#but then i was like. hm. ill do the expected fifteen and offer it up to anyone else too in case anyone else feels like doing this!

[izzy-b-hands]

15 QUESTIONS FOR 15 FRIENDS

Tagged by @sherlockig, thank u Alexz!!

Under the cut bc I got wordy and rambly as per usual lol.

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Kind of? In that I more or less named myself after Izzy from our flag lol. Not that I'm going to tell everyone I meet that, but it is a big part of why I stuck with it after trying it out (that, and I've always wanted a name that had the letter zed in it, silly as that may seem.)

One of my middle names (that I had been using as a first name for a few years) is after my grandfather and aunt who also have that name as their middle name.

My deadname was after an actress famous in the 90s (tho tbh my mum apparently didn't choose it for that, she chose it bc she didn't find out my gender until I was Out and then was like 'aw fuck I don't have a name for this situation' and went with the first one she saw in a book of names a nurse gave her. It was only after that she remembered the actress when I was like. 4. that she changed and started telling ppl it was after that instead.)

And technically Holden is after the book character, but mum never actually read that book (and after I described it to her, said she has no interest in doing so lmao), she just liked how the name sounded and that was the one solitary name she for sure had on hand when I was born apparently. Could have saved us all time had she just used that one for me anyway!

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

Couple of nights ago. I'm doing better abt missing my cat Nisha, but my phone will toss up compilations of pics of her to mark the year/month/etc and sometimes those still get me. It popped up just before I went to bed that night and I was already so tired that I just. broke down. Bc I know she's v loved and looked after w/my mum, but I do miss her goofy lil self a lot. She was my first cat that was given to me and meant to be mine alone, and there's something abt that first pet bond I guess.

3. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Nope, and it's not a likely thing for me. I've said before that that happening would be in a very specific situation, wherein I'm with someone who wants to dedicate the rest of our lives to raising a child, or god forbid more than one, tho I think I'd max out at two if I managed one at all tbh (and that's not even getting into the very complex for me thing of would I want to actually be pregnant ever (probably not, absolutely terrified of dying in childbirth and don't see myself getting over that easily), we have the funds to make that happen (and give the kid a good life, not just a decent one or 'could have been worse' like my own), and we feel stable mentally, emotionally, and physically (as much as one can outside of Life Happening of course) bc having a kid means putting allll of that first for them, ahead of yourself. Or at least I think it should mean that lol.

But that situation is incredibly unlikely considering my bigger goal in life is to wind up being a third for multiple couples while also fucking any of my friends who are down for it in a big poly ENM sort of thing for lack of better/more detailed definition (I know it sounds unrealistic and maybe it is to a degree, almost definitely is lol.)

I can admit I just. don't want to uproot the life I've been trying so hard to build for myself in so many ways, to have kids. I'll happily help babysit the kids of any friends tho and be the fun uncle that buys them junk food and lets them stay up late to watch movies. I think that's about the level of parenting of any kind that I can handle for now (also tbh I burned out on parenting bc my family admits they parentified the fuck outta me with my three younger cousins. It by far could have been worse, but I spent my teens spending most of my days after school helping look after them from the newborn years and on. Unless my above uber specific scenario happens, then I've probably had my fill of parenting for my lifetime.)

4. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

I played volleyball for a few years in elementary school, and we were made to participate in a multi-school track and field thing for most of middle school every year, but I was never amazing at them. Housemate and I have figured out I likely have undiagnosed asthma tho (turns out running or going out in too cold or hot weather shouldn't instantly make you gasp, struggle to breathe, and make you taste iron in your mouth, who the fuck knew? Not me, genuinely) so I think that might have a lot to do with it.

I also enjoy tennis and badminton and would love to try rugby, but I've never played any of those beyond a hobby with family/friends.

5. DO YOU USE SARCASM?

I do! Probably too much and not always in the best situations, but I've been working for years to hone when and where it should be used so I think/hope I'm a lot better with it than I was when I was younger. Tho even then, I did get adults who found it funny when I was sarcastic bc of how adult I seemed to a lot of them (their words, not mine lmao.)

6. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

I genuinely don't know. Usually I'm too busy running my script for meeting new ppl in my head and trying to maintain Common and Expected Etiquette to really notice much right away. I have found that after a bit of time/after the initial meeting has passed, I tend to notice colours ppl wear more often than others if I see them often enough, or hair colour. But I don't know if it counts towards this question at that point lol.

7. WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Kinda blueish grey? Some ppl say it's too grey to be blue, others that it's too blue to be grey. I had a lady at the ND DOT freak out abt not being sure if I should have blue or grey on my ID a few years back, and she finally just told me to put blue so 'she could stop feeling so confused.' Was a weird day and the first time I realised apparently they really do have a blend of both colours, enough for it to be upsetting lmao.

8. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

I can't choose between the two; I like both! I also like mixing them together when I write (a scary story with a happy ending, an ending that seems happy but is actually terrifying, so on and so forth.)

9. ANY TALENTS?

Writing? Maybe, I always list it bc it's something I know how to do and to (usually) do decently well. I can sort of draw? But not well enough that I think 'talented' would be accurate to describe how I draw lol. I'm not sure of anything else off the top of my head tbh.

10. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

In California, USA! We were there bc dad was in basic training for the Marines and then just got stuck at Camp Pendleton for years lmao (or that's how he always talks abt it anyway lmao.) Only was actually there until either: a. I was 3 months old, b. I was 6 months old or c. I was actually basically still a fresh newborn. Depends on whether you're talking to my dad, mum, or grandparents as to which answer you get, and at this point I'm genuinely uncertain as to exactly when mum left and took me to North Dakota but 6 months seems the most potentially accurate lmaooo.

11. WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Writing, drawing, reading (not enough but I'm trying to remedy that), napping, watching movies/fave shows, and giffing.

12. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

Kind of? My cat Nisha had to stay in North Dakota after I moved, so my mum and her bf are looking after her now (and got her a little sister, a kitten who is getting so big already!, named Bella.) I help Housemate look after aer two cats as well, and I'd like to think the boys consider me like their fun uncle lol (aka I bend over backwards for them and let them steal my spot on the couch all the time, and will break out the treats if needed to corral them now and then. In my defense: they are the cutest lil baby boy cats and they deserve the world, even when they're being little gremlins lmao.)

13. HOW TALL ARE YOU?

Approximately somewhere between 5'3 and 5'4ish? I can't recall the last time I was actually measured, and most of the ppl I've been around were somewhere between those heights and I'm usually either slightly shorter or slightly taller than some of them, so??? I put 5'3 on my ID tho lol

14. FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?

English bc it was easy and I liked almost everything we did in that class. All my general and more specific history courses were a close second, and my foreign language classes a close third.

15. DREAM JOB?

Ideally, I'd love to not have to work. But who wouldn't, so that said, probably something in a library or museum. I'd love to be a library page again, or help work the front desk/docent duties of a museum. Working at someplace like Mystic Seaport would be amazing too; I'd be happy to learn how to help repair/repaint ships that come in or just help do tours or look after artifacts and stuff (tbh they could hire me just to type up any random data entry work they need done for any/all depts and I'd say yes to the job offer lol.) Unfortunately there's fairly significant roadblocks to me achieving any of these jobs rn, but I like to keep them in mind, just in case.

Also, if I can have one dream job that would be even more unlikely and is slightly TMI probably but: paid third for a rich couple. I show up, look nice, [redacted], make sure they're both good for the night, then go back home to Housemate (if it wouldn't be a night they'd want me to stay over, which I wouldn't be against but also. That would require some overtime pay lol.) The chances of this one are...so unlikely it's stupid funny, but a man's allowed to have dreams right lmao?

Tagging (if u guys wanna, no obligation if u don't wanna/have already been tagged/etc!!): @starmoonchildfromthebeamsabove, @freebooter4ever, @willowenigma, @turtleduck-tales, @mash1972, @mysteriouslybluepirate, @turtles-on-turts, @cononeillbreastingboobily, @treesofgreen, @dianetastesmetal, @arsenicflame, @gydima, @king-bussy, @p0ochy, @crvwly, and anyone else following me who wants to!

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Fifteen ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3995

Warnings: None

A/n It may be late on Monday (10:51pm to be exact) but it’s still Monday! Happy reading :)

I find little rest.

My night is plagued by worries over Cosima’s state and Rumil’s ominous—and ridiculous—warning.

Around five in the morning, I can bear it no longer and throw myself from bed, showering and dressing quickly. Before I know it, I’m on the second floor, rounding a corner that will take me down the hallway that leads to Cosima’s room.

Her door is ajar.

Despite the early hour, I hear animated voices coming from inside — it seems Baranor is visiting, just as he promised. Upon hearing Cosima’s laugh, I breathe a sigh of relief. She sounds much better than she did yesterday.

With a new relaxation in my shoulders, I hover in the doorframe, knocking on the wood while I wait for permission to enter. Cosima’s eyes—surprised but alert—meet mine and she smiles warmly. I feel my lips return the gesture automatically.

“Ah, good morning, Haldir,” Baranor welcomes. “I came to check on Cosima before my shift and, to my surprise, she was already wide awake.”

Cosima giggles guiltily. “I’ve been up since three. I guess when you fall asleep when it’s still light out, that’s to be expected. Haldir, you can come in.” She waves me in and I cross the distance between the doorway and the foot of her bed. I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, and examine her face more closely. The brightness has returned to her eyes, color once again tints her cheeks, and there’s not a trace of pain in her features.

Thank goodness. “You are feeling better?”

Her smile softens and she looks down at the blanket before meeting my eyes again. “I am. I’m sorry I scared you.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I’m thankful I was there. And I’m even more thankful that you’re better now.” I tilt my head in Baranor’s direction. His frightening words from last night have not left my mind. “She is better?”

He hesitates only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to send a searing path of anxiety through my chest.

“Yes. Her symptoms from last night are gone.”

I raise my chin, fighting the urge to more visibly react. Baranor has noticed something’s still wrong with her fæ, then. But there’s no reason to worry Cosima with this — yet.

But if Elrond can’t fix it…

I attempt to push that thought from my mind. There will be something to be done. She will get better.

I turn back to Cosima. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head then rolls her eyes, presumably at my disapproving look.

Thankful for the task to redirect my nervous energy, I push myself towards the door. “I will return shortly with food. Baranor?”

He takes the hint and wordlessly follows me out, pausing at the door to smile at Cosima in farewell. As soon as we are clear of the hallway and her human hearing, I turn on Baranor.

“What?”

He sighs. “No, come with me. Elrond will want to hear this, too.”

I quicken my pace to follow him through the estate, but my frustration spikes. “Is it so bad that you cannot tell me now?”

He huffs, avoiding my eyes. “It is not ‘bad,’ per se — it’s just a new development. Elrond might be able to help us understand. There’s no point in leaving him out of the discussion.”

Thanks to our pace, we arrive in the archway into Elrond’s study in a matter of minutes. He stands, seeming unsurprised by our presence.

“What did you learn, Baranor?”

Baranor exhales heavily and meets Elrond near his desk. I follow on his heels, anxious for some answers.

“Her fæ is better than when I checked on it after the orc ambush,” he begins.

I crush down the temptation to hope. If it were that simple, Baranor would have told me immediately.

“But it is different,” he continues. “Many of the previous injuries are in various states of healing — some scarred, the smaller tears are nearly invisible now. But, well, there’s a new tear that wasn’t present before.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Her fæ shouldn’t have a new injury.

Elrond levels us with a steady look. “But the other wounds are healing?”

“Yes, like I said, she is making progress,” Baranor allows, “but something has caused another deep cut — the edges are serrated, almost like it was slashed with a knife.”

“Hm.” Elrond frowns. He turns his thoughtful eyes to me. “Baranor mentioned you were with Cosima when she became ill? What happened leading up to that?”

I blink, trying to follow Elrond’s reasoning for changing the topic. “We were talking normally. I was telling her of a personal memory, one from my childhood, and her health took a turn.”

Elrond purses his lips. “Interesting…I had a meeting with her human companion yesterday, Alexander, and he mentioned a similar experience. He’s noticed that any gain in memory is often accompanied by an ache in his head. What we previously attributed to a head injury might actually be related to something else. Is it possible Cosima remembered something and did not mention it?”

“It is possible,” I allow, though I wish I could deny it. If what Elrond is suggesting is true, then every time Cosima remembers something, she runs the risk of suffering through horrible pain…the thought makes me feel ill.

“On the other hand,” Elrond continues, “perhaps that very restoration in memory is an indication of healing. I think it is quite possible the fæ injuries, the return of their memories, and the headaches are all somehow related. There is still much to learn…But overall, they are both making progress,” Elrond declares, expression settling into one of serene neutrality. “I will spend time with both Cosima and Alexander and attempt to help them find their way to more memories and address any side effects that may produce. Baranor and I will monitor their fæs and see if the healing continues or if new wounds arise. That will help us gather more information and then we can proceed with a more knowledgeable plan.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “And if the memories cause new wounds to appear?”

A note of pity entered Elrond’s eyes, and I am momentarily taken aback. Pity for Cosima and Alexander…or pity for me?

“I will do all that I can. Though, I suspect your Lady will have more wisdom on this subject than I.”

I bow my head in acknowledgement of his commitment, though I agree. If anyone can help, it will be Lady Galadriel.

Baranor darts his eyes in my direction. “Should we tell them?”

Elrond shakes his head. “I would prefer to do so, if you do not mind. I expect it will lessen their anxiety if we can begin what I hope is treatment immediately after I alert them to the issue.”

Fair point. I square my shoulders. “Understood, thank you both. Please alert me if there is any change.”

Both agree to my request and I leave them to their discussion, seeking out the kitchens so I can procure food for Cosima and myself.

I try not to dwell on what Baranor’s discovery could mean. Cosima seems to be healing, but with this new wound and the possibility of more in the future…will it be enough? Can her already fragile fæ handle all this damage?

Eru above, I pray so.

When I return to Cosima’s room, I find her in a rose-colored tunic and dark leggings, her long, wavy hair damp from a shower. She smiles brightly, taking one of the plates from my hands.

“Thank you! Want to sit?”

I accept her offer and sit opposite her in the small seating area, resting my plate on the coffee table that lies between us. I try to study her inconspicuously. She looks fine. Kind, dark eyes alternate between meeting mine and looking at her plate. The shorter pieces of her hair near her face brush against the arch of her neck as she shifts in her seat, stretching forward to reach her glass of water. She has a small freckle below the left edge of her bottom lip. I’ve never noticed it before.

Amused chuckles disrupt my inspection.

I blink, my eyes leaving her mouth to meet her gaze. “What?”

“You’re staring at me, stop it,” she laughs, fiddling with her hair.

I narrow my eyes. Oops. “You’re sitting right across from me, what else is there to do but stare at you?”

She rolls her eyes, though it’s clear she’s only teasing me. “I guess I have no choice but to stare back.” She makes a big show of resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, setting an unwavering gaze upon my face.

I raise an eyebrow. “You know it is my job to watch? I spend days in the trees watching for movement or something out of place. This is not a competition you can win.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow of her own. “Watch me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

She purses her lips and my eyes are once again drawn to that little freckle that somehow escaped notice for so long. Her lips twitch in amusement and my eyes follow their curve.

I tear my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I reach for my water. Cosima leans back into the couch, popping a blueberry into her mouth. “Ha!”

“Yes, congratulations,” I mutter, throat going dry despite the water.

She furrows her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yes, of course.” I turn my attention back to my food. “Are you feeling well enough to begin training today?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep, as long as today still works for you.”

“It does. I am meeting with my brothers to formulate a plan for Elrond’s guard, but I should be done by this evening. Can I come by then?”

With a smile, she agrees. We pass the remainder of breakfast easily. I keep a tight reign on my “staring” as she called it. There’s no reason to do that.

{***}

“What are you going to teach her, exactly?” Rumil lengthens his stride to keep up with me.

I look at him from the corner of my eye. “The basics.”

“Would you like my assistance? I could join you.”

He hasn’t let his misguided notion from last night drop. I quicken my pace. “No, thank you. If you want to help with something though, you could convene with Glorfindel and get the name of every member of Elrond’s guard.” There. That should keep him distracted tonight.

Rumil huffs, evidently displeased with my request, but doesn’t argue. “Alright.”

He sidesteps to enter the hall to our room but I continue, taking the stairs that will lead me to Cosima’s room. Rumil gives me a look but says nothing, keeping to his path.

I knock on the closed door — humans are so funny with their distrust of others to respect their privacy — and Cosima quickly opens it, welcoming me in with a smile. She shuts the door behind me.

“I pushed the furniture back to give us more space.” She gestures to a corner of her room where the plushy seats and wooden table are gathered near the wall.

I nod. “That’s good, thank you. And you feel alright?”

Her smile softens. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good,” I exhale. With that reassurance, I can get down to business. “If you could stand here.” I direct her to a spot in the middle of the room. “And move your feet a bit wider than hip width apart, like this.” I show her, and she mirrors the stance. “A little wider.” I step forward and nudge her right foot with my own, showing her how far I want it to move. “Now bring your dominant foot back a little. And lean forward slightly at your hips.” She follows the instructions, hinging forward as directed. “Like that, good,” I approve. “Now this is known as your fighting stance.” Cosima looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain. “It is not realistic to be able to keep this during a fight, but it should be your default, something you can get to automatically. A fighting stance allows you stability to keep from falling and gives you an anchor if you need power to wield a weapon. As a general rule, you should always attempt to attack or defend from this position.” She nods seriously.

Before she has a chance to register the movement, I shove her shoulder. Predictably, she stumbles backwards, arms flailing in an attempt to catch herself. Before she can fall, I grip her forearms, pulling her forward and steadying her.

With my hands still locked around her arms, I pause.

Were I training one of my wardens, I would have let them fall — why didn’t I let her fall? I should have. It’s an important lesson — if you don’t do something perfectly, you could get hurt.

I glance between Cosima—who looks at me with narrowed and confused eyes—and the stone of the floor. The foundation of the bedroom is solid rock, she could be seriously injured if she collided with it. An elf would be able to fall unscathed, but a human…

“What?”

Cosima’s voice brings me back to the present. My hands are still gripping her arms.

I quickly release her. “Nothing, just thinking.” Before she can investigate further, I hurry to move on. “Your stance should be solid enough to allow you to be immoveable. I should be able to push you and you stay upright. Now that you’re expecting it, let’s try again.”

It takes a few attempts, but eventually, Cosima learns how to hold tension in her core and ground her feet so it’s more difficult to push her over. Of course, if I really used my full strength, she wouldn’t stand a chance, but there’s no need to discourage her this early. And, by the amused twinkle in her eyes, she already knows.

Once her stance is satisfactory, we move on to blocking. I step back, taking a moment to analyze. She’s shorter than me, smaller than me, which automatically gives me an advantage. I have thousands of years of experience while she has about half an hour’s worth. Again, advantage me. She relies too much on her dominant side — if I struck at her unguarded left, I could knock the wind out of her and then, while she’s distracted, pull a weapon and strike a fatal blow between her ribs.

I’m surprised by the resistance that rises within me. My mind shouts that I am not going to do those things, that I would never cause her harm. The thought of striking her or hurting her is unthinkable, repulsive. And all the while she looks up at me with trusting, curious eyes, not at all thinking that I’m currently running through a list of different ways to kill her.

I take a deep breath. This is just training. In order to better train someone, you have to get into the mindset of their opponent so you can plan for and strengthen weak spots.

I try again to study her analytically, distantly, as I have done countless times before with countless others, but the emotions still cause my gut to tighten every time I identify yet another weakness I could exploit.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to push past the mental block and continue. She is leaving her left side unguarded. I start there.

Like most inexperienced fighters, she sees my slowed-down strike coming towards her left and grips my wrist with both of her hands, stopping my progress. I raise an eyebrow, easily pulling my arm back and her with it, sidestepping as she pitches towards the ground. I catch her before she can make contact, wrapping an arm around her waist and immediately releasing her once she’s righted. If you ever take this outside, let her fall then, I remind myself.

She looks up at me, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

I clear my throat. “If someone is attempting to hit you, don’t grab their arm to try and stop them — they can use that to their advantage, as I just did. Instead, you want to use your stance—remember to stay on the balls of your feet—to move out of the way before they can hit you. If you move quickly enough, your opponent is likely to stumble forward since they expected to make contact but now have nothing to stop their momentum. Ideally, you will spin or maneuver so you end up at favorable angle and counterstrike while your opponent is disoriented. Let’s try that.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet and nods, resetting her stance. I raise my arm once more, slowing down my movement so she has time to plan. Just before my fist makes contact with the curve of her waist, she sidesteps, twisting so she ends up behind me. I smile, guessing her next move. I’m not surprised when she pushes firmly between my shoulder blades and, for her benefit, I stumble forward. When I turn around, she’s grinning broadly. The smile doesn’t leave my face, either.

“Good,” I approve, turning to face her so that we’re reset. “Do it again.”

We practice variants of this strategy for a long time, speeding up or slowing down as her progress dictates. I teach her how to effectively duck, to use her stature to her advantage, how to quicken her pace so she stays out of her opponent’s reach.

I lurch forward to grab her, but she spins away at the last second, emerging at my right. As my fingers brush her side for the millionth time, I begin to worry. Does she notice how much I’m touching her? She hasn’t said anything, but she’s certainly not making as much contact with me as I am with her.

That’s because you are mainly on the offense, it’s your job to get close. In hand-to-hand, you cannot strike from a distance, I remind myself. And her job is to try and avoid you. Besides, I continue, allowing her a blow to my shoulder before lightly pushing her in an attempt to throw her balance, this is just normal training. I’m following the same protocol I would with anyone else I train.

Cosima ducks from my outstretched arm and attempts to sidestep, but I switch tactics and block her path. I wrap my arms around her and lift her over my shoulder, her surprised yelp ringing through the room. As soon as my point is made, I set her back on the ground.

She huffs. “You didn’t tell me you were changing it up.”

I give her a dubious look. “Yes, an orc is likely to announce its plan of attack. Forgive me.”

“Oh, all right.” She rolls her eyes. “So what do I do?”

I feel my gaze intensify, wanting desperately to communicate how important this is. “If someone gets their arms around you, they have complete control of you — in the case of someone as inexperienced as yourself, it’s over. Do not let them get their arms around you. Duck out of the way if you can, try to kick them and throw off their balance, elbow them, attempt to get behind them, whatever you need to do. Just don’t let them grab you.”

She nods seriously.

I hope she is never in a position where she will have to use any of this training. The trip home will be dangerous, yes, and obviously I would rather her have the training just in case, but I have no plans of leaving her to her own devices. No, I intend to keep her by my side as often as I can, and when I cannot, I will entrust her care to one of my brothers. She will never have to fight for her life by herself. And once we are in the heavily guarded borders of Lothlórien, which I myself am responsible for securing, she will be well away from danger.

But still, it is important for her to learn…just in case. At any rate, it will hopefully help her feel better about the second pass through the mountains. I know she still suffers from some anxiety due to her attack.

I repeat my movement from before, slower this time. She sees my arms coming and extends her leg, pressing her shoe against my shin.

I drop my arms. “What was that?”

“A kick.”

“You barely tapped me.”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I roll my eyes. “You could not hurt me.”

Her mouth drops open. “Rude!”

“It’s a fact.” I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if she’s taken real offense. I think not — there’s a teasing lift to the edges of her lips. So, I continue. “I’ve been a soldier for milennia, one tiny kick from a human woman is not going to send me to the ground in pain.”

Her gaze hardens. She shifts her weight. I crouch in time to wrap my hand around her ankle, stopping her attempt to kick me. I look up at her, unimpressed. An ellon with a day of experience could have seen that coming from a hundred miles away.

She grumbles and bends her knee, shoving it in the direction of my chest as her hands come to press against my shoulders. Before she can make contact, I release her ankle and stand, gripping her elbow and whirling her around. She stumbles, disoriented from the unexpected movement, and I lock one arm across her stomach, the other around her shoulders.

She freezes.

The silence of the room rings in my ears.

“Good instincts,” I mutter, my chest nearly brushing against her back. I stand stiffly, incredibly conscious of that tiny sliver of space. If either of us took even the slightest step…“But I guessed your intention and now I have you in my arms.”

Her breath quickens.

Perhaps I’ve pushed her human stamina too far for one day.

