#coloring dark scenes is the bane of my existence

[godmerlin]

Merlin 4x10 A Herald of the New Age

[nanihirunkits]

i'm begging dangerous romance to use more than one lightbulb to light their scenes thank you

[bellysoupset]

Okay so this is what I thought of while reading the interactions with the kids.

I just remembered that Vince is lactose intolerant, right? So how would you feel about lactose intolerant Vince with (reluctant) caretaker Max for a change?

I mean I can imagine maybe a class party or something with a kid wanting to make sure that Mr. Monacelli (or Mr. Mo because that is freaking cute) is having fun too, so they keep bringing him snacks.

I can totally see Vin accepting anything and everything from a kid with doe eyes and not having any way to refuse because the kid is watching him and wants to see Vin eat it. (Let's be honest, Vince would never even speak up because he wouldn't want to hurt their feelings).

After that Vin is feeling gradually sicker and sicker until Max can't keep ignoring him anymore, so Vin has to spill the tea.

Then Max is like "why did you even accept?" While Vin, slightly offended, is like "did you really expect me to say no to that kid?"

I know it's really detailed, feel free to ignore it, I just couldn't get this little scenario out of my head.

- 💜

💜! I hope you like this one, I slightly twisted it and it's a little different from my usual... So let me know what you think!

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Max frowned, leaning on the doorway of the kindergarten. His hands were full with a large tupperware with baking soda, food coloring and vinegar, the usual science fair volcano mix. 

What caused him to pause, though, was the sight inside the classroom. Mr. Monacelli, or Mr. Mo to the little ones, was standing, with a kid on his hip, a little girl… Livia, judging by how comfortable he seemed to be as he held her. 

Liv’s dark wavy hair was up pigtails and she had face paint on, the tip of her nose painted black and whiskers on her cheek, a matching look that was mirrored on the other children. Cats, the Musical, kindergarten version? Max thought with a snort.

Vince also had face paint on and he was chewing something Livia had just pushed inside his mouth, out of a box. Across the room Max noticed a tall chocolate cake, with a glittery candle that said 7 on top.

That explained it. 

Birthday parties were always the bane of his existence, so he was incredibly glad he barely taught kindergarten and the older kids would rather die than celebrate in class. As far as he could remember it, he had bad experiences under his belt. From his mom trying to throw him a fully vegan party that had been a flop with him and his friends, to his father getting drunk and forgetting about his birthday altogether, to the fact once he turned eighteen his birthday all but disappeared as celebratory day. 

“Mr. Mo,” a kid ran across the room, with glitter face paint all the way to his scalp. Max snorted at the sight, the parents surely would be over the moon about that, “tell Jess she can’t play with my toy.”

Vince frowned, crouching down to look at the little boy and Max frowned, staring at the scene. He couldn’t figure out this dude. Monacelli gave off military vibes. Football star, with his little homophobic fit the other day, driving that ridiculous motorcycle everywhere… And there he was, covered in glittery paint, scolding a boy for not sharing his toys and being fed cake pops by his little sister and her group of friends.

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Daniels, do you need anything?” 

Max’s cheeks burned as he realized he had been caught staring and he shook his head, as five little heads looked at him, as well as Vince. 

“No, just passing by.”

“Alright,” Vince waved him off, taking the boy’s hand and dragging him across the room to apologize.

It was a couple hours later when they met again. Max was smelling like bleach, after finishing up a biology class with the 10th graders, and ready to head home as he entered the staff’s lounge to retrieve his bag. He raised his eyebrows as he found Monacelli sitting on one of the couches, in the furthest corner, with his arms crossed to his chest and his head tipped back, as if he was asleep.

“Hey,” Max kicked Vince’s foot to wake him in case he was asleep, “day’s over.”

Vince wasn’t asleep — or maybe he was a really quiet sleeper? —  because he sat up straight with a groan, moving his arms to wrap around his stomach, “what do you want?”

Max frowned at the lackluster response, so unlike the man who always seemed to have his energy up, “school’s over, are you planning on crashing here? Maurice is gonna be locking this room soon.”

Vince let out a sigh, using the couch to push himself up and the other man realized he was a horrible shade of white… Damn near green.

“You look horrible,” Max said, taking a step back as he noticed Vince swaying slightly on his feet. Instead of denying, Vince simply nodded, bringing up a shaky hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

“Yeah, I know-” he interrupted himself with a soft, sickly burp. He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, ceasing every movement as he gulped down, only to let out another little burp and a groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Max eyed him suspiciously. There was no way this man had caught another stomach bug after measly five weeks of having one, right? 

Vince pressed his forehead to the metal locker in the teacher���s lounge, seemingly devoid of any energy to put in his combination and retrieve his bag. Most teachers didn’t even put in a combination, everyone used the standard 0000. 

“Monacelli,” he stepped closer, despite wanting nothing to do with illness or this guy. It was just unnerving. 

“I’m fine,” Vince breathed out, but it would have been a lot more convincing if he wasn’t swallowing in convulsively and clutching his stomach. Stomach, which by the way, was pressing against his work polo. The guy wasn’t small by any means and Max could’ve told he had a tummy to begin with, but now it was nearly poking out. 

“Yeah, you look terrific,” Max rolled his eyes, walking to retrieve his own bag and deciding he was done with the whole scene, “feel better-”

He never quite finished his sentence, before Vince let out a little strangled noise and then rushed across the room, to the teacher’s bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and Max cringed in sympathy as he heard a muffled groan. 

Now he couldn’t just leave the idiot, right? Not after he had driven him home? 

Max carefully walked closer, tapping his knuckles against the door, “Monacelli, do you need anything? Meds? The nurse? Your mom?”

He expected to hear Vince telling him to go fuck himself, but instead there was a noise of liquid hitting liquid, followed by retching and more liquid.

Shit. Perhaps, even, literally. 

Max chewed on his lip, looking around the room helplessly as if an older adult would appear and take over the situation, but he sadly was the only adult. He looked at his watch. 3:40 PM. Office hours were over, the janitor and the security would soon be finishing their rounds and closing up the school.

“Dude,” he sighed, knocking again, “you kinda need to leave, they’re gonna lock us here.”

“Go away…” Vince groaned, his voice raspy and choked up.

