in my veins. “That idiot will run it into the ground.”

There’s a long moment, and I swear he sounds a little guilty as he says calmly, “He has more than a few businesses of his own, Nesta. It will be fine.”

I pinch my lips together to keep from cursing the man who raised me.

“If you read the document,” he says, a strange note to his voice. “You’ll notice there are a number of clauses.”

My eyes scan to the bottom of the page, and I read as Alexei continues. “He is permitted from selling, unless to you. The investors have the option to vote him out at any time. And if he is unfaithful to you or ends the engagement for whatever reason, Sera is returned to you in full.”

All the violence, all the rage, seems to dim. Just a little.

This is so like Alexei; in fact, it was one of his first lessons to me.

Give someone the illusion of winning, and they’ll sign anything you want them to.

I read through the clauses again, lips twitching. “Let me get this straight. If I can prove Cassian Azara--notorious playboy of New York--is cheating on me, the club is mine? And if the board at Sera votes him out, he can’t fight it?”

I can practically hear my father’s smile. “Da.”

“Or if I drive him crazy and he ends the engagement?”

“Da.”

Sounds easy enough. I drive Alexei absolutely insane and have never had a long-term relationship. I’ll have him running for the hills in no time.

One thing doesn’t make sense, though. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t sign. It’s still a risk, even with the clauses” He takes a deep breath. “I never told you, but we were losing the war in New York. We would’ve lasted another year, and then we would’ve lost the city.”

“Alexei-”

“I need this alliance to hold, Volchonok,” he says. “And either of you calling off the engagement or divorcing the other is grounds for the war to start back up.”

“So you’re saying I still need to marry him.”

He gruffs a confirmation, and my brain whirls as it thinks of a new plan.

My options are down to three: have him sell to me, prove he’s cheating, or get the board to vote him out.

“One more thing. You only have until the wedding. Once you’re married, the only way to get your property back is if he signs the deed to you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, moving my timeline up by a factor of a hundred. Checking the calendar proves what I already know: I have less than thirty days to somehow convince one of the most notoriously stubborn men in the world to give me a multi-million dollar company.

Easy.

“I’m... sorry. For lying.”

I’m so shocked he just apologized--something he’s never done in my twenty-five years of life--it takes me a moment to respond and tell him he’s forgiven. “Ty proshchen, otets.”

I disconnect the call and swivel around in the chair, a smile pulling on my lips.

I’m going to drive him fucking crazy. All while I make him fall in love with me.

Oh, Cassian. I almost feel sorry for you.

_______________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

[rosesisupposes]

Mist Connection (Sleepxiety)

read on ao3

Virgil's always been told to be careful in the fog. “Never stray from the path, no matter what you think you see or hear!” He's sure his Aunties are just superstitious. And yet...

pairing: Virgil/Remy (Sleep)

content tags: brief mention of parent death/disappearance; fae-like setting; Remy Is A Flirt; kissing, background best friends analogical 

word count: 4,072

⁂

Virgil has always hated the fog.

He stomps down the country road to his house, trying to make his footfalls louder.

He knows it's superstitious, but the thick, cloying clouds make him feel claustrophobic, like anyone or anything could leap out at any time.

And then, of course, there are the stories.

All his village Aunties talk of disappearances, a last sighting of a poor soul walking into a thick bank of fog and never being seen again.

“Be careful, lad,” they warn him. “Never stray from the path, no matter what you think you see or hear!”

Virgil rolls his eyes at them, smiles indulgently are their old tales. His friend Logan is always quick to point out that all these stories happened just before he was born, so it can only be passed down in rumor.

But a part of him believes, and so he dons his heaviest combat boots, zips his bomber jacket over his hoodie, and he keeps his eyes glued to the ground in front of him, watching each step to stay on the path.

He’s sure the legends are really about caution- the woods here are dense, and difficult to navigate even when it’s clear. It’s all too likely those sad disappearances were just folks who got disoriented and blundered in all the wrong directions.

But then again, one can never be too cautious.

It’s probably because he’s dwelling on those tales that he hears it.

“Virgil...”

Distinctly, a voice. Saying his name. It sounds... familiar, somehow. But who?

He pauses, listening hard. He hears nothing, though, and keeps on. He’s close to home.

He looks up, peering for the porch light. But then he sees- eyes? No, not quite eyes. They’re far too big, for one, but they also look too... blank.

“Virgil!” The voice says again, and now there’s a mouth along with the maybe-eyes. He’s not imagining- there’s certainly a face, of some kind, and it’s speaking to him. By name.

Virgil hesitates. He’s had several nights in a row of not great sleep- maybe he’s just tired and seeing things? But all the voices of his Aunties are yelling in his ear to look away, to keep moving.

The only problem is, the face is directly in the path where he needs to walk. He can only avoid it by going off the road. And that, he knows, is a far worse option.

So he takes a deep breath, looks down, and keeps walking forward. He keeps his eyes fixed at where the cloud meets the ground, at the edge of the little circle of visibility he has in each direction. It moves with him, as fog always does.

But when he chances a glance up, the face is still there. And now it’s more defined, a head shaped in the mist. And now he sees that the large eyes are in fact glasses. That makes sense.

Why am I trying to apply logic to a trick of my eyes in the fog? he asks himself angrily, and he firmly roots his gaze to the ground once more, stomping on.

“Virgil... wait, please!” the voice says again. More words now? Can he still call that just a trick of a tired mind?

Through the mist, he can make out the slightest nimbus of light from his porch lantern. He knows where home is, and it’s close.

So it can’t be too risky, right?

“Who do you speak to?” he asks cautiously, not wanting to confirm that this hallucination knows his name.

“I speak to you, Virgil!” the hallucination says, and its mouth is defined enough now for him to see a smile. The mist is rippling, more and more forming into defined shapes, giving it a neck, and shoulders, and a steadily-growing torso.

“Who are you? What are you?” Virgil asks. He tugs at his hoodie until the hood is free from under his jacket, draping it over his ears and head.

“You don’t remember?” the form asks, pouting. “Am I that unmemorable?”

“And what am I supposed to remember?” Virgil asks guardedly.

“How we met, babes! It seems so recent, but you’re so much bigger now...”

Virgil frowns. Something deep in the recesses of his memory stirs, like a whisper of a dream from many years ago.

The form has grown enough to have arms and the beginnings of legs. “Take my hand, you’ll remember,” it says, extending its newly-formed limb.

“Oh yeah? I’ll remember, and what else? Do I look dumb enough to go around shaking hands with every fog-creature I see?” Virgil crosses his arms resolutely, and the form droops slightly.

“I mean you no harm, hon. I just want to talk.”

Virgil says nothing, just taps his steel-tipped toe.

“Fine, no, sweetie, you don’t look dumb. Just familiar. Hm, do you have an older brother or father who looks like you? Did I skip a generation again?”

The more defined the form becomes, the more human its voice sounds, no longer an ethereal echo but a drawl. Virgil’s not quite sure if he should be reassured or more freaked out by that.

“Can’t help you there,” he replies. “If I have any siblings, I’ve never met them. And ditto on the dad.”

Finally, the form is complete, head to toe. It appears to stand on the ground, but it clearly cannot detach from its cloud completely. “Then clearly, introductions are in order.” It looks at Virgil for a moment, then grows a very similar jacket around its torso. “You may call me Remy.”

“Okay, fog-boy,” Virgil replies, arms still crossed. “You’ve been calling me Virgil, feel free to continue.”

“Virgil. I’m glad to have found you. I’ve been looking for you, you see. Or at least, I think it was you. You haven’t always been this big, right? Humans are weird.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Strong words for a - man? Entity? - who just grew a body out of a cloud. But yeah, I grew the human way. I was a kid. Now I’m not. Are we done?”

“No, please!” Remy says, arms raising as Virgil starts to walk forward. “I can’t- if you go too close to the lantern I won’t be able to speak to you. I- if we did meet, touching my hand would bring the memory back, nothing more. I swear I mean you no harm. Please?”

Virgil hesitates. It’s a risk, for sure. But haven’t the aunties always said the fair folk cannot lie?

“Does it have to be your hand?” he asks.

“No, any part of this form will do.”

“Then turn around,” Virgil orders.

Remy obeys.

Virgil steels himself, still considering the possibility that he could just run to his house now. But curiosity takes hold, and he reaches out to lightly brush Remy’s shoulder. It feels odd, still a cloud, but gives more slowly, like memory foam. And then- he remembers.

He’s a child again, no more than five or so, and he’s lost on the way home. Auntie hurt her leg and couldn’t walk with him. He’d insisted he was able to walk the quarter mile himself. But then the fog had rolled in. He’s cautiously proceeding, staying on the path, but he’s terrified.

He hears a voice, calling his name, and follows it. A smile dances in the mist around him, and the voice tells him it will guide him home, only take its hand.

Virgil wraps chubby fingers around the cloud hand dangling from the mist, and true to its word, the porch light is soon visible. Another Auntie is on the porch, looking frantic, but calms when she sees him.

Virgil lets go of the hand, and he’s back in the present, hand dangling in mid air behind Remy’s back. He frowns in confusion.

“So I met you. And you helped. Why? Everyone not a child knows the mist isn’t friendly.”

Remy turns back around, looking hurt. “And did Everyone ever try buying me a drink first?”

In spite of himself, Virgil snorts in laughter.

“You’re a cloud, can you even drink?”

“No,” Remy replies, pouting, “but they could have made an effort!”

“Fine, so you’re not that bad. Can I go home now?”

“No- please, you’re the first one to hear me in... Goddess, even I’ve lost count.“

“So what,” Virgil asks with a shrug. “Did you just want to chat? Cause small talk ain’t my jam. I have a date with a conspiracy theory marathon.”

Remy droops. “I can’t keep you. Go, then. I’ll return to being alone and formless, reviled by the locals, my reputation cruelly smeared!”

“Holy shit, drama queen much?”

“Why yes, I am a queen! Thank you for noticing!” Remy replies, perking up.

Virgil rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but be a bit charmed by this odd creature. He dusts off a stump at the edge of the road and sits. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. Why can’t everyone hear you? Why does everyone think the mist will make us humans disappear?”

Remy’s feet leave the ground as they wriggle in happiness. A flick, and a chaise starts to melt into being out of the fog next to Virgil, giving them a place to elegantly flop down.

“I don’t know why they can’t all hear me,” they admit. “It only seems to be people who are... special, in some way. I think there’s been one a generation, but time’s a bitch and I don’t like her.”

Virgil smirks but doesn’t reply, nodding for them to continue.

“The disappearances... I think time might be an issue again? Time or space. One of those. Maybe both. I thought all humans were returned to the same moment and spot they left, but apparently I’m not the only one who gets messed up?”

“So... wait, what are you, exactly? Are you of the gentle folk?”

Remy sniffs. “How dare. My manners are so much better than theirs. Did I ask for you name? Have I whisked you off to my court? No ma’am!”

“Jeez, touchy! If not fae, what are you?”

Remy ruffles their hair, and it wisps around as if in a breeze. “I think you humans would call me, hmm, a spirit? Elemental? I’d tell you my actual name, but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

“Try me.”

Remy smirks, then makes a sound like the wind over a heath, the dampened noise of waves lapping at a shore, and the tiny sound of goosebumps forming in the clammy air.

“Okay, you’re right, I can’t pronounce that.”

Remy smirks deeper. “So anyway, I keep waiting to find one of you who can hear me properly, but most people just hear echoes I think? And that freaks out the poor lil human brains.”

“Wow, can’t imagine why,” Virgil replies drily.

“Hey, it’s not easy being ignored and invisible to everyone who passes you! Not that I’d expect you to understand-“

“Of course I understand,” Virgil says with a shrug. “That’s most of my life since the Aunties decided I was raised enough.”

Remy pauses. “What are ‘Aunties’. Are those... food?”

“...they’re people. Why would you think food?”

“Humans do weird things, okay?”

“Sure, whatever. Aunties are all the ladies in town who collectively took care of me when I was a kid. Because no parents.”

“And parents are- the ones who made you?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Well, how can you not have them then?”

Virgil shrugs. “They didn’t stick around, I guess. I was dropped off at the wardlings house when I was a baby. I’ve only ever had the Aunties, and my best friend Lo.”

“Low?”

“Logan.”

Remy scratches their cloudy head. “Have I seen this Logan?”

“Nah, he was a pen pal, now an internet pal.”

Remy smiles, bemused. “I will pretend I know what any of those words mean!”

“I’ve never met him face to face,” Virgil explains.

Remy’s own face falls. “So you are also lonely.”

Virgil, about to shrug philosophically, pauses. “I- yeah. I am. It’s mostly fine, I’m an introvert. It’s fine.”

Remy sits up from their lounging position and stares at Virgil, or appears to. The glasses over their eyes are opaque, and the gray clouds of their face are hard to read.

“Do you think, maybe- I was so excited to be able to talk to you, Virgil. I would like to do so again, if you would allow it.”

Virgil looks down. The Aunties would absolutely screech in dismay at this entire situation, let along agreeing to repeat it. But- it hasn’t been unpleasant. It’s been intriguing. And Remy saved him, all those years ago.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he replies, looking up with a smile. He’s rewarded by a smile on Remy’s face that’s so bright, it almost seems like a second lantern.

“Until next time, Virgil- wait, humans have family names, correct? What is yours?”

Virgil is standing to walk home, but smiles wryly. “You need a family to have a family name. I was found in the doorstep in the middle of thunder and rain, so they’ve always called me Virgil Storm.”

“Until next time, Virgil Storm!” Remy says. They hesitate, then move through the mist closer to Virgil. “This is how humans say goodbye, I believe,” they say, and then Virgil feels that odd sensation of dense clouds touching his cheeks, one that distracts him so much that he’s barely aware of Remy leaning in until lips of clouds are pressed against his.

When Remy finally withdraws, Virgil’s mind has come to a complete stop, and it’s not until his body has fully faded back into the swirling mists that Virgil is able to make himself move.

He walks into his house, shucks his layers and boots robotically, and collapses on the couch. He stares at the TV as it plays his conspiracy marathon, but his eyes don’t take in a single minute of it.

A fog person just kissed me. The thought, with no useful additions, circles endlessly through his brain, even as he falls into a restless sleep.

⁂

Virgil pays an unusual amount of attention to the weather after that... well, unusual night.

He checks the humidity every day, looks for fronts coming in that might bring in a bank of fog, asks the local farmers their predictions. He never mentions why he’s so interested. Certainly not to the Aunties, but also not to Logan. His friend can tell he’s a little distracted, but not enough to be a real concern.

Virgil’s not quite sure why he won’t even hint at it, but he knows it’s at least partly because, well. He’s not convinced it was real.

He had been very tired, so there’s a non-zero chance he did imagine it all. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

But when he’s lost in thought, he keeps realizing that his hand drifts to his lips and the sensory memory they still hold.

A week later, the forest eases under a coverlet of soft clouds curling close to the ground. From the minute the mist gathers, Virgil is sitting on his porch, peering into the growing fog with anticipation and nervousness.

When he can barely see the first tree, he double checks the porch lantern and walks out, checking over his shoulder until he’s fully surrounded by dense, swirling clouds.

He waits, looking around him, but sees nothing, and hears nothing.

“Uh, Remy?” he says aloud, feeling self-conscious. “Fog-spirit? It’s, um. Me. I mean, it’s Virgil.”

A weight in his stomach is insisting that it was all a sleep-deprived hallucination, and that he’s speaking like a fool into empty air. The rest of his stomach not currently sinking through his knees twists into elaborate pretzels.

Just as he’s giving up hope, turning to go, he sees smooth orbs sticking out of the amorphous clouds. The smile follows, already smirking.

“Oh babes, don’t tell me you mist me!” Remy drawls.

Virgil wants to run to them, to reach out and confirm that they’re really real, but he restrains himself. “I wasn’t sure you’d show,” he says with a deceptively noncommittal shrug.

Their body forms faster this time, and they lower their glasses to stare at Virgil for a moment. “Oh hun, don’t even try, I know what it’s like to be waiting breathlessly for someone to return.”

Virgil finds himself breathless anew, caught by the sight of Remy’s revealed eyes. They glow softly, like the hazy haloes of twin lanterns somewhere in the distance behind them.

He coughs, finding his thoughts again. “Do you  even need to breathe? As an- elemental, was it?”

Remy sniffs. “No, but I can if I want to. I’ve made myself lungs before! It was weird. I don’t know how humans do it.”

“We don’t exactly get a choice,” Virgil replies drily.

“And yet, Virgil Storm,” Remy says, drifting closer, “I think it’s really you who’s taken my breath away.” They cup Virgil’s cheek again, and this time Virgil’s sure his brain has absolutely ceased functioning.

“...erm. Uh. Yes?” he stammers, his cheeks flaming in stark contrast to the cool, humid touch of Remy’s fingers.

“What is this color, Virgil?” they ask softly. “It reminds me of- lady slippers. Early spring peonies. But with the warmth of a midsummer rain.”

“It’s called a blush,” Virgil mutters, still demonstrating the affliction.

“You didn’t do this last time,” they comment, still holding Virgil’s cheek in one cool hand.

“Last time, you hadn’t already kissed me,” Virgil says to the ground, the heat in his cheeks bursting out even more.

“Did I upset you?” Remy asks, a dark line of clouds showing a crease in their forehead.

“Not- upset, no,” Virgil manages. “You surprised me, though. Kind of a lot.”

“Surprises can be good or bad, yes? Was it a good or bad one?”

“It was, uh. A good one.”

“Would it be better if it were not a surprise?” they ask, and there’s mischief in their misty smile.

“Absolutely,” Virgil breathes, veins thrumming.

Remy leans in, and they’re kissing him again, and he’s... god, this is objectively the weirdest thing he’s ever done, and yet he can’t bring himself to care even a bit.

He kisses back, this time, feeling the odd, pleasant sensation of cool lips giving under his without dissipating. He reaches up and finds he can cup Remy’s soft, cloudy cheeks too.

A tiny, insuppressible voice in the back of his head wonders if an elemental has a tongue, or if that’s something they’d have to grow for the occasion.

The question definitely interests him, but there’s a second, louder voice.

Breaking off, it’s the second voice that tumbles out of his mouth. “Do you kiss everyone who can see you?”

Remy pauses.  “I- well. Technically, yes?”

Virgil steps back, arms coming up to guard himself off. The heat in his cheeks feels like ice now. “So, what. I’m just another human conquest?”

“No!” Remy says, and there’s clear distress in their voice. “No, not at all, it’s just- I admit, I have not been... entirely honest?”

Virgil narrows his eyes. “Start talking truth now, then. Or I’m walking away right now.”

Remy holds up their hands in defeat and surrender. “I was mostly truthful, I swear. I don’t know why some people can hear me, but I know why you can. And only two people ever have.”

“And why can I hear and see you?”

“Because of the last person who could.”

“And who was that?”

Remy takes off their glasses, meeting Virgil’s eyes with theirs. “I believe it was your parent.”

Virgil’s ears roar as his brain struggles to process this announcement. His parents? The ones he never even looked for, since no one had any leads? There’d been no note, no memento, no witness of who’d dropped him off. And he has his Aunties. But he’s never stopped wondering, fantasizing about dramatic backstories that he’d never confess to in a million years.

“Who are they?” Virgil asks, in a small voice.

“They were- unique. They heard us, after generations in this village who couldn’t or refused to. They lingered and talked, and didn’t run away in fear.”

“You talked to them?” Virgil asks, hope bursting out of his throat. “What was their name? What were they like?”

“I didn’t, no,” Remy replies with a small shake of their head. “Not until much later. No, they talked to a different elemental, a mentor of mine.”

Virgil stares. "There are... more of you?"

Remy smirks. "Not of me, hun, I'm one of a kind. But yes, there are other elementals. Fog's not the only thing in the world, sadly."

"What was your mentor's element, then?"

Remy sobers, and reaches out to clasp Virgil's shoulder. "Thunderstorms. They were the Thunder Spirit."

Virgil stiffens. "Wait, does that mean- the rain, when I was dropped off?"

"It was them, yeah," Remy says softly.

"What-" Virgil's voice is rough. "What happened to the other one? The human?"

Remy sighs deeply. They drop their arm to their side, and their body follows, falling to sit suspended in their soft clouds. "They disappeared, having you. None of us knew it would happen. They just... melted into the storm. Your parent, the elemental, they were able to save you, but they couldn't save their lover. And my mentor, Thunder- they couldn't care for you, not the way you needed. So they dropped you off and saw that you were picked up safely."

Virgil feels his legs giving out. His parents- not in any of his daydreams had they been, well, magic. He'd thought- maybe if they were, they wouldn't have left him. Or they would have come back.

Distantly his brain wonders why he's not on the hard ground, and he realizes Remy has sent solid clouds to hold him up despite the jelly his limbs have become,

"...why didn't they come for me?" he asks his knees, tears leaking down his cheeks. "Thunder- why didn't they find me, all these years?"

The clouds of Remy's cheeks have grown darker, and small raindrops drip from them. "They were devastated, Virgil. They loved your parent, truly and utterly, and they blame themself for their death. And we experience time differently - it hasn't been that long, for them. They haven't recovered. But they asked me to watch over you, to make sure you were safe."

Virgil swipes at his cheeks. "Doesn't that make you a creep, then?" He glares at the foggy entity in accusation. "Watching me since I was a kid, then kissing me?"

"I was barely a 'kid' myself when they asked me to, I swear," Remy protests. "They were like my- what was your word - Aunties? They looked after me, showed me the ropes of my powers as a new being. I promise to you, I wasn't leering then, I was new and young and, perhaps, interfering more directly than the elders wanted by taking your hand all those years ago.

"There'd been too many oddities of humans and the mist," they continue. "Disappearances. Our cousins the fae causing mischief when we weren't watching. So the elders created me, to survey all that the mist touches."

"So. What. Your love is pure or some shit," Virgil drawls, acid dripping off his words.

"Yes," Remy answers simply.

If they'd qualified, or justified, Virgil could be more defensive, could refuse to believe it. But they just stare at him, glasses off, glowing eyes sincere.

"Oh," is all he can manage in response. Maintaining eye contact has a strange side effect of making his cheeks heat up, so he has a staring contest with his boots, instead.

"Babes, please look at me?" they ask gently.

Virgil can't ignore such a polite request, can he?

But it's a dirty trick. How can he maintain a tough, self-righteously angry exterior when Remy is smiling at him with so much liking in their eyes that the orbs might as well be glowing hearts?

"Can you forgive me, Virgil? For not telling you everything sooner?"

Virgil resists for all of a second before breaking into a broad grin. "You could convince me, somehow."

Remy grins, and lifts Virgil off his feet, fully suspended in the low-hanging clouds. "I'll do my best to be very convincing."

Virgil, the son of a Thunder Spirit and their human paramour, laughs, and pulls Remy in to kiss him again, and again, and again.

[aetm-malereaderimagines]

Hi hi!! May I request one for haikyuu where reader is Yaku’s younger brother and he’s on the team. It’s during the training camp and he meets and has a crush on Akaashi but doesn’t know how to talk to him cuz he socially awkward and stuff? Thxx!!! Luv your works by the way uwu *^*

No thank you!!! I’m so happy to hear that! I’m so sorry it took me so long to write this but the Christmas-New Year period has been quite busy for me m(_ _)m I took the liberty of making you a first-year setter since I needed something to start from. I really do hope you like it tho!

Also sorry to the other person who sent me another request but don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you! I’ll get to writing your request as soon as I can!

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Male Reader

Word count: 1970

密かな眼差し — Silent Admiration

 “Listen up, boys!”

You turned around to look at Kurōwho was calling for your attention. You were sitting on the floor ofyour locker room alongside your teammates, all of whom had gatheredthere early in the morning, and now everyone’s eyes were on Kurō.Kurō was standing in frontof the lone window and as you turned around to look up to him, yousquinted, as the summer sun blazing through the glass pane, stillhanging relatively low above the horizon, hurt your eyes a littlebit.

“Starting today, we’ll be training with Fukurōdani, Ubugawa,Shinzen, and Karasuno so don’t you dare do anything toostupid. I’m talking to you, Yamamoto!” saidKuroo, causinggiggle to rise across the room, except from Taketora himself. “I’mgonna go and show our guests around so you go to the gym and waitthere, okay?”

As soon as you rose to your feet, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Stressed?” asked Morisuke.

You gulped.

“A little. You know the guys we’llbe training with, right, nii-san?”

“Well, I do knot the guys fromFukurōdani, Ubugawa,and Shinzen” yourbrother answered. “We’ve trained together a few times. They’reall pretty cool guys even if some of them can be a little…eccentric. But I don’t knowmuch about Karasuno,” he added. “We’ve had a practice matchonce in Miyagi but that’s pretty much it.”

“That doesn’t help much but…Thanks, nii-san.”You gave your brother a faint smile.

“Oh come on, you’ll be okay! You can always hide behind me ifyou’re scared,” Morisuke teased.

“Don’t be surprised if Iactually do end upclinging to your back,” you teased back.

Youkept talking and teasing each other back and forth as you covered the short distance separating your locker room and the gym. Once you gotthere, you started getting everything ready for the practice, settingup the net, bringing out the balls, mopping the floor… Halfwaythrough, the members of Ubugawa and Shinzen arrived at the gym andcountless unfamiliar voices filled the air, adding to the usualhubbub of your teammates setting up the court and reverberating against the gym walls, making you slightly uneasy. Youtried to stick to Morisuke as much as you could, at least when he wasnot greeting other teams or running off to kick Yamamoto or Lev tostop them from causing trouble.

A fewminutes later, Fukurōdaniarrived, adding a whole newlevel to the general ruckus with their rather loud owl-hairedcaptain. You remembered seeing him fromthe stands once when you went to cheer on your brother but somehow heseemed even louder now than then. You ran off to the side where Levwas sulking after being scolded particularly harshly, this time byKurō.

“Wanna train with me? I can tossthe ball for you,” you spoke to Lev, causing him to jump upimmediately.

“For real?! Of course I want to!”Lev exclaimed, making you letout a sigh of relief. Now,you had an excuse not to talk to anyone else, even if only for thetime before the official practice began. Youwere about to head for the ball basket when you heard an unfamiliarvoice from behind your back.

“Yaku-kun.”

You turned around to find a tall, slim figure standing right in frontof you. A pair of gunmetal blue eyes bore into you from underneaththick, black eyebrows and a mop of messy hair of the same color.