I pull my arms away from her and step back, giving her space to turn around. She does so slowly, swallowing and blinking up at me, looking a little dazed. Guilt creeps into my stomach. She was nearly sick last night, I should have taken it easier today. It is probably time for her to rest.

I clasp my hands behind my back. “I will show you how to avoid that position the next time we meet.”

She brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face. It’s in that peculiar style again — a bun, she called it, and I note with surprise that she still uses the hair tie I gave her on the road here. “Okay, sounds good. I uh, have a lesson tomorrow night with Baranor and Alex.”

I nod. “I can come the day after?”

“Good, yeah, that works.” She avoids my gaze. “Thanks.”

I furrow my eyebrows, examining her closer. She doesn’t look ill like she did yesterday. “Are you feeling alright? Did the headache return?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles and waves away my concern. “I think I’m just hungry and tired — I woke up too early.”

Good, she’s not sick, then. I nod. “Understandable. Do you want to go down to dinner?”

“Uh, I think I’ll have it sent up, actually. I want to study before my lesson tomorrow.”

Ah. I take a step in the direction of the door. “I will leave you to it, then. Enjoy your night.”

“You too,” she calls back. “And thanks again.” A much more natural smile graces her lips then, drawing my attention once again to that curious little freckle. My mind begins to drift, remembering the feeling of her in my arms, closer than she��s ever been before. The desire to hold her again makes itself known.

I practically bolt from the room.

A/n RIP Haldir’s sanity, honestly. Thanks for reading!! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my absolute DAY! 

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[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[secretsofthedarkestkind-arch]

@storieswrittcn from here

My Dearest Heart, Chicago, truly there of all places Katerina? I have never, however, I do hear the stories and rumors of what this war is causing. Whether it be in passing of Father’s acquaintances or discussion among those in town. Chicago is near the front lines. You do love chasing the danger don’t you? Though with everything happening in the city, it would be a place easy enough to hide among others without someone questioning your presence. 

Feeding from the lower end of the food chain is not one I thought I would ever see you do. Even if it does keep you safe and the suspicion of who you are low, I am not completely agreeable to that. But as you have said, you must do what you have to. Do the drugs affect you after you have drank from them? I have only ever seen a few under the influence, only a small number made me laugh at the way their minds were altered. Soon enough you will have the blood of something cleaner, purer, and one that, if by your own reactions tell me, has become your favorite. 

A witch? To have you seeking her out she must be powerful. I hope she can show you what you seek to learn. It warms my soul knowing part of the reason you wish to continue your knowledge in the art of magic is to protect me. I cannot wait to see what you are able to do or the beauty of which you speak. Concepts of light and dark are ones I do not fully believe in. I understand them and begrudgingly admit are there but who has the right to deem what is light or dark? Both can cause harm can they not? Both can provide protection when needed just as well correct? So when then do we always have to label items or actions in categories of ‘good’ or ‘evil’. Actions as people move between the two. Though that is simply my opinion and I may admittedly be naive. 

Though I do not possess the abilities you do, I feel the same way about you. Harper, though a fallen soldier so possibly not the best teacher, has offered to give me a few lessons in self defense when we can slip away. I’ve learned to fire a rifle and small pistol as well. My aim continues to improve and I dare say it’s better than Damon’s. One day I will be able to protect you as you protect me. You may be Katherine Pierce, a survivor and fighter, but everyone needs someone at times to be there in a time of need. I will be that person.

Please, my heart, do not taunt your enemies. I know they are a necessary downfall of the life you are forced to live and they are to be expected. But that does not mean you need to make a situation worse. Tie up the ends you must, do what you need to do, but come back to me unharmed. 

Parties? Hm, I do not envy you in the least. You are correct, dresses and corsets make my skin itch---they made me feel suffocated and trapped. Being forced into them, keeping up appearances and appearing as society states I must...it kills a part inside of me each time, Katerina. I want to scream, break things, tear the dresses to shreds just to be free. But I cannot. I must continue to lie, to kill my soul, and hide a part of myself away just to avoid the wrath and closed mindedness of my family as well as society. My only freedom you, my aunt, and now those you have deemed worthy of our family. 

But for you? I would try. There might be a day when I can go as myself, dressed in a suit only made of the best linens that are appropriate to be seen beside your beauty. That is a dream I will hold on to. That we will find a time, within our eternity, where I can be myself with you on my arm attending events that please you.

My type of food or yours, my heart? I am smirking as I write that question. For with you, it might be both or just yours.

I will not try to pull you here sooner than you see fit. Even if I wish I could. Part of me believes if I set my mind to doing just that I could succeed. I know you have your reasons, that there are things that need to be done before you are here with me. As I have told you before, I will always wait for you and be patient with what you must do. As before, do what you must for I will be here when the time is right. I trust you, Katerina. Which means if you say this wait and your planned time here in Mystic Falls is needed or the only way...then it is. 

Pearl and Annabelle have become people I can see one day as the only family, outside of you, that I will ever need or wish for. I had thoughts that you had sent them here partly for my benefit as I mentioned in my last letter, but knowing those thoughts were correct? I continue to fall more and more in love with you. Constantly, you show me in actions how much you do love me and care for me, that I am wanted. To know my love, loyalty, and feelings are returned just as deeply means more than you will ever know. All I can hope is that I can do the same for you.

You tell me not to worry about vervain but as you say it can harm you if you feed on someone who has consumed it. My Heart, if a vampire ingests vervain, the vampire's throat and digestive tract will be burned. You would become feverish and extremely weak. I have seen what it does to the flesh of your kind if even the plant comes into contact with your skin. You cannot tell me to not worry when it exists in this world. The amount in this town turns my stomach. I have asked Pearl to help me do my best to avoid it for your sake. Though it seems the council here has plans for it, plans my father is a part of as a way to try and get back into the community's good graces. He has no idea that I am aware of that or my knowledge of those that walk among us. Something I plan to always keep from him, it may come in our favor one day. 

I am not certain if it only grows here. It is a plant that grows at the base of white oak trees, we have a higher concentration of those trees but surely it grows elsewhere? If I can I will see what I can learn. I feel that research may have to wait until we are free of this town. But I will still try until then. 

You have never broken a promise to me yet nor given me reason to doubt you, so I will believe in the promise that you will be safe. 

Lavender will now be a smell that I always associate with you, once more you take control of something small in my life. You do consume me and are always in my mind--always a part of everything I do. My anxieties, worries, and darker thoughts are all rooted in this town. They have created them, fed them, and caused their growth as the years have gone by. This town has taken much of me, I just do not wish for it to either take you or harm you. The idea of Vervain is not my only concern but you know that. My worries are always far away when I am with you, however. As silly as it might sound, you chase the demons away. You make me stronger and braver. Or at the very least you show me who I could be, who I could grow to be with your helping hand and love.

The Falls much like my favorite oak tree--not white oak I have checked-- is a place no one ever searches for me. They are peaceful and beautiful. A part of nature that has been untouched and left alone. The sound of the water going over the cliff soothes me. The fall is from what I can guess is at least fifteen foot drop, it’s highest point as tall as some of the trees below it. The pool of water below it is just as deep, if not more. Though I have not swum to the bottom since meeting you or jumped from it’s peak, though Annabelle did try to convince me. I was tempted to jump once more but I know you would not be pleased if something happened when you were not with me or if something more ill fated than being harmed happened. It leads into a river, wide and long. After it rains, the water is too dangerous to get in or be near as it then flows so much quicker. But I do love to watch it. Harper will bring you a few of my sketches of the area so you may see it. I still plan to take you there, my dearest heart. It will be one of our adventures. 

I promise you, there is nothing to be jealous of. No one should ever cause jealousy within you. My heart belongs to you and no how close I become with another--such as Annabelle--that will never change. Some say jealousy is a darker emotion, one that can lead a person to become controlling. I do not believe that. Jealousy, to a point, is healthy. It shows the depth of your love. Others would argue it shows insecurity. Maybe we are both correct. But it just means one does not wish to lose another. I know I will become jealous of others near you, I will not deny it as something that will happen. But I hope you will see it as I do when it happens. I never wish for you to change--dare I say the jealousy you admit to makes me feel ways I didn’t know I could. I enjoy it.

Stefan has never seen me truly be friends with another before, female especially. You know the tale of my first kiss, how Father reacted when Damon told him of catching myself with Abigail Sommers. She had been my only friend, only allowed by both our parents because of our families connections. The view of being me being demonic or a punishment to my parents for the way I was born made it hard to find friends. Now with the town's knowledge of my alignment, makes it even harder. So Stefan simply believes every woman I talk to or try to befriend is someone I seek to have more with. 

His mind believes the way of the church, Katerina. His words and actions over the years showing that. So there is no possible way his mind will ever be able to wrap around the fact two women could be together. It makes me laugh to picture his face when he learns of our love---especially once he has seen your beauty and met you. How could someone as posed, beautiful, and a true lady in the world's eye ever be so sinful and dark as to love me? A question that will no doubt be his as it is no longer one of mine. I will behave how you ask of me in front of the town and do as you ask regarding my brothers, but I will not go as far as to not spend time with you or appear as your friend. Part of your reason for being here is for me, I intend to take advantage of that. Not to mention, could you truly be so close to me and deny yourself my heart? I could not and I will not.

My father’s life is to do with as you please. I know many would recoil from you for those words or thoughts of murder, but I will not. The act of you killing him, torturing him, may actually give me pleasure and peace as well. I am not strong enough, physically, to do it myself. He does not deserve to be a part of this world but yet he acts as if this life is God given right and his actions have no consequences. He is vile and the scum of this earth truly.

Your possessiveness is showing my love. It thrills me. Others might disrespect that claim, but not Pearl nor I. There is nothing in this world that could ever make me drink the blood of a vampire that is not you. I know the offer would only come either at the dire need for me to heal, a situation that is not what we have planned for my time to turn, or if you knew you would be able to insure I was not going to die shortly after. I know to deny any that tries to give me some, you’ve made sure of that. Your friendship and trust in Pearl is well founded and centuries old, she knows better my love.

Speaking of Pearl, she has mentioned the thought of possibly having me wear something with Vervain within it to keep the vampires in this town--one’s that she is unsure of their loyalty to you as the number seems to grow each time we speak-- away from me. I do not know if I agree with this. Could it harm you and is it something that you would want? Only a gift from you will ever find a way to my skin that is potentially dangerous to you.

Enjoy the sketches and I will wait for your reply as always.

Eternally yours, Lee

[naptoons]

Official Girl— Zion Kuwonu

Warnings: mild mature language.

Theme: Angst / Fluff ??? I guess I vauguely know the diff.

Summary: you and Zion have been together for almost half a year, but it didn’t feel like it cause when it came down to the public eye, he was single. And you were just his friend.

A/N: I did not proofread any of this so if there’s some spelling errors I apologize, and I hope it isn’t cringe! Enjoy🖤

You and Zion have been dating for almost a year and to your surprise no one even knew expect the PRETTYMUCH members along with their girlfriends. Neither of your family members knew either. You had a million thoughts going through your brain debating which thought was the placebo of why he would want to hide your relationship for almost a year. Don’t get it wrong, your relationship is great, he makes you happy. But hearing him tell the rest of his friends any beanz that ‘you’re aren’t his girl’ and ‘just a friend’ kinda made you think back on the days where you were stuck in the friend zone with him.

Sighing you slouch in your chair turning in your essay. You decided to go to los angles to study for your major. You wanted to get out of your hometown experience new places and people. You met Zion through one of your friends. You’ve never even heard of ‘PRETTYMUCH’ until she showed you a few of their music videos and interviews you started to hone in on them. Next thing you knew your friend bought you guys tickets and meet and greets in los angles.

Zion had his eyes on you on and off the entire time on stage. And boy was he thrilled to see you at meet and greet. And that’s the cliché way you meet Zion and became his “girlfriend” more like “girl-friend” groaning you hop out the bed going to grab a cup of water but your phones text tone vibration on the cherry wood table stops you. Moving towards your phone you see a text from the devil himself. Crazy how the universe works.

[ From: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

Hey mamas you wanna go to a birthday party with me? I promise I’ll stick by you the whole night ❤️

Moral of the story to the last sentence Zion typed was prettymuch had a album release party with a lot of their friends and Zion invited you. But twenty minutes into the party Zion left you and was faded and tipsy.So you ended up taking an uber back home and went to sleep. Zion didn’t get a wink of sleep that night worrying about you.

[ To: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

Hm. Fine I’ll go but you better keep your promise.

[ From: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

I promise babygirl. The party isn’t until late around 8pm so I’ll come pick you up. I love you can’t wait to see your fine ass🥵

Rolling your eyes at his flirty remarks. One thing you can’t knock him for is he always reminds you how beautiful you are. Sitting your phone down you go back to the previous task, grabbing the glass and sticking it on the dispenser filling it half empty half full. Sipping on the ice cold water you make your way back to room deciding how you would kill two hours worth of time.

Waking up an hour and a half later you decided to go ahead and take a shower. While waiting for the water to heat up you grab your phone turning on your Bluetooth speaker to blare music for your invisible fans. First song to come up on shuffle was official girl by Cassie. You place your fingers in the shower feeling the warm water slide down your fingertips. Stripping out of your clothes you jump in the shower.

“You gotta love me in the light and the dark” you sung out loud. As you were singing the lyrics it resonated with your feelings towards Zion.After your quick shower you got dressed and did your hair in a style you loved. Looking at the clock wondering would Zion be on his way yet,It’s 7:30pm and he hasn’t sent a single text or call. Going to your messages you decide to text him.

[ To: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

Zion what time are you coming to pick me up?

Setting your phone back down, you grab your platform boots slipping them on and tying them up. Grabbing your favorite perfume brand lathering your body up in it. fifteen minutes later and you still got nothing from Zion. You launch the Instagram app seeing Zion posted on his Instagram 3 minutes ago a screen of his monitor and fortnite asking for someone to join the lobby.

You roll your eyes wondering why you even texted him in the first place, him and fortnite have a better relationship than you and Zion. You decided to text one of the members.

[ To: Raisin Bran ⛓ ]

Hey Brandon is the party still going on tonight?

[ From: Raisin Bran ⛓ ]

. yeah , we’re actually here where are you and Zion?

[ To: Raisin Bran ⛓ ]

‘Zion’ is on fortnite rn, ill be coming in uber please give me the address🙄

[ From: Raisin Bran ⛓ ]

. I mean you don’t have to come if you don’t want too.

It’s better to have fun, then being cooped up in the house doing nothing, what could go wrong? You though you yourself. Pulling your leather skirt down a little you stand up and place an uber order Your uber arrived twenty minutes later,On the way to the party you have been listening to music with occasionally conversations with the driver. Your phone vibrates, and from the vibrations you know who it is. And you dread wether you should reply or not.but deep down you know you can’t ignore him.

[ From Babie 🤧🧡 ]

Yo Sorry mamas I didn’t see your text.

[ From Babie 🤧🧡 ]

I’m coming to get your fine ass now🥵

[ To: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

No worries Zion lol, I’m catching a ride to the party.

[ From: Babie 🤧🧡 ]

Who’s takin you?

Ignoring his question you decide to screenlock your phone and enjoy the soft ride. The ride was about an extra twenty minutes to get there but it was a pleasant ride nevertheless

Getting out of the car you thank the driver and prepare yourself for the house full of sweaty young adults, blaring loud music and the smell of different strains of weed. Pulling your skirt down a little you walk up to the door ignoring the few whistles and hollers from the drunk guys falling around and laughing on the grass. Knocking on the door you await for anyone to open the door it was starting to get a little chilly outside. “Y/N?” Someone speaks in a puzzled tone. Turning your head around your eyes are met with nick, nodding your head you step off the steps to be engulfed in a hug.

“How are you, what are you doing here by yourself?” Nick questions

“Well I’m not by myself now am I ?” You joke sarcastically, nick shows his cheeky smile while opening the door for you. Upon your sight is a house filled to the rim of people, red solo cups scattered all over the floor, multiple groups of people playing games and kissing.

“Where’s Zion?” Nick asks, while the both of you walk into the kitchen, the constant questions of “Zion” is starting to agitate you more and more. You wanted to have fun and not think about Zion. Because frankly Zion hasn’t been thinking about you. Before you could answer nick’s question soft delicate caramel tattooed arms wrapped around your shoulders with a sweet scent of strawberries and mint leaves.

“I’m here” his voice hones in on your ear lobes, his lips reaching your temple slightly and rapidly before any one could catch eyes on it “hey mamas” Zion’s voice vibrates across your skin.

“Hi” you answer softly not really wanting to talk to him you’d hoped to avoid, nick offers you and Zion a drink grabbing the shot you swallow it down like it was water. Passing the shot glass over to nick for another round.

“Woah mamas slow down okay?” Zion mumbles from behind you with his hands firmly placed on you lower back. Ignoring his comment you drink down another shot earning a “wooo” from nick as he fires you up for your last shot of the day with a slice of lime from the fridge.

“Thank you nick” you smile eating the lime in one hand and firmly grasping the cold water bottle in the other. You turn around to say something to Zion but he’s gone in the back talking to someone. you decide it’s really time to have fun since you’re “single” in the dark. Before you could head over to the dance floor a guy walks up to you with a sheepish grin. His teeth were pearly white and aligned with each other not missing a single space or gap, his skin screamed Melanin “hello how are you?” He asks very politely.

“I’m fine and you?”

“Good if you’re breathing, I was wondering would you like to have a dance? If you don’t mind” he hesitates,not even thinking of an answer you grab his hand reporting to the dance floor. (A/N i thought about the lyric from you by Lloyd ‘And uh, I want all my sexy ladies to report to the dance floor immediately’ lol sorry I may have made you cringe)

you get on the dance floor dancing to the song that’s blaring through the speakers. Taking sips from another shot you grabbed on your way to the dance floor why not? You did say you wanted to have fun. Softly the mysterious man lays his hand on your hips digging his fingertips into your waist. Even though you knew you were with Zion. You wasn’t just going to grind up on some guy even though your devil shoulder told you too.

Zion finishes his conversation with a friend he used to know in Canada, now he was on his way to look for you trying to keep his promise of never leaving tonight. Meeting nick back at the kitchen his thick eyebrows knitted in confusion. Nick not wanting to hear the anger bounce off on him, he decides to point in the direction of you and the mysterious guy. Fuming with vexation, he squeezed the bottle in his hands until his knuckles turned white. Heading over towards the problem he grab you by your arm softly but cautiously. The guy stands back smirking at the sight of a jealous Zion. while you were a bit staggering from the four shots of alcohol you took.

“Hey chill out we were dancing and having a good time!” The guy slurs his words. You started to sober up slightly at the sight of Zion’s muscles in his jawline clenching on and off his knuckles turning ghostly white as he holds in every excuse to lay this guy out with his fists. His face almost beat red.

“Have a good time with someone else not her” Zion excuses the both of you guys away from him and into a quieter location, closing the door behind him Zion let’s out a groan of frustration as his fingers roam through the tangles of his dreads. “What the fuck was that y/n?!” Zion yells but not too aggressive because even though he’s mad at you, you’re still his baby and he’ll never disrespect you.

“What ? I can’t have fun? I mean I’m not your official girl anyways” you slur your truth with hidden sarcasm. You were tipsy and when you’re tipsy the truth comes out. And in the back of your mind you knew once the truth came out things were going to change.

“Y/n what the fuck are you talking about? , of course you are my girl mamas” his tone of voice changes obviously struck by your words, not wanting to look into his eyes with your glassy eyes, you turn your head, not even batting an eye at him, you just couldn’t your heart shattered even thinking of telling him how you felt.

“No I’m not Zion” you choke at your first sentence “I’m your friend, you know the girl who hangs out with you occasionally and comes in your Instagram lives, I’m the girl you say ‘Nah she’s the homie’ I’m not your fucking girl Zion, and it’s been that way for half a goddamn year!” You bark at him, Zion tries to reach for your hands but falls short as you pull them away from his reach “ if you don’t wanna be with me tell me. If you’re embarrassed by me tell me. Fucking give me something I’m tired of being your unofficial girl” you wipe your tears heading straight for the door but Zion blocks it.

“Wait Mamas listen,” his words fall short trying to bite back the tears, his whole world crashing down in front of his eyes “i couldn’t be so fucking proud to have you as my girlfriend, you don’t understand how happy I am to hold you in my arms every fucking day, how proud I am to have you in the studio with me because that’s the only way I can work faster, babygirl you are everything and more I’ve ever needed”

“Zion this secrecy is making me feel like I’m not good enough” your voice cracks filling the room up with icy cold tension. You’re trying so hard to stop crying but you can’t, all the bottled up feelings are just slipping through the cracks. Zion rapidly walks over to you to hold you in his arms. Your brain wants to push him off,but your heart wants to be held until your cries muffled into the music in the background. His slender golden fingers hold the back of your head while the other tightly on your lower back.

“I deserve more Zion, but I don’t wanna pressure you dear, but I’m tired, I’m tired” you speak into his trashed denim jacket. You pull out of his embrace. Walking towards the door, leaving Zion in the room with his thoughts. Passing by nick and Brandon as you wiped your tears, hearing their cries of your names just makes you regret even coming to this party in the first place. The guy you danced with earlier snatches your wrist in a halt just as you were about to grab the door knob, this day just couldn’t get anymore hetic you thought.

“Babygirl.. did he make you cry?” His eyebrows knit up in a bunch, you stumble over the cups placed on the floor snatching your arms at of the young man’s grasp not before you feel an arm around your shoulder engulfing your body into his chest. “Don’t touch her got that? She doesn’t belong to you” he grits his teeth, spitting the poison out on him “oh but she belongs to you?” The guy questions trying to provoke a fight with Zion.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone she’s her own woman, but we are dating and I don’t appreciate anyone treating her less than what she is, so if you want all your bones to be intact and still have teeth to eat with tomorrow I suggest you back the fuck up” your eyes look up at the flushed pinked tint that was painted across his face the slight flinch of his muscles in his jawline.

“Can we leave please?” You plead to him and instantly he grabbed your hand taking you out the party. The ride home was slient. So many things were going on, bottled up emotions were spilled and you just thought to yourself how awkward this would be in the morning. Zion opens the door for you following right after you in the cold house. Taking off your boots you curl up on the bed shaking as the goosebumps multipled on your skin. Zion walks over to you throwing the covers over your body tucking you in like a parent to a kid.

“Can we talk about this?” Zion says breaking the ice, letting out a choked hoarse sigh

“I’m afraid too” you speak barely above a whisper hoping he didn’t catch it.

“Well then listen to me” Zion grabs your legs placing them on his thighs so his fingers hook under your calves “ I’ve never been this deep in love, everytime I get really deep into a relationship something always fucks it up, and I didn’t want anything or anyone to break us up hence why I’ve been hiding us. Specially from the media. It’s a dog eats dog world out there mamas” his fingers tapping on your now timid skin “and I don’t want you to be hurt because of my job, or those whom support and love me, their opinions won’t matter to me I don’t give a shit but I don’t want you hurt babygirl I love your smiles earlier in the morning,” Zion chokes up “ I wanna keep seeing the crinkle in your nose as you curse the sun for being bright, have you re-twisting my dreads, your sudden outbursts of Disney soundtracks”

“I cherish all that shit mamas” Zion finishes like a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulder.

Your eyes begin to soften at how raw Zion is being right now. Zion was never the type to show his cards on the table. Everyone knew this. But seeing him fold like a deck of cards really breaks your heart. “I love our date nights where we just watch movies or play board games, cause it’s just us and no one to interrupt us or tell us how to love each other, but it seems I’ve hurt you more this way instead of the other way I was trying to protect you from. I’m sorry mamas” his Cinderella glass slipper eyes lays upon yours, shattering you into pieces

You never thought how hard it’s been on him to hide all of this or his reasons. You lean over to him placing your head on his chest. Playing with his fingertips. “It’s okay Zion, I understand now, I’m sorry for blowing up on you” his lips pressed on your head while his fingers caressed your waist. Your eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier before you could even hear his response. You dozed off, all the tears and alcohol felt like a melatonin. Zion took this opportunity to sneak a picture of his view to post on Instagram for the world to see. Showing you off was something he always dreamed off and right now seemed like the perfect time. “No mamas I’m sorry, but I’ll show you better than I can say it”

The next morning you woke up to your phone constantly blowing up by notifications, frowning you grab your phone deciding to put it on do not disturb until you see prettymuch fan account names liking and commenting on your posts, taking you on stories, your twitter was blowing up. Opening up Instagram you see Zion has tagged you in a post, smiling at his efforts you like the picture.