Max scoffed, “are you crying?” really? “Mona-”

“I said, go away,” Vince repeated, much harsher now and Max’s mouth snapped shut, his cheeks heating up as his temper got the best of him. 

“Fine,” he said bitterly,loudly walking away,  “drown there, see if I care.”

Sadly, much to Max’s displeasure, he had a guilty conscience and couldn’t make it even to the parking lot. He let out a sigh and glared at the now empty parking lot. Only four vehicles left, one of them being Vince’s stupid motorcycle. 

There was no way the man could go home in a fucking bike.

“Moron,” Max groaned, walking back inside. He fully expected to find Vince back in the teacher’s lounge, so it was much to his surprise when they ran into each other in the hallway. Or rather, he ran, because Vince was frozen in place, an arm wrapped tightly around his belly and breathing through the nausea carefully. 

“Oh there you are-”

“Thought I told you to leave,” Vince groaned, not looking up from the spot in the linoleum he was staring at, trying to keep his stomach in check, “careful, or I’ll believe you give a shit.”

“Fever must be through the roof, you’re delusional,” Max snarked, curiosity getting the best of him as he stepped closer and raised a hand to touch Vince’s forehead. 

Monacelli was much taller, and bigger, so when he pushed Max’s hand away with an impatient huff, the other teacher stumbled on his feet.

“I don’t have a fever,” Vince scoffed, straightening up. He looked worse, more green and more drenched in sweat, “I’m lactose intolerant and I ate- I ate half a chocolate cake…” his gut let out an upset, whiny gurgle that was loud enough for Max to hear.

The blonde stared at him for a second, before cackling “are you fucking with me!?”

When he didn’t get an answer, except for Vince’s cheek ballooning with yet another burp that he muffled with a fist, Max’s laughter lessened down to a chuckle, his shoulders shaking, “oh… You’re serious? You’re in this shape because of some chocolate?”

He really was the one to judge, Max thought with a snort, remembering he’d be hurling much sooner if he ate half a chocolate cake. But then again, he wouldn’t be stumbling around cradling his tummy and whining. 

“What do you want, Daniels?” Vince groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t fucking get you. I helped you, not once, not twice, but three times by now, and you’re still a dick.” 

Max’s chuckle died immediately, his cheeks burning, “sorry, should I’ve been bowing and kissing your feet? What do you want, cuddles and kisses because your tummy hurts?”

Vince raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “I’m really sorry you weren’t hugged enough as a child,” he said coldly, “but yeah, actually, I do have people who take care of me when I feel ill, because I’m not a fucking jackass.”

“Says you,” Max snorted, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the empty hallway, “where’s the queue to cuddle you? I don’t see it.”

“I know what your problem with me is,” Vince scoffed, pressing his back to the wall behind him and huffing. He was shaking, which was not a good sign and Max bit down the urge to ask if the guy was okay.

“Enlighten me,” he said instead and Vince folded in half, planting his hands on his knees and breathing through a cramp.

“You’re jealous,” he said through his teeth and Max glared daggers at him, his stomach dropping to his feet. 

He wasn’t jealous, he was… He just didn’t think Vince was anything special. Surely he was allowed this opinion? 

For example, if Vince was so great, why was he about to hurl all over the floor that Maurice had probably already cleaned? That was asshole behavior. 

Max mentally patted himself on the back, before saying loudly, “here, Mr. Moron, don’t hurl all over the floor,” and pushing a garbage bin in front of the guy. He didn’t expect Vince to make immediate use of it, falling to his knees and grabbing the metal bin with his hands, hugging it to his chest as a huge gush of projectile vomit fell inside of it.

He jumped back, startled, then tip-toed closer, feeling a new shade of shitty as he heard Vince let out a whimper and bury his head in, burping wetly once more and continuing to convulse and cough. 

“If you’re such hot shit, why didn’t you not eat the thing you’re aware makes you super ill?” Max asked, mostly to himself, hesitantly moving closer to plant a hand in the middle of the guy’s back. Even down on his knees, Vince was still pretty freaking tall.

Max patted his back in a hesitant manner, then cringed as he heard footsteps down the hallway. Curse both their lucks, Vince’s because he was about to be caught hurling his brains out, and Max’s because now he’d have to look out for the prick. 

He braced for Fernanda, the principal, or Maurice, the janitor, but raised his brows as the person who rounded the corner was no one he knew. The man was well into his mid fifties or early sixties, with wavy light brown hair and blue eyes… And he was really tall.

Max cringed as suddenly he realized he knew Mr. Monacelli from parent-teacher meetings and that the old guy would be expecting him to act like a lovable guy, the same lovable teacher he was when talking about Sophia or Livia. Fuck.

“Mr. Mona-”

“Dad,” Vince croaked, lifting his head for a slight second, “fuck- Fuck, it hurts.”

Mr. Monacelli all but ignored Max as he crouched down next to his son, planting a wrinkly hand on his back and rubbing in wide circles, “I got you, I got you. Get it up and then I’m taking you home.”

Max bit the inside of his cheek so as not to chuckle at that, “Uh- Hi…?”

“Mr. Daniels,” Giuseppe zeroed him, opening a small smile, “thank you for keeping him company.”

Sure. That was what he was doing.

“Yeah, uhm- Of course,” Max scratched at his beard, as Vince let out another sickly belch, bringing up a bit more watery vomit, and then leaned back, his head hitting the lockers, chest heaving, drenched in sweat.

“Babbo, I’m dying.”

“You should be,” Giuseppe glared at him, “what a stupida idea was that?” he softly thumped on his son’s forehead, “I couldn’t believe my ears when Livia told me. Cazzo, you’re an adult, Vincenzo!”

Vince frowned, looking pathetically close to tears, “babbo,” he breathed out, wiping at his mouth and clutching his bloated belly, “later?”

“Idiota,” his father scoffed, grabbing his arm and helping him get up, “Non pensi?”

“Dad,” Vince said a little harsher and his father stopped scolding him continuously, glaring at his son. 

“Let’s go home- Thank you for helping him, Mr. Daniels,” Giuseppe said, still oblivious to the role, or lack of one, Max had played.

“Of course,” Max said cheekily, following them out, “any time, Vince. I hope your tummy feels better.”

“Go fuck yourself, Danie- Babbo!” Vince cried out, as his father slapped the back of his hand, dragging him out of the school and towards his car.