“I’m looking forward to training with you,” the dark-haired boysaid, both to you and to Lev, giving the latter a small nod ofacknowledgment.

“Umh, likewise?” you said questioningly, trying to remember ifyou knew him. He knew your name so you probably should also know hisbut you just couldn’t remember it.

“Umh, excuse me, but do we know each other?”

“I know you. I saw you in one of your matches when you went in tosub Kenma. You weren’t half-bad for a first year. I’m AkaashiKeiji, a setter like yourself. I hope we can learn from each other.”Akaashi spoke in short but pronounced sentences. You kind of juststood there, listening, and nodded when he finished, acknowledginghis words. He nodded as well and simply walked away.

You remembered now. You had seen Fukurōdani’s matches a few timesin videos. Akaashi’s tall figure, his dark hair and calm demeanormatched those of Fukurōdani’s first setter.

“Yaku? Should we go and get the ball? …Yaku?” Lev tried to snapyou out of your trance but to no avail.

You were still standing where Akaashi left you, dumbfounded. A settermuch superior to you, the setter of one of the strongest highschool teams in the country, praised your skills as a volleyballplayer and admitted he could even learn something from you.Although you’d had your doubts about having four other teams hangaround your school, most of those doubts vanished after yourconversation with Akaashi.

And you had to admit he was kind of your type.

It was a crush. It was definitely a crush.

You spent the last few days training intensely and getting to playagainst so many different, strong players was cool and all but youwould find your eyes wandering towards the pretty Fukurōdani setterevery now and then, probably even more often than you’d like toadmit. But you had yet to make a move, any move actually.You’d only played a few games against Fukurōdani and… that waspretty much it. That was all the contact you’d made with Akaashi.Before you even knew it, it was already the last day of the jointpractice and the BBQ you were going to have in the evening was yourlast chance to do something. You had to at least get hisnumber. Texting was the less embarrassing alternative to campingoutside his school whenever you wanted to talk to him.

But even as the sun sank over the horizon and the BBQ started, youstill couldn’t force yourself to talk to Akaashi properly. How didother people even do it? Talk to strangers? Holding casualconversations with people they barely knew anything about?

Akaashi was right there, standing by the grill and talking toKarasuno’s setter, yet he seemed so far to you.

“What are you staring at?”

You didn’t even notice when your brother approached you. You didn’tanswer and just kept chewing your veggies.

“You like Akaashi?”

You choked on your veggies.

“Wow, wow, are you okay?” said Morisuke with a genuinely worriedexpression on his face. You coughed a few more times, trying to getthe food out of your respiratory tract.

“I-I’m okay,” you managed to mumble.

“Here, have some water.”

You took the cup and drank all the water in one go. It took you amoment to realize that the voice that had spoken to you just now andthe hand that had brought you the cup of water hadn’t been yourbrother’s. The said brother, by the way, simply disappeared fromyour side. You looked around only to find him looking at you from allover by the grills, and when he noticed you looking at him, he winkedat you and mouthed “good luck.”

Best worst wingman ever.

“Better now?” asked Akaashi.

“Y-yeah, thanks,” you said.

And the dreaded awkward silence fell between you.

Akaashi was right beside you and you didn’t know what to say.

“So… How did you like the practice?” asked Akaashi.

“It… It was fun.”

“Having to do the laps was?” It was the first time you sawAkaashi smile.

“No, not that part,” you giggled, “but I need to work on mystamina anyways so…”

“Me too, man, if I want to keep up with Bokuto-san.” Akaashi letout a small sigh although you could tell he wasn’t being completelyserious.

“It��s already amazing you’re keeping up with him as you arenow. You’re amazing. Yeah,” you added sheepishly.

“So are you. Just what did Kozume teach you? You fit right in yourteam’s playstyle, and that’s no easy feat, given it’s thatNekoma.”

“Not much, really.” It really felt good to be praised by Akaashi.“I learn mostly by observation. I’m still a first year so I don’tget to play in official matches. Kenma-san isn’t really the kind toteach anything to people so… I mostly just watch and copy what Ican.”

“That’s even more impressive if you ask me.” There you gotanother smile. “But I’ll gladly train with you the next time wehave practiced together. That is, if you need any guidance.”

“Yeah, sure. Actually…” You gulped loudly. “If we—” Youfought really hard not to let the words get stuck in your throat. “Ifwe could, like, exchange numbers or something, I could ask you somequestions that way. If you were so kind as to answer them. Aboutvolleyball. And setting.” “And other stuff,” youadded in your mind.

Akaashi blinked a few times and you held your breath.

“Sure, why not,” he finally said, pulling his phone out of hissweatshirt as you pulled out yours.

“Aaand done,” said Akaashi. “I’ll text you later to checkif—”

“AAKHAAAHSHI!!!”

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi let out a deep sigh.

“Who is that pretty boy you’re talking to?” asked thehorn-owl-like guy who you knew to be Fukurōdani’s captain. Youwere so surprised by his sudden appearance your face seemed to haveforgotten how to blush.

“Bokuto-san…” It looked as though Akaashi was holding himselffrom facepalming, as he raised his hand towards his face. “MeetYaku-kun, Yaku-san’s younger brother and Nekoma’s reservesetter.”

“Oh is that so! But why are you standing so far from everyone else?Come on, let’s have fun together!” Bokuto said as he grabbed bothyour and Akaashi’s hands and dragged you towards the tables. Youturned your gaze toward Akaashi in hope of getting some kind of helpor at least explanation but he just looked back at youapologetically.

“This is my life. And also yours now, it seems,” he sent you asheepish smile.

Your heart skipped a bit at the thought that Akaashi alreadyconsidered you a part of his life. Soon, you were being greeted byother members of Fukurōdani, then even joined by a few members ofShinzen, Ubugawa, and Karasuno as everyone was just talking toeveryone else. You felt a little dizzy, being confronted with so manynew names and faces but every time you felt too out of place, youjust looked at Akaashi who gave you a reassuring smile.

“Yaku-san.”

Your name had been called by so many unfamiliar voices so many timesduring this practice that you weren’t even surprised this time. Itseemed to just be a thing that everyone knew your name. You turnedyour face in the direction of the voice and was confronted withKarasuno’s setter frowning face.

“Name’s Kageyama. I wanted to talk to you about the feint youused during our last match, the one where you mislead the opponentteam with your eyes? I tried talking to Kenma-san but he just ranaway,” Kageyama said. “Why is everyone running away from me,”he added in a much quieter voice.

“What’s that about?” Akaashi suddenly spoke up, turning hisgaze to you. “I wanna hear about that, too.”

You found yourself under the pressure two pairs of blue eyes boringinto you with expectation in their gaze. Both your crush and one ofthe most talented setters you’ve ever met were looking up to youfor guidance.

You smiled to yourself. It still wouldn’t be something you do everyday but maybe getting out of your comfort zone wasn’t so bad afterall?

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

All That Glitters

Summary: Geralt needed food, that was all. 

He didn’t expect to end up with something else on his hands.

Rating: T

Genre: Canon Compliant, Different First Meeting, Non-Human Jaskier, Hunting, Injury&Recover (Not Graphic)

Words: 2576

-

AO3

or

It had been four days since Geralt wandered into the forest.

There was a tug that drew him in, one he knew he shouldn’t trust but did so anyway. He ignored Roach’s protests, forgoed his usual path, all for what could just be a whim. Now, he was sure he was in the deepest of it, trees looming above, the sunlight still plentiful but fighting to get past the branches. 

With his destination unknown, supplies dwindled and Geralt was left with little choice for his next meal. Roach could graze on foliage all she liked, but Geralt needed more than that. There was nothing that smelled of danger, so camp was set up and by the next day, Geralt readied himself for hunting.

Geralt made his way through the forest, armed with his bow and arrow, his senses searching. Squirrels and rabbits ran by, but Geralt knew there was bigger prey afoot and he continued on. 

When Geralt spotted a flash of color, he ducked behind a tree and peeked around the trunk, almost not believing his luck. There, mindlessly searching the ground, was a golden deer. Its antlers stood proud, extending far out from its head, many pointed ends that showed its triumph in the forest. There could be no finer animal, and no finer meal in Geralt’s mind.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt lifted his bow and arrow, eyes locked on the deer. He pulled the string back, pausing for just a moment to make sure the deer was still grazing. When all went quiet, Geralt let the arrow go, his aim hitting true. 

The deer let out a strangled noise as the arrow struck its hindquarter and it fell into the bushes, a few birds scattering from the trees. Geralt was slow to stalk the deer, knowing that in a few moments, he’d have his chance to finish it off. However, as he got closer, Geralt knew something wasn’t right. His skin prickled as a heavy scent overwhelmed him, magic and old spirits rolled into one. Ducking his head, Geralt cursed himself before he shoved through the foliage, his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him.

On the ground lay a man, unclothed and an arrow lodged in his thigh. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the brown mop of hair on his head and his eyes, wet with tears, shone a brilliant blue. He shrank at the sight of Geralt, trying to crawl away, but his pain slowed him down. 

“I’m not going to hurt you again,” Geralt attempted to reassure him. 

The wound was becoming more agitated as the man tried to escape from Geralt, blood trailing down his leg. Fear emanated off the man in waves, almost making Geralt sick to his stomach. He had done this and he wasn’t sure he could make it right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you were. I thought your kind was long gone.” Geralt’s words spilled out, his hand reaching towards the man. 

This made the man stop and he glared at Geralt through tear-filled eyes. “Doesn’t mean you should go killing every animal you see just because you’re hungry.”

Geralt sighed. “I know.” 

“Is that all you have to say?” the man bit back. 

“Let me help you. Please.”

The man hesitated, furiously wiping his tears away as he judged Geralt. “Alright. I suppose if you wanted me dead you would have already done it.”

Geralt pursed his lips and knelt down by the man, careful with his actions. The man was easily startled, his body flinching at Geralt’s every move. When Geralt was finally able to lay his hands on the man, it was then he noticed how red his face was. 

“Breathe,” Geralt reminded, his hand pressing close to the wound. 

The man let out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the dirt as Geralt took hold of the arrow. In one swift movement, he yanked the arrow out and pressed his hand on top of the wound to counteract the bleeding. The man let out a choked sob, every inch of him shaking as he tried to pull away from Geralt. 

“You need to lay still,” Geralt murmured. 

He unhooked his cloak and pressed the fabric to the wound, using his free hand to pull out his dagger. The man visibly shivered at this, his eyes widening. 

“I’m just making a bandage for you,” Geralt explained as he braced one knee on the other end of the cloak and attempted to cut through the fabric. 

It was a rough cut, but Geralt managed to have enough fabric to tie it around the man’s leg, a tourniquet that would hold for now. Exhausted, the man lay back on the ground, his gaze up at the sky. Geralt could only watch, his words no longer having merit. 

“Do you know what I am?” the man asked. 

“I think so,” Geralt began. “A forest spirit, and an ancient one too, if I’m not mistaken.”

The man nodded, a cynical smile forming on his face. “It’s sad that we’ve had to hide so deeply, so secretly, that in turn we’ve been forgotten.”

“Self-preservation is important,” Geralt replied, finding a familiarity in the man’s words. 

To survive took priority, no matter the cost. In time, Geralt was sure witchers would become nothing more than rumors and perhaps he would find himself in this man’s place. 

“Take me to your camp,” the man cut through Geralt’s thoughts. “Let me rest there for the night and I shall be on my way in the morning.”

Geralt mulled this over, a part of him having hoped that this would be suggested. He didn’t want the man reopening the wound and Geralt consented with a nod. The man sat up then, wincing at the pain as Geralt gave him the remains of his cloak to cover himself with.

“I’ll carry you,” Geralt placed a hand on the man’s leg, waiting for his approval. 

He blinked at this before he gave Geralt a small smile and reached out to him. Tucking one arm under the man’s knees, Geralt’s other found its place wrapped around his back and he lifted him up easily, the man scrambling to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck. 

“That was a ride,” the man commented, looking back towards where he had been laying. He smiled at Geralt, unfaltering even when he didn’t get one in return. “You can call me Jaskier.”

“Is your actual name that hard to pronounce?” Geralt asked as he began walking back to his camp. 

Jaskier smiled at this. “Are you well-versed in the old languages?”

“Not as well as I should be.”

“You’re honest, Witcher. A good trait.” There was a slight teasing in Jaskier’s voice and Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

For just being shot, Jaskier was in high spirits and towards Geralt too. It was suspicious at the very least, but Geralt was in no mood to make Jaskier upset all over again.

“Are all forest spirits like you?” Geralt asked, hoping to get more information out of Jaskier.

“No, most find me abhorrent,” Jaskier grinned. 

Geralt certainly had no doubts about that with his sudden amicable attitude. It was as if he was someone else entirely and that wasn’t a comforting thought.

“You’ve proven yourself to me. I can tell you’re a good man underneath your rough exterior,” Jaskier answered as if reading Geralt’s mind.

This rattled Geralt a little, but he did his best to hide it. If only Jaskier knew. Then again, if Jaskier was as old as Geralt was guessing, he’d probably seen the end of the world and then some.

It was a relief when they finally reached camp so Geralt could set Jaskier down and busy himself amongst the idle chatter. Jaskier didn’t stop for a second, recounting what he had been up to before Geralt popped up out of nowhere. 

“Now, do you have any questions for me, dear Witcher?”

Geralt ignored the term of endearment, choosing instead to exchange a look with Roach. Her ears flicked, nostrils flaring, and Geralt agreed with her. Even if it was just for one night, Jaskier was going to be a handful. 

“All right,” Jaskier filled in the silence. “I’ll just tell you about myself.”

Daring to look back at Jaskier, Geralt was immediately at a loss. Jaskier had laid himself near the remains of Geralt’s fire from the night before, stretching out as if he were on a bed of furs. A hand hovered over the ashes, a few clumps floating in the air as Jaskier twisted his fingers about. 

“Oh, don’t act so surprised. There’s still forest in these ashes.”

That hadn’t even been a concern for Geralt. With Jaskier laying directly on his wound, he wanted to tell the man to flip back over just so he could make sure it was healing properly. 

“And don’t worry about my wound either. My body is already taking care of it.”

“Do you read minds now?” Geralt muttered. 

Jaskier laughed, the sound filling the forest around them. “Not quite. Your stern looks say more than you think.” 

This made Geralt pause, his eyebrows furrowing as Jaskier laughed again. 

“There it is.” 

With a grunt, Geralt dug through his supplies, a bit disconcerted with how much meat his diet consisted of. Taking the last of the jerky for himself, he managed to find a few scraps of bread, which he then offered to Jaskier along with some water. 

“Sorry I don’t have anything better,” Geralt muttered, making sure Jaskier was able to sit up as he started eating.

“You need your energy,” Jaskier shrugged. “As much as hunting disgusts me, I know a witcher doesn’t have many options.”

“I’ll be sure to not hunt in your forest again. I’ll let others know as well.”

Jaskier smiled, bittersweetness hanging off the edges. “That’s very kind. I wish everyone could be like you.”

“You wouldn’t want that.” Geralt was tempted to laugh, but years of pain struck first and he could only frown. “Then the world would be filled with nothing but monsters.”

“Is that what you see yourself as?” Jaskier frowned. “I mean, yes, you shot me, but once you knew what I was, you helped me. Would a monster do that?”

Geralt wasn’t convinced, but he was too tired to argue with Jaskier. A part of him couldn’t help get caught up in the sincere words, the comfort Jaskier was giving him. He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him and he shifted under the continuous staring. 

“I never caught your name by the way.”

“And you never shall,” Geralt smiled a little. “Not sure I can allow myself to be trapped in the spirit world forever.”

This got a laugh out of Jaskier and he perched his head on one hand. “Surely there must be some name I can call you besides ‘Witcher’.”

“You may call me Geralt then.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated and Geralt was sure his name never sounded more lovely than when it left the other man’s lips. “You’re wiser than most men. Not letting me have any fun at all.”

“Really? I’m not?” Geralt smirked.

“Oh, you’re a right tease, you are.” There was a pause before Jaskier glanced down at his hands. “I’m glad we met, Geralt. Even if it wasn’t ideal, it’s been much too long since I’ve had a proper conversation with anyone.”

If Jaskier’s idea of conversation was this, Geralt feared he may have set a bad example. However, he wasn’t allowed to dwell on this as Jaskier began chatting about something else. 

How bright his soul shined, an almost child-like excitement glowing in his eyes. Jaskier had lived decades more than Geralt and yet it seemed the world hadn’t tarnished him. Geralt could only watch, manage small replies, as he became tangled up in this strange, beautiful man. 

If only they weren’t to part come morning. 

With hours of night still ahead, Geralt settled into the approaching dusk all while Jaskier talked about nothing and everything.

~

Geralt woke to humming.

Bolting upright, Geralt searched the clearing only to find Jaskier brushing Roach down, dressed in Geralt’s extra clothing. However, all Geralt could register was the fact that Roach was letting a complete stranger take care of her and a magical being at that. Her ears flickered towards Geralt and Jaskier was quick to turn around, greeting Geralt with a bright smile. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Jaskier began, going back to brushing Roach. “I’m going to travel with you.”

“Why?” Geralt butted in, his mind already fussing over the consequences. 

“I like you,” Jaskier smiled. “And a new adventure might be nice.”

Geralt huffed, tilting his head forward in momentary frustration. “It’s dangerous. I can’t protect you at every turn.”

“I’m not expecting you to,” Jaskier waved. “I am a forest spirit after all. I can take care of myself. Look, my wound is already healed.”

That wasn’t the point, but Geralt had a feeling that whatever he said would be brushed to the side. 

“At least take me as far as the coast. Then you can see how you feel about me then.”

“Hm, quite the challenge you propose,” Geralt mulled over Jaskier’s words.

“Of course,” Jaskier teased. “What’s life without one or two?”

Geralt’s heart thumped in his chest and he found himself drowning in Jaskier’s piercing gaze. His decision had been made the moment he shot Jaskier with his arrow. Grumbling, Geralt got to his feet to clean up the camp only to find that everything had been taken care of besides his own bedroll. 

“The sooner we’re off the better, right?” Jaskier grinned, taking the half folded bedroll from Geralt’s hands. 

Their hands brushed and Geralt tried to ignore the shiver that ran up his spine. Geralt trailed after Jaskier, letting the man mess around with the buckles on his armor. It had been a while since someone was so quick to help him and Geralt could only follow as Jaskier commanded. Everything felt lighter, the armor, the day–even Roach had a new energy to her. 

Geralt figured in time he would learn just how strong Jaskier’s magic was. For now, he’d have to figure out this forest spirit amongst his scattered thoughts, his unending optimism. Surprising himself, Geralt found he did not mind.

The rest of the morning found Jaskier summoning a lute from nowhere, playing old tunes, creating nonsense songs amongst their conversation as they traveled.  He had a knack for a great many things and Geralt tucked them all away to remember for later. By mid-afternoon, it seemed Jaskier grew tired of his human form and handed Geralt back his clothes before transforming. He drew himself up proudly on his hooves, his antlers glistening in the light as he let Roach inspect him. With a huff, Roach kept on walking and Geralt gave her a reassuring pat, knowing she’d come around in time. 

As for himself, Geralt knew his stubbornness would not hold out. Jaskier was wiggling into every inch of his life and whether it was loneliness or something else, Geralt was more than happy to let him do so. 

He let himself admire Jaskier as they carried on down the road, an adventure laying itself ahead of them. For anyone passing by, it surely was a sight to see, a witcher on his steed while a golden deer trotted alongside them. 

[minah-delacroix]

At any price (Part I)

Universe: Dynasty AU

Characters: Minah, Sungjae, Tyler, Jane, Tara, Ashleigh 

Word count: 4,6k

The Costume

“You like it when I pretend to be someone else, don’t you?” Minah asked over the Madonna song playing loudly in the background, hips matching the beat of the music as she twirled around Sungjae. She smirked at the way he could barely hid how much he was enjoying the show. Or the costume, Minah couldn't place her finger on what it was yet.

“I don’t care who you are as long as I get to help you pick the costume”   Sungjae replied, a trace of a smirk on his face.

“Maybe we should get you some leather pants.” Minah said, plopping next to him on his bed, where clothes ket piling for her to try on “That’s 80s, right?

“Yeah, except that I’ve never been officially invited to the Delacroix Foundation Gala,” Sungjae said with a bit of an eye roll as he pronounced the last three words and then pulled Minah toward him with one confident move.

“I know” Minah giggled “I just think you’d look hot in leather pants and you’d be there anyhow. Either you’re there as a guest or working, I think you should wear a costume”, she insisted, causing Sungjae to scoff as he took her face in his hands.

“And now that you’ve tried this on, what about I help you take it off?” Sungjae’s hands dropped to pull down Minah’s strapless top.

It was probably a bit irresponsible —if not a whole lot— for the two of them to hole up in his house when Gabriel’s face was splashed on every front page of tabloids and gossip magazines; while the Delacroix Group and Minah’s family could barely manage the PR nightmare that had broken out the previous day when Gabriel was taken into custody after being linked to an embezzlement investigation. In Minah’s defense though, she had quit from her family’s company right after Gabriel’s appointment party and she’d spent the last couple of weeks preparing to launch her own company with the backup and support of Tyler Lee. There was no reason for her to help with the self-inflicted crisis her grandparents were going through and given the fact Aurelie had never supported her father’s decision in the first place, there was no reason for Sungjae either.

There were no reasons for Minah to worry about her cousin either. 

Yet, they say blood is thicker than water, so she still pulled away from Sungjae when her phone started vibrating on his bedside table, her arms untangling from him rather harshly.

“There was definitely no texting in the 80s,” Sungjae said, his breath a little ragged and the slightest hint of a pout forming on his lips. 

“I know, I know,” Minah said, reaching to grab her phone “I’m just waiting to know what happened with Gabriel’s bail and if-” She stopped in the middle of her sentence and moved to sit properly on the edge of the bed “Oh, it’s Tyler.” She said distractedly, her attention focused on reading the rest of the message “he says he has a surprise for me”

“Somebody sure moves fast for Tyler Lee” Sungjae commented, disdain twisting the corners of his mouth as he pronounced the name of Minah’s new business partner.

“I move fast for business” Minah corrected, standing up to pick her clothes and sending a cold glare in Sungjae’s direction.

“That’s it? Just business?”

“Look, there’s really nothing between me and Tyler.” The woman chuckled, sitting on Sungjae and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just work-”

Ignoring whatever it was she was going to add, Sungjae lifted her so that she straddled his lap and pressed butterfly kisses to the valley of her breasts.

“Work which I have to get to” she clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him away, but Minah knew she was a goner when she looked down and found Sungjae smirking at her.

The Pool

“How could you not remember Ashleigh?” Tyler Lee asked. He turned his face into the sun with an incredulous scoff escaping from his lips as he leaned back on the chair.

It was a bright Saturday morning of lounging lazily by the swimming pool at the Delacroix manor. A tradition for Minah and his girlfriends and most recently Tyler Lee. He had a different excuse to crash every time. Last week it was making sure Mark Yang was nowhere close to his baby sister and the week before that Minah had forgotten to sign some important document. This week he “needed to” catch up on Minah’s (and by extension, his company’s) first meeting with the legal advisor of IN-ECO Corp, a green textile company they were trying to get into business with. 

However, Minah didn’t deliver good news. Tyler fought back the desire of rolling eyes as he listened the story on how his business partner had mistakenly —or not— confused Ashleigh Hastings, newly appointed Legal Director of the company, for an assistant. A bad start, by any standard, but the fact they had gone to school together and Minah had no recollection of it whatsoever only made things worse.

“Well, I do now” Minah replied defensively, looking away from the magazine in her hands “Didn’t she have a weird obsession with Hello Kitty?” She asked, turning to face Tyler, who only plopped a grape into his mouth amused.

“You still don’t know who she is,” He said in disbelief “Maybe I should’ve been your wingman after all” he chuckled.

“I’m glad you find this funny, but I’m not losing this contract, Tyler,” Minah said seriously as she picked a flute of champagne from the side table. “Especially not because of a few hurt feelings”

“Do you really think this is just about high school?” Tyler asked sternly, pushing his Gucci sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Obviously” Minah replied naturally.

“Why don’t you let ME try? Tyler asked, putting an unnecessary emphasis on the pronoun, which made Minah frown “Maybe I can smooth things over and remind Ashleigh you’re not the whole company”

“Ashleigh Hastings?” Tara interrupted, scowling as she approached them clad in a one-piece swimming suit and a pair of oversized sunglasses that matched her brother’s.

“Seriously, T?” Minah questioned. “You too?”

“Minah had a meeting with her yesterday and didn’t know who she was” Tyler explained as Jane Durand joined them, water dripping down her body.

“I might’ve also asked her to get me a coffee” Minah confessed.

“What?” The incredulous voices of her friends echoed the disbelief, amusement, and irritation in their eyes.

“I just thought she was an assistant” Minah groaned, moving to recuperate her magazine. “I’m fixing it, there’s nothing-“

“No, Minah, you did enough” Tyler sat up and removed the sunglasses from his face. “I’m calling her” he added, reaching for his phone and navigating through his contacts.

“Good luck with that” Jane whistled, draping an Hèrmes towel around herself “You know Ashleigh doesn’t change her opinion easily”  

“Present tense?” Minah raised a brow “As in you’re friends with her?

“I wouldn’t call it friends, but she’s helped Chloe with some contracts” Jane shrugged. “We meet every other day at Home House, I told you about it”

“How does she even afford Home House?” Minah’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she decided it had nothing to do with the fact she had completely ignored Ashleigh’s very close existence and instead blamed it on the blistering hot weather.

“It’s just 2k a year” Tyler replied impatiently. “Anyone can afford that”

“Actually, Jane, what if you invite her out tonight and Tyler just happens to be there?” Tara suggested. Tyler’s brows knitted together “She might be more receptive then”

“Well, with all due respect, T” Minah glanced toward Tara before draining the rest of her drink “I am the one who knows about fashion

“Ok, but let me butter her up” Tyler’s hands fumbled for his drink and tipped it back. “I set the stage and then you can come in and-”

“And do all the heavy lifting” Minah interrupted, a grin crossing her face “Not that your part isn’t heavy too”

“Now, that’s what you’d like to think” Tyler ever so confident laughed before standing up and pulling his shirt off, revealing a sculpted chest and washboard abs that Minah pretended not to notice, but that unknowingly made her mouth salivate. “Girls, you’re swimming or what?” He asked before executing a show-off dive into the pool.