130,468 likes

zionkuwonu: I'll never diss you and I'll kiss you on your little pearl.

Maybe the talk needed to happen to move onto bigger things, before you could repost it to your story, The door swings up with Zion smiling bigger than his heart holding a teddy bear in one hand and roses and a self care basket the other. Sitting up against the headboard you accept them feeling the water build up in your eyes. “You’re right mamas, you deserve more” he leans over laying soft pecks against your lips. “And I will always give you more” his lips connect to yours again.

“So face mask night and a movie?” You squeak caressing his jawline

“It’s whatever you want to do babygirl” he mumbles, before taking another picture of you with the gifts.

You were now his official girl.

[dw-writes]

Dial Tone Devil - Chapter Three

Summary: Lucifer’s reputation of granting favors is the second best thing his known for. So when you ask for one - point blank - and offer him immediate repayment in the form of a coin he thought to be long gone, he immediately agrees. But you come with baggage, and series of suspicious circumstances, and Lucifer finds himself full invested in your story.

All because of a suspiciously familiar coin.

Interesting.

A/N: HI GUYS HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!! :D I’m....SO stoked about this series. It’s so much fun, I have a full plot from start to finish, and its??? UGH I’m excited. And I’m excited for this chapter! Because it’s interesting and dives into not only the main plot but the sub plot!! So!! I hope that you enjoy this chapter~!

IF YOU GUYS WANT TO FOLLOW THIS SERIES, LET ME KNOW AND ILL ADD YOU TO THE TAG LIST FOR IT!!!

Also, how do you guys like the new presentation? I think having the summary at the beginning really helps out! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fifteen

More Content: Dial Tone Christmas || The Keys to Lux || Quarantine

To Tag: @revinval @spotgaai2000 @measure-in-pain @kittenlittle24 @broadwayandnetflix

You followed the case from the safety of the internet, Lucifer’s emoji filled texts, and wildly inappropriate pictures of the crime scene and suspects. For days, it was all that occupied your mornings, and afternoons you fell into the groove of managing Lux. Once the case was closed, it was all Lux all the time. And…well, running Lux was so much harder than it looked. Add being Lucifer’s personal assistant on top of it? It made your life a living Hell.

You laid down some ground rules after three weeks straight of nothing but Work: Monday and Tuesday you were Unavailable. You did not exist on Mondays and Tuesdays. Nothing, not even the end of the world, could get you off your couch between 12:00 AM Monday morning, to 11:59 PM Tuesday evening. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

So why were you standing in front of Lux in the middle of said unavailable Monday morning?

You clutched your beaten backpack in one hand as you struggled to dredge through the memories, staring up at the sleek silver sign of the club. It took time, but once you made it to the center of your Monday morning memory block, you recalled exactly why you had ended up at Lux’s front doors.

You withdrew from your classes to take the rest of the semester off, and evaluate if you even wanted to finish school. It was a blow to your pride. The meeting itself was difficult as you struggled not to cry while you explained to each of your professors that you needed to leave their classes. They gave the normal nods, the I understands, but you could tell from the looks on their faces that they didn’t expect you back. To them, you were just another drop out.

It made the upset anxiety turn into boiling anger.

You clutched your bag tighter, adjusted it on your back, and pushed the doors open to the club.

Maze was right where you expected her to be – behind the counter, taking inventory of the alcohol. She threw a cursory glance over her shoulder, then turned completely around, eyes only a fraction wider than normal. “You made Lucifer sign a piece of paper saying he couldn’t call you on Monday,” she pointed out.

You dropped your bag on the counter. “I left school,” you said.

She shrugged and set a glass on the counter before you. “Good,” she scoffed as she poured two fingers of the finest whiskey she had, “You were too good for that place.” She offered you the glass. When you declined, she took a sip instead. “A bunch of humans thinking they’re smarter than everyone else.” Her lip curled as she sucked on her teeth.

“Actually, that’s why I came by.” You upended your bag, sending a collection of old boxing wraps, gloves, and mitts scattering across the bar. “I wanna hit something.”

Maze moaned, taking in everything you had spilled on the counter. She looked up at you. “Have I told you that I enjoy you being here, yet?” She picked up the wraps. “You even practice safety in the gym.” She hissed, slow and sultry, and met your gaze.

Your jutted your jaw and widened your eyes. “Yeah, because I want ever trip to the gym to be oddly sexual,” you mumbled.

Maze scoffed and dropped the wraps. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, Mazikeen, that is not the point of the gym,” you sighed.

She squinted, and sipped her drink. “Then why do human women wear tight clothing there?”

There was another one. Human, said as if she wasn’t one, but merely observing another species. It reminded you of an anthropologist, and created disturbing images of Maze in a Jane Goodall hat. You pursed your lips in a lemon pout. You didn’t really like that image, but didn’t say anything. Let her keep her weird vocabulary.

You sighed and shook your head. “Why do you, Mazikeen?”

“Maze.” Her correction snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could ask, she downed the rest of her drink. “Because I know that this,” she waved to her body, “Is delectable.” She slammed the glass onto the bar a little too hard. “It’s like a candy wrapper.”

“No.”

“You know, leather, and yoga pants.”

“That’s not it at all, Maze.”

“Sports bras.”

“Maze.”

“Especially the ones with the zipper in the front?”

You started to shove your work out gear back into the bag.

“Do you have sweat pants?” she asked. She tilted her head as she leaned on the bar. “Yoga pants?” You bounced a wrap roll off her shoulder.

“Stop,” you drawled impatiently. “I came to invite you, and now you’re being weird about it.” You shouldered the bag once everything was collected.

She sat up, spine straightening to the point that something popped. “Wait, you actually PAY to go use someone else’s equipment to work out?” she asked. You nodded, and earned a scoff. “No. No, no, no.” Maze rounded the bar and took your bag. “You can fight me. Here. Right now.” She pulled on a pair of target gloves. “I’ll teach you how to fight a hellion.”

So she did. She did just that for almost five hours. Maze decided that it was best to give you a break when you stumbled over your own feet, fell onto the steps of club, and couldn’t get back up.

“Are you beating up on our administration staff already, Maze?” You dropped your head back, and followed the motion until you were lying on the floor, to see Lucifer standing behind you. He was fixing a cufflink, and arched an eyebrow at your compromising position, with a smile worming across his face. “Oh, hello.”

Maze shouted your name from across Lux as she said, “Wanted to fight!”

Lucifer crouched to help you sit up, and took the space next to you. “Now, why the Me would you do something as silly as that?” he asked. He took your hand, undid your glove, and proceeded to roll your wraps off your scorching skin.

You heaved a heavy sigh, motioning to Maze. “She said it.”

“Well yes, but why?” he asked again. His fingers were cold on your wrist. Your pulse jumped. As the wrap left your hand and he started on the other one, you explained what happened. “No?” You mimicked the question, voice high and confused as he removed the second wrap completely. “No, why did you leave school? The point was to do school, and keep working!”

You yanked the things from his hands and stood. “One, I can’t do jack—”

“How about Jill?” Lucifer quipped. You rolled your eyes and headed back to the bar, shoving your items into the bag. Maze had come around the other side, and stared at her phone as she dumped ingredients into a blender. Before you could speak, she turned it on, stared at the chocolate brown concoction inside. Lucifer joined you at the bar to watch Maze stop the blender, pour the mixture into a tall glass, and drop it in front of you.

You arched an eyebrow. “What’s this?” you asked.

She shrugged. “A protein shake.” She looked at her phone. “This says its necessary for humans that work out, because like…muscle things, or whatever.” She looked back up at you. “I kicked your ass, you’re probably gonna be sore.” You tilted the glass towards you. “It’s chocolate,” Maze stated, “Don’t humans like chocolate?”

You sipped it. It was thick, and delicious, and so chocolatey you couldn’t taste the protein in it. You downed the shake without taking a break. It left a thin mustache of chocolate across your top lip. You sighed.

“Feel better?” Lucifer asked. You nodded slowly. “So, why did you leave school again?”

Maze whispered something you couldn’t hear as you turned to him ever so slowly. “Really?”

“Well, yes!” Lucifer adjusted his cufflink again. “I assumed you would continue during your employment here!”

You took a deep, slow inhale through your nose. Exhaled. Slid the glass towards Maze with a soft thank you, and went off:

“First of all, how am I supposed to do ANYTHING in my private life when I’m supposed to be at your beck and call twenty-four seven? Why do you think I demanded to have Monday and Tuesday off? Hm?” you shouted. Lucifer started to open his mouth. “That was rhetorical, you dingus. Secondly—” You snatched your bag off the bar to emphasis your words, “Secondly, I was failing. And it’s only for the semester.”

“What, how are you failing?” Lucifer asked. He tutted as you started to walk away, grabbing your arm and turning you back towards the bar. “No, no, no, sit. Explain.” He waved his hands. “Tell me everything!”

“It’s stupid, Lucifer—in fact, it’s already done, I talked to everyone I needed to this morning—”

“No, no, no!!” he protested again. He patted the bar. “First, you tell me what happened! And then we’ll figure out why.” He nodded, and turned to you with a satisfied look. “First rule of Detective School.”

You shook your head, but settled onto the stool he had perched you on, bag dangling from your fingers. “They just told me that my work wasn’t up to par,” you said. You shrugged. “That was it. I mean…it’s the same caliber of work I’ve been doing, better even, and I can’t…” You sighed and dropped your bag to cover your face.

When you looked back up, Maze and Lucifer were exchanging glances. The latter turned his attention back to you, a frown knitting his brow together. “What did you do in school, if I may ask?” he pondered.

“A little of everything?” you sighed. “I uh, I hadn’t really picked a major, but I had enough credits for, like…English, Criminal Justice, uh…a minor or two—”

“Why on Earth would you take so many classes, did you want to kill yourself?” he cut in.

You shrugged. “I have a plethora of unmedicated, and undiagnosed, mental illnesses that I tried to drown out with topics that I highly enjoyed,” you answered.

Maze knocked her knuckles against the bar. Lucifer hummed. “Right, so, we need to introduce you to Linda later, but please,” he shifted in his seat, “Continue.”

Your mouth tightened into an o of confusion as you stared at him. “What do you mean send me to…Linda?”

“Oh, well, Linda is this wonderful therapist I’ve been seeing while here on Earth, and if you say you have these mental illnesses – hold on, is that what you meant before by ‘brain thing’?”

“….Maybe. But that also wasn’t the point of this conversation,” you prompted. But you frowned. Pouted. Looked up at Lucifer. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He straightened his coat as he cleared his throat, tilting his head just a tad. “Oh, well, you’re quite welcome.”

“The school,” Maze cut in loudly.

You cleared your throat and nodded. “Yeah, uh…” You swallowed. “They just said my work wasn’t cutting it. All of them.” You frowned. “I just don’t understand, my work was….amazing. I mean, I had a ton of shorts stories for Creative Writing that my professor wanted to publish them? And my Criminology professor was going to write me a letter of recommendation for the police academy, so…” You sighed and stared at your hands. “This was just last semester, so I don’t know how things changed.”

Lucifer hummed. When you looked up, he was staring towards the ground in contemplation. “Interesting,” he murmured.

You shrugged, and jumped off the stool, scooping your bag up. “It’s life, actually.” You heaved a sigh. “I’m gonna go up to my apartment and shower and…probably eat ice cream for the rest of the day.”

“Nonsense!” Lucifer stood and buttoned his blazer. “Well, besides the shower—do you want company?”

“Lucifer.”

He smiled. “Knee jerk reaction,” his eyebrows moved up and down as his smile grew. “But don’t just brush this off! Alright? Look, I will personally look into this little matter for you. A favor, if you will.”

“I didn’t ask for a favor,” you stated as you walked up the stairs.

Lucifer slid his hands into his pockets. His coin sat at the bottom, heavy, and smooth. He turned it over in his fingers with a frown. “Favors are done in good faith,” he commented absently. You rolled your eyes as you punched the button for your floor. As you disappeared behind the elevator doors, Lucifer pulled the coin from his pocket. The details were flat, smooth. The raised brushed gold pentagram that scarred your hand was now nothing more than a fanciful paint job that had chipped to reveal the silver beneath it. Lucifer set it on the bar and scratched at it with his nail until it all flaked away.

It wasn’t even a coin, just a single flattened metal disk. Lucifer scoffed as he held it up between his fingers. “That’s interesting,” he murmured.

Maze leaned into the space in front of him. “What happened to the Pentecostal coin?” she asked.

“I don’t think it was one at all,” he breathed. He released it, and spun it in the space between his fingers. One side was beautiful detailed, the other scratched away and plain. His eyes widened and he smiled. “Oh, this is interesting.”

[literary-lioness]

Nanowrimo Day 5

Here is what I worked on today. Not sure if I like the middle part at the doctor's office, but   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nanowrimo word count: 5271

                                                         III

                                                       Quinn

Loud voices filtered up through Quinn’s barely opened bedroom door. She rolled over in her bed and groaned, it was far to early to be woken up in this manner. She thought about pulling her pillow over her head and ignoring the voices downstairs, but she reminded herself that the entire reason her mother asked her to come was to help, and judging by the intensity of Daisy’s little voice, help was exactly what she needed.

Quinn swung her feet over the side of the bed, put on her warm moccasins, and pulled a green flannel robe over her white tank top and black joggers. The voices became more distinct as she descended the stairs so that she could now hear her mother pleading with an obstinate Daisy.

“Please Daisy, you can’t keep staying home from school. Please get ready.”

“No! I don’t want to go to school! I hate school!”

Quinn turned the corner and took in the scene before her. Daisy was standing on the tall kitchen island chair so that she stood slightly taller than Molly. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, and her face was screwed up in a scowl. Molly, on the other hand, looked up at Daisy with slumped shoulders and pleading eyes. The unkempt hair of both adult and child only added to the chaotic whirlwind sweeping through the kitchen.

“Daisy, grandma can’t be late for work again, please stop fighting me.”

“I don’t care! I’m not going to school.”

“If you don’t go to school, Santa won’t come to visit you,” Molly said desperately.

“So what? Santa is stupid. Christmas is stupid.”

Before the situation could escalate any further, Quinn stepped in, “Get off the chair, Daisy.”

Daisy turned her furious expression on Quinn, “No.”

“Get off the chair,” Quinn repeated her tone cold.

“No,” Daisy replied dangerously.

Molly watched the exchange between them with keen interest.

“1,” she started counting.

“No!”

“2,” she continued counting, hoping to God the girl would get down before she got to three, because really had no idea what she would do if she got to three.

Daisy stared her down defiantly. Quinn paused her counting to stare back, hoping she looked serious enough for Daisy to take her seriously. To her relief, Daisy relented and jumped down off the chair.

“I’m still not going to school.”

“Yes, you are,” Quinn said, “And you can do that in either your regular clothes or your pajamas. Your choice. You have until I am dressed to decide.”

Quinn’s mother followed her out of the room, “Thank you! Do you really think you can get her to school? Because I really need to get ready for work.”

“It’s fine, Mom. This is why you asked me to come. Go get ready for work, I’ll deal with Daisy.”

Molly kissed her daughter on the cheek and hurried off to get ready for work. Quinn looked back into the kitchen at her niece, still standing stubbornly in her pajamas, before heading upstairs to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn and Daisy walked in an uncomfortable silence, toward school. Daisy had refused to get dressed, so true to her word, Quinn made her put on her snow boots and  coat over her pajamas and go to school.

Daisy shot her a death glare, “I hate you.”

Quinn’s chest clenched tight, but she refused to let Daisy see how her words affected her, “Well I’m not your biggest fan right now either.”

When they got to the school, Daisy walked away from her without telling her goodbye.

“Have a good day, I’ll be here after school to pick you up,” Quinn called out.

Daisy might as well have flipped her off for all the fucks she gave about her aunt and whether someone would be there to pick her up after school. Quinn watched her messy cooper head disappear through the doors of the school.  

She kicked at a pile of snow, barely able to stop a growl of frustration from crawling out of her throat. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this was not it. And as though the entire situation with Daisy wasn’t enough, she was acutely aware of her upcoming student loan payment and her dwindling savings account.  

She needed to find a job and she was sure her only hope for finding one that would allow her to continue practicing medicine was with the town general practitioner, Dr. Henry. When she was a child, she had gone to Dr. Henry, just as everyone in the town had gone to him when their illness or injury wasn’t serious enough to warrant a visit to the emergency room five miles outside of town, so she was familiar with the location of his office.

The office was close enough to Daisy’s school that she could walk her niece to school and get to Dr. Henry’s office at a decent hour, if Dr. Henry gave her a job, that is. She was surprised to see the very full waiting room when she entered the office.

Almost every seat was taken, by all too familiar faces. A few of them looked up at her in shock, while others offered her a friendly smile.

“Well if it isn’t little Quinn Stone,” said Bea when she approached the check-in window.

           Bea has been Dr. Henry’s right hand since the day he opened his practice. She was one of the kindest people Quinn had ever met, and there wasn’t a soul in town that would disagree. Bea had been one of the few people Quinn missed when she left Snow Haven to pursue her doctorate.

           “Hey, Bea, it’s good to see you.”

           “I didn’t know you were back in town!”

           “Yeah, for a while actually. Is Dr. Henry around?”

           “Sorry honey, Dr. Henry’s late again.”

           I looked at the packed waiting room, “I guess that explains this?”

           “Mhm, but you’re welcome to hang around and wait for him, he should get here soon.”

           “Thanks Bea.”

           It turned out soon was about an hour later when Dr. Henry walked into the office, yawning as though he had just woken up. If Quinn hadn’t been familiar with the town she would have been surprised that nobody complained about the extreme tardiness of the doctor, but complaining wasn’t the Snow Haven way, though she was certain she would hear some mutterings about Dr. Henry if she went to the grocery store later that day.

           Quinn leapt from her seat and followed Dr. Henry to the door that lead to the examination rooms, “Dr. Henry?”

           “Hm,” he said as though he barely registered he was being talked to.

           “Dr. Henry, I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Quinn-“

           “Stone. Of course I remember you. I hadn’t heard that you were back in town.”

           “Yeah, and I plan to stick around, actually.”

           “Well it’s good to see you. Do you have an appointment today?”

           “No, but I was wondering if you have a minute to talk?”

           “You’ll have to follow me to the back if you want to talk, I’m already quiet late.”

           “Of course,” Quinn said. She expected to follow him at a hustled pace as she did with the doctors at the hospital, but Dr. Henry moved at a glacial pace akin to a fast-moving turtle.

           “What can I do for you Quinn Stone?”

           “Dr. Henry, did you know I got graduated with my doctorate and have my medical license?”

           “Oh? Well good for you, my girl.”

           “Thank you, and as I said I am going to be in town for quite a while.”

           “Mhm?”

           “And I’m looking for work.”

           “At the hospital? Do you need a personal reference?”

           “No, actually, I was wondering if you were looking for help here? I’d love the opportunity to practice medicine in my hometown, and really I’m not interested in working in another hospital.” A little white lie was ok, wasn’t it?

           “I assume you have a resume, references? That sort of thing?”

           Quinn sighed, crestfallen, “No, I don’t actually. I mean I have a resume, but the hospital I worked at won’t be willing to give me a recommendation.”

           “I see. Parted on bad terms I assume?”

           “Yeah, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Dr. Henry.”

           “Wait a second, young lady.”

           Quinn paused and looked at him waiting to hear what ever admonishment he had in store for her.

           “I did know you became a doctor, Quinn. I also knew that you were fired from the hospital you were working at.”

           “How?”

           “I have a friend who sat on the board of directors for the hospital. Told me a gal from Snow Haven that had shown real promise in her first year had been on decline, they had to let her go. I didn’t need to ask the name to know it was you. Heck, you were the only one who ever left Snow Haven to become a doctor.”

           Quinn scoffed, “Then you already know I’m a mess that you want nothing to do with.”

           Dr. Henry smiled kindly at her, “I didn’t say that. See, unlike my friend, I don’t think you’re a promising doctor who burnt out, I think you’re a promising doctor that needs another chance. Personal tragedy can do a number on our ability to perform even simple tasks, let alone the more complex skills needed to do our jobs. So, I want to do want to offer you a job, on a trial basis, need to see if you’re a good fit for us.”

           Quinn wanted to hug the doctor but held back, “Thank you, so much. I won’t let you down.”

           “Now, I can’t pay you as much as they do in the big city, but come by tomorrow for your first day and we’ll work out the details. Welcome aboard, Dr. Stone,” he extended his hand out to her and gave it a firm shake.

           “See you tomorrow.”

           Quinn left the office feeling like she was on cloud nine. She promised herself that this time she would get her act together, this time she wouldn’t give up and coast, she needed to pull herself together, and this job would give her the opportunity to do that. Maybe this would be the fresh start she needed.

           Her phone started buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the caller-id, “Mom? Is everything ok?”

           “Daisy’s school just called,” she whispered into the phone.

           “Why are you whispering,” Quinn whispered back.

           “Because I’m hiding in the backroom, why are you?”

           “Because you are! What did her school want?”

           “They asked for me to come down there to speak to Daisy’s teacher, Ms. Webster, but I can’t get out of work, I’m on the verge of losing this job. I told them that you would come instead.”

           “Did they say what the teacher wanted?”

           “No, just that one of us needed to get down there right away. So you’ll go?”

           “Yeah, I’ll go.”

           “Thank you. Text me afterward and let me know what is going on. I hope Daisy hasn’t been in another fight. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, honey!”

           “Love you too, Mom.”

           They hung up the phone and Quinn walked in direction of Daisy’s school. The kid had only been at school for two hours, what kind of trouble had she managed to get in already?

[jackandmarksavedme88]

Anything But Average

TW: Alludes to some violence. @weirdmixofweirdness i had a brain and thought: why not pull up desktop mode ONTHEFREAKINPHONE. DUH 😂🙈

Formatting sucks but. Yeah.

@ashphoenix06 @nekob00

**************************************

Chase sat at the bar, his second glass of whiskey in his hand. He didnt want to go home, JJ and Jackie would want him to talk. And he just didnt feel like talking now. Itd been so long since she left it seemed...but seeing her today, across the street, holding hands with some guy theyd gone to school with, it seemed she was his just yesterday.

"Oh suck it up. She didn't want you. Youre here drowning your sorrows, and shes onto the next dick..deal with it" he thought to himself, draining the glass and waving for another.

"Ya know. Thats the cheap crap. You really wanna get blasted theres better stuff.." The bartender said "Yeah well. Im just drinking. Not getting crazy."

His phone buzzed and he looked down, laughing to himself at the meme Jack had sent him. Then a text came through from Alison She was Jacks friend that had become close with the Septic guys over the last few years. Based in Texas in the US they didnt see her in person much, but Chase and her communicated almost daily

A:Heyyyy. Whats up?

C: *picture he took of Stacey and her boy toy* Thats a guy we went to school with 😑. They were 'friends'

A: Dude. Thats a downgrade. Although she was never good enough for you anyway. Only good thing was the kiddos

C:yeah. It still hurts like hell though.... I need to run away. Get out of here. Theyre going to her moms for a month or so for school holidays and i dont want to be here.

A:well. You could always come here? My Dad and step mom are leaving so i have my cabin on the ranch plus the main house to myself for like a month. You should come!

Chase sat and pondered this. Him go to Texas? With horses and a lake and a bunch of land to explore with fourwheelers....that sounded like heaven

C: Are you for real? Because i could seriously use that lol

The phone rang with Alisons ringtone "Hello?"

Alison: Hell yes im serious! Itd help me out because i don't really want to be by myself out here that long. And you sound like you could use it. Seriously. Fly in, ill come get you and we can tear some shit up

Chase laughed 'alright. Be careful what you ask for Allycat"

Her laugh echoed across the line "Ohhh im shaking Mr Brody. Figure out a flight and let me know!"