“Don’t swear at the boy, he helped you,” Mr. Monacelli glared at Vince, “get in the car.”

“What am I, five?” Vince groaned, stumbling to the car and bracing against it, breathing deeply through the nausea. 

Max bit down a smirk, “Bye Mr. Monacelli,” he said happily, “bye Vinny.” 

Behind his father’s back, Vince raised a middle finger at him.

[auxiliarydetective]

Sweeter Than Sugar and Twice As Sharp

Behold! The ultimate cutie of this blog! It's Lily!

Bases by Destinys-Heart and ShinanaPixelBases on DeviantArt

Detailed breakdown and separate baby and kid forms under the cut!

As per usual, we'll be going top to bottom!

The ears. Lily is a fennec fox and fennec foxes have big ears, but baby fennec foxes especially are 90% ears, so the same is true for baby Lily.

Generally, I based Lily's fur colors off of real fennec foxes. Their tails are surprisingly dark!

Have you ever seen fennec fox teeth? They're tiny and razor-sharp. I settled for giving Lily only the canines, in true cute anime fashion. Still, those things cause serious ouchies. You do not wanna be bitten by them.

Funny story about that necklace: I simply didn't like that there was so much dead space in kid Lily's collarbone area, so I decided to add a necklace, but I didn't know what kind of necklace. So, I looked through my gallery and found screenshots from the garden of Kaya's mansion. One of those screenshots showed the pond with the gigantic lily pads - and water lilies! A pun? Perfect! Thus, Lily got a water lily necklace, and I will turn this into a plot point in a future fic because I have something very sweet for it in mind <3

The necklace was originally meant to resemble rose gold, but I'm not sure if I want it to be actual rose gold yet since that would be expensive. We'll see...

Ah yes, the dress. The bane of my existence. I found it on Pinterest and decided that Lily just HAD to wear it. And so, I spent hours drawing and coloring it :) - But I think it turned out really cute!

Lily is a ballerina, in case you didn't know, so she gets the typical tights, leg warmers and shoes. She would actually be in the correct age range to be starting to dance en pointe! Also, her being a ballerina just makes sense to me? She needs a little hobby and ballet just seemed perfect. One day, I'll write some cute scenes of her asking Sanji to help her train...

No shoes on baby Lily both because I did NOT wanna draw those again and also because a five year old should NOT be dancing en pointe. Their poor baby toes and legs and... entire bodies, really. So, she's barefoot like a true kindergartener on permanent summer vacation

H

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @supermarine-silvally - let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hey can I asl for a Bg3 match up? :D

Gender:Male

Pronouns:He/him and they/them

Sexuality: Gay

Race: High elf

Class: he's multiclass Wizard and Bard

D&d alignment: Chaotic neutral

Appearance: Red-ish hair with some light "graying" its more caramelly but like graying anyways, he has heterochromia, his right eye is brown snd left one is light brown. He's dresses very eccentricly and likes wearing long robes with the main colors being dark blue and a magentay red and lots lots lots of jewelry, he's around 170cm or 5'7 ish

Personality: Confident, creative, definetly a problem solver, aloof from time to time, extremely emotional has not know a day of peace with how many emotions his tiny smooth brain can hold. They're wise but the intelligence department is lacking a little tiny winy bit, his brain only retains fun facts and obscure knowledge.

Likes: Cats, pigeons, plants, herbs, herbal tea, coffee, sweets and lots of em, owning books without reading them and obscure spells.

Dislikes: Crowds, loud people, shoes are the bane of his existence, spicy food, silver as a color, his own ears and paper that's thin enough to see through.

Extra fun facts: He has stage fright which is why he has to know how to do other types of magic too, he's befriended every cat he's met and the mf grins like the cat who got the cream all the time... even when he shouldn't even be smiling, he gets into trouble for that.

I hope I did that right :) Have a nice day/night and tha k you :D

I love how sweet all of you guys are in my Asks. I should be the one apologizing cause I have so many accidental spelling mistakes, lol.

~~~~~ MATCH UP ~~~~~

Anon I love your character 10/10. Whether they are a representation of you or not, I love them! I match you with-------

Gale Dekarios

This ticking time bomb of a man (Literally, man is a bomb) loves your comedic sense and the fact he can relate to a true connoisseur of Magic. It's like the Weave made you two for one another.

~~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~~

Gale loves your shows when you perform; watching you use the Weave and your other talents impresses him greatly.

He has no problem helping you reconnect with the Weave if you struggle with a spell. (We all know the scene I am thinking of 0.0)

Gale enjoys learning your fun facts and feels like it connects him to you better. It also helps him keep up with what interests you.

Gale hesitates to start walking around shoelessly with you; however, when you two are in his tower, he doesn't mind humoring you.

Gale knew you were the one when Tara accepted you right away.

Correction: Gale knew you were the one when you and Tara ganged up on him and decided your new pastime was picking on him.

(I Wonder if it's just my dialogue scenes or everyone else's, but Gale also has an issue with smiling 24/7, even if there's something horrible going on. Like using runepowder to murder the whole Underdark on accident)

Gale loves to 'borrow' from your book collection to help you continue learning about the Weave.

~~~~~ BLURB ~~~~~

You stood atop the ruined stage at the fairgrounds, decrepit since you guys got rid of the imposters. Your group decided to set up camp here while waiting out at the location of the Nether Brain. As you began practicing the magic show you used to perform before the parasite, a lone Wizard stood by on watch. Gale loved watching you enjoy yourself; nothing set his heart more alight than watching you learn and process things.

Conjuring up a seat, he continued watching as you cast a fireball, quickly switching to an iceblast and causing an explosion similar to a firework. As you continued step by step, you could feel someone's eyes on you. Becoming more meticulous with your casts, you started to lose connection to the Weave. Noticing this, Gale smiled and began to walk over to you. "My dear, what seems to be the matter?" You look to Gale and sigh, frustrated that you forgot such a basic routine due to stage fright. Gale shook his head then stood behind you, "Close your eyes love and follow Mystras guidance, let the Weave move you, forget any eyes on you just flow with the Weave."