Minah made sure to think of that image for the rest of the day in hopes her brain stored it in her long term memory.

Club Libertine

Sungjae opened the backdoor of Minah’s Porsche, revealing a massive building illuminated by unnatural-looking turquoise lights and flashing neon lighting that seemed to be filtering through the upper floors. There was pounding electronic music that made Minah feel the ground might as well be trembling underneath her pair of Zanotti shoes.

“Be good in there” Sungjae reminded her as he closed the door behind her.

“I’ll try,” Minah said, but the low-cut, backless black dress she was strategically wearing made it difficult to believe she was up to good. “Why don’t you come in with me? I might need someone to keep me company before Tara and Tyler get here and make sure I behave” she said, her voice taunting as her hand reached for his.

“I’m not really dressed for a club” Sungjae hesitated, pointing at his black suit pants and cotton shirt.

“You’re with me” Minah winked at him “No one will be looking at you”.

For a brief moment Sungjae doubted before sliding his fingers between Minah’s, but he eventually did, a small frown forming between his eyebrows as they made it through the crowd of people waiting outside. 

“Do you see Tyler or Tara?” Minah asked with her nose scrunching up in disgust “This place smells like someone poured Chanel Number Five on a package of cigarettes and then set it on fire” she complained, making Sungjae laugh.

“VIP is over there” he yelled to be heard over the loud music, to which Minah pouted, disappointment crossing her features once she realized Sungjae was trying to keep a safe distance between them and didn’t dare to lean into her so she could hear him better.

“Well, I don’t want Ashleigh to see me yet” She commented, spinning to face him “Not until Tyler fluffs her to feel a little bit more generous” Sungjae only nodded at her. “We can get a drink at the bar”  

“Sure”

One of the downsides of the night was that Minah didn’t know how to do normal, so she stood in line, waiting to be served with the most disgusted look on her face. “How can people live like this?” 

“Your Delacroix is showing” Sungjae laughed “I’ll bring you your drink, you go sit” He shook his head, pushing Minah toward the lounging section. “Rosé, right?

“No, just ginger ale, I’m working tonight”

Another downside of such crowded space was that there was no place to escape if you bumped face to face into someone you’ve been actively avoiding. Minah discovered it when Luke Thomas materialized in front of her, smiling seductively as though he’d spotted his next prey. She didn’t even bother on schooling her expression, her upper lip automatically going up in disgust.

“Minah Delacroix. Hi”

“Luke,” Minah said, her voice as unemotional as it could get “What a surprise” she added with a forced smile.

“Yeah, Ashleigh Hastings texted me to come here. You remember her, right?” He asked while Minah pretended to look around to hide the massive eye roll and the scoff that escaped from her lips. Of course Luke would know her, after all birds of the same feather flocked together “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight”

“Well, yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Minah replied only not to appear rude. Though that was exactly what she had intended when she left Luke on read a couple of weeks ago. And all the times before that. He just didn’t get it

“Like seven months and a half,” The man said.

“Oh wow, you’re keeping track” Minah had to make her best effort not to frown or point out how utterly disturbing it was he knew that.

“I’ve been texting you and I know you’ve been receiving my messages” He went on “About Saint Tropez?”

“I thought that already happened”

“It did, but we can always go back” Luke offered, not quite getting Minah’s obvious rejection. “What’s your schedule like these days?”

Sungjae who had been watching the scene closely, stepped right on time for Minah not to respond. He slid an arm around her waist, causing her to hum pleased as she grabbed her drink and their hands touched. “Luke, this is my boyfriend Sungjae,” Minah linked an arm through Sungjae’s and said proudly. “Luke and I went to school together” 

“It’s like a school reunion over here” Sungjae smiled unnaturally. Looking in between Minah’s pleased expression and Luke’s confused face.

“Did you go to Le Rosey as well?” He inquired a bit taken aback.

“No, I went to a public school,” Sungjae said confidently. Minah smirked, feeling thankful Sungjae didn’t let just anyone intimidate him.

“Oh” Luke didn’t even manage to hide his surprise. So much for a life of etiquette classes in a 150k school. Money surely had gone to waste in his case. “Wow... Well, good for you, man” Luke said, still looking confused. “And good to see you, Minah” he waved his hand childishly before walking away, turning to look at them a couple of times before completely disappearing amid the crowd. Minah laughed, but Sungjae didn’t look particularly happy.

“Boyfriend?” He asked once Luke was out of earshot.

“Oh, come on, let’s dance” A clear downside for Sungjae was that he didn’t seem to know how to say no to Minah Delacroix. Especially not when her hips swayed to the rhythm of the music and she sexily grind into him.

“Minah, did you see this?” Tara asked, tapping the link on the screen of her phone.  Sure enough, Minah had, that’s why she was currently leaning against the bar of the VIP section, scrolling down her phone and not kissing Sungjae in some obscure corner of the club. 

It was probably a borderline masochistic behavior to follow a blog that aired her family’s dirty laundry all over the internet, but she had signed up for these notifications the day after Gabriel’s arrest. And right when she was having a good time, making sure Sungjae couldn’t help but blush, a new post had been uploaded. There were two pictures positioned side by side. On the left a picture of Gabriel the day he was appointed COO of Delacroix Group. The picture on the right showed him being taken into custody, hands cuffed as a police officer walked in front of him and another escorted him to the patrol. Underneath those pictures, there was a sensationalist headline and a blurred video of something suspiciously similar to a penis.

“More than seen it” Minah said, unable to hide a flush of satisfaction invading her. If only her grandfather was a better judge of character the family and the company wouldn’t have to deal with the shame of having Gabriel ruining their last name with scandals, crimes, and sex tapes. “Do you think he sent it to Jane?” She asked. It was a genuine question, but Tara’s face morphed into a grimace.

“Ok, don’t be a perv”

“Speaking of pervs, did you see Luke Thomas?” Minah asked, still distracted by the notifications blowing up her phone.

“On his way out” Tara spun and stared at her friend “And he was under the impression you introduced him to your boyfriend” She continued, giving Minah a long, serious look.

“And here I was thinking you’re not dating because you’re a workaholic…” someone said from behind her. Minah wasn’t surprised when Jane materialized holding two glasses of somethingthat she recognized as tequila “…but apparently you’re just multitasking with your assistant” she smirked as though she was in good spirits and Minah thought to herself that her friend looked too pleased for someone whose ex-boyfriend’s sexual escapades had just been exposed.

“God no” Minah shook her head fervently “I just told him that to get him off my back”

Both Jane and Tara looked at her skeptically, their eyes looking at her with something she assumed it was silent judgment.

“I am serious, girls” Minah went on. The last thing she needed was Tyler going after Sungjae or Jane letting everybody know about Minah’s relationship —or whatever sleeping with someone for years was supposed to be called—, which could potentially get them exposed and Sungjae fired. “I would never date someone from the staff” She added shrugging it off nonchalantly. “My grandparents would cut me off their will without a second thought and I wouldn’t risk that for a nobody”

Another downside for Sungjae was that despite whatever he’d say, he knew deep down he actually cared about Minah in ways he wasn’t ready to admit yet. That’s why his heart, he realized, was wrenching in pain when he accidentally overheard her talking to her friends.

“I know Minah has her blind spots” Tyler offered a charming smile as he served Ashleigh a flute of champagne.

“I hadn’t noticed” The woman replied with an eye roll.

“But I am telling you, the one thing she does know is fashion” Tyler insisted, shifting on the bright leather couch he was sitting on, moving closer to Ashleigh so she couldn’t focus on her hatred for Minah and instead diverted her attention on his very kissable lips. He knew she had a crush on him when they were teenagers and he would take advantage of it if that meant saving his investments and his company “It’s in her blood”

“Of course, she is a Delacroix” Ashleigh groaned “But that’s exactly the problem. Our company is not gonna be a pawn in her family’s feud. We are loyal to our values and I can’t trust a Delacroix to think of them when it counts,” she said, barely affected by the fact Tyler had leaned forward and was placing a hand dangerously close to her thigh.

“Don’t you trust me?” Tyler asked, cocking his head,

“Tyler, you went into business with her” Ashleigh replied as though the obvious answer was no.

“That means it’s my business too,” Tyler said gently “You know I’ll do the right thing for you and your company. If you at least hear her out, I promise she will hold her word”

Ashleigh let out a defeated sigh.

“I will, but only because of you”

“You know what? I think my sister said she was coming tonight too” He quickly noticed how Ashleigh's expression fell. “But that doesn’t matter, I’ll get us another bottle” He added with a lopsided smile. “DomPe?”

___

Tyler was not pleased to find Sungjae at the bar downing a glass of something that smelled like three-quarters tequila and one-quarter rum.

“Where is Minah and why are you drinking? Aren’t you supposed to drive her home?” Tyler inquired scathingly.  

“Not anymore” Sungjae ran a hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face.

“Well, tell your girlfriend I am looking for her,” Tyler said, not even bothering to look at him.  

“She is not my girlfriend” Sungjae raised his voice enough for Tyler to hear him clearly despite the loud music blasting at hundreds of decibels.

“She looked like she was the other day at the gala” Tyler countered back, his voice ice-cold as he let Sungjae know he’d found out about his and Minah’s affair then. The events of that night were still etched in his mind although he’d try his best to forget the haunting image of the woman he’d loved for years tangled in the sheets with another man. Rage washed through him at the recollection. Tyler had bid 1 million pounds for a diamond necklace he intended to gift Minah as a sign of his undying love for her, but when he went to look for her, he found her having sex with the man standing in front of him.

Sungjae stared at him blankly, refusing to confirm that Tyler was achingly close to the truth. “Talk to Minah, ok?” Sungjae was about to leave, but he felt his determination falter and suddenly he didn’t give a shit anymore. “You know, I’ve actually never gotten a straight answer from her”. He said, jaw clenching “Maybe you will” Then he turned around.

Tyler Lee was no stranger to Minah’s rejections so he felt the tiniest bit of sympathy as he watched the man walk away.

“Hey! Wait up!” Either it was real commiseration or just another step-in his carefully staged plan to get Minah, but Tyler didn’t really recognize his voice when he spoke, asking the man he loathed so much to join him and Ashleigh for a drink.

The rustic home

Sungjae’s home was a cozy yet elegant wood house that resembled the chalets Minah was so fond of because they reminded her of her teenage years spent in Switzerland and the winter campus of Le Rosey. Its interior of heavy beams, architectural finesse, and edgy modern furniture contrasted with the classic exterior. It was Minah’s comfort refuge and the first place she visited that morning as soon as she changed into a pretty dress she’d bought with Sungjae's preferences in mind.

Unfortunately, Sungjae didn’t seem particularly pleased to find her walking into his lobby, his face slightly swollen and his hair unkempt in a savage way.

“Oh, someone went a bit too hard in the club last night?” Minah asked, walking into his kitchen and picking a cup from the cupboard.

“No” Sungjae grumbled, watching her move to the coffee machine with a frown. “I’m just tired”

“Me too” Minah whined, her voice softening “That’s why I’m making us some coffee. I assume you just woke up” She said eying him up and down. He stood in his boxers and an oversized hoodie she’d seen way too many times. “I’ve had a dreadful morning. If I have to take one more call to comment on this video of Gabriel-” Minah scoffed. “It’s not even news anymore. Even I’m over it” She said pressing her back on the kitchen counter and smiling at Sungjae.

“Are you?” There was a crease on Sungjae’s forehead and he was crossing his arms over his chest as though he couldn’t believe a word that came from Minah’s mouth.

“Sorry?” Minah ignored the sound the coffee machine made and raised a brow.

“Don’t pretend you’re not secretly happy about your cousin falling off grace. Proves your point and makes you look good in comparison” Sungjae snarled, his voice and tone almost unrecognizable to Minah. There was not a time she could remember Sungjae had previously talked to her like that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sungjae. If you’re mad about yesterday I texted you and let you know I had to leave, I had paparazzi-“

“You’re like a human bulldozer” Sungjae interrupted Minah mid-sentence “You’d crush anyone if that benefits you, even if that’s your own family”

“Please, Sungjae” Minah scoffed, unsure of what was she was even supposed to reply to that. It was a first for her. “Gabriel is a grown-up man, I didn’t ask him to send me racy videos of his dick. This has nothing to do with me and even if it did, he doesn’t need you defending him”

“Maybe someone should defend the world from Minah” Sungjae replied harshly. “And the way you treat everybody, the way you treat Gabriel, Ashleigh, even your so-called friends”

“Ashleigh?” Minah repeated, increasingly confused by the whole conversation. Nothing Sungjae was saying made sense to her.

“You don’t really see what you do to other people, right?”

“Sungjae, I don’t get what you’re trying to say” Minah felt her chest physically ache “Ashleigh just hates me because I was popular in high school. And I was popular because for some reason paparazzi found me shopping in Paris and my pictures blew up. There was no other reason” Minah explained, trying to make sense, but completely losing the point. “I’ve never had any privacy, I don’t think anyone would want that for themselves. It’s ridiculous. I’ve had to learn how to defend myself and protect what I love by all means” Minah added stonily, her eyes staring straight ahead, unable to look at Sungjae.

“That is heartbreaking” Sungjae shot “But maybe you should stop blaming everyone and try to figure out why you’re so selfish and messed up now”

“You know what? I think I should leave” Minah announced, her voice wavering as she turned on her heels to leave. Nothing Sungjae could’ve said or done would’ve ever prepared her to find Ashleigh Hastings, scarcely dressed in one of Sungjae’s shirts, smiling at her when she turned around.

The apology —or lack thereof

“There you are” Minah walked into Sungjae’s home. The entrance hall smelled liked apples and lavender and there was a bottle of Minah’s favorite rosé waiting on an ice bucket on the marble table she had gifted Sungjae when he first moved into the property.  There was also a tray bearing cheese and petit fours. Sungjae moved around the living room placing and arranging things as though he was expecting someone. “I’ve been texting you non stop for like twenty minutes”

“I’m off work” Sungjae answered, gesturing to the food that sat on the coffee table as though it was supposed to mean something to Minah.

“I’m late for a meeting and I lost my keys.” She said, ignoring the fact that the place was plastered with memories of her and Sungjae from a past that seemed to have never happened. “I need to borrow the spare set”.

“They’re on the bowl over there, golden tag” Sungjae pointed lazily across the room. Minah glanced around and much to her dismay, realized the house didn’t feel anymore like the place she’d run to when the world seemed to be against her.

“And that’s it?” Minah crossed her arms over her chest, the shadow of a frown on her face

“Do you want me to start the car for you?” Sungjae asked patronizingly.

“You really don’t have anything you would like to say to me?” Minah said with a forced laugh, suddenly irritated by Sungjae’s attitude. “An apology, maybe?

“What for?” Sungjae asked in disbelief.

“For sleeping with the enemy?” Minah blurted “Ashleigh Hastings ruined a ten million dollar contract”

“If you want me to apologize for Ashleigh you’re gonna have to wait for a long time” Sungjae’s voice was strangely cold. “As a matter of fact it’s you who owes me an apology,” He said, letting the sofa cushions he’d been arranging fall to the floor and placing his hands on his hips. “For a lot of things, but we could start with the little game that you played at the club the other night.

“Excuse me?”

“You told that douche I was your boyfriend,” Sungjae said shrugging.

“Yes, but I just said that-“ Minah started, but was immediately cut by Sungjae.

“To get away from that idiot” He snapped “I know. I heard what you told Tara and Jane” he nodded, looking at Minah with a mixture of hurt and anger.

She swallowed hard, feeling a guilty twinge “Is that why you slept with Ashleigh?” She asked, barely able to speak “To get back at me?”

“I don’t use people to hurt others, Minah” Sungjae scoffed, then picked the cushions from the floor “That’s you,” He said, eyes meeting hers once he was standing straight up again “That’s why we two are so different”

His words caused Minah to froze although it was actually hot in Sungjae’s place, she’d later realized it was the magnificent fire roaring in the fireplace, that she’d never seen on before because Sungjae was not particularly fond of fire —or at least the Sungjae she knew, wasn’t.

“Sungjae, look, I had no idea-“

“That the nobody has feelings?” Sungjae spat “Don’t worry. That’s what you pay me for.”

Minah tried to say something but no words would leave her mouth.

“From now on we’re keeping things strictly professional,” he said, signaling the door “Right now I’m off the clock”

Minah headed toward the door feeling tears in her eyes. She turned back when the need to talk it over and try changing Sungjae’s mind, to apologize probably, washed over her. But when she did Sungjae was nowhere to be found.

Minah’s mind strangely strayed to that Baccarat heirloom she broke when she was a child and how not even the finest joaillier in Paris could fix it. This felt awfully much the same. 

...

[recurring-polynya]

Sometimes, when I don’t feel like writing the things I am supposed to be working on, I have a document worth of drabbley post-TYBWA stuff where I’m working out how Renji and Rukia actually manage to get family-approval for their relationship and subsequently get married. It’s pretty rough and I never finish any of the parts.

In any case, @sillier-things mentioned recently that she liked stories about making babies and I told her I would write her a drabble, so I wrote a little story about family planning, because I am a thirty-eight year old, deeply boring woman, and because I need, in my heart, for Ichika to have been extremely planned.

So, I wrote this, mostly for me, and I hope you like it, too. If you don’t, I’ll just write you another one. Takes place in the late fall, between the TYBWA and their wedding, they are betrothed. (Renji likes to pronounce “betrothed” with three syllables and in his Byakuya voice). PG for some raunchy sex talk.

Some background from the other parts that maybe I’ll finish someday?:

- Renji beat Byakuya in a fight and then turned in his paperwork for dating Rukia

- Byakuya was will to let Renji marry into the Kuchiki family, but Renji realized that Rukia would be happier living a more independent life, and asked Byakuya if she could marry out of the family instead. Byakuya refused to let her marry a nobody, so he did what anyone would: named Renji his vassal.

- Renji somehow managed to buy a house that his 4th Seat won in a poker game off some other noble idiot (I wrote this part once when I got really nostalgic about their house from Between Tides, I told you I was a deeply boring person)

- Byakuya is not as recovered from his fight with As Nodt as everyone thinks he is. (Renji and Rukia know, tho)

Rukia sat on a tall bar stool, while Renji stuffed gyoza on the other side of the kitchen island. She was going down a long checklist. “Last one!”

“Surely not!”

“Surely yes! Do you want to use the good silver chopsticks?”

“The ones that are slippery as hell? No.”

“You’re getting pretty good at them,” Rukia said, propping one elbow up on the counter.

“I’m not worried about me. We get to invite our friends to this thing, too, right? In addition to all 900 of your relatives?”

“They’re your relatives now, too, Mr. Branch Family Head,” Rukia reminded him. “Whether you marry me or not. And yes, we can invite our friends to this thing, or as I like to call it, our wedding.”

Renji plopped another dumpling onto his tray. “Well, I don’t want Ikkaku to shove a metal chopstick in my ear on my wedding day, so can we please use normal ones? Is that allowed?”

“We can use the second most fancy chopsticks, I still wouldn’t categorize them as ‘normal.’”

“So, is that it? You’re really out of questions?”

“I’m out of wedding-related questions. You still haven’t told me why you’re making enough gyoza to feed your entire squad.”

“Because it’s easier to make them in big batches, they freeze really well.”

Rukia waved an arm at the room behind her, which was mostly full of boxes. “You don’t have anything better to do? You moved in three weeks ago, have you unpacked anything?”

“I unpacked the kitchen stuff, obviously. And you’re here. I know how you like it when I wear this apron.”

Rukia folded her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them. “Renji. You’re still sleeping in the barracks, aren’t you?”

Renji stared deeply into his bowl of pork and cabbage. It was much more forgiving than his fiancee. “This house is really big. It gets lonely at night. I still don’t see why I had to move in first.”

“How am I supposed to marry into your family if your family doesn’t even have a house? What sort of poor excuse for a noble are you anyway?” Rukia teased him.

“The worst,” Renji agreed cheerfully.

Rukia’s smile wavered a little. “It’s not too big, is it? For just two people?”

“It’ll be perfect when you’re here, I promise. If it’s still too big, we’ll get that bunny you’ve always wanted." 

Renji expected some shouting on the topic of bunnies, but instead, Rukia was quiet. He looked up from his dumplings to see her chewing on her bottom lip pensively. "Renji? Can I ask you something?” she asked as his eyes met hers.

“Nope!” he replied. “You said you were done! You blew your wad on centerpieces and great-uncles!”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Of course you can ask me anything, dummy,” he chided her.

Rukia sat up and leaned back as far as she could without falling off her stool. “Do you wanna have kids?”

Renji blinked. “Well…” he said slowly. 

Rukia waited.

“To be honest, I’ve spent a lot of time on my figure. I’m worried you wouldn’t find me attractive anymore if I couldn’t lose the weight afterwards–”

“Oh, shut up, you are the worst!” Rukia looked around for something she could throw at him, but the best thing she could come up with was a dish towel, which he ducked easily. “I’m being serious, here!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, not sounding very sorry. “Do you want to have kids?”

“No! No dodging! I asked you first!”

They stared at each other, eyes narrowed.

“What if we said it at the same time?” Renji suggested.

“That seems like a terrible idea, but it is fair. Let’s do it.”

“Okay, on three, then. One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

“Yes,” said Rukia at the same time as Renji said, “I do, but I feel it puts an unfair burden on you and I know being a good leader to your squad is something you take very seriously and I won’t feel like anything is missing from– did you just say 'yes’?”

“I knew you hadn’t thought this through properly,” Rukia muttered.

He threw a piece of wadded up dough at her head. She caught it.

“You moron!” she scolded. “You’re the head of a family, now! What kind of a dick do you think I am, that I would agree to marry you with no intention of bearing you an heir!”

Renji’s face split into a lopsided grin. “First of all, if you say the phrase 'bearing me an heir’ again, I am going to be so overcome with passion that I will be unable to wait until our marital vows, and I’ll have my way with you right here and now.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. As if he gave half a shit about wedding vows. As if they hadn’t done it already once today within five minutes of her walking in the door.

“Secondly, who the hell else would I marry? I’ve already incorporated Sode no Shirayuki’s tsuba into my family crest.” He shoved up his sleeve for emphasis, as if she had somehow forgotten what it looked like, the segmented oval of her released sword’s guard, bisected by a lightning bolt. She couldn’t believe he’d gotten it tattooed on the inside of his forearm on the same day Byakuya declared him a one-man vassal family. She also couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let her get a matching one until they were actually married. Apparently Seireitei tattoo artists were very serious about not doing clan symbols without permission. At least he was finally willing to wear long sleeves again, now that it was November. 

“That’s your problem,” she informed him.

“My favorite problem,” he announced. “The branch family thing is nice, I guess, but mostly I just care about being married to you. You don’t need to feel obligated to–”

Rukia threw the dough ball back at his head. It hit him square in the forehead and bounced off. “Look, you lunkhead. I don’t know if I would be any good at being a mom, but it’s just stupidly obvious how good a dad you would be, not to mention how hot you would be in one of those baby sling things. Don’t you dare try to deny it, as you stand there in your dumb apron, making your freezer meals.”

His cheeks had gone a little pink. “All I was gonna say is that I think you would be a pretty awesome mom. You can skateboard. I can’t skateboard. You… you really want to?”

Rukia shrugged, a little defensively. “We had a pretty shitty childhood, y’know, but we all took care of each other. We did okay. We were happy. I feel like… like it would be nice to actually take care of someone. Give them food and hugs and tell them stories and all the stuff no one ever did for us. That I would like to do that with you.”

Renji was regarding her strangely.

“What?” Rukia huffed.

“I just really like you, y’know,” he said softly. 

Now Rukia was the one with pink cheeks. “Also, I just feel like I could make a really good baby,” she proclaimed. “Especially with your help. Imagine a kid with my brains and aesthetic and your height and abs.”

“You do realize we’re just as likely to get an angry shorty with my hair and your stubbornness,” Renji informed her dryly. “Not to mention a foul mouth because there’s no way we’re gonna remember to watch our language around them.”

“Sounds perfect to me, either way,” Rukia replied.

Renji grinned and continued on with his dumpling stuffing. “All right, Kuchiki. I’m game if you are.”

“I am,” Rukia confirmed. “When do you want to start?”

Renji guffawed. “You do not mess around, do you? My hands are covered in ground meat at the moment–”

“Be serious! Besides, I already cast the all-purpose protection kidou on you today and I’m very good at it, so it’ll probably last a full eight hours.”

Renji shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You be serious. Wouldn’t you rather wait until you get a new captain in place?”

Rukia stuck her lower lip out. “Uhhh, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

Renji looked up, regarding her under lowered eyelids. “Yesssss?”

Rukia made a squirmy face. “The Head-Captain talked to me the other day. He, uh, said that with all the losses overall, and the fact that there aren’t really any good candidates, he wants to keep the 13th small for the next couple of years and let me, um, growintothecaptaincy.”

Renji raised one eyebrow at her, looking very proud, but not saying anything.

“He wants to do the same with the Seventh,” Rukia quickly excused. “And he’s going to talk to Captain Hitsugaya about mentoring me, both as a captain and with my bankai. That’s the real issue, y'know, that with a bankai like that, I should really know what I’m doing before I have any business captaining a squad.”

“I hear you,” Renji agreed.

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that what you told Captain Kyouraku when he asked you to take the Seventh? He said you turned him down.”

Renji winced.

“Because you told me,” Rukia went on loftily, “ that Souou Zabimaru was much easier to maneuver than Hihiou Zabimaru.”

“Something about how I still had a lot to learn from Captain Kuchiki,” Renji grumbled. “Besides, the Seventh is Iba’s squad. He’s not that far from bankai. I even told Kyouraku I’d help him train for it.”

“It might be awhile before you get another chance,” Rukia pointed out softly.

Renji was stuffing dumplings very aggressively now. “Your brother needs me right now, you know that, even if I wasn’t gettin’ married to the most demanding woman in Soul Society next month. I don’t care that much about making captain. I care a lot about my family.”

Byakuya’s battle with As Nodt had very nearly killed him. At the time, Captain Unohana had predicted that, even if he lived, he would never hold a sword again. He had proved her wrong, of course, trained in the Royal Realm, taken up his haori again. But he wasn’t the same. HIs power was greatly reduced, his endurance as well. He could no longer reach the advanced stages of his bankai. 