Chase told her ok and hung up with her, immediately finding a flight that left in a couple of days "I am outta here" he said

************* 'Wait. So youre going for a month??' Jackie said in shock , 'Just like that??' He was standing in the bedroom door watching Chase pack. He had to be at the airport in about 2 hours

"Yeah. I need to get outta my head and Ali offered. So Im going. I think it'll do me some good. She has a computer and Stacey said i could skype the kids, they wont be in town anyway... I just need this Jackie" The hero stared at him knowingly and then nodded 'ok. Just be careful.... Hey..She ever say anything to you about her going MIA a while back?'. Chase shook his head. Thats one thing he hoped to get out of her. Even Jack had tried to get her to tell him where she'd been, but no dice. 'Hm. Ok. Well, let us know when you get there man...'

Chase zipped his suitcase and grab his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. 'I will bro. Thanks for understanding' he hugged his brother hard and then grabbed the suitcase and left.

******* Chase sat in the passenger seat of the truck, still speechless at Alison's appearance. He was expecting the Alison hed seen two years ago; but shed been training and gained muscle and holy hell. She was dressed in cutoff red shorts and a sleeveless black shirt. When she ran up to him at the airport hed almost stepped on his own bottom jaw. Her auburn hair gleamed in the sun as she talked about everything she had planned for this weekend

"Uh...chase..you ok? Awful quiet there bud" she looked over at him. Chase shook his head to clear his brain 'yeah. Yeah im good.... Hey. You look incredible!"

Alisons face flushed 'aw. Thanks' she laughed. "So. Here we are" she pulled the truck up to a gate and punched in a code. As she drove onto the ranch Chase stared out the window.

'Holy hell Alison. This is gorgeous.' They drove for another fifteen minutes, passed the huge main house and pulled up to a log cabin.

'Alright. Let's go in.' She grinned and stepped out of the truck. Chase smiled and followed her. She walked up the steps and unlocked the door. As Chase walked in he laughed. A Sam pillow and Pink Mustache pillow decorated the couch on either end.

'Really Alison?' He said, picking up Septiceye Sam "Hey! Yes really!' She said laughing. 'Just because im friends with them doesnt mean im not going to buy their shit!' He shook his head, all awkwardness gone.

There was the Alison he knew, a goofball with an affinity for Markiplier and Jacksepticeye.

She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling some steaks out. 'You hungry?' Chase nodded. 'Hell yes, ive been needin some of your cooking!' He said, his smile lighting his face. 'You know. Im gonna have to teach you how to cook Mr Brody.' She grinned at him. And he looked at her wide eyed "um..alison. You sure you wanna do that?' "Um. Yes" she said. Grinning at him. 'First lesson..music!' She pulled up an app on her phone and music began drifting through the room. Chase shook his head. Yep. Still Alison

****** Chase watched as Alison danced in place as she cut up some vegtables and potatoes. She was barefoot, singing along to the beginning notes of 'Small Town Boy' by Dustin Lynch, he smiled as he stood up from the barstool he was sitting on... Vegatables could wait He walked up behind her and took the knife from her hand, she turned to him 'what are you-?' Chase grabbed her hand and pulled her to the open kitchen floor and started dancing with her. She threw her head back and laughed as they swayed and Chase sang along

* I'm a dirt road in the headlights I'm a mama's boy, I'm a fist fight Kinda county line, kinda cold beer Little hat down, little John Deere I kinda give a damn I kinda don't care You see that girl standing right there She loves a small town boy like me She's my ride or die baby She's my cool, she's my crazy She's my laid back in the front seat She's my with me to the end girl My turn-it-up-to ten girl....* Alison laughed and sang with him. She was in trouble if her stomach and heart were going to continue playing Zoo escape with him here. Shed been friends with the guys a while. But this was out of left field. She hadnt expected her heart to try to beat its way out when she saw him standing there at the airport. His green hair had been replaced by a natural brown and his eyes shone as blue as ever. When he saw her and smiled as she started to run toward him for a hug, shed almost fallen over. This would be a very interesting visit.

*********** They were sitting on the back porch after dinner. Chase was watching Alison animatedly talk about training with some of the guys in her Dad's work, laughing when she knocked over her water glass when her hands flew into it 'Oh shit!' Alison cried out. Then she just started laughing and Chase couldnt help but laugh along with her as he went inside the sliding glass door to the kitchen and grabbed a towel and handed it to her. She mopped up the mess and then sat back down, still giggling.

'Well. Still gracefull as ever i see Miss Calaway' Chase said teasingly She stuck her tongue out laughing 'oh fuck off Mr Brody' They laughed and then sat in silence, watching the lake.

'So.' Alison said quietly 'how are you...really?'

Chase smiled at her 'you know.... Earlier this week i was in hell. Seeing her with him opened old wounds...but being here now i feel a little better. Like i can breathe. It hurts still. But i can breathe' Alison nodded and reached over and squeezed his hand 'im really glad you came. I needed some company...'

She dropped her hands to her lap and stared out at the water. The energy around them shifted and Chase could sense something hed been feeling all evening. Something was weighing heavy on her. 'Alison....whats going on? You never told me what happened that two week span you quit replying to anyone..and ive left it alone this long but.. i can tell now sitting here it wasnt a case of being too busy with fun stuff to look at your phone' Alison looked down, a mixture of sadness and guilt shadowing her face. He was talking about last year. Even Jack had tried to get out of her where shed been...but she hadnt told a soul. Only her family knew. Tears welled in her eyes... that had been during a bad time for Chase...she remembered the pain in the drunk texts from him that shed read when she got the phone back...

She stood and walked over to the railing. Trying not to cry and failing 'Hey...alison im sorry. I didnt mean to-..' Chase stood and walked up beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. She turned to face him and burying her face in his chest, silent tears rolling down her face for a moment. Then she took a deep breath, stepped back and wiped her face 'Sorry...its just... I never apologized for not being there for you. I read those texts a million times after the fact and... Im so sorry Chase'

Chase stared at her shocked 'thats whats upsetting you? Alison, i send angsty texts to my brothers every time im freakin drunk' he laughed. "You dont need to apologize. It was a bad point but nothing for you to feel guilty for being absent for... But i would like to know where you were. We all know when you reappeared you were different." Alison stared into his eyes, hed had never noticed how green they were. She was searching...but for what? 'Chase.... Not even Jack knows what happened...' She took a deep breath '....i was in the hospital.' Chases mouth dropped open in shock 'What?! Why???'

She stared at her feet and was quiet for a minute. 'Do you remember Chris?' She asked. Chase grimaced at the name, he remembered Chris. He also remembered the broken nose and black eye he gave him a couple years back when he saw him shove Alison to the ground "Yeah. Your boyfriend that no one liked?' She nodded 'yeah. That one.... God i shouldve listened to yall. ' Chase put his hand under her chin and lifted her gaze to his and spoke softly 'what did he do ali?' She swallowed hard. 'Short version? Got mad that i wanted to leave the country to come see yall.... Tied me up and used me as a punching bag for 3 days....'

Chases eyes widened in horror 'what the fuck....howd you get away???' She snorted 'my Dad came to find me.... Imagine for yourself how pretty that was' Chase knew it hadnt been.

Her father was famous for being called The Undertaker. Almost seven feet tall and 300lbs...and Alison was his little girl. His first daughter. His pride... Oh lord that couldnt have been good....

'So' she continued 'i was in the hospital for a good while... Actually the first time i texted you i was still there for another week.... ' Chase pulled her into a hug 'Ali im so so sorry..my God if i had known...' Alison laughed 'if you had known you wouldve been deported and arrested for murder...no i didnt want anyone knowing. Im the one who stayed when yall told me to leave. I'm the idiot.' Chase leaned back, arms still around her. 'No! Its not your fault. I dont care what we told you to do. You want to see the good in people. You want to believe everyone is good and thats an amazing trait. You should never think thats stupid' She smiled and leaned into his chest savoring the warmth and safety.

Later, after they had said goodnight and gone to their rooms, Chase lay there awake. He could still feel her head on his shoulder, feel the warmth from her, and his heart skipped. "What the hell is going on ??' He hadnt felt that since high school...that first skip of the heart when you find someone.... 'Oh grow up Brody. Shes your best friend and doesnt need your damaged ass complicating her life..' Little did he know she was in the room at the opposite end of the hall thinking along the same lines...

****** A week had gone by, they danced around the flirtation and the obvious tension that lay under their banter. The day before it had rained, creating mud puddles everywhere. Now it was sunny and muggy out. Alison excitedly threw a pair of 4-wheeler keys to Chase and grinned as she pulled her ponytail through the back of the hat she was wearing. Chase watched as she bounded down the front steps and followed suit. They were both in jeans. The day before Chase had bought a cheap pair of boots he could get muddy. They were heavy but at least it wasnt his sneakers. They headed down the path between Alison's and the main house. Chase studied her as they walked. He hadnt been as brave since the first night. He wanted to say something....anything. But he wasnt sure where to start. 'You good ?' Alison stopped walking and looked at him, his face flushed slightly "Yeah, im good. Ready to tear up the mud' Alison laughed 'well the shed is right over here. I keep mine here since its closer to my place' They rounded the bend in the path and came upon the metal shed. She unlocked the door and walked in, pulling the tarp off the two four-wheelers. She threw a michevious grin at Chase as she climbed on hers "You ready to get dirty?' She laughed Chase grinned 'Hell yeah!' He climbed on his and they roared to life, Alison shot out of the building and took off, he threw his head back laughing and started after her

****** After about an hour or two of flying through mud and water puddles, they were sitting on the edge of the lake on a blanket Alison had laid out under the big umbrella. Chase had his shirt off as it was wet and muddy. He looked over at her and couldnt help but laugh. She had mud streaked down her arms and some on her nose.. The only part that wasnt spotted was her legs. Shed taken off the jeans and was in her swim shorts that had been under them.

'What?!' She said

'Youre a little...uh...dirty there girl' She laughed 'you should see yourself, your floofy hairdo aint cuttin it kid' she said as she reached over and messed up his hair, dirt falling out 'Hey!' Chase cried and grabbed her hand as he chuckled 'you leave my hair alone. Youre just jealous' Alison laughed and rolled her eyes. 'Yeah. Ok' They sat next to each other in silence, her knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them. She leaned against his side and looked like she was ready to fall asleep on his shoulder. Chase scooted over to the far side of the blanket and laid back, then pulled her down so her head rested on his chest and an arm was around her. His pulse raced and she easily fit in his arm and curled against him.

She sighed contentedly 'hey Chase... Anytime i need to lay with someone im gonna find you. Because youre really comfortable' she said giggling. He laughed 'ok. But youll have to come across the pond a lot' 'Hmm' she said thoughtfully 'ok. Im good with that. Ill come over there for some Brody cuddles' He squeezed her and smiled. 'Hey....Ali?'

'Yeah?' She shifted her head so she could look up at him. Her heart raced as she caught his eyes. Shed been having trouble concentrating on anything since he took his shirt off and this wasnt any easier.

'What are we avoiding here?' He asked... He hadnt meant to be so blunt but it just kind of came out that way. 'I mean. We're good and normal and then other times its so freaking awkward..i dont get it' 'I-.' Alison didnt really have an answer for that. She knew what she thought she was avoiding. But she wasnt 100% sure. 'I dont know.. I mean... I think its obvious theres something to talk about. But neither of us wants to say it'

Chase stared into her green eyes intently 'Well if you want to say what i want to say, then fuck this silence. Tell me'

Alison sat up and looked the other way and he followed. 'Its not just that easy for me Chase.... I dont know what you want...i dont know what im supposed to do..i dont know wh-'.. '

He grabbed her chin and turned her face towards his 'what i want is for you to shut up and kiss me...what youre supposed to do is stop rambling and let me show you'

With that he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her. Slowly at first and then harder. She sat up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. They pulled away breathless and stared at each other.

'Now alison' he said, his voice husky "Whyd you wait so long to do that?' He grinned and pulled her to him again and kissing her deeper, laying back, her laying halfway across his chest. After a moment she pulled away and laid her head down on him and laughed 'Holy crap' He laughed out loud, 'yeah... Thats one way of putting it' He kissed the top of her head and wrapped her in his arm, they both drifted off..

****** It was a month and a half later. Chase stood by the front door. Nervous. He didnt want to leave. They hadnt been what youd call official..neither of them labled it . Sure they had held hands, slow danced with each other, kissed and gotten close..but it wasnt like *that* was it?... And now he was going home. He wasnt supposed to feel this way. His heart wasnt supposed to ache like this....

Alison stood in her room making sure she had her keys and phone...stalling. "What the hell...why is this so damn hard. Hes my best friend....a great kisser...but my best friend! Its not supposed to be like this' she thought to herself. Walking out she caught his eyes and saw her sadness reflected there

'Are you ready to go?' She inquired, trying to sound happy

"....you want the truth or the answer thatll make you feel better?' He chuckled.

'Chase...' She stood by him and grabbed his hand... 'I know, i know. We live a million miles from each other... I just didnt think it would-' 'Hurt this much?' She said, staring up at him He sighed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head. 'Yeah' She opened the door and they walked out to the truck.

******** 'Seriously. Come out sometime, the boys and me will show you a good time' Chase said Alison smiled at him ' Definitely...ill miss you. Thank you for coming. I had a blast'

Chase smiled and her 'And stop standing so far away.' He grabbed her hand and pulled her close 'its harder to kiss you goodbye from over there....if thats okay.... Just one last time?' She smiled and nodded as a blush crept to her cheeks he leaned down and kissed her, both of them holding on longer than they intended. 'Alison...dont be a stranger' he said. Hugging her one last time and picking up his bags. 'I..i wont Chase. Tell everyone i said hi'

She waved goodbye and watched him walk toward his gate, then turned and headed for her truck. When she got inside she let go of her control and cried. The tears didnt stop until she was back to her place. She walked into the room Chase had been staying in and found one of his worn shirts folded on the bed with a note and a small bottle of cologne. She smiled and cried a little reading it

'I know its not the same as falling asleep on me. But this is the cologne i use, you can wear the shirt or use it as a pillow case... Ill miss you' She laid down on the bed and could still smell him as she drifted to sleep

******** 'Dude. You were supposed to go over there to get happier. Now youre just more mopey. What the hell happened?' Jackie asked Chase

They were in the living room, Chase sprawled on the couch. It had been almost two weeks since he came home 'Jackie. Just leave it alone man. Ok? I dont want to talk about it'

'Chase, you need to talk about it. I havent seen you like this ever. When Stacy left you cried and drank and talked about it... You dont even drink anymore. You just sit and watch tv or sleep' Jackie said, worry coating his words.

Chase sat up 'look man. Im an idiot and i caught feelings at the wrong time and the wrong place. Ok? And it hurts because i cant be where i need to be and where i want to be at the same time! I dont drink because then i dream about her and....'

His words drifted off Jackie came to sit by him and put an arm over his shoulder ' you always dream about Stacy though. I thought the sleeping pills helped with that'

Chase put his head in his hands 'Bro. This isnt about Stacy. I never thought id say this but i think this hurts worse'

Jackie was shocked. He couldnt believe what had just come out of his brothers mouth 'Then...who? And what did they do that was so bad???'

Chase shook his head 'thats just it. Nothing bad. It was all amazing... But.. Damnit man. I just wish it wasnt so fucking far, you know?' Jackie thought for a minute and his eyes widened and mouth dropped as he caught on

'Holy shit you mean Alison???' Chase's head shot up 'Jackie if you tell anyone so help me ill strangle you' Jackie put his hands up 'No no. I wont..but..what happened?' Chase laughed 'nothing like that... We just kissed and cuddled a lot and... I really think i fell for her man and i dont know how to process it... I feel like I'm losing my mind.' Then he opened up and told Jackie everything about the trip. His brother just sat and listened.

*************** Two weeks later...

'Alison!' Jack ran over to her, shed begged him to pick her up at the airport but hadnt wanted anyone to know. Hed been happy to oblige. Confused. But happy

'Jack!' She ran over to him and hugged him hard. Shed missed this goofball

'Ok so are you going to tell me whats going on?' Jack said as they grabbed her bags and walked outside to where the Uber was waiting for them

' um.... Its a little hard to explain. But.. I just had to come ok? Im actually meeting my Dad tomorrow. Theyre here because of a movie shoot. We are all staying a month or so.'

Jack shook his head 'i know when youre lying. Theres something youre not tellin me Ali' She looked at him. Knowing hed either laugh or help her... Well only one way to find out

'Jack....when Chase stayed with me for that month... We..I.... I fell for him ok? And i think he feels the same way. And this last month has been hell because i cant stop thinking about him. I know it sounds crazy but i had to come see him, and yall. ' it came out in a rush.

Jacks mouth dropped open in shock. 'You mean...youre the reason Chase has been so mopey? Thank God i thought he was on about Stacy again' and he laughed 'So. Wanna suprise him?' His smile conspiratorial Alison grinned. She shouldve known she could count on him.

*********** 'Well why do i need to go Jack? Why dont you?' Chase whined into the phone 'i dont feel like talking to anyone about filming man. I dont have it in me' 'Chase. Youre going. Trust me. Just meet the agent at the park. Theyll be by the river. Itll be a good opportunity for you man' Jack said on the other end of the line, trying to keep from laughing. 'And what about the others? Jackie and everyone left the house today. They said they were staying with you tonight because you were filming some stuff. Why cant i help?' Chase questioned 'Look Chase. I need you to do this for me. Ok? Please bro?' Chase rolled his eyes 'fine. But this better be a good meeting' Jack hung up the phone and laughed 'oh trust me Brody. Youll love it' he said to himself. Shooting alison a text. 'Now we wait'

At the house Chase threw the phone. He wanted to be mad but he knew Jack was just worried. Hed been holed up in his room since he came back, hadnt touched his skateboard in a month, hadnt even looked at his PS4.. All he could do was go through the photos from his trip. Hed talked to Alison on facetime and she seemed to be happy, was training and riding horses. She had sent him phtos of her and her Dad and little sisters... He felt like he was lying to her. He said he was okay, just more tired...but the reality was he wanted to beg her to come to him. He wanted to tell her he thought he loved her-- but he just kept a smile on his face because as long as she was happy, thats all that mattered

****** Later that night Alison sat on the bench. Nervously playing with the hem of her dress she had bought that morning. He should be here any minute.... What if he was mad...what if he didn't want her here? What if.... She recieved a text from Jack

J:Hes there.

Her heart pounded. Now what? She sat and waited...hearing footsteps

* Chase could see someone on the bench by the water and headed that way. As he walked his eyes focused on the figure. Their hair was an auburn color... That thought made his heart ache as he remembered brushing Alisons from her face... He got close enough to the bench and the figure stood and turned toward him. His heart jumped and he almost fell down 'Al-alison?' He whispered. Not believing what he was seeing. 'Chase..' She said softly. Her face broke into a smile as tears filled her eyes. She ran to him and he embraced her. He finally let go and looked down at her grabbing her face with both hands "ali what the hell are you doing here?!' Tears rolled from her eyes 'Chase....i couldnt stay away anymore. Im sorry...i know i shouldve told you but i didnt know if you wanted me here and-' her words were cut off as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. When they pulled back he looked at her for a long minute and then spoke as he wiped her tears 'Dont ever apologize for making me this happy...ever. Of course i want you here. Its been hell just talking to you on FaceTime and not being able to say what im thinking. My God Alison i missed you more than i thought possible' She smiled and kissed his cheek and hugged him again. Savoring the feel of his arms around her

'Cmon. Lets go talk' he said pulling out his phone to call a ride 'I got it' she said grinning 'My dad loaned me a driver for my trip' she called someone and said whered they be. As they walked to the road Chase saw a black limo waiting and laughed 'Well. That beats an Uber'

As they rode he just stared at her. She was looking out the window. His heart beat faster. She came....she missed him so much that she came all the way here. He smiled to himself and then shot Jack a text

C:'Youre an ass for letting me walk into that unwarned....but thank you man'

J:no thanks needed. I did it for both of you. You both deserve smiles on your faces man. Now put the phone down... Also Jackie said to tell you 'stay in your own room' 😂

Chase laughed out loud and covered his face. He was going to have to smack him Alison looked over 'whats so funny?' She reached for the phone and snatched it before Chase could stop her 'alison i wouldn-' he warned laughing 'Oh my god.... Im gonna have to smack him when i see him' she said laughing as her face turned red. They both giggled and Chase grabbed the phone and turned it off after sending 'tell him i said ..' Followed by a couple of middle finger emojis

***** They walked into the house and Chase locked the front door before grabbing Alisons hand and kissing her again. He couldnt believe she was here. Alison leaned into him and kissed him back and then said smiling 'i cant believe im standing here' Chase laughed 'i cant either! I mean...why would you come all this way??' Alison locked eyes with him. 'Because... I never knew i could miss someone so much Chase. Honestly it was driving me nuts. I got tired of having the pictures from your trip and FaceTime with fake 'hey buddy' bullshit..... But i wanted to say it to your face.

Chase nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.

** Alison had been there a week and couldnt get over the fact that she was with him. Chase was sprawled out on the other side of the king sized bed and snoring. They had both decided to stay in the hotel room she had reserved for her time here. Chase wasnt used to such a huge bed and Alison laughed thinking back to his face when he first laid on it. She laid her book down and reached over, brushing his hair back and smiling. He stirred and blinked at her sleepily "Ali-- you ok babe?" Her heart jumped at that name. She felt a blush spreading as he sat up and his bare chest became visable. "Yeah- yeah. Was just admiring how cute you were when you sleep" He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair "what. Are you saying im not cute when im awake? " "Well....when youre asleep youre much quieter" she said laughing. His mouth opened in fake offense and then he grinned mischeviously "Oh. Okay.." He rolled over and caught her and tickled her and she laughed and squealed. 'Chase! Chase! Okay i give i give!!" He stopped and looked down at her as he laid across her and laughed 'youre pretty cute yourself Alleycat " he kissed the tip of her nose and she craned her mouth up. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her and she wrapped her arms around him. He still wasnt used to the sparks that went through his brain with her. That first night hed stayed with her they... Caught up.. quickly. He was still addicted to the taste and feel of her even after as many times hed experienced her. "Ali-" he whispered as he placed his forehead to hers "Yeah Chase?" "I...i think... This is gonna sounds insane' he laughed She pushed him up so she could look in his eyes "Baby...what?" Chase stared into her green eyes. Never having been more sure of what he was about to say...knowing if he didnt hed never sleep "Alison..... I love you...and i know thats crazy. I never thought id ever say that to anyone with this feeling behind it after her....but honestly if she walked up to me right now and asked me to come home...id say no. Youve made me feel whole. You make me the man i want to be. Even my kids when i saw them yesterday asked why i was so happy... ' He stopped and grinned sheepishly "i kinda talked about you a little...they want to meet you. I told them maybe in a couple of weeks..but thats up to you..Stacy was cool with it if you are..' She stared at him, not knowing what to say. A smile broke across her face and her eyes misted over "Chase...id love to meet them..." She pulled him to her and kissed him before saying quietly 'and Mr Brody...you should know. I love you too.." *****

[septic-dr-schneep]

Okay, because I need fluff after reading about what happened between them: Imagine Host getting sick and being pretty out of it for a couple days. And also being much, /much/ clingier and more tactile with Dark.

“The Host keeps his Sight trained on Wilford, tracking his movements andlistening…listening intently as he…mmm…”

Dark, sitting regally at the head of the familiar conference table,glanced surreptitiously at the Host. He was sitting at Dark’s right hand, justas usual, but he had just mumbled to a stop in the middle of his narration.

That was unusual, Dark mused distractedly, though he didn’t think aboutit for more than a moment. Wilford was growing increasingly animated as hispitch for the brand new Markiplier TV became more detailed and Dark had anagging feeling that he would need to pay attention to the details if he didn’twant to get forced into a role he didn’t want.

The Host’s quiet, shaky exhale recaptured Dark’s attention. He glancedover a second time to see the narrator sinking lower in his chair, huddlingfurther into his coat. He was shivering, Dark noted in surprise. Deciding toprobe, he shifted questioningly toward him—it wasn’t far, simply a few inches,but surely the Host would notice and recapture his sense of dignity.

Contrary to everything Dark knew about him, the younger Ego didn’t acknowledgehis movement whatsoever, staring blankly into the distance without saying aword. His chapped lips moved ever so slightly, but no sound left them except shallow,near-imperceptible wheezes.