You closed your eyes, noting Gale was moving around you now. As you started the basic incantation for a mage hand, you were pulled out of your trance by a swift peck on the cheek from the Wizard before you. Shooting your eyes open, you turn to him with a smug smirk. "Rule number one, don't become distracted, Rule number two, stop looking so handsome while you focus."

~~~~~ EXTRA ~~~~~

(Tara and you were lounging about in the sun on the balcony of Waterdeep Tower. As you two were resting, a grumpy Gale appeared)

Gale: I woke up from my nap to find my lover and cat gone.

(Tara raises her head slightly, yawning)

Tara: Hmmm, it seems I am more critical to your elf than you are, Mr. Dekarios.

(Gale stands there in shock; before he can turn on his heel, he hears Y/N speak)

Y/N: On a scale of one to ten, Tara, how funny was his face? Be honest with me.

(Gale didn't even have to turn around to know you had a giant smile on your face)

[loreleismusings99]

Two Body Problem

Ch 3

[Masterlist]

Mark gets a rude awakening earlier than he wanted, you teach some kids about gravity, and Mark walks home in the dark (again).

As always, thank you for reading and commenting. It's genuinely so lovely to see that people other than myself are enjoying this. Sorry this took so long to get out to you all, though--I just went through a bunch of life changes, and the semester just started for me so I've been a hair overwhelmed as of late. I should be back in business though. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. if you want add another layer to the experience, maybe listen to 'To Someone from a Warm Climate' by Hozier; I had that on repeat for most of the time I spent writing this, lmao.

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Why did I do this again? Oh. Right. Mark thought, kicking a rock that had been landing between him and his destination for the last 5 minutes only for him to have to kick it out of the way again. I decided I needed to follow the bane of my existence turned… friend? back to their building… 

At the time, Mark had reasoned that it was to make sure you were safe, which admittedly was most of the reason why, but he didn't have to walk you to your door from the bus stop that was merely a yard away from it. If he rode the bus the rest of the way back to his apartment he'd be home right now, resting soundly in his bed and listening to the sounds of Downtown Chicago drone on outside his window. But, for whatever reason, he acted on a whim--walking you to your door and letting himself get lost in your presence. He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his shoulder blade; your hand was cold, and surprisingly grounding despite the light touch. Mark had to fight back the disappointingly real urge to lean into you every time your arm grazed his on the bus. Usually, he can explain away the thrill of hearing you talk as just being the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he anticipated the usually inevitable debate. But today couldn't be explained by that; the two of you weren't even arguing--you had a genuine heart-to-heart, but he still felt his heart skip a beat every time you locked eyes with him. And even now, as he was unlocking the door to his apartment, he could feel the memory of you sticking to him--like a stubborn piece of jello lodged in his esophagus, right behind his heart.

Mark lets out a jaw-breaking yawn before stepping out of his shoes and hanging up his keys. "I'm way too tired to process this…" he says, running a hand down his face as he walks towards his bathroom to get ready for bed.

The soil surrounding Mark's arm feels soft and cool, offering a small reprieve from the unwavering heat of the afternoon sun above him. He's adjusting a small lilac sapling into a hole he just dug. The soft purple petals from the bush’s flowers tickle his cheek as he looks up and around at the scene he's found himself in. He's inside a backyard he knows for a fact he hasn't seen before, but he feels calm like it's somehow his home. There's a vegetable garden behind him and to his right, there's a bed of sprawling wildflowers(presumably there to hold on to the soil, forming a retention wall while also bringing some color variation to the yard and attracting native pollinators). A shadow is cast over him as he contemplates adding in some ivy to reinforce the root system, making Mark look up to his left at a figure being backlit by the sun now beginning to set in the west. He lets his eyes adjust and finds your face in the shadow you cast, smiling down at him with an amused quirk of your eyebrow. You have a trowel in one hand and a pair of gloves in the other, resting lazily on your hip in your slightly askew stance.

"I wish you could see yourself right now, almost shoulder-deep in the ground." You say with a chuckle. Mark goes to respond but finds his breath caught in his throat. The sun almost looks like a halo around your head, and there's a spot of dirt on your forehead that he desperately wants to wipe off. You're stunning. 

"Come down here and tell me more about it, smart-ass" he finally lets out through a breathy laugh. You roll your eyes while you kneel beside him, and he pulls a small rag from his back pocket to wipe the dirt from your brow once you're settled beside him.

"Thanks" You smile fondly at him before looking down at the fruits of his labor trying to transfer the lilac tree from its pot and into the ground. "Are you sure this isn't too close to the fence? You know we can't have sprouts showing up in the neighbor's yard-" 

"Do I need to remind you that I literally have a PhD in Botany? It's far enough, there shouldn't be any issues-" 

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that." You said after letting out a hearty laugh. You plop down fully onto the ground and gently fall back into the grass behind you, closing your eyes to protect them from the sun. "It's really nice out here…" you say with a sigh. 

Mark looks down at you, now fully illuminated in the midday sun, and responds, "Yeah… it is." 

Mark blinks and the blaring sound of someone's car horn jolts him out of his dream. He lays there for a second before extracting his pillow from under his head and using it to muffle an exhausted groan. 

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"You've gotta be kidding me…" you mutter under your breath while staring at the email the marketing team just sent you confirming that you're headed to the South Side STEM Festival to table for Adler. Alone. While also running two different activities 'concurrently, ideally.' Do they have any idea how much it takes to run one demo, let alone two? You think to yourself, reasoning that it's probably not the best idea to voice your grievances out loud--not while you're on the clock, at least. You have to pack up the outdoor tent, gravity demo, and a prize roulette wheel and head out for UChicago in about 30 minutes. Luckily for you, though, it's all easy enough to take apart and load into a car, and you're on your way over a couple of minutes ahead of schedule, hoping to get a jump on setting up the booth.

While you're stuck in a traffic backup on Columbus, your mind wanders to the events of a couple of nights ago; you and Mark competed in a game of trivia(which reminds you that you need to get Hana a coffee sometime to apologize for monopolizing the game). But, on the way back to your side of town he went with you--even walked you to your building. That was sweet of him , you think as you find yourself staring at your hand resting on the steering wheel--the one you touched his shoulder with. At the time you weren't entirely sure if it was the right call, but seeing him begin to talk himself out of going with you triggered a flash of inexplicable panic in you. Not wanting the interaction to end quite yet, you'd touched him, hoping the contact would do something . And it certainly did--at least to you; that initial contact felt like a bolt of lightning shooting up your arm. At first, you thought it was the instinct to recoil from the man who'd, for all intents and purposes, been your academic rival but there was something else hidden within the feeling. A softer undercurrent you hadn't expected. 