Captain Kuchiki was one of the most powerful captains in the Gotei. It would take a strong opponent indeed to press him hard enough to even notice these changes. But Byakuya knew. And his lieutenant, who had finally bested him in battle, knew, too.

Byakuya’s previous strength might still return. It might simply take time. Having an eager young vice-captain– powerful enough to pass the captain’s exam, but lacking the experience, made a convenient cover for delegating combat and other physically taxing duties. Especially now that Byakuya had acknowledged Renji as a protege of sorts, head of a Kuchiki branch family, and promised Byakuya’s own beloved sister, it appeared outwardly that it was the captain supporting his vice-captain, rather than the other way around.

Rukia smiled fondly at the vice-captain in question. “I like you a lot, too, y'know.” She paused thoughtfully. “I don’t have to be a captain, either. It is a lot. I can tell Kyouraku to find someone else.”

“Tch!” Renji huffed. “Someone’s gotta bring glory to our family name. Makes more sense for it to be you, I’m the better cook.” He finished up the last of his dumplings, and put the bowl in the sink. “Although I suppose that puts a wrinkle in that thing we were talking about a minute ago.”

Rukia sniffed. “I don’t see why. We’ll make one right away, I’ll tell the Head Captain I need a year, and then I’ll get down to business after that. You can use the baby as an excuse to stave off any further attempts at promotion. And if Brother keeps trying to overdo it, we can plunk the baby in his lap.”

“Brilliant plan,” Renji assessed. “Zero foreseeable flaws. How many of these you think you can eat with dinner? I’m gonna freeze the rest.”

“One thousand,” Rukia proclaimed.

Renji rolled his eyes as he slid a tray into the freezer. “I have no idea how I am going to keep you fed, assuming I actually manage to knock you up.”

“I believe in you,” Rukia assured him. “On both counts.” She watched him as he continued to clean up. “You’re really on board with all this? You were probably looking forward to a few years of me bending you over the kitchen table as soon as we got home, not late night feedings and dirty diapers, huh?”

Renji finished drying his hands, and he reached over the counter to tip Rukia’s chin up with one finger. “Rukia. As much as I love having rauchy sex in inappropriate places with you– and you know that I do– the thing I’ve been waiting forty-six years for is to be a family, whether that means just the two of us, or us plus however many babies you demand I put in you. I’ve had enough waiting for one afterlife, to be honest.”

“How did you come up with 46?” Rukia frowned. “Forty-six years ago, we were still back in–”

“Don’t do the math,” he implored.

“Okay,” she agreed, smiling at him.

“We’re not gonna start trying before the wedding, though, right?” Renji asked, pulling off his apron. “I’m pretty bad at math, but your brother’s not.”

“I suppose not,” Rukia agreed.

“Then we should squeeze in as much lazy daytime sex as possible while we still can!”

Rukia shrieked gleefully as he ducked around the kitchen island and pulled her off her barstool. 

This was going to work out just fine.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 79

Chapter Summary -   Danielle's decision.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

Right so, a few things, football is referencing Gaelic Football, it is an Irish sport and the season ends in September with the final game being played on the third Sunday of the month and there is huge excitement surrounding it and most Irish country people would go to Flannery's or Coppers in Dublin for it, both are...shall I say, unique places, more like a cattle mart than a pub/night club.

Connemara is a Gaeltacht region in County Galway, the first language is Irish and it is a general farming area.

There are a few airports in Ireland, I had Danielle land in Cork Airport as if she didn't suffer enough (I am from Cork, so I like to joke it is terrible....I'm not joking, it is.)

Siobhan is pronounced Shiv-awn.

We are going to be with Danielle's family for a bit, her aunt will be based on my mother-in-law, spiteful, filled with self-importance and an all-round female genitalia.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe​ @wolfsmom1​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sat on the plane, she was under no false pretences, she knew she looked like hell. If she was not so heartbroken she would have made a joke that she had some sort of superpower. She had a willing, handsome Tom Hiddleston, asking to pleasure her, and she declined him. Tom's face at her pushing him off her told how much she was crushing him, the only consolation she could give was that her own face mirrored his. She kissed him chastely on the cheek as she sat up on the bed, then she apologised and left.

As it moved on the runway, she felt the tears fall down her face. She wanted to be in bed with Tom, kissing and cuddling him but she knew it was for the best. She had said it to him before she left, they needed to take the time to assess themselves, perhaps, after some reflection, they may arrive at the same point once more, when Tom asked her what about if they did not, she could only shrug and say that at least they had tried. The flight was fairly full and the man next to her gave her a confused look as she wiped the tears from her face and looked out the small window.

When she arrived in Ireland, the Welcome sign caused her to feel some pang of joy in her stomach. She was relieved to have gotten the evening flight back, though it was to the wrong part of the country. Rather than driving, she went and got a taxi into the city and from there got on a bus to bring her back to Galway. A text to her cousin telling her she was arriving at midnight to the city was responded to with one that said that she had been drinking, so to stay there until morning. Not wanting to get a cab all the way to her grandmothers, she started to Google hotels in Galway, scoffing to herself about how she was a far cry from a globe-trotting singer, before becoming upset once more about how things had gone with Tom. As if by fate, he sent a text, just asking if she minded if he kept onto Mac until the day before he was going to Milan, he promised to walk and care for him properly. She could only bring herself to text back the word "sure" though several times she felt like texting more, saying that she was sorry, that she still loved him, but she stopped herself, as hard as it was, she was not going to be weak and rush back to him, she was going to look after herself, ensure she was happy before she even considered Tom and a relationship.

*

In London, the one-word reply filled Tom with relief that she had responded at all. As he looked at Mac, who seemed to sense there was a severe upheaval after occurring and was looking at him, he was glad to have the dog for company. In the time since his mother and sister had the dog accidentally brought to them in London before Christmas, he had become incredibly attached to the canine. He remembered the day he had found him on set, underfed and incredibly mangy, he rang Danielle out of instinct. She was not a vet, but she was a paramedic and the daughter of one, and he remembered how she told Emma how she used to tend to the weaklings for her dad, so he assumed immediately she would have some inkling as what to do. Since then, he had thrived as a loved pet and companion, and in truth, Tom was heartbroken at the idea that it was highly plausible that as well as losing Danielle, he could lose Mac too. Mac seemed to know what Tom was thinking and responded by getting up and walking over to him. "Hey, Mac." The dog groaned. "I am sorry for all of this, it is my fault." At that, the dog whined. "I am really going to miss you and our walks." The word 'walks' caused the dog to raise his ears in interest. "Not at this hour. At least I get to have you a few more days." Mac wagged his tail. "Do you think she'll give me access to you?" he half-joked, thinking about how his parents seemed to spend more time arguing after the divorce over where he and his sisters went on particular days and holidays than they ever did talking when they were married.

*

Danielle sat in the car with her cousin, whose only words were "You look as bad as I feel" since seeing her as they drove back to Connemara.

"Just so you know, you are Mam's focus at the moment," Siobhan warned her as they passed a sign telling them there were coming into the Gaeltacht region.

"Dare I ask?"

"'Your parents were married before they were your age, your dad is rolling in his grave that you fecked off to England and what good has it done you,' you know how she is."

"I am sure he wouldn't be too put out by it," Danielle stated, looking out the window again.

"Hey, are you alright, like, you're not going to puke or anything?"

"No, I am just tired, Travelodge is not renowned for its comfy beds."

"No." Her cousin agreed. "So, what's the craic, why are you here today and not on Wednesday like you said?"

"I needed to come home."

"Who do you owe money to?" Her cousin joked.

"I rather owe the money."

"What is worse than that?"

"There are things far worse." Siobhan looked at Danielle as though she was mad, but at only twenty-two, she had little idea of what issues Danielle had. "Has Laura not got someone new for your Mam to scare off?" She decided to get the conversation off her.

"Yes and no. There's a fella from her job, lovely guy and everything, Evan, but Mam doesn’t know about him."

"Good plan."

"Yeah, so you know, if you could not tell her..."

"Call me Jon Snow."

Siobhan laughed, Danielle gave a small smile. "So what about you, any hunky English lads?"

"At present, no." Danielle felt as though her chest hurt saying that.

"Meaning?"

Danielle cursed at her cousin's curiosity. "It's complicated."

"What happened?" There was a genuine tone to Siobhan's voice, one that told Danielle it was not about her making small talk, but intrigue.

"Well, one guy was a bit too full-on, really nice, but was too ready for commitment, we were not really compatible, he is actually engaged, or maybe even married now and has a baby coming."

"Well, as long as they're happy, what else."

"Another, we were not really…it just isn't working."

"How d'you mean?"

"It just went off track," Danielle explained.

"You realise that makes no sense, right?" Siobhan scoffed. "But I think I get it, it stopped being fun."

"There was a thing with him talking about his ex, it made me feel like shit."

"Yikes, fair enough, no one wants the ex pulled out and thrown in their face." Siobhan agreed. "How bad?"

"Effectively how it broke his heart, which is grand, at the time, but he said this over half a year later and after four months with me, in a very public manner."

"Okay, and the asshole of the year award goes to…what was his name?"

"Tom."

"Tom, welcome to the 'Asshole Hall of Fame’."

Feeling her hurt was after being justified but also not wanting to talk about it any longer, Danielle turned the conversation around, "What about you, any lads in college?"

"Maybe."

"So a yes, then."

"We are just having some fun, I mean, we met in Flaherty's last year…"

"Say it was after the All-Ireland, say it, I beg you…" Danielle pleaded.

The football," Siobhan admitted, causing Danielle to erupt in hysterics.

"Where's he from?"

"Waterford."

"Do they even know what a football is?"

"Shut up," Siobhan growled. "He's nice, but…"

"You're twenty-two so it's not like you are looking into a mortgage with him?"

"Exactly. Speaking of houses, Mam is going to try and push to sell Nan's place."

"What?"

"Yeah, she wants to do up hers and dads, but she is stretched with loans for other things, so she wants Nan’s sold so she can use the money from the sale to do it."

"It won't get a hundred grand, divide it up and that is less than twenty each way after solicitors," Siobhan said nothing. "What? What are you trying to say?"

"Right, you have to swear you won't tell Mam or Laura this?"

"Siobhan, I swear on Mam and Dad's graves, I will not tell anyone this." Danielle placed her hand on her heart as she spoke.

"Mam wants you out of the sale."

"What?"

"She thinks that because you are a grandchild, you shouldn't get a say." Siobhan seemed as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders by telling her.

"Fuck that, Dad left me his share of nan's, that house is a quarter mine."

"You never were interested in that stuff."

"I'm not, but I am not being swindled out of it either. I said it before, I didn't give a fuck who used the house for what gathering, but when I came home, I get to use a room, since I am barely around. I pay my share of the property tax, the repairs and the upkeep so I am not getting pushed out so your Mam can get some overpriced kitchen for it, she can fuck the fuck off."

Siobhan laughed. "You are so like your dad."

"Good, he was the only one she couldn't bully, I'll have to visit him before I deal with her to ask him to give me the strength to."

"Want to go now?"

Though she was exhausted, Danielle knew there was a turn not too far away that would bring her to her parents' graves, so she nodded. "Yeah, if you're not busy."

"It's only twenty minutes extra, Mattie was always so good to me, sneaking me a two euro for the shop."

"God you are so young, it was fifty pence for us."

"Well, the rate of inflation," Siobhan laughed, putting on the indicator of the car to go the road to the graveyard.

Danielle looked at the ornate stone in front of her, and the plot that contained her parents remains. Her gaze fell on the carvings that were their names and dates of birth and death. She hadn't realised her mother was older than her father until her mother died. When they celebrated their birthdays, numbers were never used. She'd felt somewhat foolish that she hadn't known that. She thought about her dad and herself, standing at the grave after her mother had passed, she never felt much point about graves, they never meant anything to her, she rather think of her mother down in the library and community centre, going to the active retirement with the other women, or doing knitting, she never really thought of her in some hole in the ground, and her father was someone she thought of going for a walk or turning turf, but it felt right to visit the grave, if just to think about them for a moment.

When she returned to the car, Siobhan gave her a sad smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just weird being back, not having them here."

"Did you leave because they were gone?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Do you like England?"

"It's grand, I think I would rather be here, but it's easier to get work there."

"I think I am going to go to Canada or Australia as soon as I am done."

"England wants nurses too." Danielle pointed out

"Maybe, but the further from Mam, the better."

"Fair enough, it's as easy to get from London as it is Dublin really."

"Too easy for my liking," Siobhan agreed. "You swear you won't tell her?"

"I am not going to tell her you told me, but I am going to prepare for it."

"I sorta guessed you would." There was still a slight doubt in Siobhan's tone.

"Look a secret for a secret, fair?" Danielle suggested. She always liked her younger cousin, they rarely talked growing up because of the age gap and because Matthew and Bernadette Hughes, though siblings, spent as little time together as they could, meaning Danielle, Laura, Siobhan and their brother Richard were seldom in each other's company, but the rise of social media meant that Siobhan and Danielle interacted online often enough. Siobhan nodded, seemingly relieved that Danielle was trusting her too, though she doubted anything Danielle would tell her would be too important, she had already explained to Siobhan about non-disclosure agreements. "I only sort of broke up with my boyfriend yesterday."

"Okay," Siobhan had to assume that that was not the secret, it was something noteworthy, but hardly a secret.

"You don't like comic book movies, sure you don't?"

"No."

"Right, hmm." Danielle had to think for a minute. "You like Taylor Swift, right?"

"Her songs are good, yeah." Siobhan had no idea what Danielle was getting at.

"Do you know anything about her boyfriends?"

"She is with them for about forty seconds, I don't think she knows anything about them. Like, is she even with half of them or just after publicity, honestly?"

"I have no idea," Danielle conceded. "I really don't. Not the point, do you know who Tom Hiddleston is?"

"Oh, the really sexy guy from The Night Manager."

Danielle cursed herself for not thinking of that, to begin with. "Yes, him."

"Yeah, one of the girls in college is in love with him, like fucking obsessed, she has a page to him and everything online, she made us watch a few things with him in it."

"Really, what did you think?"

"He's hot, but not obsessive hot, he has a really sexy ass, I saw him in this ghost movie, the man is…why are we talking about an actor?"

"The Tom I am sort of no longer with, that's him."

"What?"

"I was with Tom Hiddleston."

"And no one knew?"

"Well, his family, our friends in London…"

"But the media?"

"No, we made sure we were never seen together in public."

"So there is no proof you were with him?" Siobhan asked sceptically.

"We have pictures, just not published."

"How the hell did you bag an actor?"

"I just did." Danielle shrugged.

"But it's gone?"

"Yes," Danielle stated sadly.

"Why did you break it off, you look really upset?"

"Because he did an interview about Taylor Swift a month ago and the way he spoke was as though she was the love of his life and he was with me so I feel like it just was too much of a low blow."

"Okay, your boyfriend saying that sort of thing in front of people you know is just mean, saying it in an interview to the world, that is fucking cruel, but no one knows about this?"

"No, and they won't either, will they?" Danielle looked at her cousin.

"Not from me, they won't," Siobhan swore.

[wxyvision]

Dear First Love {1/4}

Member: see if you can guess ;) it's kinda obvious tbh

Genre: angst, fluff?

Word count: 1,936

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dear first love,

I remember the day I first saw you. How could I not? You were one of the students that moved to my school from China. I didn't know a thing about you then, but I knew from the moment I saw you that my life would change right then. You didn't say a word for a while, I remember that. You would always have an earpiece in one ear so that you could understand what people were saying. Do you remember being paired up with one of my friends? I won't deny, I was envious. I wish I could have been the one to work on your Korean with you and to translate worksheets for you. I wish that it had been me who showed you around the school, but I was grateful for the lunchtimes you spent at our table. You were wearing a green and white hoodie when we first spoke. Do you remember that? When I had learned that you were from China I had gone out of my way to learn your language so that I could talk to you. Even though my Chinese wasn't very good, and I kept pronouncing things wrong, you gave me the sweetest smile I had ever been given, and your eyes lit up because someone spoke your language, albeit very poorly. You didn't laugh at me, not even once. You always made sure to be polite when correcting me. You even gave me the cutest nickname I've ever been given. Xiăo tāngyuán, I believe it was? You gave me the nickname because my cheeks were squishy and reminded you of dumplings. I remember the little twinkle in your eyes the first time you called me that, and when you pinched my cheek. You probably felt how hot it was, didn't you? I wish I could say these things to you in person but I am content with watching from afar. After all, I can't possibly lose you if I never have you, right?

Your little dumpling

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dear first love,

I see you already caught the eye of the one and only Nakamoto Yuta. To be honest, I don't blame him. I instantly gravitated towards you as soon as I was introduced to you. I don't mind you hiding behind me everytime he tried to cling onto you, it's actually really cute. Is it because you know I won't do the same to you? I'm too shy to even try to hug you, but I do wish I could, even just once. Would you let me? I'm not completely sure why I'm asking that because you won't read this. You walked with me to the bus stop today because it was dark and I didn't want to walk alone. I hope you know how thankful I am for that, even though I didn't say much. The truth is, I was too shy to say much. I hope you didn't think that I didn't want to talk to you. My Chinese has gotten better, did you notice? I asked your friend to help me learn, Guanheng? I want to say his name was Guanheng. I really should know his name, we’re pretty close now. I want to grow closer to you, though. I know you’re still pretty self-conscious about your Korean, but it’s okay! If my Mandarin was better, I could help you, but I think I’ll leave that to the ‘professionals’ as they like to call themselves. I tried out for the school play today, although you already know that because I told you. You wished me luck, thank you. If I get the part, I’d like to think that you would be there. I always get excited to see my friends watch me perform but if you were there it would make me the happiest person in the entire world. I’m really nervous about it but I want to seem cool around you. If and when you see me on stage, I want you to look at me and think that I’m cool. Would it make you like me more? Or are shy people your type? I wish I knew how to read you, but that seems more difficult than Mandarin to learn.

Your little dumpling

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dear first love,

Today you told me that you were thinking of auditioning for a role too. I remember the way your eyes twinkled as you told me about how much you love acting. I’m cheering you on! I hope you get a part, wouldn’t it be fun to perform together? I never realised we had so much in common. Why wouldn’t you tell me what part you were going for? I kept asking you to tell me but you kept teasing me. You’re so unfair, my little chicken wing. Still, I hope you get the role that you’re trying out for, you seem really excited about it. I’m a little bit nervous now. How good of an actor are you, exactly? Am I going to look like an idiot compared to you? I so want to impress you that I hope not. I saw you in the library today, too. I would have gone over and said hello but you looked so deep in thought and I didn’t want to disturb you. Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are when reading? I never thought about this much before but seeing you so lost in thought, so engrossed in what you were reading took my breath away. What were you reading? Was it a good book? Part of me wishes I had gone and talked to you now. I’m still learning Chinese by the way! Though I haven’t had much chance to practice it on you recently, I guess you’ve been pretty busy save from the quick conversations we’ve had. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I am always supporting you in all that you do, even if you never read this, I hope my words and actions in person have made this clear enough.

Your little dumpling

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dear first love,

I heard from Mark that you weren’t able to audition for the role because you are busy preparing for a dance competition at the moment. I never knew you were into dancing. I guess there’s still so much about you for me to learn, right? I wonder if there is any way that I can be there on the day to support you, I hope I can. If I can’t, would you show me your dancing? I imagine that you must be pretty talented to be doing an event like that. I feel as though these days we don’t get to talk as much as we used to, but that’s okay. I like our small conversations between classes. Something about you is so comforting for me, I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s the smile that is perched on your face when you are with people you care about or when doing something you love. Was that too cheesy? It doesn’t matter, really. By the way, I got the part I auditioned for! Are you proud of me? I hope that you and some of the boys can come along, it would mean a lot to me, but it’s okay if you can’t! I know we’re not actually that close, so I don’t expect anything, but it would still be nice. I can only imagine with rehearsals taking up a lot of time, we will have even less time to spend together. I won’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me, but I’m hoping that once things settle back down for us both, we will get to hang out more. You’d like that, right? I can’t wait to show you how much my Mandarin has improved! I’ll write again soon :)

Your little dumpling

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dear first love,

Today we got to spend some more time together at Johnny’s party. You had fun, right? It seemed like you did, even though I could tell that you were tired. Your friends are fun, I’m glad that Mark invited me along, I hope you didn’t mind me being there too. The cake was really good, wasn’t it? You ate a lot of it! That’s not a bad thing, I thought it was cute how eager you were to eat it, plus, it saved the others from wasting it on throwing it at each other. There is one thing about tonight that.. well, I don’t regret, but perhaps has me worried. I was dared to kiss the person I most admire, and well, that was you, are you really that surprised? You're so brave for coming to another country where you don't speak the language much and where you don't know anyone. You're also very very talented in everything that you do. I hope that this doesn’t weird you out in any way. I would hate for this to be the thing that pushes you away. I liked it though, your lips were really soft and tasted like vanilla frosting. I didn’t kiss you for nearly as long as I would have liked, but you are not mine to kiss like that. You are not mine at all, and will never be. Perhaps I should have chosen someone else, who I wouldn’t have to look at and feel bad for kissing so suddenly. Perhaps I should have been a party pooper and refused to join. I knew the boys would make me kiss someone, I’m just glad I got the chance to kiss you. I don’t know, my head is a mess, but you can probably already tell that. I really like you, so so bad.

Your little dumpling

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dear first love,

I haven’t written a letter in a while. Things have been crazy recently, haven’t they? I’ve had rehearsals a lot and you’ve been practicing for your dance competition. The truth is, I secretly watched you practicing a couple of times. That sounds kinda weird, doesn’t it? I was just curious about your skills and can I say.. you’re even more talented than I thought you were going to be. I’m wishing you good luck again! I’m very, very proud of you, I hope you know that. I’m glad for having my weekends free, it means I was able to see you, even if it was just for a couple of hours a week. Did you miss me? I missed you so much. You seemed a little down last time, were you okay? I was a little surprised since you showed affection to Mark so suddenly. Of course I was a little envious of him, but it makes sense since we’re not that close yet, are we? I say yet because I want us to be, but we haven’t really been able to spend time together alone recently.. apart from yesterday. We both went along to support our friends at the football match. You looked really handsome in your red jumper! I was super nervous since Mark was also supposed to be watching with us, but he got sick so it was just us two together. Damn, I forgot how much I missed your smile, especially when it’s aimed at me. I didn’t realise it was possible for you to become even more handsome than before. We had the chance to talk properly, one on one. I wish we had more chances like that, I really loved getting to know you better. I hope this doesn’t sound weird but I love listening to you talk, your voice is very calming to me <3

Your little dumpling

[kiruuuuu]

Dearest @nutbrain​, I wish you also a happy birthday and all the best 💗💗 Thank you for sharing and discussing ideas and for your neverending support and kind words. This is partly a birthday gift and partly a retaliation in our kindness war, and I do hope you like it :)

In this, Bandit asks a djinn-like Doc to help win a war. Or: a lot of things are impossible. No explicit ships but you can use your imagination! (Rating G, fantasy AU, ~13k words)

.

Doc is summoned to oppressive heat.

The ritual, as always, he could’ve done without – his essence is being compressed and forced into an imperfect, almost laughable body incapable of representing his true self, the process far from comfortable. Organs are rearranged, replaced, removed, limbs melt together to form two legs to stand on, two arms; fur regresses and makes place for naked skin and fabric materialises seemingly out of thin air to match his last excursion’s fashion: deep blue adorns him as a vest, puffy grey surrounds his lower half.

It’s disorienting but that’s nothing new: taking on the form of a human usually leaves him light-headed and struggling to compose himself for a few seconds. Their sense of balance is inferior, as is their method of communicating – if he’s honest, he finds most about them distasteful, from their thinking to their deeds and yet they happen to inhabit the sweetest space of all. Breathing clean, fresh air is pure bliss, as is feeling sand and dust between his toes, the gravity just right to allow for actual jumps even in this frail body. How he loves being here and how he despises having to deal with this race of selfish, bloodthirsty predators.

Once his eyes have adapted to the brightness assaulting him (and even this is ultimately better than any alternative, he enjoys the sun), he looks around curiously to face those who decided to call upon him.

He’s confronted with just one man.

Where’s the committee, where are the sacrificial offerings? Doc is used to lavish surroundings, the secluded wing of a cathedral, a peaceful clearing in a forest, next to a gentle stream inside a decorated cave – instead he finds himself in a nondescript landscape, dunes in the distance, no more than shrubs in view which suggests they’re high up North, near the sweltering deserts of death. He’s been summoned behind a tent like a secret lover, not like the deity as which he’s normally revered.

The more he lets his gaze wander, the more indignation rises: the summoning circle below his feet has been scratched into the dry, cracked ground instead of being carefully painted on by calligraphers, there seems to be no food ready for him whatsoever and on top of that, the man looks like a mercenary. A closer look prompts Doc to correct himself, no, not a mercenary, he’s wearing a crest of some kind with pride, though his dirt-coloured clothing is ripped, his sandals stained, his sword dull and his skin marred. It’s clear what he is, becomes even clearer when Doc takes notice of more and evermore tents behind him, catches sight of other men and women clad similarly to the one before him.

“I offer you my greetings”, comes only part of the usual phrases uttered whenever Doc or one of his brethren are dragged into this world, “it is the fifth year of the scorpion, following forty-six years of the snake following one hundred and twenty-six years of the fly. We are near the numeric ocean, two days’ journey east of the capital of Qina, formerly the province of -”

Doc nods and the man stops his history lesson. He now knows when and where they are, though there still is no indication as to why.

“They call me Bandit, it’s an honour.” Instead of a bow or a similarly respectful gesture, he receives nothing. “You may speak.”

“You don’t look Qinean”, Doc states sharply as soon as he feels some of the tingling around him dissipate. For right now, he’s at its mercy, unable to act or leave either way, so he makes his words count.

“That is correct, I’m Rangiin Kamaan. The highest general there is.”

“Why do you require my services?”

A shadow flits over the man’s face but his piercing gaze doesn’t lower. He’s a prideful one, if he dares to summon the likes of Doc without an appropriate welcome – prideful, foolish and arrogant. “We are losing a war”, he replies quietly.

“Isn’t that a shame.” It comes as no surprise. He might not have visited this part of the continent in decades, possibly centuries, and yet humans are the same everywhere, all of them open books with the same kind of boring story on display. Envy, ire, hurt, arrogance – it’s all the same, whether it’s a dispute between neighbours or a widespread conflict involving more than just two nations.