For a second test, Dark pressed a hand down on the table with a softthump. The Host’s ears were his most attuned sense, weren’t they? Under anyother circumstance, he would have Foreseen Dark’s movement or detected thenoise; he would have turned his head. There wasn’t any such fortune, not evenwhen Dark began lightly tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

After counting another fifteen seconds of going unnoticed, he opted forless subtlety and half-rose from his chair, causing Wilford to pausemid-sentence.

“Got somewhere to be, Darkie?” he questioned good-naturedly, to whichDark didn’t respond as he pressed the back of his hand against the Host’sforehead. The Host promptly flinched back, startled at the unexpected contact,but not a second later he leaned into it, bowing his head against Dark’sknuckles as if he were swearing fealty.

Dark already had his fealty, but now on top of that he could feel thescalding warmth under his skin. If he had been unsure before, he was certainnow.

“Host, you’re running a fever,” he informed him, matter-of-fact andreproachful. When the Host offered nothing but a more pronounced shiver inresponse, he straightened and smoothed down his suit before pushing in hischair. “Do go on, Wilford; there’s no need to wait. I’ll escort the Host to hisroom and return soon.”

“I’ll miss you!” Wilford quipped with a wink, to which Dark huffed as hetook ahold of the Host’s arms and guided him out of the conference room.

“The Host is…” The rest of the Host’s muttered sentence trailed off andhe shook his head a little, his feet tangling together as he shuffleduncertainly. He seemed rather disoriented by the change in scenery, which inand of itself was fairly unnerving. He was so naturally poised that to see himlike this was akin to the shock of seeing Wilford in pastels. That had onlyever happened once.

“Lean on me,” Dark offered, moving one of the hands on the Host’s arm tothe small of his back so he could steer him more accurately. “We’re going toyour room; I imagine you’ll be more comfortable there than you would in theconference room.”

“Mmm…”

“The doctor is on his biweekly grocery run today,” Dark explained, as ifthe Host had asked during the course of the admittedly one-sided conversation. “Heshould return this evening. I’ll let him know that you need medicines while hehas the opportunity to purchase them.”

The Host’s room was unusually cool when they entered, though it may havebeen the heat radiating in waves from his companion that gave him thatimpression. Dark’s hands were sticky with sweat from supporting him, he noticedwith distaste, his aura flickering in exasperation.

“We’re here, Host. I’m no servant, but I think I’m capable of taking yourcoat if you’d stop trying to slide onto the floor. There we go. No, try thebed; I’m certain it’s more comfortable than the cement. Do you want theblankets? Your coat should probably be washed, by the way; you’ve drenched itwith sweat because you’ve overworked yourself, you fool. I’m going to give youthe blankets.”

As soon as the sheets were properly situated around the Host’s shoulders,Dark exhaled in grim satisfaction, glancing up to peer closely at him. Now thathe recognized that he was ill, he was noticing just how pasty he was, how gaunthis cheekbones were underneath the thin streams of blood and sweat swimmingover them. Instinctively he reached out, wiping swiftly at the particular trailtrying to sneak down his throat.

“Your pulse is erratic,” he muttered, more to himself than to the Host,but the younger Ego reacted anyway, a low whine vibrating through him as hetilted his head in Dark’s direction, brushing his cheek against the nearestedge of his sleeve. Startled, Dark quickly withdrew his hand, clasping it withthe other behind his back, and the Host let out a soft mewl of distress,turning his head to look up at him.

“Dark…Darkiplier…” he slurred, his tone primarily one of confusion and—hurt?

“I’m expected back at the meeting,” Dark reminded him coolly. Had theHost even been aware enough to understand that conversation? “I’ll be back tocheck on you in a few hours.”

Brows knitting in consternation, the younger Ego shook his head ever soslowly, a hand sliding out from under the blankets to brush through the wispyouter edge of his aura. “The Host…doesn’t…”

“Hush. No matter how you protest, you’re never going to convince me that you’rewell enough for it. You need the rest,” Dark announced, turning on his heel andallowing his aura to peel itself free of the Host’s fingers of its own accord.The Host didn’t register its absence until he heard the door close and he murmuredin dismay, straining to straighten his arm and stretch it further toward thedoor. It wobbled and shuddered and finally lost the last vestiges of strength,falling over the side of the bed without his permission. Want. Defeat. Loss.

A shudder breath that was dangerously bordering a sob left his chest,stirring a few stray coughs that all too quickly took shape like a series ofsmall explosions. In the midst of the storm, his hoarse, helpless words cameout in stops and starts:

“The Host doesn’t—want him to—go…”

Dark had fully intended to check on the Host within at least two hours,but with the pandemonium Wilford’s latest idea had caused among the others andDark being forced to corral them back into some semblance of decency, those twohours had become six. As he made his way down the hall, a small twinge of guiltpoked at him for the fact that he hadn’t noticed earlier, but he didn’t let itlinger. Action spoke louder than emotion.

He didn’t bother to knock before he turned the handle; he fully expectedthe Host to be sleeping by now. The empty, tousled bedsheets he found insteadbrought a deep flush of hot scarlet to his aura.

“Host!” he barked, his tone only afraction angrier than he had intended as he slammed the door shut behind himand crossed the room in three long strides. The Host was slumped in his office chairover his work desk, clutching at the sheets of paper scattered across the woodsurface as their owner made a defective attempt at writing. His strokes withthe pen were too weak and unsteady, ink pooling, dotting and smearing until thefrightening gibberish scratched across it were completely unintelligible. Tooovercome to care about whatever the paper said, Dark gripped the back of hischair and hauled it away from the desk, only leaning over for a moment to catchthe pen from midair after it clattered and rolled off the desk.

“What exactly possessed you to try writing in this condition?” hesnapped, holding the pen up to the Host’s nose accusingly.

The Host didn’t have an answer for him, his head listing back against thechair as he struggled for breath.

“This is unacceptable,” Darkwent on in his silence, tossing the pen back at the desktop and hissing throughhis teeth, cracking his neck in one swift, frustrated twist. “Now correct me ifI’m wrong, but when I left, I believe I told you to rest. How long has it been since you left your bed? Hm?! Answer me!”

Shoulders slumping low, the Host finally managed to take control of hischattering teeth and form words—still slurred but coherent enough for Dark tounderstand. “The Host Saw his creator…he Saw Mark in exile…cut off from theworld,” he mumbled, not quite meeting Dark’s eyes. “He Saw…he only thought heshould finish…”

“In exile?” Dark echoed, the red in his aura dissipating somewhat in hisconfusion. As he processed the words, a slight tinge of blue crept in on theborders of the smoke; concern stirred. “Host, his so-called ‘exile’ was self-imposed—andit was nearly a month ago.”

During Dark’s pause, the Host had already started to droop lower, thoughhe did react to those words with a vacant, inattentive “Hmm?”

He was considerably more flushed than earlier, Dark noted, swallowinghard. Keeping his words clipped so none of his growing worry would slipthrough, he ordered shortly, “Get back in bed,” giving a brief tug to the Host’sarm to indicate he should stand. That the Host responded to, fumbling to latchonto the arm that hand belonged to. For the sake of getting him back on hisfeet, Dark didn’t pull away, letting him use the leverage to stand. As soon ashe did, all the color drained from the Host’s face, his strained, wearyexpression falling blank. He wavered.

“Host��?” Dark began warily as the younger Ego tried uselessly to grasp athis shoulder for purchase. When that failed, his legs failed with it. Dark lashedout and grabbed him before he collapsed entirely, cursing as he gathered up hislimp frame. The feverish heat of his skin was enough to burn Dark’s hands likea branding iron and he swore all the more fiercely because of it. Fortunatelythe bed was only a few feet away, but the Host had fainted completely; he wasdead weight in his arms.

As soon as he was flat on his back again, Dark hurriedly cupped a handaround the Host’s jaw and the other over his scalding forehead, one last curse fallingmore softly. “Host…wake up. I won’t have the doctor accusing me of anyincompetence with you; it’s becoming redundant. Wake up…”

After another few minutes of persistent coaxing, the Host stirred andsomething in Dark’s chest unraveled in relief as he flinched and coughed. “Hh—?”

“You passed out. This is preciselywhy I told you to stay in bed,” Dark explained tersely, unable to resistrebuking him again. Breathing heavily, the Host fidgeted under his hands, snatchingclumsily at him.

“The Host is—he’s sorry,” he wheezed, his voice hitching with adesperation that was alarmingly out of character as his shivering spiked. “Hecouldn’t rest while he was alone—he didn’t want to be alone—As soon as Dark left him, t-the visions—He’ll stay, he’llobey and rest, so long as he isn’t abandoned!”

“Abandoned?” Dark echoed, his incredulity keeping him in place as theHost’s hands crawled over his sleeves and lapels, tracing the folds as if tomake sure he was really there. “I would never abandon you. Why would you believe—?”

“He can’t See…!”

“What?”

“The Host can’t—he can’t See now—All he has is his Hindsight! HisF-Foresight is—He wouldn’t know if he were left alone—He could be abandoned andhe would never know until it was too late!”

The Host’s fingers happened to catch on his tie and his bangs then,tugging with surprising force, and Dark grimaced, deftly prying his hands away.“Alright, enough, Host—please, try tocalm yourself—” The Host shook his head, quickening breaths catching coarselyin his throat, and Dark grit his teeth, squeezing his hands more firmly as herepeated emphatically, “Calm yourself. No one is abandoning you. I am not abandoning you.”

At that the other Ego stilled, staring straight through him with anexpression of distant surprise. The pause lasted for so long that Dark couldsee the beginning blots of fresh blood crawling through the fabric his bandagesand then the Host ever so slowly slid one hand out of Dark’s. The other hekept. Marginally freer than he was, Dark shifted so he was perched more fullyon the edge of bed. He still leaned at a rather awkward angle as the Host keptone of his hands hostage, but with his other he was able to work at the knot inhis tie until he could breathe a little easier.

“Thank you,” he muttered, to which the Host only tightened his grip, asif he were trying to bind their hands together against his chest. Only then didhe start to relax, his breaths evening out with a frightening speed.

“Dark…stays…” he murmured drowsily, his next words drifting away unintelligibly.

Eyebrows rising at the audacity, Dark huffed, combing through his bangsto rid them of the tangles the Host had created and hesitating for a beat ortwo before doing the same with the tousled blonde streak in the other’s hair. “Istay, do I?” he hummed softly, quite well aware that he was going unheard. “Youmake it sound as if I have no choice in the matter.”

If he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have chosen otherwise anyway.

[thatoneloser-kid]

I have an idea about Joel comforting Ellie after she reveals she's struggling with addiction to pills, she took them as pain relief whilst Joel was ill in winter then she wanted more over time and gave into it. After the whole David thing when Joel is better she decided to stay away from them but she ends up giving in one night. She breaks down and Joel helps her overcome it. Maybe based before the end or shortly after the end of the first game?

This was a good prompts, thank you! I hope it’s okay, I had to do some research, I’ve never gone through drug withdrawal, nor have I been around anyone who has.

Ellie first took the painkillers after the big fight in the mall.

She was sitting beside Joel, needle in hand, her entire body aching, and she just couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

Then she remembered back at the fire-flies, when Marlene was about to fix Josh up, she took a few painkillers, so she popped a few of them and fixed Joel up.

There was something in the way the painkillers just rushed through Ellie’s blood, seemingly eliminating any and all pain in her muscles and bones.

She said it would be a one time thing, then she started to ache again, and she tried not to take any more, but she figured that taking them until she stopped hurting would be okay.

Then she went through the whole thing with David, and that didn’t just hurt her physically but fucked her up mentally.

So she took the pills, for the for the pain of David, she told herself.

But the pain faded, Joel got better, and winter bled into spring, but Ellie just couldn’t stop.

She knew there was something up, the way she felt like she had to hide any pills she found, that told her there was something wrong with what was happening.

Ellie spent her days high on whatever pills she could find and she knew Joel could see the difference in her, but he put it down to the trauma of David, of killer that amount of men, of going through everything she had been through.

Ellie was thankful for that.

They got to The Dam in late spring, and Ellie had a stash of pills that would last her a few weeks but she didn’t know what she would do after that.

She made her way through the pills, panic rising in her when she took the final two she had, but she figured it would be fine, she wasn’t addicted or anything, she could stop if she wanted.

She realised pretty quickly that that was not the case.

Come day twelve hours without the pills Ellie couldn’t stop herself from shaking, all she could think about was the pills, she was having cold flushed, her head was aching. She needed those pills.

On the second day she decided to use her friendship with Dina, the youngest worker in the clinic, to get pills.

She didn’t ask, there was no way Dina would have just given her some, so she visited Dina with lunch.

Dina looked confused, which was fair, Ellie had been nothing but closed off with her, not really accepting the friendship the girl was offering, but she smiled after a few seconds.

That was the first time of many that Ellie felt like scum.

Dina ushered her into the clinic, allowing her to sit down beside her as she organised the pills into groups of fifty before recording it in a book.

“You okay?” She asked after a little while, glancing down at Ellie’s hands as she pressed her thumb into her sweaty palm.

“Hm? Yes, yeah, I’m good. Totally fine.”

“If you say so,” Dina laughed, and Ellie just stared at the pills on the table, feeling like there was something crawling under her skin, making her scratch the back of her neck.

Dina got distracted about ten minutes into Ellie being there, going to show one of the older residents how to administer their insulin.

Ellie would have been impressed that the fourteen year old knew so much about medicine if she hadn’t been entirely focused on swiping a handful of around fifteen pills off the table.

“I’m telling you, I’ve told that man how to-“ Dina trailed off when she noticed Ellie get up. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes, yeah. Sorry, Joel didn’t want me away long.”

“Oh, okay,” Dina looked disappointed. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. Sure, yeah.”

That became a pretty constant thing, going to visit Dina and stealing from the one person in this complex bar Tommy that had given her a chance and was actually trying with her.

The stealing went on for six months, and Ellie knew she had a problem but she was willing to ignore it, she wasn’t really hurting anyone.

She couldn’t ignore it when she was so high that she almost got Dina and Joel killed.

They were on a patrol, it was simple, there shouldn’t have been any issues. Ellie should have noticed the men coming up on them, she was on watch after all, but she was so spaced that she didn’t see them until she took the butt of a gun to the cheek.

Thankfully, Joel and Dina could handle it, and managed to carry her back to the compound with minimal injury.

Ellie knew then that she had a problem, one she had to address.

It was two days after the attack, two days she had spent still taking pills, still hugely ashamed, that she went to Joel.

Joel looked like he had been expecting her to come and talk to him about something big, patting the sofa beside him.

“I- uh-“ Ellie was shaking, her thumb pressing into her palm.

“Babygirl,” Joel covered her small hands with his large, callused ones. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. We’ll work through it.”

“I- I’ve done some horrible things, Joel.” Ellie avoided Joel’s eyes. “I’ve- I stole from the clinic.”

Joel obviously wasn’t expecting that, a little frown appearing on his brow. “Stealing, why?”

Ellie didn’t answered, she just dug into her pocket and pulled out a handful of pills.

“Why-“ Joel trailed off, and Ellie could see the cogs turning in his head. “No,” he breathed. “You- you’re addicted.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ellie nodded shamefully, a lump forming in her throat. “I didn’t think I was, I thought I could stop, Joel. I thought I could but it just took hold, I- I couldn’t stop, Joel.”

Ellie was crying now, and she honestly expected Joel to get up, to distance himself from her, but instead he wrapped her up in his arms, allowing her to cry against his chest.

“I got you, babygirl. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Ellie cried, and Joel simple rubbed her back, allowing her to get it out.

After ten minutes Ellie’s cries reduced to sniffs and hiccups.

“First you need to take the pills back to the clinic, babygirl. Give them to Dina.”

“I-I can’t.” Ellie sniffed, pulling back a little. “She will hate me.”

“She won’t,” Joel assured. “You have to do that, you have to go cold turkey on this.”

Ellie swallowed and nodded.

Dina smiled that same, big smile she always did, which made Ellie’s stomach churn in disgust.

Dina wasn’t mad, she wasn’t pissed, she didn’t even seem disappointed. She simply took the pills from Ellie, and pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice,” she whispered and Ellie felt like she could just break down completely at that.

The first night without the pills was fine, she sat downstairs with Joel, both reading in silence.

At the beginning of the second day she was getting restless, her muscles were aching and her head was beginning to hurt.

Dina stop by at dinner time with homemade soup, and Ellie pulled on her best smile even if she was sweating and the base of her skull was aching.

She didn’t sleep the second night, and Joel didn’t either, he held her while she shook, sweating out the drugs.

She didn’t even remember Dina coming by the second time, and she certainly  wasn’t nice to Dina the third time she came by, telling her she didn’t need her food, she needed the pills. Telling her to piss off and to stop pushing a friendship that wasn’t working.

She was convinced she was going to die at about the sixty hour mark.

She was throwing up, her stomach cramping and her body was wracked by cold shivers and hot sweats.

She hit at Joel’s chest, she cried, telling him she needed her pills back, she didn’t want to stop, not if she was going to die.

But Joel took it on the chin (one time literally) holding Ellie tight.

When Dina came by on the seventy sixth hour, the worst of it was over.

She was still craving, but the shivering had stopped, she wasn’t nauseous or throwing up, and her fever was gone.

Her head still ached, she still couldn’t sleep or sit still for long, but she was on the good side of the peak.

“Hey,” Dina held up the cake she had in her hand. “It’s blueberry.”

Ellie smiled, she loved blueberries.

“You look better,” Dina commented, taking a seat on the sofa beside Ellie.

“I feel better,” Ellie admitted, rubbing her hands together. “I’m still craving, but it isn’t as bad as yesterday.”

“Have you eaten?”

Ellie ignored the question. “I’m sorry, Dina.”

“Don’t be, what you were going through was though.”

“I was horrible to you, I broke your trust.”

“You were sick, El,” Dina placed a hand on Ellie’s leg. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, because it isn’t, but I forgive you.”

Ellie nodded, pressing her thumb against her palm. “Thank you, for sticking with me.”

“Us girls gotta stick together, right?” Dina nudged Ellie’s shoulder playfully.

They hung out for the rest of the night, which was nice, having a break from Joel who had refused to leave her alone.

The cravings didn’t dissipate for another day, but she finally managed to fall asleep and when she woke up her headache was gone.

She still felt exhausted, her body was aching from the constant shaking, but she felt clear headed for the first time in god knows how long.

“How you feelin’, kiddo?” Joel asked when she padded downstairs, finishing up the food he was making.

“So much better,” Ellie sat down at the table. “Dina forgave me.”

“I know,” Joel hummed, pouring Ellie some coffee. “She stopped by while you were asleep last night, we talked for a bit. She’s a good girl, that one, don’t fuck up that friendship.”

Ellie laughed softly, staring down at her mug. “Thank you, Joel.”

“We look out for each other, kiddo. I’m just sorry I didn’t notice, I just thought you were workin’ through everythin’ that happened.” Joel said, and before Ellie could speak he spoke up again. “You tell me next time somethin’ like this happens.”

“It won’t happen again,” Ellie swore. “I’m sorry that I caused you to get hurt before.”

“You did good gettin’ through this, kid, don’t beat yourself up too much.” Joel set Ellie’s good down on the table and gave her shoulder a little squeeze before kissing her head. “I have to go to work, Dina will be by at lunch.”

[brynne-lagaao]

(Fanfic) Set in Stone - Chapter Nine

Title: Set in Stone

Pairing: Sarumi

Chapter: 9/18

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | Website

Summary: Yata wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he performed a summon on his own in a fit of drunken loneliness. It definitely wasn’t some asshole demon with a bad attitude, even if that demon happened to be frustratingly hot. But breaking their contract was going to mean working together, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could take before he snapped… one way or another.

Note: Thank you to @dropletons for being my beta and to @chromekins for helping with the magic aspect. This fic is not entirely accurate in terms of modern magic and the demon lore was basically made up to suit the story, but I tried to keep somewhat of an authentic feel, so hopefully that succeeded.

The sky hadn’t cleared by the time they returned to Munakata’s office, but the rain at least tapered off to a drizzle by the time they came out again, allowing for another flight to the Homra bar so that Yata could pass along the information about Hisui – which Kusanagi didn’t seem particularly surprised or bothered about.

That was kinda what he’d expected – Kusanagi had ways of getting information that Yata would never have been able to figure out – but loyalty had prompted him to speak up anyway. Just in case.

Three of his friends – Kamamoto, Bandou, and Akagi – all happened to be there this time, and Yata stayed just long enough to introduce Fushimi and give a grudging explanation of his current situation.

An explanation that Fushimi kept interrupting with embarrassing, unnecessary details, which his friends all seemed to find hilarious. Fucking traitors, all of them.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he grumbled when they pushed through the door into his place after flying in.

“If I didn’t, it wouldn’t get said,” Fushimi responded without any sign of remorse, lowering his eyelids and offering a little smirk when Yata turned to glare at him.

Fuck, that expression was still dangerous as hell. Yata couldn’t help but feel nervous at being the focus of it, acutely aware of his exposed skin as he cleared his throat to respond. “Yeah, well, I’m fine with that.”

“You’re the one who values honesty,” Fushimi responded breezily, lowered his lids even further to allow his lashes to veil his eyes – and Yata had to look away, hastily tugging his shirt out from where he’d tucked it into his shorts and pulling it on.

It seriously felt like he needed a barrier against that look sometimes.

The evening was… uneventful. Mostly. He made himself dinner, they took turns having showers again, and it seemed like Fushimi was just going to bury himself in his laptop. So Yata cleaned the remains of the ill-fated summoning from his floor – finally – and pulled out his portable gaming system to waste a few hours before going to bed.

He wasn’t fifteen minutes into it – swearing up a storm as usual – before Fushimi was suddenly leaning over the back of his chair and pointing out every single mistake. And he didn’t put up with more than five minutes of that before thrusting the console in his face and telling him to ‘put up or shut up’.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, Fushimi was surprisingly good at video games.

Yata could only watch him blow through all the trouble spots with apparent ease for a minute or two before a mix of chagrin and frustration had him ripping the console back out of Fushimi’s hands and furiously turning his attention to mastering the stupid thing already.

“And you said I can’t handle losing,” Fushimi drawled, raising an eyebrow at him.

They spent the rest of the evening like that – Yata playing and Fushimi taking breaks to watch over his shoulder periodically, mumbling suggestions almost as if making observations to himself. Which was annoying, but he ended up usually being right, so after a few rebellious but frustrating deaths accompanied by impatient sighs from behind him, Yata started following the advice rather than stubbornly doing the opposite.

The suggestions became more frequent after that. Almost like an annoying companion telling him what he already knew he needed to do.

“Get the chest. To the right. The right.”

“I saw it, just… this guy’s in the way! Wait, wait… There!”

“You should equip that right away – it’s better than what you’ve got on.”

“I know! I’m doing it now, okay?”

“Watch out for that guy coming back.”

“I got it, just let me do this!”

“You always miss things when I leave you alone.”

“Fuck off! I do not!”

“… You just passed a chest.”

“Damnit! I was just… I was gonna get it later!”

“Right. ‘Later’. After you die without reaching the next save point, you mean.”

“Ugh! Shut up already!”

As frustrating as it was, the evening passed by quickly, and Yata was so keyed up by the end of it that he nearly forgot the unfortunate mess they were in and the problems caused by the bad weather. Maybe it’ll clear up by tomorrow, was the last thought that went through his head before he passed out into blissful unconsciousness.

By morning, it had started to rain in earnest again.

“It’s almost like the Captain planned this,” Fushimi mumbled resentfully as they stepped out of Yata’s apartment. “Just to see how long it takes for one or both of us to snap.”

Yata snorted in response, locking his door. “Wouldn’t put it past him.” He turned to open his umbrella.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Your coffee place is open today, right?” He materialized his own umbrella, already open, as they headed for the stairs. “Yesterday's was barely tolerable.”

“You're like one of those coffee snobs, huh?” Yata shook his head, amused. “But you liked the shit I had, right?” He didn't wait for an answer - by now he was more or less clued in that a lack of complaints was the same as a compliment as far as Fushimi was concerned. “That's their stuff. And it's better when they make it, too - you'll see.”

“Hm.” That was a slightly dubious hum, but Fushimi didn't offer a deprecating comment with it.

Good enough.

The coffee shop required a train going in the opposite direction of Munakata's place, but it was generally worth the extra time spent. In addition to the coffee – and the desserts, which were just as awesome – sometimes they had a delivery for him to take back to work with him, which saved him a little time here and there.