You're jolted out of your rêverie by the Lexus behind you laying on their horn, mad at you for not moving the very second the car in front of you had started moving. Grumbling to yourself, you inched the car forward by a foot and put the car back into park, waiting for the chance to inch further out of the traffic jam.

The field was already packed, and it wasn't even open to visitors yet--and despite the slight cloud cover, the sun felt like it was beating incessantly on you while you tried to set up your booth’s tent on your own. There was a ring of tables populated with a smorgasbord of science demos lining the edges of the field the organizers put you all in. There was a booth being managed by a local bioengineering company to the left of your own with a wild mess of tubes transporting a bunch of red fluid--supposedly a replica of a human circulatory system. To your right, there’s a constructed functional model of one of da Vinci’s flying machines that some undergrad MechEs built for a design lab project. Someone’s drone buzzed overhead, presumably just to test out the inevitable aerial shot they were going to use for marketing the event, but the wiring of the small quadcopter’s motors only added to your malcontent while trying to deal with the heavy and surprisingly fragile canopy. 

After getting your hand pinched for the umpteenth time that morning and letting out a yelp and a string of colorful expletives that seemed to fluster one of the undergrads setting up next to you, you hear someone chuckle behind you and ask, “You need some help with that?” 

You whip around and see Mark carrying a box of decorations in his arms. The surprise at seeing him causes you to lose focus while holding up the tent’s frame for a second too long, and the structure starts to fall with you standing under it. You let out a " SHIT! " as you try to handle the tent quite literally crumbling around you. 

You hear a frantic "woah, woah, whoa!" as Mark rushes into the falling structure to help support it and stop it from folding you into it. 

Mark lets out a soft grunt and pushes away a pane of polyester fabric to see your face. Once he locks eyes with you and sees your disgruntled expression he huffs out a "hey-" through a laugh and asks "You alright there?"

"Yeah, I think so…" you adjust the tarp above the two of you before continuing."What are you doing here?" You ask, letting an incredulous look twist your features, hopefully communicating your confusion. 

"I'm a volunteer;" He nods towards the t-shirt he’s wearing which says in bold lettering SSF VOLUNTEER , which you grimaced at how obvious it now seemed. "I did my undergrad here, and I like to pay it forward to my alma mater when I can" Mark adds with a wink and a smirk, making you roll your eyes. 

Trying your best to right the falling structure around you, you ask "Well, since you're 'paying it forward' today, would you be available to help me set this up? I'm here from Adler." Mark responds with a cordial 'for sure' before taking the other side of the tent and helping you expand it fully, locking into place its folding joints. You let out a sigh and thank him before moving on to setting up the prize roulette table

Mark props his fists on his hips and says, "I'm guessing you'd like some help with that too?" Gesturing towards the collapsed gravity table frame in front of your tent. 

You pop your head up from your place under the table while trying to get its legs to stay in place and say, "Yeah if you don't have anything else to get to right now. Usually, we're sent out with at least one other person to make all this manageable, but I somehow got sent out alone." You say that last part with thinly veiled vitriol as you finally get the table legs to straighten out. Mark gets to work and you stand and brush the grass and dirt off your dark-wash jeans before looking up to see how Mark's tackling the gravity table. You watch him organize the parts according to how they fit together and huff out a small laugh, causing him to look up at you from his seat on the grass. He looks like he's about to say something before he looks up at you and stops in his tracks; his expression morphs quickly from questioning and amused to the same ambiguous and hard-to-decipher look he gave you before leaving you at the front door of your building on trivia night. The sudden change slightly startles you and you ask, "What? Do I have something on my face?" You raise an eyebrow in an attempt to look at least a little unflustered while being scrutinized by Mark. 

"… Uh, n-no, no you don't. Just spaced out…" There's a beat of silence between the two of you before Mark clears his throat and asks, "Does this look right? I think you guys had this set up last year, but it's been too long for me to remember how it was set up." He stands and awkwardly tries to brush blades of dead grass off the seat of his pants. 

You look down and nod, "Yeah, that looks good. Just need to put the legs on and turn it right side up." You pick up two PVC pipe legs and hand another set to Mark, and the two of you finish constructing the frame. You take the elastic fabric that goes with the table and stretch it out over the frame, making sure one side of the ring doesn't have more fabric draping off it than the opposite side. 

"Need any more help setting up?" Mark asks, causing you to look up from the fabric. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it looks like he has a hopeful glint in his eye, but of course, that wouldn't make any sense. The two of you are becoming more friendly now, but that doesn't change the fact that he hated your guts not even two weeks ago. Not to mention how much work needs to be done around other parts of the fair, there's no way he has the time to stand around here. 

You give him a soft smile and say, "Nah, I think I've got it from here. Thanks, though…genuinely." You look down and run a hand through your hair. Your thoughts begin to spiral as you finish clipping the fabric to its PVC frame; Did that sound too soft? Too nice? God, why are my palms sweating so much??? 

"Alright; flag one of us down if you need any more help, I can't imagine running two different activities is, uh, easy." Mark picks back up his box of decorations and is back on his way to what you think is the Biology building. 

You look up at him and cross your arms, sporting a smirk of your own. "You underestimate my ability to multitask" you call out to him and hear him let out a loud and singular 'HA!' as he turns his back to you. 

Maybe Mark was right about how well you'd be able to manage this on your own; you completely underestimated how busy it was going to be. Every time you went to one side of your booth to interact with a family, another one would arrive at the opposite side, wanting to do the prize roulette. You felt like a chicken running around with its head cut off trying to keep up with the two activities. There's finally a lull in visitors around lunchtime, and you take a moment to collapse into the fold-up chair behind the roulette table and pinch the bridge of your nose out of exhaustion. It’s only gotten hotter since you arrived in the morning, and the temperature is starting to get to you. It would be one thing if it was dry out, but the humidity is making the heat feel like it’s sticking to your bones, and no matter how much you sweat or how much water you drink, you can’t seem to get any relief. You're still sitting with your eyes closed when you feel something cold press up against your cheek. You open your eyes and see Mark again, this time holding a blue Gatorade bottle up to your face. “What are you doing? ” you ask tiredly and try to bat the bottle away from your face only for him to move the bottle from your face and offer it to you normally. 