Bandit seems dissatisfied with his lack of compassion but forces an easy grin nonetheless. “I don’t like being on the loser’s side. So I thought I’d ask for help. You’re good with anatomy, isn’t that right? You know how to eviscerate someone? Make them die a slow, painful death? The most efficient kinds of poison?”

“You”, Doc spits back, hardly masking his disdain, “are a warmonger. I know your kind. Do you even know who stands before you?”

“Someone who is glad to be here.” They glare at each other, neither of them backing down. They’ve reached an impasse: Doc cannot exit this world of his own accord, not with the circle intact, and Bandit wants him to cooperate which he will refuse to do. “The knowledge of summoning you has been passed down in my family and with it, your earthly name. You are Doc, one of the ancient ones, able yet often unwilling to assist us.”

“My powers are of restoration”, Doc adds with venom, “not destruction. I refuse to utilise them according to the wishes of a murderer and furthermore, I have always refrained in changing the tide of battle as have most of my kin. If your army is losing, perhaps it would’ve been wise not to go to war in the first place.”

“We had no choice -”

“There is always a choice!” More glaring. Doc silently both commends the human for his bravery and condemns him for his insolence. If he knew exactly who Doc is, he must’ve been overconfident or desperate to call on him regardless – he’s known for upholding the balance others of his kind with inferior standing might upset, known for healing rather than harming. He is no help in a war, neither willing nor capable to lend assistance and therefore surmises this foreign army is on the brink of being eradicated. “Why do you wish to conquer land which isn’t yours? Why do you cause death?”

It’s meant rhetorically, in Doc’s experience there’s only one answer: power. Expansion of territory, pre-emptive strikes, tactical weakening of potential opponents. Whatever it is, wars are never started out of just reasons. Even so, what he expected to see on the man’s face was a sneer maybe, anger too, thought he’d be confronted with a defensive stance or a self-righteous smirk. Instead – there’s nothing. A careful stony façade pulled up to hide emotions, probably practised over the years. “We won’t come to an agreement like this”, he states very correctly. “Yet I can’t let you roam free without making sure you’re not going to join our enemies instead. You’re able to do that, right?”

Doc confirms wordlessly. Enlisting his services requires knowledge of his name and other details, a meticulously drawn summoning circle, strong willpower and constitution and a keen mind. Carrying the burden of being the anchor tying a being as powerful as Doc to this world is far from easy and negotiating terms with him usually demands either for a pure heart and earnest intentions – or hidden cunning. He’s been deceived in the past, involuntarily participated in horrendous acts which have long since been lost to time; in some cases, he helped humanity forget about his unintentional crimes. He has since become considerably more reluctant to act. But yes, compared to his weaker kindred spirits, he can exert his will much more freely, even act against his summoner’s wishes and orders, against their agreement. So Bandit is exercising necessary caution in not entering a verbal contract and therefore setting Doc free.

It’s possible that his family preserved the knowledge of just how much Doc relishes his stays in this world and he’s abusing it by allowing him to taste the sweet air, feel a soft breeze caress his temporary silhouette – dangling a carrot in front of him, in a way, until Doc gives in at least partially. He has a pronounced sense of honour. If he promises to stay and assess the situation, he’ll stay.

“How about this? It’s morning now. If I haven’t convinced you by sunset that we not only require but deserve your help, I will set you free.”

A cocky proposition. Also extremely improbable, given the lacklustre greeting Doc received as well as Bandit’s questionable status and rotten attitude. Nevertheless, he’s giving Doc an out, offering him to set foot into his world properly without tricking him. At least that’s what it looks like. “Those are your terms? As long as you do not expect me to interfere in any way, I am willing to grant you more time.”

Bandit pauses. He doesn’t strike Doc as the anxious type and yet he shifts his weight uneasily, his eyes flitting from object to object for a second. “Let’s say tonight for now.”

“Accepted”, Doc replies and watches as the half-hearted circle by his feet shifts, begins glowing in a rich orange and contracts, dragging the elaborate symbols with it towards the human shape in their midst, crawling up his bare soles, past his ankles and diving under his saroual. Though intangible by itself, the fizzing around him ceases and he can now be sure not to lose a few toes or possibly more if he takes a step forwards. It’s a little like surfacing after having been underwater: he inhales deeply, shakes out his limbs and inspects the cracks lining his skin. They’re vein-like, almost akin to a precious metal shimmering through and of a bright, warm colour; they keep him manifested in this plane of existence. Sometimes, they’re more prominent than his skin, brutish and ugly in their primitiveness, but now they’re thin and look almost elegant. It seems Bandit knows what he’s doing.

“I have something to show you before I answer your questions”, Bandit announces and turns towards the camp.

.

During the short walk, Doc sates his curiosity about the rest of the continent by allowing his companion to elaborate on the events shaping the past decades. Some empires have gained or lost land, kingdoms have emerged or fallen, but he’s pleased to hear that the people inhabiting the eastern part of the central mountain range cutting the continent in half are flourishing. He helped them gain independence from all surrounding nations by arguing that their rocky terrain has nothing of value to offer and that they’d be willing to trade for goods which they can produce more easily than anyone else due to experience – in the end, they were permitted to establish their own laws and customs based on what their members deemed sensible. Doc enjoyed aiding them, especially since they welcome curious guests, migrants or refugees with open arms and teach them to carry their own weight should they decide to stay.

Much to his surprise, Bandit speaks of them favourably instead of with sarcasm, so he inquires about his own nation. He has never heard of the name Rangiin Kamaan before. Formerly part of the once glorious empire of Qina which used to span almost the entire width of the continent, from one ocean to the other, it’s now independent, became one of Qina’s smaller neighbours. He never paid this region much heed as they generally followed whichever trend allowed them to survive at the time and involvement in any of the Great Wars was minimal. Bandit speaks with reverence of a kind ruler who inspires his people by practising what he preaches yet Doc doesn’t assume he’ll get to speak with him any time soon. Weak Kings like this one tend to either die early in war or avoid fighting altogether.

“I still do not understand”, he interrupts Bandit’s wordy speech. They’ve come to a stop beside a huge tent, the largest one Doc spotted during their trip. The camp itself is well-organised and kept neat, hardly any soldier is simply lounging around or even pausing to stare at him (which in itself is nothing short of a miracle – is this nation so accustomed to the likes of him?), their uniforms seem practical and the men and women determined. Iron discipline is indubitably a requirement yet Doc fails to spot any hint of dissatisfaction with their conditions. It seems they’re all convinced their cause is virtuous. “Qina by far exceeds your troop strength, has more allies and resources and, though not the force it once was, still possesses the strategical knowledge to easily outmanoeuvre you. What do you hope to gain by fighting?”

“See for yourself.” Bandit indicates the entrance next to them. “I won’t be following you but take your time, I’ll wait.”

Doc eyes him suspiciously yet can’t imagine a way how this mere human could trick him simply by entering a tent, so he obliges and steps through the protective flaps keeping some of the heat outside.

It’s a field hospital. This fact alone is hardly noteworthy but the size of it is unproportional to the amount of soldiers he’s seen so far – surely, if this many resources are necessary to patch up wounded troops, they’re better off giving up. Not only that, literally all the improvised beds are occupied with people who at first glance don’t display any injuries, few bandages visible, hardly any limbs missing. And yet they’re tormented by something, trembling and shivering, some of them curled up and moaning quietly, others passed out entirely. Helpers hurry from person to person in bustling activity and still, they seem unable to relieve whichever ailment plagues their brothers and sisters. All they offer is emotional support, some food and water, a soothing hand on heated or clammy skin.

The atmosphere is suffocating. It reeks of sweat and disease and the collective whimpers and groans make for a pitiful cacophony. All the impressions are strengthened by the stale air and assault Doc’s senses. He’s seen worse, walked among the plague-ridden and witnessed open mass graves, and yet the suffering here is sharp, tangible, spreads further in his lungs the longer he resides. An impulse takes hold of him, urges him to leave instead of investigating more closely but he squashes it before it grows irresistible. He knows he’s too kind. He knows he’s guilty of giving humanity the benefit of the doubt entirely too often, despite all.

Looking for answers, he steps up to the nearest helper, a tall, broad-shouldered man tending to a grim-looking muscular young woman whose clenched fists are shaking. “What is going on?”, he addresses both of them softly.

As soon as the man catches sight of him, he interrupts his whispering to bow in respect. “Great One, I offer you my greetings and joyous thanks to be graced with your -”

Doc holds up a hand to silence him. With Bandit readily answering his questions more like an equal than the puny creature he is, the otherwise so pleasant-sounding phrases have become hollow to his ears. He’s always enjoyed the awe he seemed to inspire, enjoyed the way humans cowered before him, asked for permission to speak, praised him and treated whatever he said as sacred. Right now, however, it feels oddly out of place after the light conversation earlier. He wonders whether this is the so-called vanity one of his kin once accused him of. “No more of this.”

“I apologise. In my experience, Bandit struggles a tad with common courtesy, so I thought you might appreciate an official greeting. My name is Monty, it’s an honour.”

The man’s smile is warm and youthful and Doc suddenly understands why he doesn’t mind the frankness and general nonchalance with which his presence is being met as much as he thought: it’s a good sign that he’s getting an authentic insight into these people’s lives instead of being shown a carefully staged play intended to sway him the desired way.

“If circumstances were different, you’d be offered a banquet to rival all you’ve had before but rations are tight enough already.” He turns back to the woman and massages her upper arm, loosening the tension in it a bit. “It’s going to start working soon, relax. You’ll be alright. Sleep will help. Will you allow the Great One to examine you? I assume that’s why you’re here?”

Blue eyes peer at him, similarly unwavering to Bandit’s – yet where the warlord’s gaze had been firm and at times even cold, this man’s is confident and calm. He seems pleasant to be around, much more composed than the other people flitting about the field hospital. Once the woman has affirmed her cooperation, Doc reaches out for her hand, gently uncurls her fingers and takes them between his – wounded, humans strike him as fragile and delicate, like a young animal which overestimated its abilities. He has mercy on the weak and injured, has always shown compassion for the unfortunate even if he likened it to nurturing a snake. By helping humanity, he probably aids it in harming itself further.

The almost golden cracks running over his skin brighten as soon as he heightens his senses but he pays no attention to the familiar sight, instead closing his eyes to see with his mind. A heartbeat overlays his and thumps until both have synchronised, his lungs fill with air at the same time the woman’s do, his sense of gravity flips, the temperature increases even more – and then he barely resists making a noise when they finally melt together.

The pain is blinding.

He’s trying not to upset her, so he keeps quiet and doesn’t cause her throat to produce sound without her approval, yet it gets more difficult with every passing second. He needs to be quick about it. Her organs are weakened, some of them not working as they should, her pulse is quickened, skin sensitive and sore, muscles only just shy of cramping, her head muddled – though this might be the aforementioned medicine – and above all is brilliant, cutting pain. Its origin, however, remains a mystery, no matter how much he searches. He calms her racing heart, removes the exhaustion holding her back, but it’s obvious he’s merely addressing symptoms and not the cause. There are no broken bones, no disease nesting in an unexpected part of her body, nothing he can pinpoint.

Nothing he can cure.

Puzzled, he does whatever he can for her and withdraws once she’s fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Separating their physical senses is uncomfortable as usual, like leaving a warm bath to throw himself into the icy white desert of the South. He’s sat down on the bed without realising and looks down on the tormented body, watches as a mere minute later, the tension returns.

He’s powerless. Utterly incapable of healing whatever is slowly eroding this human in front of him.

“Would you like something to drink?”

It’s the man again, someone so filled with a sense of duty that he left Doc by his patient’s side to help others in the meantime. Mutely, he nods, accepts the mug handed to him and shudders as he feels the liquid fill his mouth, slide down his throat, arrive in his stomach. Ingesting anything for the first time in this form is usually a joy but as refreshing as the water is, the shock dampens the experience. “What is this?”, he wants to know quietly, gesturing at the entirety of the tent. “How did it come to this?”

Monty deflates visibly and follows his gaze with a defeated sigh. “We call it the divine disease. A second visit at night would reveal why.”

Following his implicit instructions, Doc leans down, blocks out the sunlight with his hands and looks at the woman’s hand in his little bubble of darkness. Her veins are glowing.

The light they give off is faint and barely comparable to the one emanating from Doc yet it’s undoubtedly there, the shimmering turquoise unnatural and unexpected. He’s never seen anything like it before. It’s the same further up on her arm, seems to follow her bloodstream and yet he failed to detect any trace of its source. “This is impossible”, he blurts out before considering his remark – the last thing he needs is to cause a panic.

“Unfortunately, it isn’t.” Monty sounds as if this wasn’t the first time he’s had to convince someone.

“Tell me all you know.”

Another sigh. The woman between them twitches in her sleep, brows drawn together in agony. “It has several stages and begins with inexplicable pain. The initial location varies from person to person but over time, it affects the entire body, causing fatigue and severely inhibiting the afflicted, though the ultimate effects once again vary. One has gone blind, another developed a rash, there have been rotting limbs, muscle atrophy, tremors. The only common ground is the pale blue light, persistent aching and the fact that we don’t know how to cure it.”

Doc shoots up without a reply and approaches a different bed, this time with a whimpering, older man. His eyes widen once he catches sight of the orange markings denoting Doc as a higher being but doesn’t manage to utter a syllable as Doc forcibly fuses their sensations, barely avoiding throwing up in the process due to the suddenness of it. No, his powers are working the way he expects them to – he clearly is aware of all the differences between this body and the last one, instinctively repairs a few things here and there, closes a scratch on the man’s shin, rejuvenates his liver and tries to block out the omnipresent pain which presents a solid foundation to all other sensations. It’s the same as before, he finds nothing wrong except for everything being wrong somehow.

He’s frazzled, pulls back too fast and sways unsteadily until a hand rests on his shoulder. This can’t be. He’s never encountered anything like it. Just to make sure, he invades Monty as well, takes careful note of his regular heartbeat and breathing, apparently not at all perturbed by Doc’s behaviour. He’s in good shape, even better than the two soldiers, and yet Doc finds some things to improve, restores an awkwardly healed rib to its intended state, rids the man of all exhaustion and slight dizziness from spending all day in the stuffy tent, looks for any indication that his own abilities just aren’t the same as they used to be. But there’s nothing. No sign of the illness and therefore his powers are the same as always.

They’re both light-headed when he severs the connection abruptly and his tongue won’t obey him fully yet, causing him to slur his next words: “Is it contagious?”

To his credit, Monty remains by his side, doesn’t subconsciously distance himself from Doc despite the indubitably uncomfortable experience he must’ve just had. Doc shouldn’t be surprised, he’s noticed before that humans who devote their life to helping others tend to be much more agreeable. “Yes”, he responds after a short pause. “Though we don’t know how. Physical contact is necessary but not sufficient – I seem to be largely immune, for example. Some others are, too.”

Doc’s shock is still at the forefront of his mind. There hasn’t been an earthly ailment he wasn’t able to fix, some more easily than others, so this is inconceivable. He turns and marches out of the tent, feeling oddly sullied as if he had contracted the ‘divine disease’, as they called it, himself. A mockery, even an offence to all he stands for.

Bandit is yelling at a few young warriors when bright sunlight greets him again, but dismisses them immediately when he meets Doc’s dismayed gaze, turning towards him with a grim smile.

“Answers”, Doc demands with gritted teeth.

“I have but one to give.” He pauses momentarily and Doc almost grabs his neck to shake it out of him. “You wanted to know why we’re fighting Qina? Well.” Bandit’s expression hardens. “They have the cure.”

.

~*~

.

“This is preposterous”, Doc barks at the other man while walking back and forth, making no effort to conceal his indignation. “What you’re claiming is impossible.”

“And yet here we are.” Bandit inexplicably seems bored with their conversation, focusing more on sharpening his sword than on Doc’s words.

“None of us would ever go this far, no matter how much we’d believe to be in the right. You hear me? None. This must be a, I don’t know, a whim! Or an accident. Nature made an unfortunate mistake!”

“Nature has produced a variety of abominations of all kinds, I’ll give you that, but shouldn’t you be able to heal it in that case? You can take pain away, so why not this one?”

He’s fuming over Bandit’s accusations, can barely think straight. If he hadn’t seen, even felt the illness himself, he’d have silenced him on the spot, removed his tongue or his vocal chords, possibly made him die a slow and painful death for his open disrespect. As things stand, he experienced it himself, his curiosity urging him to find answers – but vehemently rejecting the one Bandit offered him. “Maybe my influence on this world has lessened. Maybe the passing of time weakened my powers to the point where I’m unable to adapt to this new malady. It might just be an odd coincidence.”

“It is not and you know it isn’t, I saw that look in your eye when you left the tent, you know it’s -”

“Do not dare to speak it one more time. I will wipe you off the face of this earth if you even imply it once more.”

Bandit drops his sword with a clatter, expression furious. “Threaten me all you want, it’s the most obvious explanation. This fucking disease which has caused so much suffering and death already, this plague which is killing the very people I have vowed to protect, is otherworldly and caused by a so-called ‘Great One’.”

Like a cornered animal, he lashes out without considering the consequences, and, like a rabid animal, he needs to be put down. Doc has come into contact with enough heresy committed by humans to know he’s not going to change his mind, but has never faced it quite as directly and bluntly as this. Blind rage seizes him, propels him forward and convinces him to try and touch Bandit anywhere so he can ravage his organs, eviscerate him from the inside out, find what’s most precious to him and gouge it out. His eyes maybe? His fingers?

The human displays an impressive reaction time, ducking away with a pale face full of terror, jumping aside yet not running away for some reason Doc can’t discern. He holds him in place with the sheer force of his will, feels an oddly triumphant excitement rise in him when Bandit realises he’s trapped standing up, incapable of moving his muscles. Doc approaches him, raises a hand and touches his temple, eager to maim and make this worm bleed, eager to -

“Wait.”

He pauses, unmoving. Bandit still looks terrified, eyelids fluttering and deathly pallid, but his eyes aren’t directed at Doc anymore. “I do not believe anything you have to say could change my mind”, Doc states loudly. Only now he realises that no one else is in sight, no wandering soldiers staring at them, no living creature visible except for Bandit and, behind Doc’s back, Monty. It says a lot about a leader when his own troops abandon him as easily as this.

“Please, show mercy. And let him explain. You’ve witnessed how my kinsmen suffer, and I don’t think you’ll give up on them so soon.”

Doc deliberates his words. He considers himself merciful, that much is true, and he wants to find a solution for this odd disease, though not for either of their sakes. Still, he removes his hold, takes a step back and watches as Bandit sags in relief. Of course he pretends not to have been affected as much as he was, waves Monty’s concerns aside but leans into his casual touch nonetheless when he checks up on him. His small smile is grateful and Doc doesn’t miss the way his gaze lingers when the tall man turns back to Doc.

“Maybe it’ll make you reconsider hearing that you’re not the first one he’s asked for help.”

“I imagine you’ve appealed to doctors all over the continent”, he responds with a shrug but is confused to receive a shake of the head.

“You’re the eighth”, Bandit admits. “I’ve summoned seven others before you.”

“That’s -” Impossible, he almost says once again. Wordlessly, Bandit lifts the hem of his top and reveals several scars on his abdomen which by themselves wouldn’t be remarkable if not for their blackened state; inflamed-looking tendrils crawling away from the wound, the dark colour sickening. Doc knows what kind of being leaves such marks. He knows because he’s inflicted them before.

“We acquired knowledge of eight of your kind, I summoned them to cure the disease or aid us in battle, and all of them refused. One of them left me this present. You’re the last one.”

Leaving aside the fact that Doc was convinced calling upon his kind several times in a row would lethally exhaust humans, this means that Bandit is currently managing to both recover from a wound like this and keep Doc anchored in this world. He must possess a greater strength and willpower than he was aware. Even so, this isn’t the time to marvel at an insignificant human’s abilities. “Why?”, he demands to know.

The two men glance at each other uncertainly. They’re familiar with each other, affectionate enough that Monty would step in and risk his life to possibly save Bandit’s, and Doc wonders whether it really was coincidence that he ended up talking to the taller one in the field hospital or whether it was carefully orchestrated. He does not see a way as to how it could be reliably achieved and therefore decides that Monty is simply someone with whom Bandit works together a lot and well. He certainly seems to cultivate close relations with the soldiers under his command, if his casual remarks to the people around him are anything to go by.

“Why did they refuse?”, he clarifies.

“I don’t know. One pretended to be bored, another claimed it was beneath her, and the most recent one said we weren’t in the right, the scales not tipped in our favour.”

“Is that so?” Doc’s eyes narrow. “Because assuming you speak the truth, there is no reason for either of them to ignore your plight. A small nation which will die a slow death seeking help from a much larger ally, being denied unjustly and then attempting to save itself warrants our meddling. Your continued existence doesn’t upset the status quo while your demise might have far-reaching consequences. None of us would decline.”

Bandit catches on first. “You’re calling us liars.”

“Not necessarily. Maybe my kind knew more than they let on. Explain to me once again why you believe that the Qinean empire possesses the remedy you seek.” Now that his immediate fury has calmed, Doc is determined to uncover the solution to this mystery. Even on the other side, he rarely communicates with his brethren but is steadfastly convinced they act the same way he does and fell sensible decisions when determining the fate of humanity as a whole. If they refrained from aiding Bandit’s people, they must have good reason to doubt his story.

“Publicly, they deny any connection to or even knowledge of the divine disease”, Monty speaks up. “Fact is that it broke out after a Qinean ambassador and his entourage visited our court. Furthermore, a servant witnessed the ambassador himself displaying the sickening glow, yet when he joined the court again a while later, it was gone. He must’ve gotten rid of it somehow.”

“Even the Queen herself paid a visit once the illness had spread and she showed no sign of worry about contracting it herself, nor did anyone with her”, Bandit supplies to a nodding Monty. “The last straw was a plea for help with further research which they denied outright under the excuse of lacking the necessary funds. We conduct regular trade with them, so it’d be in their interest to stop an epidemic – unless they already have the means to do so in their own country.”

Conjecture. Oh, how Doc despises the vagueness which encompasses this world sometimes. There are moments in which he enjoys its ambiguity, its resistance to be labelled one thing or another – almost all beings are at the very least twofold, never purely one thing or another: the sweetest honey can make him sick, and the annoying mosquito still fulfils a role in nature. He appreciates being challenged to fell the right decision, to weigh pros and cons and see which possesses more importance. But at times, he curses the fact that he majorly inhabits other worlds and therefore has to navigate the webs of lies and truths humans spin with their words. Taken at face value, he’s inclined to agree with Bandit’s interpretation of the facts, but how can he be certain of their accuracy?

“Our neighbours have reported similar inflictions. The only ones it doesn’t affect is Qina.” They seem to be sensing his hesitation yet none of what they say can sway him. Ideally, he’d need to talk to either someone unrelated or of relevance in Qina – but he knows that if he showed his face to the empire, stating that Bandit summoned him, it’ll look as if he’s taking their side, thusly prompting Qina to take similar drastic measures. He doesn’t want to provoke a great war so he’ll have to remain here.

“We’re currently on Qinean territory, correct?” They confirm with a nod, still looking unsure. “Is there a city nearby? Any place from where you could kidnap someone who can vouch for the other side of this conflict? I would like to speak with them without making my presence known.”

Oddly enough, Bandit looks to Monty for his opinion on the matter and the two of them converse quietly, gesticulating and decisively shaking their heads now and then. Doc is surprised at how casually they interact and how highly Bandit values his friend’s opinion but waits patiently until they’ve come to a consensus.

“There’s… a Qinean spy in our custody”, Bandit begins, looking slightly sheepish, “but we haven’t been able to extract anything from her. Maybe you can -”

“Take me to her.”

.

Being feared is normal. He’s always been feared one way or another, caused people to flinch away from him, leaving them tongue-tied, scared of saying the wrong thing. Over time, he got used to it and barely paid attention to whoever cowered before him, but here in this camp, surrounded by what likely are honest, hard-working, wronged people, it’s…

He doesn’t like it. His outburst was necessary and understandable, his self-defence justified. If Bandit’s accusation had been voiced not in private but so that the rest of the continent could’ve heard it, the damage to their reputation could’ve been disastrous. One of Doc’s kind, spreading disease without reason? Making it incurable? People would fear them too much to ever call on them again.

And still – watching these brave soldiers shrink away causes a bad taste in his mouth, which reminds him that he still hasn’t eaten anything yet. Despite their shocking lack of manners, he has to admit he’d feel guilty simply abandoning these people which is something he’ll have to monitor very carefully if he wants to remain unbiased.

Monty seems to be even more popular than Bandit, exchanging quick quips with passer-bys often accompanied by suspicious glances in Doc’s direction. He’s lost a lot of sympathy by attacking their leader and even more by endangering Monty. But he’s not here to develop any kind of attachment, so he ignores it. Eventually they stumble over a boy, hardly old enough to participate in a war, who’s obviously been crying but attempts to hide his tears nonetheless, and Monty promises to catch up with them later before he separates to talk to him.

“He has strange priorities”, Doc comments afterwards and earns a derisive scoff from his remaining companion.

“No, but you do. He puts others first, no matter what. You may have incredible power, but… that’s all which makes you ‘great’.”

Doc stops. There’s defiance showing in Bandit’s features, together with that same misplaced pride again he’s been displaying from the beginning. “You don’t think I’m going to help you. That’s why you feel secure enough in voicing your half-baked opinions.”

“Yeah. None of you have exactly filled me with confidence, you know.”

One of his eyebrows rises in disbelief. Bandit has – according to his own words – spoken with seven others of Doc’s kind so far on the same controversial topic and believes this to be representative of their ethical values. “This has always been the problem with you humans, you tend to think in extremes even if your world is so varied and rich and multi-faceted. You find it impossible to imagine someone might refuse their aid categorically at first but change their mind later, once sufficient information has surfaced. I might have formed a strong opinion on you yet that won’t influence my decision to either declare your cause just or unjust. That is what sets me apart from someone like you.”

“You know what, you’re really starting to piss me off with your fucking righteous attitude.” Bandit’s words are like venom which he spits gladly in Doc’s face. “Some might think you are, but you’re not a God, you’ve never been, so what gives you the right to act like you are? To decide on good people’s fate as if there was an objectively ‘correct’ solution when you’re just as fallible and closed-minded and biased as we are? You might have your own fucking ideals but don’t pretend they’re outright perfect by default.” He must’ve noticed the cold fury Doc is emanating at this point because he adds: “Go ahead, kill me if you want, hurt me, violence is the only argument you still have left.”