Munakata also had an uncanny knack for picking out when Yata was gonna visit the place and arranging for him to take a delivery with him for the owner. It was pretty convenient, even if the all-knowing bullshit pissed him off a little. He could live with it at least.

Whatever. A job’s a job.

When they walked out of the station, it was into the center of a shopping district: all colorful billboards and banners, large store names, and fancy awnings for restaurants and small buildings. Most of them had a modern look, unlike Homra's old-fashioned decor, but there was a lot more liveliness to it than Munakata's sleek, symmetrical office building. The sidewalks were crowded with people despite the rain, umbrellas blending into a mishmash of shades and shapes and shopping bags bumping against their legs. Some of the stores had colored lighting to illuminate their signs and specials through the grey haze of the downpour.

As usual, it was a flashy place.

“This looks like a pain,” Fushimi muttered beside him.

Somehow it wasn't a surprise that he'd hate crowded areas. “Yeah, yeah.” Yata re-opened his umbrella, raising it up over his head before they reached the edge of the station’s awning. “S'not that bad once you get used to it. Anyway, it's not far - just don't lose me.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, following suit with the illusionary umbrella he’d kept with him on the train. “I literally can't lose you, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Right. He wasn't totally sure how that contract kept them tethered, honestly. Good question for later, maybe. “Then there's no problem, right? C'mon.”

The café was only a block and a half from the station, sandwiched between an art supplies shop and a pet store. The building it was part of was actually the outside perimeter of a mall, so it continued up past the small awning that read ‘Hakumaitou’ in cheerful, bold printing. There was a small decal in the pane of glass on the door: two paw prints, one from a cat and one from a dog. Otherwise, the exterior picture windows just offered a view of the tables and chairs inside, all of which were small and round and clearly intended for just two or three people to sit at. There were some booths toward the back that allowed for larger groups, but the obvious intent of the place was a spot to relax with one or two people you were close with.

“Why would you name a café ‘Hakumaitou’?” Fushimi muttered, seemingly to himself. “What does white rice have to do with coffee?”

“No idea.” Yata paused to fold his umbrella again and stow it in the backpack he’d bought along. “I asked once but the answer didn't really make sense. Something about friends and food? I think it's like an inside joke.” He reached out to push the door open and then hesitated, frowning. “I don't think there's any protection spells on this place. If so it'd probably just be warding off evil and those with ill intent and all. Their coven headquarters is in the basement, so that'd be the place with all the wards. I think.”

“You ‘think’, huh?” Fushimi sighed. “Well, if you're wrong we’ll be giving whoever’s in there an eyeful, and you can do the explaining.”

Yata shot him a disgruntled look. “I’m gonna go ask them, jerk. Wait here.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Just remember not to go far if you don't want me following you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Sort of. Whatever. Yata pushed open the door, setting off the cheery jingle that would alert the staff to a customer’s arrival. He brought up a hand automatically to greet the dark-haired man standing behind the counter. “Yo, Yatogami!”

He didn’t get an immediate response. Looking closer, the man – Yatogami Kuroh – was very carefully decorating the top of what looked like a chocolate cake. He set aside the icing wand after a moment, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead, and looked up. “Yata Misaki. What brings you here?”

Yata grimaced. “What’s with the full name thing, seriously?” He didn’t wait for a response, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached the counter. “I need more coffee. But first off…” He glanced around at the few patrons sitting in some of the tables, and lowered his voice furtively. “You guys don’t have any kinda dispels set up around this place, do you?”

Yatogami folded his arms. “This is a place of business. The wards are for protection, health, and harmony. Those who wish to pass unnoticed are welcome to keep their disguises. Why do you – ?”

The door jingled, drawing both of their attention, and Fushimi stepped inside.

Yata’s skin prickled up, first with shock and then with outrage. “What are you doing? I thought I told you to wait outside!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning in response as he made his way across the room toward the counter. “I thought I told you not to go too far.”

“This is too far?” At max, he’d only put a few feet between them. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“Don’t blame me for this stupid contract’s requirements.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who set it up without any kind of thought put into the limitations. Magic does what it will when you set it loose.”

“A wise observation,” Yatogami cut in before Yata could snap back. He glanced between the two of them with a severe expression. “However, I’ll have to ask you to take this outside if you’re going to continue. I don’t know what the situation is between the two of you, but you’re disrupting the mood for our customers.”

It was true – a quick glance around revealed that the few patrons in the café were watching them with a certain amount of confusion. Yata felt his face grow hot. “Right, sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, frowning, but didn’t respond.

“Anyway,” Yata hurried on, trying to brush aside his embarrassment, “like I said, we’re just here for coffee.”

Yatogami regarded him evenly. “Buying or trading?”

Yata grinned back, recovering his equilibrium. “Both.” He reached down into his lower shorts pocket for the packet he’d prepared before leaving his apartment. “I got more dream herb to trade. We’re each gonna get something while we’re here, too.”

“I see.” Yatogami reached out to take the packet from him. “Very well. I’ll let Shiro know you’re – ”

“Did I hear someone mention dream herb?” The swinging door at the back behind the counter was pushed open by a silver-haired man with a youthful face: Isana Yashiro, the owner of the café and leader of their small coven. He smiled broadly, stepping into the room. “Oh, Yata! Nice to see you again. If you’re here to trade, you have good timing – we’re just about out. I was thinking of contacting Munakata, actually.”

“The hell? Don't call him for this stuff!” Yata braced a hand on the counter, leaning forward to frown at Isana. “You got my number, right? Just text me and I'll hook you up. My shit's way better than his, c'mon!”

Yatogami let out what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. “This conversation is beginning to sound unsavory.” He fixed Yata with another of those level gazes. “Should you be talking about your employer in that way?”

Yata snorted derisively in response. “He already knows what I think of him.”

“He probably finds it funny, actually,” Fushimi added dryly.

Isana had joined Yatogami at the counter by that point. He reached out his hand for the packet Yata was holding, and brought it up to peer at and then sniff. “The quality is great, as always.” He smiled across the counter. “You want the usual in return?”

Yata grinned back. “You bet!”

Isana leaned back from the counter, tilting his head towards the door. “Neko!” he called out. “If you're awake, can you bring a bag of Blue Mountain beans to the front?”

“Shiro!” Yatogami shot him an annoyed look. “Don’t yell in front of the customers like that. It’s unseemly!”

“Oh, right.” Isana looked sheepish when he turned back toward them, bending his head a little as if he were the employee rather than the other way around. “Sorry, Kuroh.”

Yatogami folded his arms, looking only mildly appeased, and turned back to face Yata again. “Now then, what can I get for you to drink?”

Their dynamic is so weird. “Uh… yeah, just a regular latte.”

“Very well.” That severe gaze shifted past him. “And you?”

There wasn’t a chance for Fushimi to answer, because the back room door flung open and a young woman with silvery hair bounced into the room, proudly brandishing a small sack of coffee beans. “Shiro! I got the Blue Mountain!”

“Ah. Thank you, Neko.” Isana stepped over to the woman and patted her head affectionately, which she leaned into exactly like a cat would. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope! I was awake already.” She happily trailed after him as he made his way back to the counter. “The dream I had last night was so great! I’ll tell you about it if you want!”

“Of course! But later, okay?” He took the bag from her, placing it on the counter before turning to smile back. “Kuroh probably wants to hear it, too – right, Kuroh?” He didn’t wait for any confirmation. “But we need to finish with the customers first.”

Yatogami shook his head, but didn’t comment. The edge of a fond but rueful smile had crept onto his stern face.

Neko glanced at the counter. “Oh, it’s just Yata.” Despite the flippant words, her voice was cheerful. “Morning!”

It felt awkward responding to all that enthusiasm somehow. Neko tended to catch him off guard still, even though he was sorta used to her by now. “R-right. Morning.”

“Is she always like this?” Fushimi commented blandly.

Neko immediately glared at him, hackles seeming to raise with instant dislike. “What’s with this… this bad-aura gloomy glasses guy?”

“Oh, right!” In all the excitement, he’d forgotten to do any introductions. Yata grinned sheepishly. “This is Fushimi.” He shot a smirk over his shoulder. “But y’know, I kinda like ‘bad-aura gloomy glasses guy’… Anyway, these guys are Yatogami, Isana, and Neko.” He shrugged. “Sorry ’bout that.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Isn’t it pointless to do introductions at this point?”

“Courtesy should always be offered when possible,” Yatogami responded strictly, and nodded. “My name is Yatogami Kuroh.”

“Ah. That’s true, isn’t it?” Isana smiled brightly. “Isana Yashiro.”

Neko narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, but when Isana gave her a gentle nudge, supplied a somewhat subdued, “I’m Neko.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“It is! Neko is my name!” She glowered at him. “Anyway, you don’t belong here – you’re not human or a familiar!”

There was a moment of stark silence. Yata’s skin prickled up.

She can tell he’s not human?

“Neko,” Isana admonished. “Be polite.”

“Hmph!” She puffed out her cheeks childishly, and then vanished with a small huff. In her place, a tiny silver kitten streaked across the floor and nudged through the door into the back room.

Yatogami sighed, took in what sounded like a steadying breath, and glanced ruefully around at the astonished patrons watching them. “Sorry for the disturbance,” he announced. “Please try to forget it.”

“We’re just practicing for an improv act,” Isana cut in smoothly, tilting his head with a cheerful smile. “Hopefully you all were entertained!”

As the patrons relaxed and turned back to their drinks and conversation, Isana lowered his voice to an undertone. “Sorry about that.” The smile he offered Fushimi was apologetic. “Neko’s very honest, and she’ll sometimes blurt things out like that when she gets excited. Hopefully you’re not offended.”

“As you may have noticed,” Yatogami added, with a meaningful glance in the direction of the back room, “we don’t discriminate against non-humans here. As long as you don’t intend any violence.”

Fushimi shrugged, accepting both apology and clarification. “I’m just here for coffee.”

“Well, this is the right place for that!” Isana waved an arm expansively. “I’ll let Kuroh help you guys out.” He took a couple of steps back toward the door, still smiling brightly. “Call me if there’s anything you need, all right, Kuroh?”

“Not so fast.” Yatogami’s voice was sharp; his stare piercing as he directed it at his employer. “You haven’t forgotten about your promise to fix the error on the till from last night, have you?”

“What? Of course not!” Isana’s grin took on a tiny hint of strain. “I just have a few more things to take care of in the back first, and I’ll be right out to deal with that!”

Yatogami’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget it again.”

“I won’t, don’t worry!” Isana was already opening the door and moving through it before he’d finishing speaking. “See you later, Yata! Nice meeting you, Fushimi! Bye!”

There was an awkward pause after his departure.

Yatogami sighed again, facing them. “So one regular latte,” he noted, and glanced at Fushimi. “And what are you having?”

“Large double Americano,” Fushimi responded promptly – as if he couldn’t wait to get this all over with.

“For here or to go?”

What the hell, why not? They weren’t in any rush, considering the weather and Munakata’s seemingly infinite patience. He could work well into the evening if he had to. “We’ll drink ’em here,” Yata responded, reaching out to retrieve the sack of beans from the counter.

“Will we?” Fushimi mumbled, with clear sarcasm. “Somehow I don’t remember having that conversation.”

Yata ignored him, tucking the sack into his backpack. “Like I said, for here.”

Yatogami raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Together or separate?”

“Sep – ”

“Together,” Fushimi cut in. He materialized the credit card from the other day between his fingers when Yata turned to stare at him. “You were the one complaining about the fact that I drank the last of your coffee. I’ll pay you back right now.”

That was a tempting offer - and pretty reasonable. Yata wrestled with his pride for a moment, before deciding ‘what the hell?’ and giving in with a short nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He had to move aside as Fushimi stepped up to the counter. It gave him a bit of a weird feeling, like he’d lost control of the encounter. Something about watching Fushimi in particular pay for both of their coffees, which they were going to take to one of those cozy two-person tables and drink together, felt... funny.

There was no reason for it, but there it was.

It didn’t take Yatogami long to make their drinks and they took a table in the corner, near the window and far from the other customers in the place. Yata stowed the backpack with his umbrella and the sack of coffee beans under the table.

They’d have to stop at his apartment to drop those off before heading to Munakata’s, but that was okay; it wasn’t like he had set hours, after all. If he ended up missing out on some cash, it’d be worth it to chill out for a while.

“What makes the coffee in this place so great?” Fushimi asked him once they’d sat down. He took a small sip and added, “I’ll admit it's better than most, but...”

“They use magic.” Yata set his own mug down so it could cool. “That woman – Neko – she’s Isana’s familiar. Apparently her talent is altering reality. Kinda like your illusions, but more... I dunno... inward? Feelings and stuff." It probably wasn’t the best way to explain it, but whatever. “When she has really vivid dreams, the good feelings soak into the beans somehow. So the coffee makes you feel better.” He shrugged. “It's great for hangovers.”

“You would know, I suppose,” Fushimi murmured, a hint of a smirk tilting his lips up at the corners.

“Shut up! That was one time, okay?” Yata kicked him under the table. For some reason, the comment didn’t irritate him as much as it would’ve before. “Anyway, it’s probably the only reason we didn’t fucking kill each other back at the start.”

“That explains a lot,” Fushimi commented dryly. He set his mug down, meeting Yata’s gaze across the table. “Is there a reason you decided we were going to stay here and drink these?”

Yata shrugged again. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why that whim had struck him. “Just felt like it.”

“Hm.” Fushimi's answering hum was skeptical. He lowered his lids, another little smirk at the ready. “If you’re really that desperate for a date, you should’ve made that your contract instead.”

Date. The word hit him like a bolt of electricity, setting off a shock that rippled through his body, prickling up his skin.

Oh... fuck.

So that was where the funny feeling had come from. Yata felt a sudden fierce rush of mortification surge through him, tingling skin burning in its wake – a mix that resulted in an intensely uncomfortable sensation. Right, yeah… Fushimi had paid for them both, and now here they were in a cutesy cafe at a tiny table meant for two, which was totally date-like, and he hadn’t even realized it.

Shit…

The silence stretched on painfully as he tried to come up with some response, and then Fushimi hummed lightly, smirk widening. “Too embarrassed to admit it? That's cute.”

Yata scowled back at him, irritation seeping in through his flustered paralysis. “Shut up,” he muttered, feeling his face burn, and busied himself with his coffee to avoid that smug gaze.

The worst part of it – the part he didn’t want to admit on pain of death – was that the initial shock wasn’t unpleasant. For a second – just a tiny, stupid second – the idea of a date had felt… nice. Exciting, even.

It was infuriating – humiliating. His own brain betraying him. And because of the contract and the shared emotions, Fushimi knew it.

Goddamnit…

He was bracing himself for more teasing, scowling at the mug in his hands, but nothing came. The silence from across the table was starting to felt almost stifling as the seconds ticked by – what the hell was going on? Yata took a hasty sip of his coffee, absorbing the familiar pleasure of both taste and feeling for a bit of a boost, and set the mug down on the table before finally giving in to the urge to look up and see what Fushimi was doing.

Blue-grey eyes met his immediately and from far too close a distance for his liking. Fushimi was resting his chin on his hand, elbow braced on the table and head tilted as he studied Yata. In the instant that their gazes locked, the expression on his face was almost baffled: eyebrows knit, tiny frown on his lips, and eyes searching.

It was the look of someone struggling with a particularly difficult puzzle.

Not for the first time since they’d met, Yata found himself struck dumb, helplessly captivated by the charm of that open uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what to do with that look – wasn’t sure what he wanted to do – but something within him stirred to life all the same.

The table they were at really was way too small…

Fushimi blinked, interrupting that short moment, and then clicked his tongue, expression seeming to shutter up as he lowered his hand and turned his head. “What?” he muttered.

“Huh?” Yata stared at his profile, caught off guard by the abrupt change in mood. He shook his head to clear it and then frowned. “What d’you mean ‘what’? You were the one staring at me!”

The second click of Fushimi’s tongue was almost resentful; when he spoke again, his tone was grudging. “What do you expect when you react like that?”

Yata blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean? React like what?”

At that, Fushimi let out a breath, shut his eyes for a moment, and then turned his head again, reopening them lazily. That tiny smirk was spreading on his face again. “Figure it out for yourself,” he drawled, raising his mug for a sip. Just before bringing it to his lips, he added in a lower tone, “Misaki.”

And for some reason, just that – just the name, with the timbre and pitch of Fushimi’s voice – had heat spreading all the way across Yata’s face, to the tips of his ears.

Disgustingly, traitorously, irresistibly good.

And beyond fucked up. But in that moment, even as he protested loudly, glaring across the table with as much force as he could muster, it was hard to properly care.

[an-exotic-writer]

✂ - discovering to have a common enemy/rival…and decide to collaborate (w/ hogwarts!jungkook)

Coming up to the astronomy tower had been one of your favorite escapes when trying to have a peace of mind was difficult. You’re not sure if it’s the calming atmosphere from high above or the darkness that allows you to be one with your thoughts when on the daily, you’re so used to storing them away. Your eyes flutter shut at the serenity flowing through your veins, head leaning back against the pillar as you feel the breeze of the night brush against your skin.

A hand, fingertips crawling over the thick material of your sweater and your throat gets clogged up by surprise. Before you can shout or scream or something because out of all times, why now your voice chose to betray you, a palm is pressed to your lips and your eyes, frantic, search for familiarity in - “Jeon!” You hiss, shoving him back harshly when relief washes over you, heart pounding in your chest for different reasons now as he laughs, throwing his head back at your reaction.

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” He coos, taking in your glare, letting it dissolve until he stares at your pretty eyes and he knows you long enough to know your anger doesn’t last long. Though you refuse to look at him, your hand shows otherwise when he reaches over for it and let him hold onto it. Soon after, all ill feelings are gone and left with a warm sip of solace seeping between the pair of you, locked and lace with finger and bones together. Jungkook smiles.

“You have a question, I believe,”

“How’d you know?” He tilts his head at your assumption, but he’s not denying it.

“Taehyung sold you out,”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he leans back to rest with his other arm propping him up, legs spread out leisurely, “I should’ve known not to tell that brat anything,”

“Brat?” You chuckle, turning to meet with his smirk, “That guy probably knows more than you do. Having two years of being ahead from your ass,”

“Hey, he has the knowledge but me, I have the skills,”

“And together, that’s how you overthrow the enemy so whatever it is you have scheming in your head, I want none of it,” You throw his hand back to his lap and he whines (much to a lot of people’s expectations, Jeon Jungkook doesn’t seem like that kind of guy - especially when he has eyes of a hawk’s confidence Quidditch), helplessly reaching for your hand once more.

“Please, Y/N? You’re the only one who mastered the potion. So well that even Snape praised you. That man doesn’t just say that to anyone!”

You squeeze his hand, shutting your eyes because you cannot will yourself to harm anyone with the use of potions in such manner - even if it was against someone you didn’t like. Jungkook brings up a few familiar names that shakes your heart because one, they were never nice in the first place and two, they were nasties to anyone you knew as far as you could remember. Think of them as… the rotten apples in a basket, unwilling to change for the better and that meant doing all sorts of crap to disrupt the class and peace (including that one time they played a prank on you, tricking you to open a howler in the library).

Still, you couldn’t do it.

“I… can’t, Jungkook. As much as I would want to, I can’t,”

“…no wonder Snape likes you so much,” You offer him an apologetic smile, to which he presses a quick kiss to your cheek in reassurance he’ll find another way to get things done, without forcing you into doing something you don’t want to, “Don’t worry, I like you more than he does,”

Scoffing, you lightly tap his cheek with your free hand, your other still tightly held in his, “You better,”

There’s a shared laughter before it falls quiet again. The sounds of your heartbeats together as one but you still feel guilty. To the point where Jungkook can somehow - “Stop feeling guilty, Y/N. Just because you’re my girlfriend doesn’t mean you have to help me,”

“…but I feel bad…”

“It’s fine, I’ll manage,”

“…maybe Hoseok could help? He’s not too bad in this,”

“Tried and tested. Hyung failed fifteen times before he decided to give up,”

“Hm… how about I teach him? I mean, whatever he chooses to do with it after has nothing to do with me,”

Jungkook grins.

“This is why you’re my girlfriend.”

[raviollinoxfleuret]

One More Tomorrow

(( I just wanna point out that I did change some elements in regards to the lore and characters that are apart of Eos, etc. This takes place before the events of FFXV )) Chapter 1: Stones

Rating: G/A Word Count: 6,695 Pairing: Ardyn/Fem!OC

Summary:           There was a man... who was currently occupying the water hole. Burgundy hair stands were pushed back from his face, long enough to stick to the back of his neck, and he stretched his arms. Was he bathing there? Was he… naked? Well how else would you bathe? He wadded and stepped out of the water, revealing his tanned chest and her wandering eyes trailed down his body only widening at the sight before her. He was in fact nude, making it hard for her to look away. Rubbing the top of his head, he stretched out in the sunlight. She had never seen him before. He was handsome and tall with toned muscles, exotic compared to those she saw in her city regularly. Perhaps he lived in this part of the forest? She rarely came over in this part. But he wasn't rugged like you'd expect from someone who inhabited the wild, he was clean, and well-groomed. He let his arms fall down to his sides, looking around, taking in his surroundings, when suddenly his eyes met hers from afar in the bushes. But did he really see her? He squinted hard in her direction, unsure of what it was that he spotted and spoke out. “Hello?”

             It was that time of night again when the frail girl would go and sit out by the lake and offer a prayer with the loveliest stone she could find. Cupping it in one hand with the other protectively on top, she gazed out towards the black water that almost reflected the night sky above. There were no clouds tonight either and she looked up at all the lights that shone so far away. Bending down near the edge of the weathered down ramp, she put the rock up to her forehead, whispering a chant.

“With the sun by day and the moon and stars above at night, hear my plea.

Lest I seem to be full of greed,

I only seek the strength and wisdom to be granted upon me for another day.”

The rock rolled off her palm and plopped straight into the water. With a sigh released, she sat down, criss-crossed, and hunched over. She had dropped so many stones by now, she couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever reach the top, or close, of the water. But when she looked long into the dark waves beneath her, they transitioned from calm to rough, almost splashing over the pier. Her eyes lifted up to look beyond, for perhaps a storm was heading towards the town, but it was as clear as before. The sound of the water caused her head to look back down only to see a strange figure rising to the top and coming from out of the lake.

A head that sat atop a long neck with fins, large and small, extending from both sides looked straight down at it's visitor. The sight in front of her was unbelievable; the ridges that followed down it's neck and the grand teeth it bared, with skin that reflected a lustrous blue off the moonlight. She heard rumors of the Hydrean Astral that lived in this lake, but none could ever attest to actually witnessing it. It was known to be only a rumor. Her jaw dropped. It's neck lowered closer to her level and moved forward, only causing her to step back and fall right on her bottom. She did her best to scoot back away from it until it spoke.

“Are you afraid of me child?” Before she could answer, it cut her off with a simple, yet straight-forward warning. “Should you scream, I will not hesitate to devour you.” the creature was only a few feet away from her, but that's where it remained.

“I don't know... should I be... afraid?”

“It depends what mood I'm in. I'm surprised to learn that you can understand me.”

“That is rather strange isn't it?” she was still stunned in the spot she scooted to, eyes wide open.

“I think I might know the reason why...”

“I'm only dreaming aren't I? That's the reason?”

“If that were the case, then that means I'm dreaming as well.” she was at a loss for words. The Hydrean before her, claiming to dream? “Why do you throw those stones into my lake?”

“I uh... it's meant to be a prayer. Or a wish sometimes.”

“With a stone?”

“Well they're stones that I happen to find are... pr-prettier than the rest... I...” the water serpent was silent until it began to move back, diving down into the water. She lent on her side, letting go of a heavy sigh, trying to catch her breath. With the intention to stand up and run, she paused as she heard the water rumbling yet again. It came from under the deep waters once more and slowly hovered it's enormous head back in front of her, dropping at least fifteen stones that she had left from past nights.

“What prayers do you request with a stone any other cretin could throw in? Why should yours be answered and not someone who'd give riches and all the gil they have for a simple prayer to be answered? Why would your measly stone hold more value over ones fortune?”

“I don't think that highly of myself to believe that my prayer is more important than another. Greed is not what I seek. Only the strength to get through my days of living.”