“Checking on you.” You look him up and down and give him a judgmental side eye as you take the Gatorade bottle from his hand and crack it open. “I was checking out your booth hoping to mess with you, but when I saw that your eyes were closed, I actually got scared that you’d passed out.” You raise an eyebrow, taken aback by the genuine concern that Mark’s expressing before he continues, “Cause, you know, having a medical emergency like that would be an absolute drag and throw a monkey wrench into the whole operation." He finishes the sentence with a sly grin and you lightly kick his foot and roll your eyes in exasperation. After a moment of laughter, though, his expression turns serious again as he asks, "Are you sure you don't need any help out here? I could operate the prize table or something, I really don't have much to do other than stand around and look official." He takes a seat on the table in front and slightly to your right. 

You consider his proposal for a moment; within the past two hours, you've been maybe the most scattered and stressed you've ever been outside a scholastic context. Being split between two activities was technically possible, but it was quickly wearing you down. Having to ask for help though, especially from Mark, seemed worse than the exhaustion, but at this point, you might keel over. You let out a sigh and respond solemnly, "I mean… if you've got nothing else to do. Sure, I don't see how it would be a problem." You look up at him and are slightly taken aback by the soft look of concern gracing his features. "Are, uh, are you sure you're okay with it? Please don't feel like you have to-" 

Mark says your name to interrupt you and continues, " I'm here to help. I'm more than okay with it, I want to." 

The relief that washes over you is immediate and alarming in its intensity. You fight the urge to weep at the prospect of not running two things at once and look wearily up at Mark. "... Thanks… um… here, let's set you up here." You get up from your seat and show Mark how to operate the prize roulette wheel; once spun, the guest has to answer whatever question it lands on, but no matter what, they get a planetarium sticker. Once you're done showing him the ropes, people start to trickle back into the demo area, signaling the end of lunch, and the return of the hoards of families and excited children.

 An hour after resuming the festivities, a group of what you can only assume are siblings walk up to your booth with their parents. Preparing for the new interaction, you put on your usual customer service façade and start addressing the group. "Hey there! How's it going?" You beam with a wide and inviting smile. Your voice is about an octave above what you usually speak at, but talking like this makes it easier to make your voice carry farther. After becoming more acquainted with the new visitors, you begin to walk them through the demo--teaching them about the Einsteinian model for gravity from general relativity, and showing them how objects are attracted to each other in space using a collection of marbles and a bocce ball sat in the middle of the 'space-time" fabric stretched over its PVC frame. 

The kids have fun starting orbits and you show them how to make two marbles orbit each other, something that immediately captivates them and causes them to frantically start throwing marbles into the pit, hoping to send a bunch of them in orbit with each other. Putting a hand up and gathering a set of marbles from the pile you begin to try to calm the frenzy. “Alright alright, hold on; you guys are putting them in too quickly. You have to make sure they’re close enough to get pulled into each other’s wells without having them get too close.” You let out a chuckle and prepare to send the set of marbles in your hand in orbit with each other. You set them loose with a flick of the wrist and they start to spiral around each other, dancing around in a decaying dance while falling towards the bocce ball and the kids are in pure awe. “They’re falling towards each other, but moving just fast enough to miss each time. It’s hard to get, but I know you guys can do it; it just takes time and practice,” you reassure the children surrounding the table. 

You feel someone's eyes on you and you turn around to see Mark looking at you… fondly??? No, surely it's something else, some other reason he's looking at you like that. Your cheeks flush under the weight of his attention and call out to him to break the quickly forming tension. "Wanna give it a shot?" 

One of the younger kids in the group gasps and calls out, "Marble battle!" as Mark walks up to the table and picks two marbles out of the mound of them sitting in your hand. 

"How could I not ; especially if it's a contest!" Mark exclaims, confidently preparing his toss. He looks up at you with a cocky grin as he drops the marbles onto the fabric. You pull your eyes away from him to watch as the marbles do not, in fact, orbit each other, but rocket off the table and into the center of the field instead. The kids burst out in peals of laughter, and it takes everything in you to not bark out a laugh of your own at full volume. 

"So, um, that was a great example of a hyperbolic orbit-" you were interrupted by your own giggles, and the kids' laughter at your attempt to not openly make fun of Mark. 

"Which is technically a type of orbit, you didn't specify a particular path-" 

"I certainly did not, but I wasn't expecting that! " Your ribs start to ache from trying to hold in giggles as Mark tries to talk his way out of his embarrassment.

At the end of the day, you pack up the demos and drive them back to the planetarium after thanking Mark for his help(not without any begrudging or jest on Mark’s part), excited to get home. You still have some work that needs grading, but you can finish that from the comfort of your apartment and not in the middle of a field. After waking through your front door and kicking off your shoes you get a text from Mark. 

I’ve still got a shit ton of grading to finish. You free to meet up?

You type back a quick 'sure' and pause before asking, my place or yours? having decided that you'll try to be bold for once. It was normal to invite people over if you're working together, and the two of you have been getting along surprisingly well the past week so surely this would be within the bounds of normalcy to ask- 

Yours, if that's okay? I would suggest mine, but Colin's asleep already :P

You let out a huff of a laugh at his uncharacteristic use of an emoji and told him that it was fine. 

We really need to find a time to work together that isn't the middle of the night, lol

You scoff at this and respond, what, you worried people are gonna talk? 

They might! The Devil works hard, but gossips work harder ;) 

Hfjshfhsjck 🤣

After confirming that he'd be over in about 20 minutes, your brain finally settled down for long enough for the reality of the situation to kick in. It was a quarter till 10 p.m. and Mark was coming over. He’s going to see your apartment--the inside of it this time, not just the building from the outside. Trying to distract yourself from the impending intrusion, you start to stress clean, making sure every surface is clear of dust and looks at least less chaotic than how frantic your thoughts are. 

Is this weird? Not it isn't, this is completely normal. Acquaintances visit each other. Maybe not this late, but this isn't entirely outside the realm of normalcy, friends visit each other late. God he's going to see my apartment; I wonder what he'll think; I wonder what he's expecting? Wait. Why do I care?? Ugh, he's probably not as messed up about this as I am, he's probably cool as a fucking cucumber right now.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