His bluntness is … troubling, to put it very mildly. He really does lack any kind of respect which does not help his case, no, it does not at all, and there’s an old, deep-seated voice in Doc whispering to him the same things coursing through his mind earlier. Honestly, the world would be a better place without someone as inconsiderate, as rude and derisive as Bandit, wouldn’t it? But, and this is strangely important, it’d end up proving him right. And that’s the last thing Doc wants to do. “I have half a mind to simply abandon you this instant”, he growls quietly, ignoring the worried glances they’re attracting. They don’t matter – none of these people do, in the grand scheme of things.

“Is that so?” His ugly grimace transforms into a sneer. “Wouldn’t that be the proof that you’re everything but unbiased?”

He -

Doc stares at him, thunderstruck.

He’s right.

Personal dislike must never triumph over his vocation to aid humanity as a whole. If Bandit’s nation really has been wronged, he simply can’t turn them down based on a reason as flimsy as this. But it can’t be, doesn’t Bandit’s arrogance justify his people’s demise? Does he not represent their ethical stance? Then again, who is he to determine the death of thousands, possibly more, just because they lack manners? Shouldn’t he instead show the world that his actions are justifiable regardless of his personal preference?

Frantically, he recalls former decisions, quickly tests them against this theory and tries to objectively judge whether he acted in humanity’s best interest – or out of self-interest. And even if it’s the former, would he recognise it?

“Come on. She’s right over there.”

Bandit’s softened voice snaps him out of his panicked thoughts and redirects his attention to the matter at hand. He can contemplate his words later, for now he has a spy to interrogate.

.

The woman is chained to a stake driven deep into the ground and looks as if this was all which keeps her from dismantling the entire camp by herself. Her glare is fierce and emphasised by the prominent scar adorning her face, yet her resolve wavers as soon as she notices Doc approaching. For a few seconds, she struggles with herself, probably overcome with contempt towards Bandit, but ends up slightly bowing to Doc nonetheless. A polite Qinean – in Doc’s experience a common sight.

“I greet you”, he addresses her in her mother tongue, causing her to sit up straight in awe.

“It is the greatest honour to be graced with your presence, Great One, and with deep respect I vow to be your servant. With eternal gratitude I trust that you will always act wisely and I plead for you to have mercy on us”, she instinctively replies in the same language, uttering the traditional greeting of her nation.

“Wait”, Bandit chimes in, audibly concerned, “she can speak my language, why don’t you -”

“You are being held against your will on the grounds of espionage on behalf of the Qinean empire. Is this true?”

Her eyes flit back and forth between them, calculating. Not even asking Bandit whether he speaks the notoriously difficult High Qinean is deliberate, he wants her to know that his trust in Bandit is shaky at best. “That is true”, she confirms and seems to enjoy the fact that her increasingly frustrated enemy won’t be able to listen in to their conversation.

“As for the allegations, are they true also? You act in the interest of your Queen? Tried to gather information about these troops?” She hesitates, glances at an upset Bandit once more. “If you are honest with me I will grant you the same favour.”

“Yes”, she states with a nod. So far so good.

“You know who I am and what I stand for.” Another curt nod. “Then you also know that as of yet, I am neither on your enemy’s side nor on yours, instead currently gathering information to decide how to act. It is important that you are as objective as possible as your account may turn the tide of this conflict one way or another.”

He allows for a few seconds so she can parse his words. It’s imperative she understands the gravity of the situation and simultaneously gets a chance to gather her thoughts.

“I remember your people as disciplined, honourable and well-educated but have no recollection of the Rangiin Kamaan. They strike me as very similar, from what I’ve seen.”

The woman’s face darkens. “A convincing show they must’ve put up for you. Compare it to a sinner who vows betterment behind sacred walls and relapses as soon as he’s left. Your imposing presence would inspire thieves and liars to put on their best behaviour.” She spits on the ground directly between Bandit’s feet, making him curse loudly and take a step forward. A single glance from Doc stops him, however, and convinces him to withdraw, grumbling, reconvening with the newly-arrived Monty to undoubtedly complain in hushed voices. Doc pays him no heed. “I’ve been their prisoner for a few days, and I’ve seen their real face. Hit me only where the bruises wouldn’t show, recently, before that they had no such qualms. My entire body must’ve been the colour of a rainbow.”

Concerning. Provided she speaks the truth, it’d subvert all that Doc has come to believe about the Rangiin Kamaan. “I have had similar suspicions”, he tells her calmly, “so it’s good to hear them confirmed. What can you tell me about the conflict between your nation and theirs?”

She shakes her head in regret. “It is messy and full of false accusations. They might’ve claimed it’s only them being affected by this odd illness – you have seen it yourself, correct? In truth, my motherland is ravaged by it as well, far worse than this. These snakes are trying to take advantage of our weakened state and attempt to rally our vassals and enemies alike to destroy what little is left of our empire.”

Once again, a direct contradiction of what he’s heard so far. The erasure of Qina would have unforeseen consequences and as oppressive and authoritarian the nation always has been, it is nonetheless the capital of all knowledge, has amassed countless books, scrolls and relics which, if lost, would set the entire continent back. If she’s speaking the truth, it’s in Doc’s interest to strike down this rebellion as swiftly as possible. “They claim you possess the cure to this disease.”

“They would. If we did, would an army of this size have been able to venture this far into our territory? No, we have just as fruitlessly attempted to heal our people and failed, just like them.”

“What of your ambassador? And your Queen?”

The spy once again sits up straighter at the mention of the Qinean matriarch. “I have heard the lies they spread. Ambassador Abyad has indeed been inflicted and suffers the consequences as we speak, he has not, as they claim, been cured. And our Mother took all the precautions necessary to ensure she wouldn’t suffer the same fate.”

“I see”, Doc responds, touches her temple and synchronises their senses.

Despite it being done without warning, he’d gathered the necessary focus pre-emptively and thus ensures smooth proceedings, a process much too quick for the woman to react. She’s in a state of extreme agitation, her heartbeat pounding and adrenalin coursing through her blood causing an almost painful alertness. Apart from her limbs complaining about too little movement, she’s in no pain and exhibits no sign of physical injury – broken and healed bones lie far in the past and other ailments are similarly unrelated. As soon as she understands what’s happening, she struggles against the intrusion, the first to do so this day. She must realise that her body is giving her away.

He never understood lying. Some people resort to it despite easily being disproved, they do it for sport or to feel a rush of power over being trusted blindly. It’s an ugly habit of humanity but one impossible to eradicate, Doc assumes, as it’s been around since the dawn of time. He hates it when humans lie to him implicitly, but hates it even more when they do so directly in his face.

With Bandit’s and Monty’s eyes in his back, he withdraws from the woman’s body and leaves her gasping for air. His hand travels down her jaw and forms a cup below it. “Give it to me voluntarily and I will have no need to take it with force. If you swallow it, I will make your insides squirm until I hold it in my hand.”

The Qinean glares up at him with an ironically betrayed expression, as if his deception had been in any way worse than hers. He had to pretend a more friendly disposition towards her to show she had indeed the chance to change his mind. No one is to blame for her failure other than herself.

After a few more moments, she procures a small vial from inside her cheek and drops it into Doc’s outstretched hand. With it intact, she can’t have been beaten – at least not in the face, it would’ve shattered. He wipes it off and inspects the liquid curiously, at first not understanding why it baffles him, but then it registers: it’s the same colour as the eerie glow the patients are emitting.

“Are you fucking done?”, Bandit snarls at him and is held back only by a calming hand on his midriff. “What is that?”

“You have to help my people”, the woman makes a desperate last attempt, her voice now pleading where before it’d been carefully even. “Please, I beg you. Help them. You might be the only one who can.”

Yet another reason for lying: despair. Doc is unsure of its source – the prisoner has been treated fairly as far as he can tell, and she must know he would never contribute to Qina’s downfall. Why is she discarding her pride now, after she failed to convince him?

“Let’s talk somewhere else”, he suggests. While they walk away, the prisoner’s sad wailing trails after him almost hauntingly.

.

“There are two options”, Doc announces once he and his two companions have reached a clearing of tents, the middle point of the camp bustling with activity and yet no one stops to eavesdrop. “Either this is poison which causes the cursed disease or it’s a cure. She might’ve carried it with her to afflict you, Bandit, as the highest in command, hoping you’d be unable to lead your troops into battle – or it was a precaution in case she contracted the illness herself and needed a remedy.” He hands the phial to a stunned-looking Bandit and expects him to pocket it immediately, yet instead he holds on to it, unsure what to do.

“But in either case it won’t harm anyone who’s afflicted?”, Monty clarifies and earns a nod. “So this can possibly cure a single person?”

“Yes. I can’t be absolutely sure but it is the most likely option.”

“What did the bitch tell you? Did she say anything about it?”

It seems Bandit is still hung up on the fact he couldn’t listen in to Doc’s conversation with the spy earlier. As typical as it is petty. “It is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it damn well is. What if you made an agreement with her? What if you’re going to double-cross or abandon us, just like your other -” A hand on his wrist stops him in his tracks and Doc is once again grateful for Monty’s calming presence.

“Are you going to help us?”, the tall man wants to know and it’s not an accusation, not an ultimatum, merely an inquiry.

“I need time to think”, Doc replies simply. The accounts of no more than three people are insufficient but they grant him a foundation on which he can form his opinion, provide him with a good idea of what he can ask the other soldiers. If there are inconsistencies, asking a variety of people about the same story should unearth them.

“That is good enough for us.” When Bandit opens his mouth to protest, Monty turns to him with a gentle expression and reminds him: “Dom. We cannot expect him to trust us if we don’t show him the same courtesy. Let’s wait. Justice can’t be rushed.”

The warrior deflates visibly, slain by rationality and respect. “Yes. Alright. But here, you take it.” He thrusts the small container towards his companion, much to Doc’s shock. He does not keep it to himself?

Monty is caught just as off-guard as Doc. “What? No, you can hold on to it, I can’t decide what -”

“But your sister -”

“I won’t claim this privilege, don’t make me -”

“You have all the right to -”

“What about Blitz, he’s going to be invaluable in battle tomorrow -”

“Please, just take it.”

Doc perks up at this new information. “You are going to fight tomorrow?”

The two bickering men immediately cease their back and forth and turn to him. “We’re meeting the Queen’s legion tomorrow”, Bandit says quietly. “They’ve been gathering their troops and will meet us halfway to the capital. This is why I was unable to grant you more time than today. We’re all going to die soon.”

.

Now that he focuses his gaze, seeks out the signs, he realises they’ve been there all this time. The methodical behaviour inherent to all that the soldiers do, a grim determination lining their features, the odd kindness and forbearance accompanying those who have accepted that which they cannot change. These are people already lying in their graves, some of them going through practised motions with a blank expression, others seeking solace in mindless distractions, yet more seem to be set on making their last hours count. Doc stumbles over couples sharing secret, wistful smiles, friends reminiscing or playfully sparring, strangers opening up to each other.

They carry their doom with much more dignity than he would’ve guessed.

None of them blame him though he supposes their anger died down and gave way to resignation after his predecessors toured the camp more standoffishly than he did; it is a miracle that only Bandit carries an otherworldly scar like a battle wound. Their wariness hasn’t fully dissipated yet either, their trust still impeded which, if both Bandit and Monty really are as respected and loved as they seem to be, comes as no surprise. Regardless, they engage in conversations willingly, answer his questions with an open and authentic attitude he likes – and some of them even smuggle food into his pockets. There are dried dates, roasted nuts, even crumbly baked goods, and they’re a feast for his senses, explode into flavour on his tongue and make him curse whoever was responsible for putting this sweet nectar into this world specifically.

Most of them speak favourably of Bandit, hidden behind thinly-veiled insults lies a deep admiration and a loyalty only inspired by likewise devotion. They’re comfortable with him, are allowed to criticise and voice opinions, and even if he usually shoots them down mercilessly, he listens and considers them nonetheless. His style of leading an army is highly unconventional but he can demand discipline and absolute obedience if necessary.

Monty receives even more praise. It turns out he’s not even part of the medical personnel, yet his apparent immunity spurred him on to spend as much time alleviating symptoms as possible, bonding with the patients despite the position he holds – this part is emphasised wherever Doc goes. He supposes he’s Bandit’s second-in-command, a confidant and friend as much as a fellow warrior. It gives him faith.

Not all of it is rosy but with humanity’s past he didn’t expect it to be. Racist undertones, superiority complexes and bitterness leak through some of the more resentful comments and taint the milder ones. Even so, criticism towards their ruler is virtually non-existent and shut down quickly whenever it arises. Doc doesn’t ask any further, it’s obvious their King isn’t gracing him with his presence and so he wastes no thought on him.

The matter at hand remains … elusive. Its solution enigmatic, its cause a mystery. He’s at a loss because admitting Bandit might be right is overstepping a boundary Doc is not prepared to leave behind, especially not without any prior warning, no opportunity to confer with his brethren.

Sunset is fast approaching, the brilliant ball slipping over the horizon, threatening icy nights once the twilight has fully dispersed. Doc is perched on a stool someone gave up willingly, sits at the edge of the camp and gazes towards the source of dwindling warmth, towards where the Queen must be currently commanding her army to walk until their legs are sore.

“Do you get hungry?”

He breaks out of his half-meditation and finds himself facing Monty, holding two bowls and indubitably only just now questioning his own actions, judging by the slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t”, Doc replies evenly. “But this body does. I’m not sure how you humans manage.” Rarely does he share details as private as this, keeps his opinions largely to himself but finds that he lowers his guard around this particular human a little too easily. Under different circumstances, he’d watch his words more closely but either he’s going to aid these people or abandon them to certain death. In either case, they won’t be inclined to speak ill of him.

They eat in silence. Doc vaguely recalls previous meals and supposes the stew falls on the flavour-light side but as he only gets to eat every couple of decades, he relishes it nonetheless. He recognises coriander and savours every bite.

“How is it? Being here – compared to where you’re from?”

Very nearly his mouth releases the same platitudes so familiar to him that they’ve been etched into his tongue by now but something in Monty’s innocent curiosity quells the urge. Somehow, he deserves honesty and maybe it’s the compassion he shows all those around him, maybe his reluctance to accept the possible cure despite having a personal incentive to do so, maybe the fact that he convinced Bandit to trust Doc despite all. Whatever it is, it tips the scales in his favour and Doc knows at this moment that he’s going to assist the Rangiin Kamaan. “You have a name for the place where I usually reside. Hell.”

Monty halts but does not respond, merely waits for Doc to continue.

“This, in comparison, is a paradise. You take fresh air for granted, the force allowing you to walk the ground, all these things without which you never had to manage and thus you can never appreciate them the way we do. This is why we serve humanity. This is why we attempt to be agents of justice so that we may never side with a civilisation which could potentially perish. If we weren’t allowed this outlet, weren’t able to walk the earth now and then, we would cease to be. Our existence is so painful and so horrifying even to us that we desperately cling to the hope of being summoned here. It is our oath: by resolving conflicts we ensure humanity’s and therefore our own survival. It is why the mere thought of one of us sabotaging our collective future is abhorrent.”

Emotion colours his speech and he silently reprimands himself for it. Revealing this much, too, is forbidden, yet he felt the strange need of justifying his actions to this man. His bodily functions tell on him, let him know he’s upset even though he’s had half an eternity to come to terms with this fact. And still he harbours more anger than the soldiers awaiting their fate.

“I’m sorry”, Monty says and, oddly, Doc believes him. He’d like to provide more details because there are aspects he misses while he’s on this plane, but trusts that Monty understands. Nothing is ever black and white, is it?

“I’d like to talk to Bandit. I have reached a conclusion.”

To his credit, Monty doesn’t ask and simply points out the tent in question. “He’s given strict orders not to be bothered after sunset but I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you. Thank you for listening to us.”

Like Bandit, he seems to have accepted the possibility of Doc refusing their plea as fact and he doesn’t feel like correcting him, so he just hands him his empty bowl and gets up.

.

It’s going to be a tentative agreement, that much Doc has already worked out. For the moment he’ll do reconnaissance, buying time, assessing the situation after having talked with Qinean officials to decide on further proceedings. One step at a time, he’ll unravel this mess into its components with which he’ll deal one by one – it’s a cautious approach but one which will hopefully not end in bloodshed. He needs to decipher Qina’s motivation first and foremost.

Mulling over all the information available to him, he ignores the uneasy glances between the people outside their commander’s tent and enters without hesitation, not at all expecting to be confronted with something which makes him freeze, leaves him petrified, almost forces a noise of shock and dismay out of his throat. A cold sensation settles low in his stomach and spreads out to his limbs, takes hold of his tongue and prevents him from exclaiming, asking, accusing.

Bandit is his own source of light.

Here, in the semi-darkness of his hideout, the blue is crassly visible and almost turns the lithe man into a terrifying creature haunting a world where it has no right to be. It pulses softly in the same rhythm as his heart, covers his naked arms, feet and face in a glowing spiderweb of pure disease, his features faint against the prominent veins. He doesn’t seem human anymore, features contorted in a pitiful grimace as he sits on the floor, pressing palms against temples and breathing deeply, consciously. He is but a shadow of the prideful fool Doc met earlier this day.

As soon as he realises his solitude is interrupted, he jumps up onto trembling legs, eyes wide in shock. “You – you had until sunset”, he blurts out idiotically, as if this detail somehow invalidated the view in front of Doc.

It can’t be, and yet a sickening idea takes hold in his mind. “Why did you hide this from me?”, he wants to know, tone cold.

“No.” Bandit is shaking his head, apparently knows exactly what Doc is considering. “No, that isn’t it – I didn’t -”

“The only reason you’re doing everything you can to cure your people is because you selfishly want to cure yourself. If you weren’t afflicted, you’d act differently. Is all of this a ploy to save your own life? Have you deceived me this entire time?”

“Please. Please, don’t.” Even now with his legs nearly giving in, Bandit refuses to kneel before him. He might be begging for his life but this bit of pride will not die, no matter what. “That is not why. I kept it from you because you’d think exactly this. I didn’t want you to believe I’m only doing it for myself, I’m not, it’s -”

His voice dies in a pitiful croak when Doc grabs his jaw and uses his power to keep the man upright as well as rooted to the ground. This time, he won’t be able to evade him. “And I am supposed to believe this?”

Wide eyes are filled with fear and yet he pleads: “Kill me. Do it, it won’t prove me right, I promise – it’s – I’m a horrible human being and need to be erased from history, you need to kill me. But please, please promise me that you’ll save them. Don’t let this deter you, they deserve it. You know they do.”

Doc examines him, momentarily ignoring the sinking feeling of having been betrayed somehow. Slowly, he loosens his hold on the man until he slumps a little, fragile body shivering and teeth working to probably hold back undignified whimpers. It must’ve cost him immense willpower to suppress his symptoms all day, not let anyone see the condition he’s in, hide all this suffering from Doc and possibly his soldiers too. Even now, Bandit refuses to back away, lightly grabs Doc’s wrist to keep it in its place and stares him down in a mixture of defiance and genuine terror.

Maybe it really wasn’t deceit. Maybe him refusing to take the cure himself wasn’t a display for Doc’s benefit. Maybe he really does care about others more than himself, as showcased by him desperately trying to win one of Doc’s kind over.

And wait.

This is impossible.

This time, it actually is impossible, no human could ever carry the weight of Doc’s materialised form while simultaneously bearing the aftermath of an otherworldly scar as well as suffering from this divine disease – no one possesses the physical and mental strength necessary.

A vicious ache stabs through his head once he’s linked his consciousness to Bandit’s and he’s lost for a moment, disoriented despite being so familiar with human bodies. It’s as if there were several more limbs despite him knowing there aren’t, and yet there’s a phantom sensation of a much more expansive form, like a container which is larger on the inside. It’s bewildering and causes a painful throb under his scalp but it’s simultaneously familiar, strangely enough.

Even now, Bandit doesn’t struggle against him and instead allows him easy access to his body, yet the more Doc finds the more astonished he is. Internal organs show hardly any signs of age and are as invigorated as they would be had Doc rejuvenated them already – the omnipresent pain of the illness is prevalent but not nearly as prominent as in the other subjects Doc examined, instead it’s more an ebb and flow in the background, intensifying now and then but fading in between the spikes. As if something interfered with it.

He presses on: Bandit is distraught and his emotional state is mirrored in his body but parts of it are remarkably calm and merely trying to uphold the minimum; it takes him a moment to realise that resources are being allocated towards a very specific part in his midsection. There’s a tumour here, a growth of not insignificant size spanning the width of his belly on the inside – three, actually, and it doesn’t take Doc long to identify it as following the pattern of the ugly scars Bandit received from one of Doc’s kin. Normally, wounds like this heal extremely slowly, sometimes not even for a lifetime, but they cause no other side effect other than a persistent ache. He’s never felt or witnessed anything like this before.

Poking and prodding it reveals that it’s painless, merely causes discomfort where it presses against other organs. Is it possible that it counteracts the disease? Doc inspects the bloodstream, muscles, bones, anything he can find to either prove or disprove his theory but it seems he’ll have to rely on conjecture yet again. And then he delves into one of the non-existent limbs, body parts which should not be – under no circumstances should they belong to a human body, but they do.

It hits him out of nothing, a sudden realisation which he pushed aside out of pride, out of self-preservation instinct. …no, that is not why, and in this case it’s not righteous thinking which prevented this idea from springing up sooner. This revelation, too, is a sharp pang in his mind.

They’re left reeling once he’s severed their connection, hold on to each other like drunkards and gasp for air, hands clutching fabric, feet seeking balance, eyes unfocused. It takes them a long time to regain their composure and when they do, Bandit takes a step back, confused, embarrassed, hopeful.

“You didn’t kill me”, he states full of wonder.

“There was a human who studied us.” The non-sequitur startles Bandit into speechlessness. “He was as persistent as he was hungry for knowledge – he summoned us, one by one, travelled the continent until he had spoken with us all, even sought the help of minor beings. During his quest, he realised he gave up more and more of himself: every time he allowed one of us to walk the earth, a piece of him crumbled, irretrievable. But it wasn’t lost, instead our essence replaced it and imbued him with our nature. Once he realised what was happening, he couldn’t stop it.”

How could he have forgotten him? It’s the one black sheep, the one who doesn’t fit. Will never fit.

“He became one of us. He followed us down into our realm and felt what we feel, learnt what we know. He didn’t take it well. He attempted to convince all of us to tell the humans of him, to make them summon him to his original home so he could experience peace again, escape our reality – but he was rash, unjust, cruel. If he were allowed to roam free, he would tarnish our name; he was planning to sow discord among humanity so that our services – his services – would be required more often. We declined. We damned him to an eternal existence in our world.”

Bandit absent-mindedly runs his fingertips over glowing veins, brows drawn together. He understands. “So he’s the one who did this.” No gloating even though he’d been right. “Why didn’t you think of him earlier?”

“I believe our memories of him were sealed. You might find this hard to believe but there are beings of greater power than myself. The only possibility I see is that he found a way to escape. It explains the nature of the disease, the unnatural light, the seemingly random symptoms and its spread, and the fact that the cure seems to stem from the same source as the illness. It’s consistent with all that we know and the most likely explanation that he invaded this world and put a plan into motion to cause conflict rather than resolve it in the hopes of making us redundant and himself invaluable.”

The man before him is now pacing back and forth as if he hadn’t been in mortal danger mere minutes ago which only cements Doc’s theory. His resilience is extraordinary and only increasing. “How come the others refused their help then? If he’s a liability to you all, shouldn’t they interfere instead?”

“I can only guess as to their motives. They might’ve felt his presence and decided not to intervene.” As expected, Bandit’s expression darkens, so Doc adds: “We all have different control over the forces holding this world together and access to different layers, so while others of my kind might’ve immediately understood the situation, they’re unable to copy most of my skills. It is not impossible that they knew more than I did. As to your question – a fight between two of our kind can be devastating and cause irreparable damage to this world. They were likely scared of this possibility and thus preferred not to remain here. Additionally, the Qinean empire is worth conserving and more important than your nation in the grand scheme of things, making his transgression not as severe as if he’d tried to destroy them.”

Suddenly, he remembers the spy’s words: You have to help my people. You might be the only one who can. The situation might be more dire than he was aware – he can’t discard the possibility that the Qinean Queen is under the control of this defector, acts on his wishes and thus goes against the interests of her people. The prisoner might’ve realised someone far more powerful than any human is influencing her matriarch and that Doc can be her saviour, too.

“So”, Bandit speaks up abruptly, still fidgeting uncomfortably. He finds no solace in having been right, now that the consequences of this reality have sunken in. “Does this mean you’re going to help us?”

No more accusations, no more implied mistrust. He’s learned. “Yes”, Doc says simply. “I am equipped to negotiate, hopefully without antagonising him. And if it should come to it, I am also prepared to fight.” If it means peace in the future, he will take lives in the interest of both his and Bandit’s kind. He knows he can do it, knows he can walk the battlefield like an omen of death, slaying with a single thought and wiping out entire armies should the need arise. He hopes it won’t come to this – but if it does, he’s ready.

Bandit nods and, once it has fully registered, even graces him with a smile. “Took you long enough. Let’s go then, we need to talk -”

He was on his way out of his tent, past Doc, but is stopped by a hand on his torso. It slowly lifts the hem of his top to reveal almost vibrantly illuminated marks on his skin, three slashes frightening in bright daylight already and only more foreboding in half-darkness. “Do you not want to know what made me remember? What unsealed my hidden memories?”, Doc murmurs. This, he has to do. If he doesn’t, the collective repressed energy might tear Bandit in half eventually.

The man looks down at himself and rejects the thought, Doc can read it on his face. “No”, he says but in his heart, he knows the truth.

“You are going to share his fate. The repeated summoning, the disease born from unnatural sources, the injury caused by a being not from this world – it’s too much for your body to bear, so it’s adapting a new form which can carry this burden. You are going to become like me.”

“No, this isn’t – I didn’t want this. I don’t want this.” Once again, eyelids flutter, a lip quivers. “I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be stuck.”

“You won’t. This is where you two are different. You were ready to sacrifice your own life to save those of others. Your actions speak of more honour and compassion than he ever displayed in his life as a human. I will speak on your behalf and you will not be condemned to rot like him. But for that, you need to accept it. Allow it into your mind, into your body, just like you allowed me. It’s waiting.”