“Are you ill?” the Hydreans voiced raised.

“No.”

“Then why exactly do you need strength? If you have the strength to the gather stones all of these days and make your way to this lake at night, what other strength do you truly need?”

“I have plenty of external strength. What I seek is internal.” her hand raised up to the center of her chest and she dared to look the beast in the eye.

“Hm...” it moved forward, going to her left side, stopping once more. “Are you still afraid of me?”

“I don't really know what I'm feeling exactly right now.”

“The tone in your voice moments ago hinted that you no longer are...” the girl alone was just a little taller than the size of the serpents eye. Fear would be typical for any one being to feel when face to face with the legendary Lord of the Waters. It's been known to have a little to no care for the mortals that walked on the surface, with stories claiming it to destroy the town multiple times just because it simply could. But the stones she offered to the lake caught the attention of the sea ruler, for what reason, the Hydrean wasn't sure of. “What name do you bear?”

“Esme...”

“Do you know mine, mortal?”

“The Hydrean... I'm not sure if you have another name or-”

“Leviathan.”

“Oh... okay.” her emotions now went from shock to confusion. Was this an introduction from it? From Leviathan?

“The next time you come to toss a stone with a hope of yours, I will arise to speak with you once more.”

“Oh... wait, what?” But Leviathan had no patience to hear her 'whats' and 'waits', and before  descending back into the water, used her head to push the stones back into the water. This time remaining below, the waters as calm as before. Should she come back tomorrow night, she pondered to herself, all the while attempting to recollect what had just took place. Was this it's attempt to befriend her or the like? The only way to be certain was if she returned once more with a stone and a wish the next night.

When morning arrived the next day, she immediately set out to find a stone, leaving before her caretaker even awoke. How fast could she find a stone that was worthy enough to speak with Leviathan again? But why search fast when she had the whole day to find one. She headed for the forest where she always wandered on her search; an area separate from the island. It was the only part where a gondola wasn't required to travel to. Coming closer to the entrance, in the dirt before she even entered through the sea of green, was a rock that fit in her palm perfectly as she lifted it out of the ground. The stone resembled the same hue as the morning sky. No, not the morning sky, but the exact shade of blue of the Altissian water where the Hydrean resided. The way the sunlight hit it gave it a metallic sheen. It was this one. At first she was unsure of going back, but now the anticipation grew. Besides, what if she didn't go back?

The tales that have been told of the wrath from the Hydrean were those of terror. Tales saying how she's devoured almost everyone in the town once for throwing garbage in the water, as well as one where she turned the city to rubble, all for different and sometimes similar reasons. One being because someone swam in her waters and peed. The city of Altissia has been rebuilt and rebuilt and rebuilt from the countless times it's been demolished, architecture always differing, but each time with an attempt to make it stronger than before. It's been close to two centuries since she's surfaced, and now it's all because of the curiosity that transformed into a discovery that peaked the water creatures' interests.

It wondered; Did she know?

The young girl walked out onto the pier and sat there waiting for dusk to arrive, filled with nothing but complete anxiety. As minutes passed, the sun made it's way closer to the the horizon, her eyes widening more and more after the few hours leading to sun down passed. When the light disappeared beyond the horizon, she ritually brought the stone up to her forehead feeling reluctant only for a moment, and began to pray. But she was at a loss for words. What to pray for? What she always asked or something more specific?

Goddess of the Sea, heed my call, Rise for me once more to speak...

With her wish spoken, the stone entered the lake from her hands and almost immediately, the waters started to rock with small waves forming, barely splashing over the concrete. And then it rose patiently out from the lake, watching the curious girl.

“So what is it you wished for tonight, ephemeral?”

“To speak with you once more.” the beast was silent for a moment, intently watching the innocent smile on her face show. Leviathan huffed at Esme's expression and soared up towards the starry sky, it's height reaching past the tallest building in the city, and swooped down towards her, circling, surrounding Esme.

“Is that so?” while the girls defenses and heartbeat went up, she was unafraid. “What about exactly?” her eye contact with Leviathan never broke, although, she wasn't sure what to say.

“Well... you asked for me to return, did you not? Why?”

“Have you come up with any reasonable explanation as to why?”

“I haven't thought about it, really. All I could really think about in the past day was that I actually spoke with you.”

“If you had to pick one reason as to why you are able to speak and understand me, what would it be?” Esme circled her amber eyes around, deep in thought and tried to tie up the loose ends at hand.

“Maybe... perhaps it has something to do with my mother or father? They could've had this ability to speak with the Astrals and then it was past down t-”

“No.” the Goddess abruptly cut her off, swiftly untangling her body from around the human and back into the water. “I don't know who your parents are, or were, nor do I care.”

“Well, alright...” Her hand raised up to her chin as she pondered some more.

“Don't think about it to hard, little speck. All you truly need to know is that you are the first of your kind. You have a calling and it would seem that I am the first step towards it. How interesting... the Astrals, including myself have been waiting a very long time for you to finally show yourself.”

“What do you mean? A calling?”

“You're path in life; What you must do in order to ascend.”

“Ascend where?”

“Where else?”

“The heavens??” the more questions that were asked aloud the more confused she grew. They clashed with all the ones that she asked herself internally. Leviathan bowed her imposing crown to answer her last question. Becoming fully aware of what the Goddess hinted, she was taken aback with popped eyes. “Wait.. are you saying that... I am the first Oracle?” Esme was in disbelief, even if it came from the likes of Leviathan. The Oracle is also a being she only read about. How the the heavens would one day send the Oracle down to seek out the six Astrals of Eos and converse. One said to have powers to heal, a prophet, as well as a messenger between the people of the world and the gods above. But it made sense. She managed to save her caretaker some time ago from failing kidneys without the help of the local doctor or medicines, all by placing her hand and pressing down where the pain was. Within a week, she was up and about like normal. Animals and even plants were saved or brought back from the brink of death just by her touch.

“Do you understand now?”

“I suppose. There are things that make more sense now. But what about... my calling? I wouldn't know what it is.”

“You're calling comes to you as a clear sign or it won't. You could even fulfill whatever it is without ever actually realizing it.”

“You don't know?”

“No.”

“Maybe it was meeting you. What if you're my calling?” she grinned again and Leviathan swayed back, almost in disgust and slightly amused and Esme noticed.

“You almost managed to get a laugh out of me. If I were only alive to fulfill your Calling, I would've just devoured you last night. I wouldn't let the gods get away with such a farce. I only play a part, not only for you as the Oracle but for future ones to come after your time is over. You still have five more Astrals to meet with too. How you find them, is your decision. I can not help you with that. As you can see, I am restricted to the waters. Do your research on them and where they've been sighted.”

“Why do you seem to take me as a joke?”

Leviathan was shook by the question.

“Is that what you took away from what I just told you? It shouldn't matter. I've set you in the right direction, little girl, and now my work is done. Go look for the others and learn your purpose. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” she yelled out as the creature dove back into the dark waters and she ran and jumped in after it on impulse.  There wasn't a decision that could turn to be worse. The water all around was black and freezing, her body petrified by the temperature. In an attempted to lift her arm forward, it bumped into a scaly surface and then it moved under her body, lifting it up out the water and throwing her on the pier.

“How reckless can you possibly be?” the voice of the Hydrean was enraged as it watched the shivering girl struggle to push herself up. “Come back if you so desire, but only at night, and we'll speak again.” The sea ruler scoffed before sinking back into it's home. “Don't do that ever again, fool.” those were the last words she heard before she fell out cold.

“Esme!” The shouting of her name made her eyes drag open and moments later jump up, almost completely becoming awake. Looking around, she realized that she fell asleep on the pier- or rather, went unconscious. She pushed her half-damp hair away from her face and looked to her left towards the docks entrance where the voice was coming from. Knowing who it belonged to before even seeing their face, she dreaded the talk she'd receive in the coming seconds. “What on Eos-??” her arms flew into the air over her head in confusion. Amelie was her name. An elderly woman who took a ten-year-old Esme in after watching her wander through the streets of Altissia several times. She remembers that night  from over ten years ago like it was yesterday; it was storming heavily, thunder beating throughout the skies and lightning cracking all around, and this little girl all alone in it, catching a bad cold after wards. And even after all these years, Esme's origins are still a mystery to the caretaker. If Esme didn't want to talk about, Amelie wouldn't pry. “What are you doing??” hands balled into fists, she pressed them into her hips as she looked Esme square in her eyes. “I... I don't know.” She replied with a small chuckle following behind. Her eyes scanned the horizon and beyond the waters to the mountainous structures in the far distance. With the Leviathan in mind, she smiled. “You could be sunburned from falling asleep in the direct sunlight, what were you thinking?” “Hey aunt, what if I told you... I was the Oracle?” the woman blinked at Esme, who was still sitting down on the beat up concrete. “What if`?” “Well I mean... wouldn't that be cool?” “What are you saying? Did the sun make you delirious? I think you need to drink some water, immediately.” Amelie turned and started to walk away, believing that Esme was following. “I'm not kidding.” she stopped in her tracks and looked back at her, unsure of what to say. “The Leviathan came from under her waters and told me. I'm not loopy, the sun didn't affect my head. This is the truth. Remember that one time I saved you?” listening intently to Esme, she tried to understand. “They said you weren't going to live, that no miracle could save you. But I saved you.” Esme pushed herself up to stand and made her way over to her almost-mother. “With these hands...” she lifted them up and turned them, the two women looking down at them, “I can help others, heal them...” With no response, Amelie only stared blankly. “Say something!” “The Leviathan...?” she squinted at the young girl. “You don't believe me.” “It's not that I don't believe you. It's just, there were other women who claimed to be the Oracle, and then were killed when they had nothing to prove of it! How would you even show it?” “Well like I said before, I can heal others.” “You can try.” “Wha- but I can!” “This isn't something you can just...” the words couldn't come out of Amelie's mouth, so she only sighed, placing her hand over her forehead. She feared something happening to her if she decided to start telling anyone in town. “You're risking your life.” “But I'm sure of it. I can prove myself to anyone and everyone. But it'll only be for those who truly need it.” “You'll make enemies that way.” “I'm not here to help those who greedy. I don't need to prove anything to them.” “Esme- !” “Just trust me! I know what I'm doing.” The girl took the caretakers hands into hers and held them tight, the pair falling into silence. “I'm twenty-three, I can make my own decisions, I think.” Esme scoffed. But it still made the elder woman worry. Some cities and small towns have fallen to a scourge; completely wiping them out, the citizens within them dying and some even becoming daemons and if they didn't turn into them, the monsters would rise up from below. With the scourge emerging in more cities, so did self-claimed Oracles all around Eos, only in an attempt to bring a false hope to the mortals all over. But when these 'Oracles' failed to deliver, chaos would ensue amongst those within their cities, bloody fights, riots, and cries for salvation, only going unanswered by the gods they prayed to. As their prayers went ignored, some abandoned their faith, eventually executing any woman who professed to being an Oracle. Esme looked into the eyes of the older woman; eyes filled with a plea that she immediately broke away from. “Welp, now that that's said and done, I'm hungry; let's go eat!” She winked as she led her guardian towards the end of the pier and made way to their small home. The coming weeks would prove to be eventful. Esme knew of some residents nearby who were ailing and in pain and reached out to them personally with no grandeur or ceremony. 'Where does it hurt?' she'd ask in a low tone, hoping to appeal, and they listened, and healed. Although the words admitting to be the Oracle never left her mouth, assumptions were made and word spread about the miracles her hands brought to all the locals. Soon enough, people from the other regions of Accordo, and even from across the vast waters into the nation of Lucis would journey to seek her out. Within a month, more than fifty bodies were healed, some saved from death, and others relieved of their suffering. Her gaining popularity was widespread and it wouldn't be long before it reached the ears of royalty in the kingdom of Lucis. And in the same week of the news reaching them, the king himself set out to personally meet the possibly true Oracle.

Several weeks later... “Essie! Where are you going?” the elderly woman limped over to the doorway as Esme stuffed two jugs, one with water and the other empty, and a bag of cookies into her bag, flying it over her shoulder.

“Out. I have to look for stones today. I'll be back in a few!”

“Hold it! I told you the Lucian King and his men are coming sometime today, and if not today then tomorrow! Can't your stones wait?”

“No, they can't. Besides, I don't care who's coming here, especially if it's anyone from that kingdom. Altissia is on it's own for a reason; to stay away from the silly quarrel that goes on between the Imperials and the Lucians. They both only ever come here to see if perhaps we changed our minds on what side we picked. It's bothersome. I want no part in any country that believes war is the only means to an end and I don't think you should either.” Amelie sighed knowing very well there was no use in trying to sway the young Oracles' mind.

“Just don't get into trouble.”

“I won't!” the door opened and closed just as fast, but the girl halted, now wondering what to really do. She wanted to stay for Amelie's sake, but she didn't care for the Lucian kingdom. However knowing that their king ventured across the ocean just so he could meet her was kind of exciting, and then on other hand it was as she said before. Esme wasn't fit to wait so she left anyways.

In the nights that had past since she jumped into the Hydreans home, she continued to visit her every night and the two would go on to speak for hours. Leviathan started to become more and more interested in the girl, wondering things like where she came from and what happened with her parents. While she hated to admit it, she was growing fond of Esme. No mortal ever dared to come meet with the Leviathan before. Esme made it practically a ritual to come to visit her, all at her own will. She wanted to see the sea goddess and it was something the Hydrean almost enjoyed knowing. She was even beginning to regret telling the Oracle to set out for her Calling. Leaving Atlissia meant Levia couldn't protect her. She was bound to the water. And the day that Esme finally decides to venture out wouldn't be long from now; Leviathan could feel it. She was regretting the moment she even surfaced the waters when she thought about it some more.

Esme ran through the entrance of the forest she became so familiar with and looked around not only for rocks, but flowers. The Hydrean's seen them grown in the city in their pots and baskets, but only specific ones, so Esme only though it'd nice to show her exotic ones from the forest. Ones that she might not ever see. She bunched the stems of all the flowers she could find in her hand, trying not to damage any and reached into her bag taking out an empty mason jar. She dropped the flowers in, having to make some of the stems shorter to fit in comfortably and closed the lid, officially making it the time to look for stones. Before throwing her bag over her shoulders once more, she removed the  snack she took along with her and thus, her stone hunt began. They were all starting to have different meanings, the ones that she decided to take. Depending on they're shape, color and texture. She'd go to the lake at night and wished for things like a sunny day, the city to remain safe, or for her caretaker to continue having good health. The past few weeks, they were all seldom about her anymore. She even asked Leviathan if she had a wish, but she denied possessing any.

'Why would I wish or pray for anything? And what at that? There is nothing I need.' The goddess would answer. 'Not even feet? Wouldn't you want to be on land just to see what it looks like?'

'No.'

But the one thing that Esme did take notice of was that Levia did have to think about her answer. What was it she thought of? Maybe she did wish to be able to walk and see other things the world had to offer but was too stubborn to admit it. Esme herself was even learning the ways and behavior of the Hydrean.

She hummed her way deeper into the green and picked up at least ten different stones. But something that caught her eye as she scoured the ground was a print in the dirt that led away from the typical trail. A print that resembled the shape of the bottom of a boot. Stopping to look to her left, there were more prints and they looked recent. So she followed them. The only thing she could remember about this area was that there was a fresh water hole, but she was unsure if it was in this direction specifically. Although now, the boot trail was gone. They were probably gone, whoever it was. All of the years that she wandered through this area, she's never seen another person. Some friendly wild animals, but never another person. She reached a part were there was a thin wall of bushes and shrubs that reached some feet taller than her, beginning her search again. A new area meant a new variety of resources. Essie pushed some of the branches and leaves to the side thinking she spotted a decent stone, but lifted her head up quickly, looking ahead of her, after hearing the sound of water splashing. There was a man... who was currently occupying the water hole. Burgundy hair stands were pushed back from his face, long enough to stick to the back of his neck, and he stretched his arms. Was he bathing there? Was he… naked? Well how else would you bathe? He wadded and stepped out of the water, revealing his tanned chest and her wandering eyes trailed down his body only widening at the sight before her. He was in fact nude, making it hard for her to look away. Rubbing the top of his head, he stretched out in the sunlight. She had never seen him before. He was handsome and tall with toned muscles, exotic compared to those she saw in her city regularly. Perhaps he lived in this part of the forest? She rarely came over in this part. But he wasn't rugged like you'd expect from someone who inhabited the wild, he was clean, and well-groomed. He let his arms fall down to his sides, looking around, taking in his surroundings, when suddenly his eyes met hers from afar in the bushes. But did he really see her? He squinted hard in her direction, unsure of what it was that he spotted and spoke out. “Hello?” His voice made her jump back, causing her to fall into the leaves that were littered on the ground, letting out a small yelp. They crunched beneath her palms as she stood up, black hair flowing around like a silk sheet in the wind, running. Black hair. It was in fact a person he was looking at as he took note of the feature. He crinkled his nose, realizing the body started running away. Sprinting over to where he laid his clothes down, he threw on his coat that extended down to his knees and with the magic that ran through his bloodline, flashed from where he stood to a tree that was roughly fifty feet ahead in the direction of the mysterious peeper. But Esme flung herself into a thicket next to a willow tree, curling herself into a ball as far in as she could fit, sticks poking her sides. The sound of his footsteps neared her location and she covered her mouth to hush the sound of her labored breaths. Her heart raced rapidly, unsure of what he'd do. Would he kill her if he found her? 'How'd he reach her so fast?' she wondered. The man looked down in the dirt for her foot prints, but the grass and clovers that started to cover the ground saved her by only a hair. “Alright, time to come out.” he said in a calm tone. But she wasn't convinced. “I won't hurt you. Although, maybe you shouldn't spy on those in their times of privacy.” Esme remained as still as possible in her spot. As he walked out further, this time, he was now in her sights, the right side of his body facing her. “You know,” his voice of velvet spoke, “you can come out now, and just apologize and that's it. Over and done with. Or...” she watched his  right arm lift up, one finger pointing up, “you have consequences should I find you somewhere else. I saw that beautiful black hair of yours, I know how you look from behind!” now his tone almost seemed sort of playful. Was he crazy? “Fine, so be it. But you can't hide from me forever. I'll find you.” turning to walk away, he chuckled a little and Esme waited til he was far enough for her to safely get up and leave. The forest no longer felt safe for her to go back to. Finally getting back on her feet and out of the bush, she started to run as fast as her feet could take her and reached the entrance of the forest, but didn't stop there. Esme ran all the way back home and didn't look back.

Forcefully grabbing the handle of the front door of her home she swung it open and slammed it shut, frozen in her spot. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she attempted to catch her breath. Amelie ran around the corner at the sound of the door slamming.

“Are you okay??”

“I... saw...” “What?”

“I saw a-” “What did you see??”

“A naked man! I saw a naked man! I saw it, I saw everything!”

“What??” “Amel, he's gonna look for me! He said he'd find me and... who knows what!” Esme covered her mouth and looked around the front of the house.

“I don't understand how you saw a naked man??” “In the forest, there was a man bathing, and I saw him and he saw me, and it's just a misunderstanding! I wasn't spying on him! Maybe if I just explain to him... he'll understand...”

“See! I told you to stay here didn't I?”

“You failed to mention the part where I'd see a crazy naked man. I mean... who just gets naked in broad daylight?” she shook her head, confused and worried, biting down on her lip.

“Okay, okay. It's gonna be alright. Just don't go back for a while. Whoever it was will forget. Maybe just don't go back at all!” “But I... I've claimed that forest! Might as well just write, 'Esme's land' or something more official. 'Forest of the Oracle'...” she thought on momentarily before remembering what's at stake. “The point is: That... I'm gonna die.” Esme slumped down in front of the door, both hands holding her face, releasing a heavy sigh. The sound of collective voices outside caught their attention and it could only be who they were expecting. Multiple heavy footsteps grew louder before they came to a halt outside the front door. The two women only looked at one another and finally reacted, scrambling through their residence, picking up and quickly organizing anything out of place. Was the King of Lucis really just outside of these walls. The volume of the voices grew with a bit of laughter in between and curiously, Esme lightly stepped over to a window to see what who was there. Sliding the curtain to the side, the first thing she saw were black feathers that belonged to a grand-in-size Chocobo. The winged creature measured at least three times her size in height, and the rider, jumping off the other side, made their way around, the sound of their palm patting the Chocobo gratefully. The riders height matched the body of their mount. And when they made their appearance from around the bird, Esme felt her heart stop. Not just for a second but at least ten and the sweat from before started again. His smiled gleamed as his hair, burgandy colored and slightly wet, bounced with each step he took. It was the forest man and his bandits, she thought. He spoke to the other men that traveled with him, but their word were in audible. What if they were talking about how they'd end me? 'They'll ransack my home and hurt Amelie. This is all my fault...But they won't know who I am if I disguise myself.' Concluding not to tell Amelie, she pushed away from the wall, quickly trying to think of what she could use. A brown hide that sat atop an arm chair was large enough to wrap around her like a cloak, and on the wall on the other side was a tribal mask the Amelie purchased from a festival some years ago.

Knock, knock, knock

Esme gasped at the sound, almost tripping on the hide she wore, and reached up quickly, grabbing the mask and strapping it on. The one thing she made sure to do was wrap her hair up under the band of the mask.

“What are you doing?” Amelie came out of the hall way, sliding on the wooden floor looking at what Esme transformed into in a matter of minutes. “I am the Oracle! I have to uphold appearances! Hurry, they're waiting!”she motioned towards to door and hesitantly, but swiftly, Amelie made her way over to the door to open and looked back at Esme one more time. She sat poised, back straight, hands together with her fingers crossed, sitting on her lap. She inhaled the breath she believed to be her last and watched through the tiny openings of the mask as Amelie opened up the door. “Hello.” she spoke shakily. Esme couldn't see who was at the door. “Good afternoon!” It wasn't his voice; it wasn't as smooth. “After long venturing through the land of Lucis and over the vast ocean, we've finally reached the beauty that rests on waters; The city of Altissia! I am part of the Royal Gaurd for King Ardyn Lucis Caelum, may I retrieve a name from you, my lady?”

Esme blocked out the conversation as she took in the fact that she saw the King of Lucis naked and not some crazy forest man.

'He has even more of a reason to kill me now! I could spread word about how he's built without clothing... and that mysterious power he has. What on Eos was that anyway?'

“Miss Amelie, am I correct to say that this is the residence of the new-found Oracle?” “Well, she doesn't claim to be the Oracle, but the rumors did start because of what she's done for the people.” “Right. May we come in and speak with-”

“Please, allow me,” the sound of his voice cut of the guard and it sent shivers all over the tops of her skin. “I can speak for myself, I'd rather not stand on ceremony. I am the King, yes, but I've only come to meet with the Oracle and see if the rumors are true. I have a request to make with her.”

“Of course, your Highne-”

“Ardyn. It's easier.”

“Oh... Ardyn, y-your highness...um... Please come in.” Esme watched her caretaker step aside as she let the man in, the hide now becoming unbearably hot. Her eyes traced down to his feet and there were the boots that most likely marked the dirt in the forest. His eyes immediately went to whatever it was that sat on the couch.

“Hello there.” he smirked slightly as the masked being bowed it's head. “Are you the Oracle that I've been so much about?” Esme bowed again, trying her best not to speak. “That's an interesting look, especially in this heat.” Amelie closed the door and four of the guards came in, everyone just standing there awkwardly as they all baffling took in Esme's disguise. The living room fell still and a bit uncomfortable. Esme watched Ardyn's gaze as he tried to look through the holes of the mask from afar. Eye contact was important to him. “Would you mind if I sat down right there next to you?” It was the only place for him to sit in the room. Anywhere else would be too far. He could also bring a chair over, but that's too much work. She stalled in her response but eventually nodded and looked to Amelie, quickly gesturing her hand towards the dining room.

“Alright, gentlemen, come with me. I'll start some tea... or coffee? Whichever you boys prefer. Hell, I'll make both.” She laughed as the five left the area and then it was only the two of them. “You know... I didn't really think about what to ask you. How do I know you're not a fraud?” Now came the panic. “Listen... if you are, I won't be angry nor will I announce it aloud. But people will suspect something went wrong if I just leave. So I hope, for the sake of your safety as well as Miss Amelie, that you're the real thing.”

“I am.”