"Okay, okay okay okay - " Mark hisses under his breath while pacing back and forth in his room trying to put together his work bag and an outfit that looked a bit more put together than just wearing his pajamas would. You just invited him to your apartment. Inside your apartment. You trust him enough to let him in your home. 

Okay, Mark thought, this is normal, this is fine, it shows that they most likely don’t hate me. I think. He picks up a shirt and grimaces at a stubborn ketchup stain in an impossible-to-hide spot before putting it down and rummaging through his drawer for something not so marred by his messy eating habits. Settling for a black turtle neck and the khakis he wore for the STEM festival, Mark rushes out his door, forgetting his bag in the process and having to run back inside to retrieve it before leaving for your apartment building

Your apartment feels homey despite its small size; every square inch held little clues hinting at who you were, who you are, and want to be. There’s a bookshelf in front of him where most people would put a TV and the couch he’s sat on directly to your left has a little divot in the cushion next to his where he can only assume you habitually sit whenever you have some work to do or a book to finish while wrapped in the blanket that was now messily draped over the backrest. The air around him smells like cinnamon and honey, and the fabric under him is impossibly soft, matching well with the warm light that fills your living/dining room as the two of you work in silence. The volume of the comfortable quiet the two of you have settled into is almost too much; Mark tries to focus on anything else, the work in front of him that he's trying to grade, his heartbeat, anything to distract him from the weight of your presence next to him, scribbling away at the work in front of you on a clipboard while being cradled by a Papasan chair. Mark runs a hand down his face and puts down his quickly drying out pen before asking, “Do you have a bathroom?... wait, of course, you have a bathroom… uh…” 

“... where is it? Or, can you use it?” you ask, trying to decipher what he’s trying to ask. 

Mark bows his head and huffs out a weak laugh before looking up at you with a small grin, “Yeah, where is it?” Letting out an amused huff, you direct him to a short hallway behind the two of you, saying that the bathroom should be the door immediately to the left of the start of it. After thanking you and walking into the bathroom, he shuts the door and sits on the floor with his back to it, cradling his head in his hands in an attempt to stop the memory of your laugh from seeping into his bones. “...what the Hell…” Mark says under his breath, closing his eyes after noticing you use peppermint-scented body wash. What he’s feeling almost has Mark thinking that he’s getting overstimulated--maybe the day of volunteering had gotten to him and he was just now feeling the effects--but in his self-inflicted solitude, Mark notices something lingering beneath the surface of his strife; a warmth taking root beneath his sternum that is equal parts pleasant and unbearable, like an unknown need that's only halfway satisfied. He tries to swallow it down though; whatever it is, he's got work to do, and you to get back to. 

Mark stands and splashes some cold water on his face before leaving the bathroom. On his way back to his spot on your couch, he notices a small picture frame sitting on a table by the hallway he's emerging from that he didn't notice on his way to your restroom. In the photo, an elderly woman is holding this tiny pudgy baby and they're both looking up presumably at the person taking the photo. Upon further inspection, Mark is pretty sure it's you, the face on the baby looking into the middle distance is vastly different, but their eyes have the same brilliance and gravity that he sees nearly daily now that you work and have classes together. 

He picks up the frame and continues back to the couch before asking, "This you?" and turning the picture around for you to see. You look up from your work and at the photo, pausing for a second before your face settles into a fond smile. 

"Yeah, that's me and my great-grandmother. I'm maybe only a couple of months old in that picture." You take the photo from his hands and look at it thoughtfully. "Where'd you find this?" You ask, looking up at him finally with an amused smirk.

"It was on a shelf in the hallway back there and it caught my eye. I thought I recognized you, could spot those eyes from a mile away." He responds with a comfortable smile before settling back into his spot on your couch. Mark watches as your expression morphs into a look of pleasant surprise. 

Panicking, thinking he might've alarmed you, he lampshades; he dawns a smirk and says, "They have a certain haughty, greater-than-thou air to them that's hard to miss." You roll your eyes, scoffing out a "fuck off" and lightly kick his leg while he laughs at your reaction. 

After about an hour of grading, you set down your clipboard, looking off into the distance in front of you before turning your gaze to Mark and asking, "Are you hungry?" 

Mark is surprised by the sudden question and pauses for a bit before answering. "Actually, I kind of am. Why, are you craving anything in particular?" Mark leans back to look at you properly, his arm draping across the back of your couch. 

You ponder his question for a moment, tapping your fingers against your chin, before answering, "How do you feel about pizza?" 

"I feel great about pizza, how could I feel bad about it?" Mark responds with an incredulous smirk. 

You laugh and pull out your phone, presumably to open DoorDash or something similar. "Pizza it is, then. Giordano's?" You ask, looking out from your phone. "Always, of course," Mark says with a smirk and sets down his pen before turning to face you fully. 

You type for a bit before asking, "Any toppings suggestions? So far I've just got cheese." 

"Hmm… maybe veggie? With some mushrooms and bell peppers? Oh, and we should get some ranch with it too." 

"Oh, I've already got ranch, we can just use mine." 

Mark instinctively senses a button to press to fluster you and pursues it. "Well, what if I want my ranch in a small cup?" 

You raised an eyebrow before continuing, "Why… would the shape of the ranch make a difference? Wouldn't having it outside of the container make it easier to utilize?" 

"I mean, sure, maybe, but the container makes it more fun!" Mark beams at you with barely contained laughter. 

You consider him for a moment with a thoroughly amused twist to your grin before asking, "Do you really want the little ranch? I mean, I can get it, if you want it-"

Mark bellows out a laugh, "No no no, it's fine; I was just being a contrarian--I appreciate that though." He says between chortles. 

"I swear to God, Watney…" you say through chuckles of your own before continuing, "Alright, that's all ordered; should be here in about 15 minutes." You stand up out of your seat and start to walk over to what looks like your kitchen before saying, "I'm gonna make some coffee; you want any?" 

"Sure" Mark responds as he goes to follow you into your kitchen so he's not left alone sitting awkwardly on your couch. Your kitchen feels like a little alcove, tucked away in a corner and separated from the rest of the space by a false wall. The slightly ajar door to one of your cabinets reveals colorful bowls and plates, and just below them is a toaster in the shape of Saturn. 

Seeing this makes Mark huff out a chuckle that you pick up on, "What?" 

"Oh, nothing, it's just. Your toaster." 

"What about my toaster?" You ask, filling up a couple of mugs with some cold brew you took out from your fridge. 