He takes Bandit’s hands and calms the staccato of his heart without probing too deep, keeps their link delicate – just enough to even their breaths, relax muscles, reduce faint aching. He wasn’t present when the traitor changed forms but somehow knows that Bandit possesses the strength to begin this journey right now. It might take months, even years to fully take hold but those he’ll spend in comfort. Under his gentle guidance, Bandit lets loose and concentrates, seeks out the source of the disease in him, feels for the remedial influence of the scars. Doc’s own arms are increasing in brightness, the orange cracks lighting up in resonance.

A shockwave emanates from Bandit, no more than a momentary gust of wind yet an exceedingly forceful one, causing loud clattering around them.

When they open their eyes again, the tent is gone – and so are all the others, flattened by the power of Bandit’s awakening, leaving behind an entire army of confused and vaguely frightened soldiers, most of them gathered around what would’ve been directly outside the tent. They must’ve been waiting to hear Doc’s final verdict.

They make for an intimidating picture as a large part of them is emitting an eerie glow, unlike Monty in their midst. He looks as if someone had slapped him.

Next to Doc, Bandit seems no different to the cocky and outwardly disillusioned man who greeted him this morning, but like an utterly different person to the broken one he discovered in the tent a while ago. That Bandit had been desperate, in pain, ashamed. This one is… confident.

“It’s going to be fine”, he assures Monty, sounding very sure of himself. “I promise. We’ll be fine.”

“I will do everything in my power to resolve this matter as peacefully as possible”, Doc adds. “I am at your service.”

It takes a few seconds. Then the cheering begins.

The jubilant atmosphere sparked by his statement is contagious and even Doc feels the corners of his mouth lift up. Monty sags in relief, exchanges a slightly questioning smile with Bandit but seems content with this promise for now. He can’t have known of Bandit’s illness, not with the way his eyes keep straying to his arms, and yet he holds back on reprimanding him for keeping it secret.

Even so, the celebratory mood remains hesitant, as if the men and women believed it too good to be true, but Doc has no doubts it’ll catch on once they’ve made progress. For now, one important matter at hand remains aside from teaching Bandit about what will happen to him, which changes to expect and how to contain his ever-growing power for now.

“I need to discuss strategy”, he announces loudly over the excited chatter and waits until it has died down to a reasonable level. “Take me to your King.”

Strangely enough, people tilt their heads in confusion, exchange glances, frown. Until one young woman slowly raises her arm and points. More follow, and in the end there’s a myriad of fingers all directed at a modestly smiling Monty.

Oh.

“You didn’t know?”, Bandit asks him, surprised.

More puzzle pieces fall into place retroactively. No wonder everyone spoke of him so favourably.

Thinking back to the way Monty so naturally tended to his suffering subjects, addressed their concerns directly despite his status, settles something in Doc. Knowing this, he’s suddenly very sure he will not regret aiding these people, come hell or high water.

[aces-to-apples]

DVD commentary meme! Whatever part of Family Before Honor you'd like to talk about, please!!

Alrighty, since there isn’t much of it posted and chapter two isn’t very long to start with, I’ll just do that then. Author’s commentary on chapter two of “Family Before Honor” beneath the cut:

Two Months

Domestic: 1) of or relating to the home, the household, household affairs, or the family. 2) no longer wild; tame.

I suppose the first thing to note is the pattern of the chapters and summaries—each chapter, and there’s only going to be three, is titled based on how long it’s been in the fic since Cut’s death and each summary is the theme on which the chapter is built. “Two Months” is more meant to bridge the gap between “Two Hours” and “Two Years” and is based around Rex making the transition from military life to civilian life. Settling into a rhythm with Suu and the kids that works for everyone.

Rebuilding the La’Cuane farm is an undertaking both larger and smaller than Rex had first estimated.

Ah, yes, “La’Cuane”. Because fuck Dave Filoni. Before I watched The Deserter, I was under the impression that Lawquane was most likely pronounced more like “lah-kayn” but, as is my custom, when I learned the “official” version I said “nah, fuck that” and came up with my own. So, “Lawquane” is a mistranslation as so many Basic Twi’lek names are. Because fuck you, Dave.

The first few days are an unending game of hurry-up-and-wait: for Republic forces to finish routing the Seps, for Jesse and the boys to come back to retrieve him when he didn’t answer their comms, for Suu to sniffle and stutter her way through the story they’d cooked up to explain his ‘death.’

I just don’t like “Seppies”, okay? I just don’t. “Covies” I’ll accept from Halo, because Marines, but “Seppies”, “tinnies”, and “shinies”? Mmm, how ‘bout the fuck not?

Then waiting for various scans of the remains to come up positive for Fett’s genetic material, for ‘his’ chip to come up too damaged to ping as more than simply present, for Kenobi—well, it turns out that Kenobi had a softer heart than Rex had ever thought. From what Rex spies, he looks damn near devastated for a few heartbeats after Suu tells him the news.

Departing from @norcumii’s version, “Dead Men Tell No Tales”, I decided that it’s too early in the war for Rex and Obi-Wan to have actually started a romantic relationship and kept it as more of a “what if” kind of thing for them to regret. More pining, that way ;)

Then the children march up to him and Jesse, carrying Rex’s armor in their undersized little arms, and Jek loudly proclaims that they want to keep Rex’s bucket. “He was like a, a superhero,” Jek says earnestly, and next to him Shaeeah nods vigorously. “He was so brave and he saved us from the monsters and we’ll take really good care of it.”

Listen, the La’Cuane kids are just insanely cute, okay? And according to Legends (I think?) they were aware enough that they had several million uncles out there in the universe that Shaeeah wrote a book about it, so they absolutely grew up with stars in their eyes about their extended family.

Suu makes a little scene of chastising them, calling it disrespectful, saying that his brothers should have his helmet, it was only right. Rex is dazed by the layers of manipulation they all go to just for him to keep his face; he’s even more dazed by how well it works.

Kenobi clearly melts at the display but looks to Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase for the final decision. Rex can read the silent conversation between them as clear as day. When Jesse crouches down to gaze intently into the visor of Rex’s helmet, he knows the children have won.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Jesse says decisively, and it’s settled. Quieter, he adds, “I think he’d like that…”

If Rex wasn’t so traumatized right now, he’d be absolutely indignant that Jess just blatantly lied like that. How dare you slander the good name of Captain Rex, good Lieutenant, by implying this small child whom he only knew for a few hours and “died” to protect should keep his face when Kenobi is standing over there trying not to cry. Come say that to his helmet, coward!

Rex doesn’t think about where Cut’s bucket had ended up.

I like throwing out lines that if you think about them for longer than it takes to read them then they might become incredibly depressing. What did happen to his helmet? What happened to his armor?

Jek clutches the helmet to his chest in victory and Shaeeah smiles sweetly and Suu has this fond, exasperated look on her face that Rex assumes comes standard with being eyn buir. The children magnanimously offer the rest of his armor to the men, stacked as neatly as they could manage. Rex stares as Kenobi helps pack it away with the supplies for safekeeping, subtly pocketing his left vambrace as he does.

I’m gonna be honest, at this point canon and fanon have merged so much for me that I don’t even know what’s true and what’s not. Just go with it.

Rex doesn’t think about maybes and what-ifs.

Then Kenobi turns back to Suu and his gaze goes past her to the ruined farmhouse and Rex gets the feeling that Kenobi’s about to do one of those terribly un-Jedi-like things he had never, ever admitted to sometimes doing. He pulls out a credit chip and Rex knows.

He has to turn away from the scene and take careful breaths. Kenobi wasn’t perfect—Cody has spent hours venting to Rex and Wolffe and whoever else managed to meet up at once about his hypocritical, sanctimonious Jedi—but just like Skywalker, just like Tano, just like Windu and Yoda and Secura and every other Jedi, he had his moments of breath-stealing goodness.

Listen, I love some Jedi characters to death, but I have—had, now that Tumblr filters out posts with words like “fuck” and “wank” in the tags when you search for them and pretends they don’t exist—a #fuck the jedi order tag for a reason. The narrative tends to frame both the Jedi Order and most Jedi characters as Righteous and Good, while also having them commit pretty heinous acts and tossing the audience horrific implications/pieces of information at the same time. I’ve said it somewhere before, but The Clone Wars wants to have its “deep, edgy, grimdark exploration of war” and eat its “fun, wacky space adventures” too and while we’ve all noticed the tonal whiplash that the show gives us, it plays hell with the narrative itself. Unspeakably bad shit happens in one arc, and nobody ever mentions it again. The Jedi control a slave army, and that’s Bad, but we’re told that they care about their troops and want to help them Later, which cancels out the Bad and keeps them Good Guys. In universe, it absolutely doesn’t work. We all know the Jedi pull some fuckshit every two weeks, so you bet your ass the clones know it too and routinely get sauced and rant about it to each other where no one can hear them. But they also can be extremely helpful and empathetic between three to five every other Thursday. Sorry, just mentioning #fuck the jedi order sends me off into a rant and I actually deleted a lot of other stuff from this part because Not Important.

Rex should’ve known his last act as a captain, and his first act as a free man, would be finally witnessing one of those moments.

And then Kenobi is gone, his brothers are gone, and the work begins.

- - -

It’s slow-going, and at times back-breaking, and it quickly becomes apparent that the nerve-damage Kix had warned about has set in good and proper. After the children have gone to bed, Rex and Suu go outside to have a rousing argument about what to do—the first of many on the horizon.

I know, I know, it’s common wisdom that disagreeing with your partner are normal but knockdown drag-out arguments Are Not and while I absolutely understand that, I come from a family with an absurdly large number of siblings that subscribe to the Taika Waititi School of Siblings and therefore it’s perfectly reasonable to shout yourself hoarse about some nonsense or other and get mad and stomp off and then two hours later throw a pillow at the other person’s head and say “hey dickhead come look at this funny post what’s for dinner later”. And as such that’s how every sibling relationship I ever write will function because I genuinely don’t understand siblings who don’t drag each other at every opportunity and then pop up around a corner like an awful gremlin to scare them at 2:30 in the morning just to fuck with them.

Suu demands they use part of Kenobi’s credits to pay for surgery to remove and replace the dead arm; Rex counters that he can function with only one arm, but none of them can function without a roof over their heads and walls to shield them from the elements. Suu says that they will contact a doctor she knows on the other side of the planet tomorrow and that’s final; Rex blinks, says understood, sir, and stands down.

The next morning, between frying eggs and waking the little ones, Suu apologizes for 'pulling rank’ on him. Rex can tell the words sit strangely in her civilian mouth. He accepts her apology and says nothing about how he hadn’t even noticed his own automatic reaction to her tone the night before, but. That was exactly how he’d reacted, wasn’t it?

When next they argue, about him ‘overdoing it’ and ‘exerting himself too much’, he’s ready for the gut-punching Commanding Officer Voice and shouts back when it’s his turn to talk. It works for them.

Listen, I don’t know about you, but when I hear certain tones of voice I automatically respond in certain ways. Like the vocal version of being full-named.

- - -

“White is death,” Rex explains once the final layer of base paint has settled on the plastoid. He runs his hand firmly down the prosthesis in its finalized form, from the ball of the synthetic shoulder to the tips of each finger. It’s as much to test that the molecules of paint bind properly as it is to get himself used to the difference. “White is the bones of those long gone. White is the snow that covers the fields in winter. It… stifles, and kills, but it’s also. Possibility, I suppose. White armor is shiny and new, but that just means it has yet to prove itself. You never know what you’re gonna get when you scratch beneath the surface.”

I had a lot more of @izzyovercoffee’s Mandalorian color theory stuff that I ended up cutting just because it didn’t really fit, but you should check them out because they’re suuuuuuper interesting. I love cultural worldbuiding shit like that.

Hanging on his every word, Jek and Shaeeah nod breathlessly. They watch as he picks up a foam brush and dips it into a small pot of 501st blue. He sets it to the very top of the arm and brings it down in a smooth, careful, practiced motion.

“Blue is reliability,” he continues. The unbroken line he draws down to the wrist is thinner than it was on his armor, but copying his armor isn’t the point; the point is to create something new out of its loss. “It’s faithfulness, and consistency. It’s the sky—the very air—and you can always in trust that.”

Listen, if you want subtlety, go read deadcat’s stuff. If you want to get bashed over the head with this shit, you’ve come to the right place.

Lastly, he picks up a fine detail brush and dips it into a second pot.

“This one is different,” he says eventually, gauging his little cadets’ avid expressions. “You use red to honor a parent and the word for ‘red’ in Mando’a is ge’tal—literally, ‘almost blood.’ It’s a complicated word, because to Mando’ade, your family isn’t always going to have the same blood as you. It might not be red at all—it might be green, or blue, or something else entirely. But with family, you’re always ready to spill others’ or your own in order to protect them; it’s about honor… and love.”

“Mom,” Shaeeah deduces, her voice quiet as a mouse as they all gaze at the sharp, cutting magenta that coats the brush.

Rex nods.

“Just so.” He twirls the brush around and offers it to them. “Now, what should we do with it?”

Listen, it’s very important to me that we cut that toxic masculinity shit out of Star Wars, stop linking pink to femininity, more important stop linking femininity to weakness, and ultimately I want to see more clones wearing pink. Pink flowers and curlicues mixed in with 501st blue on Rex’s sick robot arm? Sign me the fuck up.

—

Aaaaand that’s the Author’s Commentary on Chapter Two of Family Before Dishonor, hope you enjoyed!

[galivantingg]

Behind Those Eyes

Chapter 2

The first few months of school passed mostly uneventfully. Some of our old friends came back to surprise us, but then things started picking up and the few that had stayed in the city became too busy for pleasantries. Soon it became a flurry of portfolios and essays and lots of paper. The few that were left in maths and sciences were slowly losing their minds over concepts I couldn't even pronounce. But let's be honest, what writer doesn't have a little trouble pronouncing words? We can read them, not speak them. I didn't think twice about the peace, too wrapped up in words and paper to worry about the fact that some of the villains like Heathen and Genocide hadn't reared their ugly heads since that fire in the beginning of the year.

"I'm home," I called, walking into the orphanage. I heard little feet charging forwards and the familiar face of little Mason showed from around the corner. I smiled when I saw him and dropped down to one knee, opening my arms wide. 

"Neth!" He said, running full force into me. I almost fell backwards, not expecting that much weight behind his little body. I usually stay at the cave during the summers, being First Respondent. It's easier for me, but I miss the little ones too much. Helen, the woman who ran this orphanage, had her son during the summer, and named him Jason. I only got to meet him a couple times, but now that I had officially moved back to the orphanage I'll be able to help out much more. The older ones, me Nellie and Noah helped Helen a lot. She can't afford to pay any staff so we do what we can.

It doesn't help that no couples adopt any of us, and that we got a new kid. His name is Emmett, and he's a year old. He likes Noah especially, and Cassie. Cassie is part of the middle aged kids, she's seven. There's also Oliver, Owen, and the twins, Eden and Elliot. Ophelia and Kimberly, more fondly known as Lia and Lee respectfully, just graduated the middle aged kids and now are officially part of the older kids. They liked the status at first, until they realised all the responsibility that came along with it. 

Go figure.

I pick Mason up and walk towards the kitchen, wondering where everyone is. The answer is the kitchen. When I walk in they're all gathered there, standing around a cake. "Surprise!" They yelled, setting off some confetti poppers and tooting small horns. My smile broadened. 

"What's all this for?" I put Mason down and he runs to Helen. I put my arms around the twins as the run up and latch onto a leg each.

"We decided today was your random birthday, since you still haven't told us when it is." Helen explained. She turned to the cake and started dividing up the pieces between all of us, and Nell grabbed the ice cream from the freezer, scooping it out. I love this messy family of mine, and I wouldn't trade them in for anything. 

That night I thought a lot about my real family. My birth family. Of small eyes, dark curly hair, white teeth, small fingernail. Small clothes, soft mornings with sunlight peeking through the window and giggles. Of pillow fights and strawberries and stargazing and then came the hiding. The fear, the anger. The long game of hide and seek where if we're found we'd be dead. Of hushed whispers and angry looks and fear and fear and fear and hiding. Then, the calm. The calm before the storm. Slight giggles coming out again, strawberries, bright clothing. Then lightning. Pain and hurting and smoke and fire and heat and screaming and dying.

I hadn't realized I had started crying until I felt them dripping down my cheeks and onto my legs. I slowly shifted, body getting smaller, skin getting darker, pink in some areas, patches of hair growing where it could. And no vision. Blackness. Empty. Dark. Afraid.

Nothing.

. . .

School was going well, surprisingly. I was still First Respondent, but the villains weren't doing much. There were a couple incidents with Peculiar, but other than that, it was quiet. It drew suspscions, even the civilians were becoming wary. Everyone was tense and on edge. This prompted a meeting with the Director, which unfortunately occurred during the middle of our Induction Briefing.

The Director has impeccable timing.

He made it a Seniors Only meeting, which of course drew even more questions. "Listen up people," the Director said, sitting in Waya's seat. I refused to sit in my seat, still harboring a deep hatred for the man behind all my pain and suffering, and the others followed my lead. "The villains are too quiet, we need to do something. I want you to arrange a strike team, use whoever you want, I don't care."

I snorted, not surprised. I wasn't quiet either. He looked at me with barely concealed annoyance. We were always butting heads, but never like this. It was always passive aggressive. "Something you'd like to add, Chameleon?" He asked, not expecting me to answer. But he pissed me off this time, with his apathy. 

"Yes, actually," I snapped. I heard Waya sigh and ignored him, feeling Aella's wind reassuringly on the back of my neck. "These are people's lives, show some respect. We are not toy soldiers you can throw at a problem and everything will be fixed. Treat us properly, because if you give an order for a strike and one of us gets injured then it's on you." I was breathing heavily and felt Houdini squeeze my shoulder lightly, telling me that they were all behind me. Literally and figuratively. 

The Director was now angry, good. He's stupid when he's angry. He stood up, re buttoning his jacket and took a few steps towards us. I stiffened my posture, knowing better than to relax. Our fight was just getting started. "Don't pretend to know better than me, girl." He spat the last word, and my temper flared. How dare he.

"Don't pretend to care more for these people, boy," I retorted. He looked taken aback. He was younger than he looked, and nobody but the two of us knew that. He opened his mouth to yell at me but I held up a hand, effectively shutting him up. "You've never cared for the welfare of those who joined your company. You didn't even want to pay them at first. I had to force you to."

I heard a could gasps behind us and slightly regretted exposing that. Then I was filled with more rage. How dare he still be in charge after all these years? He and his Scientist walk around like they are kings, not caring for the people who do everything for them. "We risk our lives every time we go out there, protecting you, might I add." I jabbed a finger at his chest and watched as his eyes lit up with metaphorical fire. 

He lifted his head the the ceiling and said "Computer, erase Chameleon from database." I scoffed, and crossed my arms, waiting for the computer to respond. 

"Unable to erase Chameleon. You don't have a high enough security clearance." The Director looked shocked, then angry again. 

"Enter Thomas, Ryan K." There was a ding, and the computer waited for the next order. "Erase Chameleon." That still wasn't going to work.

"Unable to erase Chameleon. You don't have a high enough security clearance." 

I swooped in, my plan in action. My plan that I came up with three seconds ago. It's a great plan. "Computer," I said loudly and clearly. Everyone looked at me. "Erase Thomas, Ryan K."

"Thomas, Ryan K. AKA the Director, erased." I looked at the Director with an eyebrow raised. 

"How dare you-!" he sputtered. His face was slowly turning purple and he finally lost control and charged at me, fists raised. 

"Computer, intruder alert!" I called out, scrambling backwards. The alarm went off and a section of the floor opened up and swallowed him whole. The floor resealed itself and the alarm turned off. "Computer, add Thomas, Ryan K. AKA the Director to database." I turned around to face the others and was met by shocked expressions all around. "What?" I asked.

Waya sighed again and Aella started cracking up. "You can't just un-add the Director to prove a point Cammie," Starbright said, dropping her head into her hands. I could see her shoulders shaking and knew I wasn't in too much trouble. Legion snickered and held up his hand for a high five. I looked over at Houdini and she was just standing there shaking slightly from laughter. Geronimo wiped away a few tears then took her seat. We still had a meeting to sort through.

"Okay okay guys," Waya said, taking his rightful place in his seat. "Let's get to business. We do have to do something about the villains." We all sobered up pretty quickly. I didn't want to do this, but I knew they were planning something. At least Waya actually cared about our lives. 

. . . 

My heart hummed in my chest, beating a tune too fast to hear properly. The meeting was sombre, we knew there were going to be problems. That's why it's a Seniors only mission. Waya, Aella, Houdini, Legion, Me, Starbright and Geronimo. Just the original seven, minus Swallow. Oh god, Swallow. I haven't thought about him in so long. Swallow was one of the first heroes inducted into the Agency. He was actually the first person that realised that I lived in the cave. Swallow was a kind soul, so so kind, and he was stolen away from us too soon. He ended up being one of Genocide's victims, that time it was everyone named Matthew. 

It hit Legion the hardest. Poor Kevin, he was best friends with Matthew since they were really little. It was hard on all of us really, us and the outside world. They had built us up like gods, and then when Matthew died they lost a little bit of faith in us. That was two years ago now, when we were on a similar mission. You see why I got so mad now? The Director doesn't care, he never has and he never will. 

I make my way to the Training Pit, and settle myself on the edge, my legs dangling over. I leaned back on the palms of my hands, tilting my head up the the ceiling. All I could was think. Think about a lot of things. Like how devastated Kevin was when we found Matthew's body. Genocide's victims don't have any telltale marker. They look like they're sleeping. But all Aella or I could do was stand in horror as Kevin wailed and sobbed into his dead best friend's body.

I never want to see that again. I felt anger well up inside me again. Anger for so many different things. Anger at my friends, for not knowing how lucky they are, angry at the civilians I vowed to protect, for building us up so high and not catching us when we fell, and at the Director. Anger at the Director for taking advantage of young kids, because that's what they are; kids. Legion is barely in his twenties, Geronimo is still in high school. Hell I'm still in high school. Anger at him for wanting us to do this for free, for thinking that we would sacrifice our bodies with no promise of compensation for our families. 

Anger for murdering my entire family. Heat and smoke and pain and tears flood my senses. I can't hear, I can't feel, I can't see. I realise I'm having a panic attack and try to slow my breathing. It doesn't work.

Martha finds me however later it is, curled up in a ball violently sobbing into my arms. She says nothing, knowing at this point that I get panic attacks. She gathers me up in her arms, rocking me back and forth, taking long deep breaths. I force myself to match her pace. I feel everything, my toes, my calves, my hip digging into my best friend, my shoulders, my eyebrows slowly relaxing. I feel her hand in my hair, I hear her voice speaking. I couldn't hear the words but I could hear the soft drone and knew she was telling me one of her stories, just filling the silence. 

Slowly my breathing evened out and my tears dried. I gently uncurled myself from her and leaned into her side. We sat there, side by side, thinking and hating and wishing and hoping.

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

8. Tell me lies a.k.a. the personal assistant, Occam’s razor and one more pool game (Part Two)

“Private McCready at your service!” I salute as she opens the door.

“Thanks Mike, you saved my life!” she exhales nervously and despite her words, she still seems to be in panic.

“And now get out of my way!” I push her aside and lift the guitar over my head like a baseball bat, ready to strike with it. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. You called me in a hysterical voice a few minutes ago ordering me to bring a guitar and not to ask anything. So I thought someone, maybe a rubber had broken into your room and I had to eliminate him using the guitar as a weapon. Or is it a phone stalker who threatens you with killing your family if you don’t sing him Edelweiss from The Sound of Music immediately?”

“Very funny, Mike. I need it because…I just need it.” she grabs the instrument in question out of my hands.

“Ha, you won’t get away with it so easily! I brought Stone’s guitar risking life and limb for you, I deserve more than…”

“What? Stone’s guitar?” she frowns disgusted and tries to tuck it back into my hands.

“What’s your problem? When I opened the case of mine, I noticed that one of the strings had broken. So I asked him to lend his one. Neither is it infected with plague nor with cholera and I didn’t tell him I was going to give it further to you so do you need it or not?” This domestic war of them has started annoying me, they act like pouting children.

“I do but… but what if he finds out I used it? He’s like a deerhound, I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me…” she sighs in a softer voice.

“I can take care of myself, trust me, it remains our secret.” I wink as she finally accepts the guitar I handed her again.

“Thanks, bye, Mike…” she moves back into the small hallway and is about to close the door but I prevent it by stopping it with my foot.

“Hey, seriously… you don’t even tell me what you want to do with it, you just kick me out?” I ask insulted.

“I want to play it. Bye…” she makes one more attempt to get rid of me but this time I decide to be relentless and slip in closing the door quickly behind myself.

“I’m a lead guitarist, remember? Maybe I could even help you with whatever you’re going to do…”

“Okay…” she finally agrees and follows me defeated.

“Spill me!”

“Well… I have a few… musical ideas aaaand… I want to work on them but I reached a stage where I can’t make it out without a guitar.”

“Ah, songwriting? What’s the style? Do you write lyrics too? If you need a solo I can…”

“Hey, easy… I have only the melody of the vocal part more or less and I can hear parts of the accompaniment in my head too but I need to try it by actually playing it …”

“Then what are you waiting for? Play it!” I clap my hands impatiently.

“I need my notes…” she starts searching in her notebook until she rests at a page full of letter and number codes.

“That’s unbelievable… I mean, you do it exactly the other way around than us, our songs get written while strumming around and we only write down the chords afterwards… I mean Stone, Jeff and Ed, I’m not really a part of it…”

“Sometimes I do it that way too… it depends on my mood, I practiced harmonizing enough that I can write basic melodies with accompaniment without using any instrument, especially in classical musical styles. But as I’ve said this time…”

“You’re an alien. And I’m super envious. But let’s hear the song!” I cut her off excitedly. “Sorry, I mean… it’s interesting and all but I’m too curious to wait any longer.”

“It… it goes somehow like this…” she starts humming a simple melody, it’s meditative and yet progressive at the same time as the chords she’s playing get added to her voice. She stops playing at dissonant chords and corrects her notes but keeps humming. After the last notes she stares in front of herself lowering her head. Although I can’t see her face of her braids, guessing of her flaming ears I assume she’s reddened.