“Ah, you do speak! I was getting worried for a moment there!” He laughed and clapped his hands together. She found it hard to look at him, even fully clothed now. “I just need some kind of proof.”

“Well... I don't know how to prove it. You can speak to the dozens of people in town and out of town about what I've done for them and there's your proof.”

“I won't lie to you, do you really need this mask on? I can understand you, but just hardly.” “I... I need it on. What do you need me for anyways? Why do I owe you proof of who I am?” “I want to ask you to do something for and with me.”

“What? For your Kingdom? If I do something for your homeland alone, I have to go out and travel all of Accordo to and save everyone else. I'm not here to aid a selfish king.” She stood up, immediately becoming offended and he quickly got up too, his body towering over her. “Give me a chance to speak, please,” Huffing with a smile, he stepped closer to the Oracle. “It's not just for Lucis. I want to go out and help the areas that are currently being affected by the scourge, both in Accordo and Lucis. Even in Areas under the control of the Imperials. There are places and people who can still be saved but I need the help of the Oracle. I need you. Will you take the mask off?” But she shook her head immediately, turning away from the King, and walking to the other side of the room. “There's absolutely no way you walk around this city with that get up. You would die.”

“How do you know I'm not just hiding my ugly appearance?”

“Well this is quite scary.” Ardyn motioned up and down her body. “I would think twice about receiving anything from the Oracle who looked like this,” he trailed off as he watched her flipped black hair fall down from the strap of the mask. Black hair... “Unless we've met before.”

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 16

NOTES:

Snippet 1; Snippets 2 & 3; Snippet 4; Snippet 5; Snippet 6; Snippet 7; Snippet 8; Snippet 9; Snippet 10; Snippet 11; Snippet 12; Snippet 13; Snippet 14; Snippet 15

Word Count: 4.3k

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The first fight comes over where everyone will be staying. If Amos had been in a relationship, he would have joked with his lover on the drive down his predictions over what fights would develop, and when, and who would be involved. He would have tapped the temple of his glasses knowingly and said, “watch me be right.” And she would probably smile, having never met his family, and said, “oh it can’t really be that bad.”

“Bet me,” he would have said, and wagered—but no. Amos is alone, and so there is no one to lighten the mood of all his certainties over the fights that will come.

The first fight, as Amos would have guessed, breaks between Hannah and their mother. As the oldest daughter, Hannah Leary-James is a disappointment of another kind. She is built just like her mother, solid and unyielding. A rental car idles in the driveway, with Hannah’s wife waiting behind the wheel, and Hannah has made bets—ten minutes tops to the first fight. If even. Five minutes more likely—keep the car running.

As Amos unfolds himself from the driver’s seat of his little Toyota, he can hear a muffled slamming from inside the two story home. Hannah’s scratchy, unmistakable shout follows close behind—“I AM NOT STAYING IN THIS FUCKING HOUSE, MOTHER—“ and Hannah bursts out the side door to the driveway, digging in a square purse slung over her shoulder, fumbling with a crumpled pack of cigarettes dredged from the bottom.

Amos can hear, just barely, his mother’s high pitched wail, accusing, “—can’t believe you would do this to me—“ before Ezekiel comes running out after Hannah and spies Amos.

“Amos,” Ezekiel breathes with relief, as if invoking Amos’s name will summon some heretofore unknown saint that will save them, and not the prototype of James family failure that now stands gazing up at him across the driveway. Ezekiel half-heartedly tries to reach after his sister, but she dodges the hand as if she hadn’t even noticed it, as if she was simply trying to shield her entire body around the small point of fire that she’s trying to make jump from the lighter to the cigarette clamped in her mouth.

“How long until she dies?” Hannah asks, snapping her lighter shut and throwing it back in her bag. “Besides never soon enough.”

Ezekiel is a competent, capable physician. His patients always compliment him on how collected he is, how he always seems to know what to do, what to say, how to reassure them no matter what’s happening.

His patients have never seen him around his family.

Ezekiel feels like he’s being told to hold on to too many strings, and every last one is both tangled and trying to escape. Strings? More like snakes, fighting him the entire time, biting their own tails and each other both.

“Hannah,” Ezekiel starts.

Amos ambles up to a safe distance, close enough for conversation but not combat, hands in his pockets.

“Mother’s mad that everyone’s staying at my house,” Ezekiel offers to Amos.

“Clare and I,” Hannah snaps, “are staying at a hotel.”

“Wherever everyone is staying,” Ezekiel says, testily, “it isn’t here with her.”

“Where did she expect to put everyone?” Amos asks. “There’s no room. There was never room.”

“Why would she care about that?” Hannah says, tapping ash on the driveway. “She wants what she wants. Reality can go fuck itself or get in line.”

Ezekiel makes a pleading face to Amos when Hannah looks off. Hannah, fire-breathing tower of unresolved anger, feelings being yanked off the shelves of her mind where she had packed them all away, blows an exasperated stream of smoke away from them. Amos had not been the best brother, but he’d brought Hannah down from some of the worst of her tempers in his time. Usually with a smartass comment. Usually by promising to set her up with some hot cheerleader, which was about as achievable as setting her up with the Queen of fucking England, a hopeless nerd like him.

“Well,” Amos begins slowly, “With any luck, maybe she’ll die before bedtime tonight. Then we wouldn’t have to worry what the hell she wants, hm?”

Hannah finally cracks a smile and nods. “If there’s a god willing,” she mutters, and Ezekiel just groans quietly at them both. Not what he meant. Not what he wanted, not at all.

Hannah tosses the cigarette butt on the asphalt of the driveway and grinds it beneath the heel of a fashionable boot. Hannah is not the littering type, but she’s willing to make an exception for her mother’s driveway.

“We’re going to check in. Call me back once everyone’s here,” she tells Ezekiel, and gets back in the car. Clare puts a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, and a noticeable degree of tension drains from her posture as Clare backs the rental car out of the driveway.

Ezekiel checks his phone. An hour yet before the next arrival.

Amos walks up onto the porch, but turns from the door, leaning against one of the porch columns.

“Aren’t you going in?” Ezekiel asks.

Amos rolls his shoulders. “Is she going to die in the next fifteen minutes?”

Ezekiel shakes his head. Like Amos, his hair would be in curls if he let it, so he gives it even less of an opportunity than Amos does. Amos is mostly joking, but Ezekiel looks so serious, with his close-trimmed hair and button down shirts, his neat beard adding the authority of at least five years beyond what lanky, baby-faced Amos can muster. Ezekiel should have been the oldest, Amos thinks irrationally, as if that would have changed a damned thing.

“Then give me at least the next fifteen minutes.”

Amos sits on the porch steps, elbows slung on his knees as he watches cars drive by. Ezekiel pulls a few weeds from the flower beds around the porch, and then takes Amos’s place leaned against the pillar, brushing the dirt from his hands.

“Where’s dad?” asks Amos, already knowing the answer.

“Church,” Amos says at the same time as Ezekiel.

That was always the answer. Church. More than once, Amos had thought that maybe if Dad loved his children as much as he loved his god…but then. Maybe he didn’t go to church for god at all.

Their father was an elusive man. He had a job to do, to keep them in this house, to keep them fed, he doesn’t have time for your stupid school projects, Amos. God, Amos thinks, he doesn’t even remember what that one had been about. Didn’t matter. Whatever it had been, his father surely never went. And when he wasn’t working, he was at church. What the hell could a man be doing at church for that much time? Did it matter? Amos simply chuckles darkly to himself. Of course his father is at church. Whatever he’s actually doing, Amos realizes, doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. All that matters is that their father, just like every other moment of their lives, isn’t there.

Fifteen minutes melts into an hour. Amos is in no hurry to go in. The last time he saw his mother, she asked him whatever happened to that nice girl, what was her name? Kristen? Ashley? The one who asked you to prom? Kari, Amos recalls bitterly, she was thinking about Kari, the girl who asked him on a dare, and who stood him up—or, she would have, if Hannah hadn’t got wind of it and warned him. Amos simply stood her up first. But the indignity of the whole thing still annoyed him, all these years later.

“She was pretty. She was too good for you,” his mother had said.

At the time, he said nothing, because at the time, he had thought she was dying. And now here they are again.

The youngest, Leah, is the next to arrive in an oversized rental car over an hour after Hannah and Clare left. She steps out of the rental and smoothly flings a pair of sunglasses back on the dashboard.

Amos will be the first to admit he finds Leah intimidating. She’s always seemed to hold some sort of calculated fondness for her distant siblings that he can’t understand. She’s dressed professionally, a sharp suit, straightened hair perfectly gathered in a low bun, her every movement a picture of economy.

“Mo, Zeke,” she greets them as she walks up. “What are we waiting for? Are we going in?”

Amos stands and stretches. Ezekiel shrugs.

“We can go in if you want—“

“I didn’t,” Amos offers.

“—Hannah’s already come, yelled, and gone to check in to her hotel,” Ezekiel finishes.

“Of course,” Leah says, checking her phone, tapping a quick response before sliding it back in her jacket pocket. “Let’s get my turn out of the way. Only so many times she can yell at me.”

“Cherish the shouting. Maybe you’ll miss it once she’s gone,” Amos says.

Leah gives him a curious look, and heads inside, followed by a sighing Ezekiel.

Amos reluctantly slinks through the front door. Up ahead, the staircase leading to the bedrooms—one for the boys, one for the girls, each room with a twin bed shoved against all the walls but one. A master bedroom they weren’t allowed in for their parents. One bathroom for all six kids, and a master bathroom they were never allowed to use for their parents. The usual allotment of rooms downstairs—livingroom, washroom, half bath, kitchen, breakfast nook, dining room, and what could have been an extra bedroom, but instead served as the office for a man who was never home. An office with cabinets full of diluted whisky—diluted by Amos, Hannah, and Ezekiel in turn, each unaware of the other. Amos wonders, Did Isaiah ever come for the whisky?

Leah strides in with purpose, and finds Mrs. Charlotte James in the kitchen, working on a meal that no one asked her to make.

“Mother,” chides Ezekiel, trying to snatch away a mixing spoon, “you’re supposed to be resting.”

“You’re not my doctor,” snaps Mrs. James, rapping Ezekiel sharply on the knuckles with the spoon. Ezekiel frowns and narrows his eyes. Even if he were her doctor, he’s quite certain she wouldn’t listen to him.

“Leah,” she continues, “I put the sheets out on your bed. There’s towels in the bathroom, and—“

“No, Ma,” Leah interrupts firmly. “I already told you I’m staying at Zeke’s.”

“Why, I’ve already got everything set up for you!”

“You don’t have good enough internet, Ma. I need to work while I’m up here.”

“I’d hardly call that work.”

“Ma,” Leah sighs, reluctantly falling into the same stupid argument she’s been dragged down before, “what about running a real estate business isn’t work, exactly?”

“All you do is sit on that computer all day! And running a business isn't right for a young lady.”

Leah sighs again, and rubs the bridge of her nose. Amos opens his mouth to interject, and Mrs. James jabs the spoon in his face.

“YOU wouldn’t know the first thing about a proper job, so I don’t want to hear a word out of you, Amos. I do all this work for you all—“

“Mother,” Ezekiel tries, “I told you everyone would be staying at my house—“

“And I just wasted all that time! No one staying here?! I guess my time doesn’t matter to any of you.”

“Conference call,” says Leah, waving her phone, “I’d better go take this in the car.” Just because it’s a conference of one, calling her mother a bitch, doesn’t make it any less of a conference call. Leah slips past Ezekiel and Amos back out to her rental.

“And how long have you been here, Amos?” Mrs. James asks skeptically.

“Just got here, basically.”

“The Lord detests lying lips.”

Amos turns to examine a cup of pens sitting on top of the microwave, and hopes she doesn’t see the roll of his eyes.

Ezekiel’s phone buzzes.

“Have you heard from Isaiah?”

Amos and Ezekiel exchange a look.

“No,” says Ezekiel, “but Joanna’s on the way. She’s dropping Edgar and the kids off at my place.”

“I don’t know what she sees in that man.”

This is exactly what she said years ago, more than once, at their wedding. Edgar Espinoza, by all accounts collaborated among the James children, was one of the sweetest men they’d ever met, a doting father, devoted husband, dedicated worker, and definite candidate for sainthood perhaps, given the patience with which he put up with the shit said to and about him by his mother-in-law.

Sweet, sensitive Joanna insisted Edgar and their children stay far away from her mother, or her mother was liable to say something that would incite Joanna to go off the deep end and quite possibly murder her. Edgar didn’t believe his lovely wife capable of such violence, but he kissed her sweetly, and promised if she was sure she’d be ok, then he would wait at Ezekiel’s with the kids.

“You know,” Mrs. James continued, “I don’t even think Protestant weddings count.”

Ezekiel is too distracted texting Hannah to correct her, so it’s Amos’s turn to sigh.

“It wasn’t a Protestant wedding, mother.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re a priest now then?”

“Mother, you were there!”

But Amos knows this argument is pointless and impossible. He quickly cuts her off before she can start her next irrelevant rebuttal.

“Will Dad be having dinner with us?”

“You know he has choir practice late on Tuesdays.”

How the hell would he know…Amos wants nothing more than to simply run back out onto the porch, to forcibly remove himself from the conversation without further preamble, but he’s grown now. He can try to pretend to be civilized. To be the bigger person. He forces out the next question. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”

“No. You know I have to do everything, no one appreciates—“

“Great,” says Amos, and takes his cue to leave.

“Oh! But you can get your crap out of that room of yours upstairs. It’s in my way and I’m tired of it cluttering everything up.”

“Great,” says Amos, spinning from the door to go upstairs instead, back to his old bedroom.

His crap so offensively in the way and cluttering everything up consists of a single tub full of teenaged Amos’s worldly possessions on top of his old bed. What this tub is somehow cluttering is a room now full of secondhand furniture pieces of questionably antique tastes. Spindly chairs, writing desks, odd little carts.

How the hell was she expecting us all to sleep here? Amos wonders, looking at all the junk she’s stored in there. Even without Isaiah, and Ezekiel at his own home, there’s too much stuff crowding the room for even one person to be mentally comfortable. But it’s his box of things that’s somehow in the way. Right.

His hand hovers on the lid. Does he dare open it, and risk a trip down a road of bad memories? Because surely, that’s the flavor of the vast majority of his memories. He pops the lid open anyway—just a peek. On the top he spots a handful of Polaroid pictures and pulls them out, stuffing them in his back pocket. That will be more than enough for memories, to subject himself to later. He snaps the lid of the storage tub shut again, and carries it down to the trunk of his car, grateful for the excuse to get back out of the house.

As he waits for Joanna to arrive and Hannah to return, Amos sits on the porch steps and tries to tune out the sounds of Ezekiel attempting in vain to get his mother to quit making dinner. He hears what he’s guessing is the mixing spoon slam on the countertop, and his mother’s angry voice raised in her usual conversational yell say, “oh, is my cooking not good enough for you?! Is that what they taught you at that school?!”

“Mother I’m trying to get you to take it easy, you’re supposed to be—“

“You’re not Dr. Peterson—“

“But Dr. Peterson said—“

“Get out! Get the hell out of my kitchen, I can’t make a casserole like this! Out! Out!” she yells, the spoon hitting the counter repeatedly for emphasis.

Ezekiel steps out onto the porch, hands clenched in his pockets.

“Why do I bother?” he mutters to himself, barely taking note of Amos.

“Why do you bother?” Amos replies, pulling the stack of Polaroids out of his pocket to flip through.

Amos had had the spark of talent that could have, if nurtured properly, made him into a damn good photographer over the years. The pictures were nicely composed, eye-catching insofar as pictures of anything in this flat, nothingful stretch of mostly suburban-bleeding-into-rural Ohio could be. He’d bought the camera for himself. He had always asked for extra film for Christmas, and never got any. Always got socks instead. Or if he ever unwisely decided to take a picture inside, usually got a derisive “are you still playing with that thing?” hurled in his direction.

So, no. Amos had not become a photographer. He didn’t even know where the camera was. Buried in that tub, if he was lucky. In the landfill more likely.

Ezekiel has no answer for why he bothers. Because he should? It feels like he should. Someone should. The rest of them won’t. So Ezekiel does. Is it appreciated? No. Does it ever feel worthwhile? No. But he does it anyway.

The photos are mostly studies in contrast—geometric patterns against the chaos of organic shapes—and not much in the way of actual people until nearly the end of the stack, and there she is. Lorin. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, painted with the shadows of the bike rack by the mall, gesturing with a can of Red Bull towards the camera. Towards him. Making some long lost point about something that no doubt seemed important at the time.

“What is she doing?” Ezekiel asks, nodding toward Leah. Leah is sitting in her car, arms crossed, eye mask on, air conditioner apparently on blast, if the wild sway of her bangs is any indication.

“Power doors, power windows, power locks, power nap,” Amos replies, shuffling around the stack of pictures. He puts the picture of Lorin on the top of the stack, then thinks better and puts it on the bottom, to protect it.

“Doesn’t look like a conference call.”

“Sure doesn’t.”

Hannah returns before Joanna gets there, this time alone in the vehicle. She swears to herself as she approaches the porch.

“Where’s Joanna?” Hannah asks, looking around. “I told you to call me back once everyone was here.”

“Joanna’s on the way,” Ezekiel says. “My house isn’t far.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, but a rented minivan pulling carefully into the driveway renders irrelevant further discussion on whether her being summoned was premature.

When was the last time they had all been in the same place? The wedding, Joanna thinks, getting out of the minivan and locking it behind her. Beautiful wedding. Perfect husband. Horrible mother. Her maid of honor had almost shoved a bouquet of sunflowers down her mother’s throat. Joanna had almost let her.

The soft beep of the lock is enough to wake Leah up, and she smooths her hair quickly in the rear view mirror before sliding back out of the car. She follows behind Joanna’s gently swaying skirt, back up the driveway.

“Now we art all here,” Hannah mutters to Amos as Joanna and Leah walk up.

“We must recount the Deeds of the Day,” he finishes. Of the James family children, Amos and Hannah rank highest in a shared sense of blasphemy kindled around a worn copy of Good Omens, whose demon dared to ask divinity questions they didn’t even realize could be asked. A copy originally given to Amos by none other than Lorin. Amos fidgets with the stack of Polaroids in his hands.

“We’re eating here tonight,” says Ezekiel to the group, “mother insisted on making dinner.”

“Did anyone ask her to?” Joanna asks.

“Of course not,” says Hannah.

Leah looks at the door curiously. “Is it going to kill her to make dinner?”

“If only,” Amos mutters.

And then there it is, the sharp familiar tongue of their mother, cutting the air like lightning—“IS ANYONE GOING TO COME IN HERE AND HELP ME, OR DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING ALL ON MY OWN?”

Five familiar reactions occur at once. Amos jumps, all nervous energy, spilling the Polaroids on the ground and swearing as he gathers them again. Ezekiel flinches only a little, drawing up another bucket of patience from a well that’s in perpetual danger of running dry. Hannah’s face darkens, her expression like a battlement ready for siege warfare, obscenities at the ready to rain on her attacker. Joanna winces, looking guilty. Leah’s eyes narrow towards the door, but her expression remains neutral.

Ezekiel and Joanna are the first to hurry in, followed by Leah. Amos shoves the stack of pictures back in his pocket before heading inside, and Hannah, with a deep sigh, is the last to go in.

Isaiah shifts into first gear as he turns onto a road he hasn’t seen in ages. A road he had no intention of ever seeing again. The driveway is crowded with vehicles as he creeps his truck by, with his mother’s stupid old Buick LeSabre nestled closest to the house, and Isaiah sinks in his seat, continuing on. What is he doing here? This is insane. He pulls over down the road and parks. He can’t do this. He can’t possibly do this. He gets out and stands next to the truck, looking back down the street.

He doesn’t have to do this. He’ll just look in first, he decides. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe they’re having a wake. Wouldn’t that be nice.

Isaiah walks—simply walks, no slipping through the shadows this time—back to the two stories of hell he thought he’d left behind. He notes the vehicles arranged over every available bit of asphalt, spilling into the grass: three rental cars, an old Toyota with expired tags that looks a lot like his oldest brother’s car, and some sleek looking Lexus with Ohio tags next to his mother’s car. His father’s? He could have sworn his father only ever drove a Chrysler several decades past its prime. Maybe he changed. Maybe he died. Who knows. Who cares.

Isaiah is careful to keep out of sight of the windows, and glances around the street. No one is out, but a little magic couldn’t hurt. A simple concentration spell to keep himself from being seen, and then he approaches the house. He can already hear the raised voices from inside.

A flicker of movement catches his eye, and he stamps his foot down on a lost Polaroid before it can continue across the lawn. He picks it up and studies the girl in the picture, shadows like prison bars across her legs, energy drink in hand. She looks familiar, Isaiah thinks, not just school acquaintance familiar, and tries to imagine where he might have seen her.

Screaming. Crying. A welcome distraction. Killed quickly, as a mercy. Oh.

He looks up and down the street, as if it could have come from anywhere but the house in front of him. But no. Of course. Someone in his family had to have known her. He quietly walks up to the door and tucks the picture between the door and the frame.

“HE’S NOT DEAD!” Isaiah hears his mother scream, and the sound of fists slamming on the table. “STOP SAYING HE’S DEAD!”

Isaiah moves slowly to look in the dining room window. The seat closest to the window, at the head of the table, sits empty. To the left of the empty seat, looking impassive, he’s guessing that’s Leah now, sharp and professional. Across from her, must be Joanna in her plain shirt, softened face, looking guiltily into her plate. An empty seat in the middle, next to Leah. Hannah, unmistakable, next to Joanna and already snapping back, “he’s fucking DEAD.” Next to Hannah, looking tired, pushing his glasses up his forehead as he rubs his eyes and says “it’s been how many years?” must be Amos. Across from Amos, hair slightly darker and with a rather impressive beard, saying “stop, stop, can we just eat?” can only be Ezekiel.

And there, across from him at the other end of the table, facing the window, was his mother. Charlotte James. Faded blond hair in limp and frazzled curls. Nowhere near as beautiful as she once had been, not because she’s older, but because there’s an edge of sickliness to her appearance, the tint of her skin, the not-so-whites of her eyes. Her Cupid’s bow lips are puckered in anger, and she is not letting the conversation go.

“That little shit Isaiah—“

“Mother!”

“—is too much of a coward to be dead,” Mrs. James continues darkly. “That would have been dignified! We could have buried him and mourned him, but no! He ran away, and God only knows what sins that horrible little pervert has been committing since.”

It’s like he never left. It’s like he’s fourteen all over again, anger flashing in the pit of his stomach, squeezing at his own throat.

Everyone else at the table is busy looking at Mrs. James in that moment, rebuttals gathered on the tips of tongues, and so Isaiah lets the concealing spell drop. He makes eye contact with her, and she screams, pointing at the window. But by the time anyone else looks, Isaiah has already slipped off into the shadows.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

[chandterpamela1996]

How Old Does A Male Cat Have To Be To Start Spraying Super Genius Useful Tips

It's normal for cat urine around your plants towards her was great.To cats, using their boxed but one is easy.Another danger is Poinsettia plants, these are an interesting breed of animal, which could be the most difficult tasks for cat owners.He can't stand that bottle of Nature's Miracle Stain and Odor Remover is a huge number of these will fend off other males.

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How To Get Rid Of Male Cat Spraying Smell

Fortunately, Deckster is still leaving the sexual messages to the answer for your cat is not going to a house has fleas.If the window frames to stop cats spraying, we decided to take care of the herb will make you laugh too much, you need to clip a feline's scent through his urine and inability to make sure that your cat seems to be sure to keep cats away, and shouldn't be used to mark their territory.Whatever you do not dig up the furniture make sure that it will probably prescribe antibiotics, keep in mind that a feline UTI thrown in, that urine happens, right, and there are no gaps under your front door, come on your hardwood floor, then this will need to know the colour of key importance.Four cats had entered the traps with a different story completely.A female cat usually means the cat you must observe your cat

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How Long Does It Take For A Cat To Stop Spraying

This can happen to bite it, the reason for it.This severe form of training you may be trained but that doesn't scare your cat for a day after mating, then she will also be a difficult time using the bed as an outdoor cat, he is Number One in your machine.The most common preventative practice is common amongst cats in small boxesLiving with a clap or by including an enzyme that helps them:Also make sure it is necessary to treat them.

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