“I… I like it, it’s cool… really… hey… Earth to Jude!” I lower my head too forcing her to look at me. She finally reciprocates my smile and closes the notebook.

“Please don’t be too critical about my guitar skills, I’m just a lame self-taught player…”

“On one hand, you’re not lame, on the other hand, I can give you some advice if you want to…” “Really? That would be great. My first problem is my left wrist, I can’t find the optimal position…”

“I think you should…” As I lean closer I glance at her wristwatch. “Jesus, Judy, it’s already 6 p.m.!!!” I exclaim.

“And… what?” she furrows her eyebrows.

“Jeff is to show up at 6:30, isn’t he?”

“And…? We have thirty minutes until then so…” she insists with a clueless shrug fidgeting with the strings.

“You should prepare for your date. Try on clothes, do your makeup or do whatever girls usually do before dates…”

“It’s not a date and I…”

“Jude, believe or not it doesn’t depend on how you call it. He bought shaving foam, after shave and deodorant in large quantities and I know this because I was with him.”

Not that Jeff has problems with personal hygiene but buying a whole drug store isn’t typical of him.

“Shaving foam?” she repeats desperately.

“Exactly.” I nod. Okay, she’s finally started realizing what I’m talking about.

“Deodorant?” her face looks all the more miserable, if that’s possible at all.

“Yep. And he was even whistling all morning. So please go and wash your hair at least.”

“Hey, it’s not even grea…”

“Jude.”

“Okay, I’m going.” she drags herself towards the bathroom but suddenly turns back with a threatening expression as she notices me sneaking towards the door.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she orders pointing at me with her index finger.

“Jesus…” I sigh and sit back onto the bed.

And now? What the hell should I do? I’m sitting in someone else’s hotel room like a watchdog and I don’t even know why… I pick up her notebook from the nightstand, lean back carefully not to sink too deep into the pillow and begin to study her notes. Although I can’t understand much of them, I get lost in them for long minutes trying to figure out her concept. I start to the ringing of the phone on the nightstand, it’s set to a low volume so Judy can’t hear it over the sound of running water. Fuck… should I ignore or answer it? I have nothing to do with her private conversations but what if it’s important, what if something happened in her family or… Shit.

“Hello?”

“…”

“Hello? Who’s speaking? I mean, who’s not speaking?”

“Uh, uhm, sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number…” a young, female voice apologizes.

“No, I mean, here’s room number 116.”

“Sure? You’re definitely not Judith Camden or Karrie Keyes…”

“Uh, oh… I’m… I’m the… the personal assistant of Miss Camden, Mr…. Mr…” Shit, why is that I’m not able to improvise in problematic situations? I bend my neck in ninety degrees to be able to read anything from the book she left open on the bed. “Mr. Sforzato?” I utter finally although it rather sounds like I’m questioning since I’m not sure at all I pronounced the word correctly.

“Mr. Sforzato?” the woman on the other end of the phone lets out a short, melodic laughter. “That’s interesting, your voice is very familiar, I would swear I’ve heard it somewhere… would you keep talking, I wanna figure out… how long has my sister had a personal assistant, anyway?” she chats on playfully.

“Being in the showbusiness, she realized she needed someone who helped her with managing time. Staff members are also very busy, I’m responsible for her program schedule.”

“Hahaha, then please ask her if she has a few minutes for her sister?” Effie??? The KISS fanatic little sister? I need a few seconds to rearrange my thoughts although hearing that she’s smiling while she’s speaking doesn’t help much…

“Oh, Miss Camden? It’s a pleasure to meet… hear you but I’m afraid Miss Judy can’t come to the phone right now, she’s preparing her toilet for an evening invitation which may involve romantic elements too…”

“SO SHE’S HAVING A DATE WITH JEFF AMENT, IT’S TRUE THEN!!!” she screams suddenly in the phone. “I have to talk to her, Mike, it’s extremely important! Otherwise she’ll screw up everything!”

Yeah, that’s very likely to happen if she goes on like this…

“As I mentioned, my name is Mr. Sforzato and she’s truly washing her hair so…”

“Okay, then we skip to plan B. Did she leave her glasses in the room?”

“Why is that so important?”

“Did she or not?” the sweet voice has turned definitively into the yelling of a drill instructor.

“Yes, she did, they’re on the nightstand.” I mutter unwillingly.

“Hide them.”

“What? No, why would I…”

“I said hide them! Shesgotcontactlensesbutshestoolazythowearthemandsheshidingherstunningeyesallthetimesoyouhavetohelpplease!” she jabbers with one breath and I can hear that Judy begins to dry her hair in the meantime.

“You can’t be serious, I’m not gonna interfere with her…”

“Mike, you’ve probably noticed how awkward my sister can be with guys so I would really appreciate if you would help me prevent a possible disaster, plus, you would help your bandmate too, is that really such a huge ask?” she tries again in a mellower voice. Okay, mellow is a mild expression, I could listen to her reading even the phonebook for days… I try to think coherently and find out more counter arguments but Judy turns the hairdryer off and to my biggest surprise my instant reaction is to grab her glasses and put them under the pillow. I mutter a quiet “done” into the receiver and hang up placing it cautiosly back onto the phone device.

“I gave it up, it’s too late, I can’t dry my hair properly.” Judy storms out of the bathroom; her face is framed by her half-wet strands. This is the first time I’ve seen her wearing her hair down which is much longer than I thought.

“Do you see my glasses somewhere?” she circles neurotically in the room, groping the furniture.

“No, I don’t, didn’t you leave them in the bathroom?” I deadpan pretending to lean against the pillow again. I should work on my abs, I can’t hold myself in this fake position for long…

“No, I’m sure I left them somewhere here… Shit, I can’t go to an exhibition twinkling like a mole…” she keeps panicking.

“But you have contact lenses, don’t you?” I inquire casually or at least I’m trying to sound like that.

“Yes and I hate them but I don’t seem to have any other choice…” she hurries back in the bathroom and begins to rummage in her wash bag.

“I should leave, y’know, it would be awkward if Jeff found me in your room so…” I straighten up and fix the pillow to hide the temples of the glasses. “Just be cool, it’s just a date, Jeff is a great guy, you’ll have fun.” I send her an encouraging smile and wave at her before leaving, which she responds with a blind, mechanic copy of my move.

I have to wait for the elevator in the floor for a while. As it arrives and its door opens, I bump into the freshly shaved, grinning Jeff. Jesus, he’s wearing an ironed shirt.

“Wish me luck.” he reaches his fist towards me and I hit mine automatically against it. As he passes me by I can smell the fragrance chemtrail of male perfume he’s streaking on his way to Judy’s room. I sigh shaking my head but entering the elevator my thoughts wander back to the only thing which has been on my mind for long minutes: what should I do to get to hear that voice again?

***

“So you’re a real renaissance man, aren’t you?” I ask Jeff while we’re walking back to our hotel which isn’t near the gallery at all but feeling the mild, spring weather Jeff suggested not taking a cab. Normally, I would enjoy evening walks but since Beth informed me about Jeff’s possible intentions and Mike prevented me from ignoring them, I’ve been just panicking. Jeff’s friend, Zach is a really nice guy and – thank goodness – a great talker as well so I didn’t experience awkward silence at the exhibition for one single minute. And even when other guests stole him from us, I could use his photos as excuses for talking about anything but private topics. But now we’re all alone and damn, how come I was able to talk to him effortless until this morning and since we left the gallery I’ve felt like someone put a sixteen ton weigh on my chest? I had the feeling that Jeff told Zach why he had chosen me as his partner for this evening. Not that he dropped any hints about us but the way he looked at us… or was it only my usual paranoia? Stop overthinking everything…

“Hey, are you trying to say that my clothes aren’t fashionable anymore?” he snickers nudging me gently on the shoulder with that of his.

“Well, I didn’t mean it exactly that way but once you came up with it…” I grin and feel his fingers clenching my throat playfully and gently from behind. “Okay, okay, your clothes are cool, haute couture, really.” Nope, your hats are ridiculous but who am I to inform you about it?

“Oookay, I’ll spare your life.” his fingers release my neck reluctantly.

And the girl felt butterflies in her stomach… Nope, that’s a different story, the girl doesn’t feel anything except for cold sweat. We walk on silently for a while but I don’t like this silence as the only thing I can think about is asking myself again and again: what the hell I’m doing here with him?

“But seriously, A: you’re an athlete. You play basketball and you’re a skater guy.” I pick up the thread again overtalking the voices in my head. Anyway, he has an athletic body, right? Girls like guys with athletic body, right? But damn, I wish his calves weren’t so thick.

“And that doesn’t mean anything, I’m pretty sure that Leonardo da Vinci wasn’t familiar with either of them.” he keeps joking about my choice of words.

“You can’t be sure, he even tried to invent a tank…”

“… that is almost a skateboard?”

“Haha, I don’t let you distract me, B: you’re an artist. I saw you drawing a few times but when you mentioned art school, somehow my brain didn’t put the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together…” I go on compulsively. He’s artistic, that means he’s sensitive, right? And sensitive guys are gentle and caring, right? But how can he draw with those sausage fingers?

“I studied graphic design but the program was canceled so I quit college and moved with my hardcore band to Seattle. But I didn’t give up making art stuff, luckily Ed has the same enthusiasm about creative projects as me… You know, before his arrival I felt like a lonely fighter, I couldn’t really share my ideas with Mike or Stone.”

“It’s understandable. Stone doesn’t seem to be a very artistic type.” I snort as I imagine him fighting clumsily with paper scissors while he’s trying to create doilies.

“Believe or not, he’s not a total jerk, he’s got emotions, he only refuses consistently to show them and can’t handle if someone does it either. You should have seen his face when Ed gave him one of the collages he made during his flight from San Diego to Seattle, he was like “Jesus, he’s an alien, we should send him back before it’s too late!”

We both burst out laughing. But his smile is nice, isn’t it? Manly. His nostrils are unrealistically wide, though. There was a picture of a Neanderthal in the history classroom of my former high school. But how did that come to mind? My brain is messing with me.

“But as we began to have more and more gigs, I suggested to Ed starting a newsletter for our friends and fans and he totally liked the idea, I could also count on him when I helped Cameron, you know, the guy who directed the movie in which we played… And if you remember the cover of Ten, in the background you can see the text “Pearl Jam” with huge letters… it was Ed and me who made those letters, we cut them out of planks and painted them… it was a challenge since Mike was chasing a cat around us, our first drummer, Dave was sleeping drunk in the corner and Stone… you know, he supported us spiritually.”

“Ah, so he basically did nothing apart from throwing in witty remarks…”

“Exactly, how did you figure it out?” Jeff laughs pretending astonishment.

“The guy is predictable. Anyway, C: you’re a musician. And not an average musician but also a songwriter.”

“…and…?”

“And? And??? Jesus, Jeff, maybe it’s not a big deal to you since you’re surrounded by talented bands all the time but being able to compose something new is a huge gift! A lot of musicians would kill if they could do it too, having good ears is one thing but songwriting… that’s another league.”

Ears. Gosh, I hate his earrings. Why can’t he be just a plain guy who wears denims with shirts or tees?

“I don’t know, it comes naturally to me, I’ve always written songs with all of my bands… Deranged Diction, Green River, Mother Love Bone…”

“Actually, I was at a Mother Love Bone show a few years ago.”

“Really? When? Where?” his face lights up of surprise.

“I don’t know, I totally forgot about it but Effie reminded me of it when I was pondering if I should call Karrie back. But I can clearly remember that I was pretty pissed off.”

“Hahaha, why? Did we suck that much?”

“No, I just didn’t want to go there at all. Effie was to meet her crush there and our parents probably suspected something because they allowed her to go only if I would go with her too. So you can imagine, she wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea and neither was I since I wanted to stay at home with my scores and practice, maybe feeling sorry for myself for five minutes every hour… Unwillingly, though, but I accompanied her.”

“And did you enjoy the show?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember much of it… Of course as Effie found her crush, she didn’t give a shit about me anymore and they spent the evening with making out so I was surprised it was her of us two who had remembered anything from it…”

“You should have chosen a guy for yourself too and made out with him.” he grins audaciously.

No, no way, Jeff Ament, I’m not going to talk about making out with you… I mean talk with you. About making out. Damn.

“I leaned against the wall and was fuming the whole evening. As for the gig, all I can remember is you singer…”

“Andy?”

“Yeah… and… uh, sorry for saying this but I thought he acted like a clown, I mean, talking to the people on the balcony in a concert venue where there isn’t any balcony?”

Yeah, Judy, you’re doing it great, insulting his dead friend is a perfect change of topic, keep it up…

“Hehe, yeah, a typical andyism, acting as if you were playing in a huge arena even if your only audience are the doormen of the bar…” he smiles in front of himself but a painful feature appears on his face at the same time.

“I was rude, sorry, I know you were friends and…” I gibber awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize, the fact he died doesn’t mean we can’t talk honestly about him. Anyway, when Stone came up with idea of playing with him, I was against it, I knew about his problems and his extravagant style was too much for me… But as I got to know him better I realized how warm-hearted and talented he was…”

“He was a real showman, right?”

“Absolutely…” he sinks back into his memories. Great. If you don’t want the guy to flirt with you, make him sad. Date tips for psychos, lesson one. But suddenly a faint fragment of that night flashes through my brain.

“And… and… you know what I can remember apart from Andy? An exceptionally distasteful leopard vest.” Jesus, what if it was him who was wearing it? Please tell me it wasn’t you, please tell me it wasn’t you…

“Oh yeah, it was Stone’s favorite piece of cloth at that time.” Phew. Thank goodness. What? Stone???

“At least you can blackmail him with the photos of him in that vest till the end of time…”

“Unfortunately it’s not that simple… he has pics of me wearing spandex leggings on stage so…” he snickers. “And to tell the truth, we were more familiar with the use of eyeliner than most girls.”

“Ugh.”

“Hey, it was in the eighties, I’m sure you made a few poor style choices too…” Should I tell him I bought this dress when I was fourteen?

“Effie tried makeups and hairstyles on me all the time but luckily I never crawled out of my cave so it is still you who takes the cake by having jumped on stage in leggings… Ah, where were we, C, right? D: Dancing?”

“It depends on what we call dancing. I took dance lessons in Big Sandy but I abandoned dancing to prevent my parents from going bankrupt due to the massive compensation they had to pay to the parents of the unlucky female victims… do you know how expensive a leg amputation is?”

Jesus, poor Mike.

“You can’t be that bad at dancing. You’re a musician, you have sense of rhythm… Singing?”

“I’m trying. I used to sing to my records while listening to them but my dad thought I was hiding a jackal in my room. Luckily my bands have always allowed me to sing the backup vocals…”

“They haven’t.” I smile mysteriously.

“What?” he asks back confused.

“As your future monitor engineer the first thing I had to learn was what the staff calls “the secret setup of Jeff’s mic.”.”

“…which means…?” he stops opposite me since in the meantime we’ve arrived back to the hotel.

“…switching it off and knock out everyone who tries to switch it back.”

“You’re not as innocent as I thought.” he smiles and the way his eyes are resting on my face makes me feel uncomfortable.

“It’s not my fault, the others told me to do so, this is the rule, I don’t want to be fired.” I play on, or at least I try to do it since despite his smile his gaze radiates some kind of confidence.

“But maybe asking out the monitor engineer could help change this rule.” he adds still staring at me. Come on, Jeff, blink finally. Blink!

“Hehe, I don’t know, Eric is the boss you know…” I babble and try to blow a strand out of my mouth since the light spring breeze started ruffling my hair.

“Soooo… we’re back. What’s next?” he asks stroking it gently away. His hands are warm and his touch is surprisingly pleasant, basketball freak bass players shouldn’t have such soft hands…“Do you want to take a walk in the park?”

In the park? But it’s dark… and there are benches there… benches are excellent for…” Alarm! ALARM!

“But we’ve been walking until now… and I’m a little bit tired and… “

Nope, I’m not, at all. Granny used to teach us that lying is a sin. But it’s only a tiny lie. It doesn’t matter.

“Or do you wanna grab some food and join the guys at the bar?” he points at a building on the other side of the street. Joining the guys after a date? What a great idea. Or what if we lay in front of a truck or jumped off a cliff?

“I’m… I’m not really hungry…” Honestly, I could eat a horse… Hey little liar… Joan Jett begins to sing treacherously in my head. Thanks Joan, this helps a lot. “My lips hurt, maybe my herpes is about to recur…” Hey little liar… I would swear I can hear Granny singing in the background, Joan, when did you hire her?

“Oh, that’s pretty inconvenient…”

“Yeah, I’ve struggled with it from time to time…” Actually, I’ve never had herpes… and I have no idea what I’m going to say when he notices tomorrow that nothing happened with my face… Hey little liar… Is this song really echoing in the street or it’s just a trick of my mind? “I can barely keep my eyes open, I think I’d rather hit the hay, tomorrow will be a looong day…”

“Yeah… but… if you don’t mind, I’d have a beer with the others… so… dream something nice.” he flashes a meaningful smile at me, strokes me on the shoulder and turns back to cross the street. I forget to answer as I stay standing in front the hotel. Okay, date checked. It could have been worse, right? And now? Jeff meets the guys and… I hope they won’t discuss it. Me. Guys don’t discuss emotional stuffs, right? Ugh. What’s the next step? Oh yeah, I should enter the building…

I walk across the lobby but before I could reach the elevator, suddenly I perk up. I hear smooth piano music and following the sound I find myself in the bar room of the hotel. Actually, a drink would be nice. God, I definitely need a drink.

[sly-punk1712]

AN: This is kind of a side fic to this but it’s not necessary to have read before hand. This does deal with emotions and some self hate. There are brief descriptions of violence. This took me time to write because I would fall into the feelings trap. It felt pretty heavy for me so I felt it only polite to give heads up. Feelings are hard but we all have them. 

Tony really doesn’t smoke anymore but it’s fucking freezing on the roof and drunk him had hidden a stash of cubans here once after a party for Rhodey’s billionth promotion. Drunk him was smart to squirrel things away for later. He supposed he could climb town and grab a jacket but he was still hiding from everyone, but particularly Darcy. As soon as she’d intruded to his living room penthouse she’d known he wasn’t feeling great. 

“Hey Tones!!!” Her voice sing-songed his name from out of the elevator before the doors even opened. “Can we build Clint some acrobat....” She floated across the room and stopped at the sight of him in a day’s old tee shirt nursing a mostly empty glass.

Her knowing blue eyes took him in head to toe before her pouty lips curved into a frown. Tony gives her his award winning smile and sit’s up a little straighter, going for sleepy scientist over morose hero. She decidedly does not buy it judging by the way she slips down on the sofa and reaches for his glass. 

“Weren’t you wearing that Wednesday?” She asks softly. He pulls the glass out of her reach sharply jumping to his feet and swaying slightly. 

“And?”

“Tony it’s Tuesday.” She sits back and he’s glad she doesn’t move closer. He’s not sure he could handle that right now. “Have you been up here drinking this entire time? I thought you had a company thing on Friday?”

“Canceled it.” He made his way to the bar pouring a drink and putting it safely between him and her. “Benefits of being boss. I do what I want when I want” Her frown became more pronounced and worst of all she looked understanding. What did this girl know about him? She’d been in his life 8 months now? How dare she read him like an open book. He just wished she’d go away. Her mouth opened he saw the words forming. 

“Are you Oka...?” 

“Don’t you have anywhere to be?” He snaps. It’s mean, unfair and fueled partly by this bad mood and the strong liquor. “Like anywhere I don’t have to hear you?” He turns his back to her refusing to look at her. He hears her moving behind him and think it doesn’t sound angry enough. Pepper would storm out. It’s too Rhodey calm to be good. 

The elevator dings open and shut and he bolts from the room in case she changes her mind. 

So he’s up on the roof where he used to go to smoke and hock loogies off of when he and Rhodes where lost 20-somethings trying to find their way in life. He knows Darcy’s afraid of heights so even if she forgave him being an ass she wouldn’t come up and see him. He let a few tears free when he first sat down content to blame it on the wind, and he’s sure no one could hear him but he’s afraid to make a sound, everything he’s been drinking away the last few days feels too close to the top. Too big for him to break the silence. 

“Anthony?” Of course she’d send Thor. He’s her go to hero after all, the thought is bitter and makes him feel worse for having thought it. Thor is a good friend. 

“Is it always this windy?” Thor asks plopping down closer to the edge than Tony his legs dangling over the side of the tower. Tony snorts and blows a fortifying stream of smoke out of his mouth. 

“Small talk? That’s what we’re going with.” He knows he sounds like a dick but he can’t seem to stop the words that make him seem harder, stronger. Thor chuckles lightly massive shoulders shaking slightly as the wind sweeps away the actual sounds.

“Fair. Would you prefer the silence?” Yes! but no now Thor has broken it. His ears remember the silence and they scream at him to not go back. Everything seems to scream at him these days and he’s like a helpless passenger in his own body. 

“No. Go ahead and tell me whatever great Asgardian parable you have to try and cheer me up.” He shrugs and flicks ash from the end of the cigarette and can’t seem to tear his eyes away from bright orange against the dark night.

“Would that I could Anthony. Sadly divining is not one of my many gifts. Why tell tales of Ymir or the All father when they will mean nothing to you? I see you are distressed and I have no wish to mince words.” Thor turns to face him pulling one leg back onto the tower and near to him. He looks so young and sweet yet simultaneously massive that Tony smiles despite himself. 

“I just can’t seem to shake this one. I mean normally I just need a few days to myself and good as new. I just feel..” Tony stopped and took another calming drag. This was so hard for him. To feel things, to share things. “I just need a few more days to bitch by myself.” He shook his head. Thor tiled his head hair spilling to one side making him look more like a massive puppy. 

“Always alone?” Thor’s words are soft and impossibly kind and they make Tony’s eyes burn. He shuts them hating himself, hating being so weak he needs this, hating Darcy for making Thor come here. 

“How can I complain when the others...” His eyes close make it easier to confess this thought, half a thought really, but Thor knows.

“I have selected the parable” Thor announced climbing to his feet to lean against the railing. Tony sighed in relief, the intensity of that wave of feeling was over him. This talk was almost over, if he was lucky and he could go back to himself. 

“There was a young warrior who had only served a few years with his assigned company. The others having had decades in the service of the all father,” His voice was excellent for storytelling and Tony felt himself relaxing a little. Even if this turned into a weird ass Frost Giant cooking match, like Thor’s tales normally did, the cadence of his voice made it worth hearing one more how the Asgardian cooks made feasts to die for. 

“Many political reasons called them to a small village on a province near to the castle. The town fell under siege due to the presence of the company and many lives were lost for foolish reasons. Men, women and children all cut down in the name of men who lived far away in lofty towers.”  This was nothing like Thor’s normal tales, on the one hand Tony felt his heart hang on every word the other man spoke. On the other hand every syllable seemed to add pressure on his fragile heart. A thin line indeed.

“Many were wounded in the battle. The young warrior himself suffered two wounds. One of the upper arm dealt by a glancing blow from a friendly claymore.” Thor gestured to his own arm drawing a long line down his muscles.

 “The second a much worse ailment. His mind retained the panic. The sounds of steel clanging against steel. The chilling cries of children cradling their dead parents. The surprised sounds of seasoned soldiers falling on blades.” 

“The fight would not leave him and he refused to be treated for either injury. Unable to bear the touch of another the fear was so strong. That day past and the next he was silent. The company worried and nagged him to seek some attention but their pleas fell to deaf ears. Many weeks passed and they returned to the castle to await their next station. While there the warrior calmed enough to have his arm bound. The battle faded not haunting him but not passing from his thoughts.” Thor paused seeming unsure how to continue. 

“What did you do?” Tony prompted finally. Thor gave a wry smile, clearly his tale had not fooled the genius. 

“I did what all young men do, when in pain. Cried myself to sleep in my mother’s arms.” Thor seemed so fucking strong even just saying those words made that image seem impossible. “and she very wisely told me, as I will tell you now. Your suffering is not lesser because you are young.” 

Tony snorted at the young part and let the cigarette fall from his fingers to the ground. He crushed the end under his heel and looked up to Thor who had turned to look at him. 

“Pain is like armour in some ways. If I wear it, the pain may seem small and easily managed but the same set of armour would weigh you down, hindering your movements until you were too tired to continue. And in the same way you would not go into battle with ill fitting suit, you should not dwell in an ill fitting mood.” Thor seemed to struggle toward the end of his analogy. Tony let out a shaky breath with a curt nod.

“It’s just hard to handle that pain next to people who were abused, kidnapped, brainwashed, fought in World War 2. I just.. Fuck man I sound like such an asshole” Tony pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes to prevent the honest to god breakdown that was threatening to let loose. 

“You are just as important Anthony. No suffering is unimportant if it’s hurting you.” Thor’s hand rested on Tony’s shoulder and when the midgardian opened his eyes Thor had knelt in front of him. Tony couldn’t name if it was the honest conversation, the days of alcohol in his system or Thor’s kind smile that did it but the damn burst and he lunged forward into Thor’s arms sobs racking his body softly. The asgardian merely shifted their weight and pulled Tony to him properly letting the billionaire cling to his shirt and soak his shoulder in hot tears. Everything was going to be okay and Thor relaxed knowing the other man would feel better in the morning. 

*********************

Wednesday night found Darcy sprawled across the sofa feet resting on the arm and head resting on Bucky’s thigh as they watched Master Chef. She was trying to pay attention but her mind kept straying back to Tony all alone in his tower. Thor had come down last night to reassure her the Man on Iron was doing much better and had retired to sleep it off but it was in her nature to worry until she saw him herself. The elevator doors dinged and as if summoned by magic the man himself appeared. 

Darcy tensed slightly and Bucky tensed even more under her. He’d been subject to her worrying while Thor handled Tony, and was likely worried the other man was going to say more upsetting things. Instead Tony beamed at her and swept grandly to wear she was lying and swooped down to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m sorry I’m an asshole” He said sheepishly standing back upright. “But I’m an asshole who is going to install trapeze equipment in the gym and buy my best girl dinner this week just us.” He winks headed toward the kitchen. 

“Trapeze swings!!!”

“MY best girl thank you very much!”

Clint drops from the ceiling shouting the same time Bucky does and the tension Darcy’s been feeling lifts. Tony will be okay and everything's back to normal. The super soldier and world famous inventor begin to bicker. Well as normal as can be.