"It's funny, it's Saturn; I don't think I've ever seen a Saturn-shaped toaster." 

You let out a scoff and turn around holding two mugs of water before saying, "Well, now you have." You hand him one and take a seat on top of your counter before taking out your phone and starting to scroll. Mark distracts himself by looking at some of the fake vines crisscrossing the tops of your cabinets and your fridge before he hears speak up again. "Take a look at this: 'NASA successfully deploys first module of new 'Hermes' space station into orbit.' Looks like we're finally getting serious about sending people past the Moon." 

"Really? Do they have footage of the launch? I've been meaning to watch it but it was at the ass-crack of dawn." Mark leans himself next to you on the counter and reads the article over your shoulder.

"Yeah, there should be one on here…" you scroll to the top and press play on the video that appears there. The two of you watch the video of the massive Falcon Heavy launch a little under 6 tons of infrastructure made to sustain human life into low Earth orbit, the speakers in your phone trying and failing to communicate the intensity of the engines roaring to life in Cape Canaveral in the dead of night. "What I'd give to get the chance to see one of those in person…" you mutter under your breath as the two of you watch the camera feeds switch to the ones on board the central module of the new Hermes space station, being built to supposedly facilitate human travel not just to Mars, but to the outer planets and their moons. 

"Would you ever want to be on one of those rockets?" Mark asks, turning his head to see your reaction. 

You scrunch up your face and set your phone down in your lap before answering. "Ehhh, not really, to be honest. I, uh, have a lot of opinions about sending humans that far before sending robotic explorers…" 

"Yeah? What are your thoughts?" Mark asks while he crosses his arms, listening intently to what you have to say.

" Well, Mars is one thing, right; We've sent countless rovers to the surface and have the infrastructure set in place to accommodate people, but I think sending out human explorers farther than that is too risky right now. There are too many unknowns, and not nearly enough probes have been sent out to the outer planets. I think sending out robotic explorers first would be wiser, considering we don't have that great of a map of the in-situ resources we could use in places like… the Galilean system, for example. We've got heritage to work off with MSL and Perseverance; we know pretty well what robotic explorers are capable of. Not to mention they'd need less infrastructure to keep them functional. The grant money would go farther."

You end your rant with a sip of coffee, and Mark pipes in. "Alright, I hear you, but consider the technology transfer; we also have historical examples showing how human spaceflight advances tech we use here on Earth; air conditioning, Bluetooth, MRI, enriched baby formula, the list goes on. Those are all things we wouldn't necessarily have if we had waited and sent robots instead-" 

"Need I remind you of the disasters that came out of human space flight? Using more fuel to launch both humans and all the junk we need to stay alive has real environmental costs. Not to mention all the damage that being exposed to radiation does to the human body over time and the lives lost on the launch pad in the late 20th century. Whenever people die, the public forgets why we go out there in the first place. Sending robotic explorers would not only be safer, but could yield more science than if we sent humans who can't go into harsh environments, or stay on another planet for longer than 5 months before they have to return." You gesture emphatically in front of yourself while trying to argue your point, and Mark takes your empty cup from your hand before you end up accidentally throwing it across the room. 

"Well, I can't argue with that. But there is a certain something that sending people out to the far reaches of space does to the collective human psyche. 'Going farther than No-one has gone before', and all that jazz." Mark coincides while you cross your arms with a thoughtful frown contorting your face. 

"Yeah, there is that… What about you--would you strap yourself to a rocket?" You ask while Mark rinses out your cups and sets them on a bamboo drying rack next to your sink. 

"Honestly… I would. I mean, I'd miss home, for sure, but… there's just something about being able to touch something we've only interacted with from afar. I think it would make it feel more real." 

You respond with a reserved hum and consider him for a second. Usually, Mark doesn't feel uncomfortable in your gaze, not really. But he feels exposed--like you're trying to pick him apart, see his motivations and what makes him tick. Mark squirms a bit under your gaze before you alleviate the tension by asking, "What's 'home' to you? Where do you go when the quarter's over and it's time to pack up?" 

This takes Mark by surprise, and he has to think for a second before responding. "... Wilmette. I have yet to really venture far from home. My parents are still there, haven't left since they had me…. What about you?" 

This time, you shift uncomfortably under Mark's gaze before you answer cautiously, "Ah, New Mexico, technically. I moved there from Philly with my parents when I was a little kid. Not sure if I'd call it home anymore though…" Mark waits for you to continue if you want to, seeing how serious your face turned when you finished your sentence. "My family didn't exactly react well when I came out to them. They didn't kick me out, though, and I'm thankful for that but…" 

"You need more than that…" Mark finishes your sentence for you. "... I'm sorry. I can't imagine what having to deal with that must've been like… I mean, coming out to my parents wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but they didn’t treat me like a stranger." 

You huff out a deflated laugh before asking, "You're also queer? No offense, but I didn't exactly clock you as a member of the alphabet mafia." 

"I am a proud representative of the letter 'B', thank you very much" Mark laughs out before continuing, "I was kinda late to the game, but my egg finally cracked in undergrad; I met this guy who would later become my TA for dynamics so it never would've worked out, but falling for him was like being hit by a freight train in the best way possible. It freaked me out, I'd never felt like that about anyone before. I talked to my parents about it and they helped me through that journey… I'm sorry you didn't have that." 

You shrug and hop off the counter before saying, "Well, I had my friends. They stepped in when my parents dropped the ball." A small smile graces your lips before you continue, "I still call them every week. We still find time to gab and play D&D together, even after all these years-" Your phone interrupts you with a sharp buzz. You pick it up and read the notification before sticking it in your pocket and walking out of your kitchen. "That's the pizza, I’ll be right back." 

Mark is left standing alone in your kitchen, absorbing all of what you just told him, and lets out a sigh before returning to your couch and picking up where he left off in his pile of grading. 

After the two of you finished your pizza and packed up the leftovers you got back to grading. After about two hours, though, Mark heard a soft snore to his right. He looks over and sees you curdled up in your Papasan chair in the position you were grading in but with your head leaned back and your clipboard clutched in your hands. Your lips were slightly parted and he could see your eyes dart back and forth beneath their lids. 

Mark lets out a soft chuckle before standing up to take the blanket that's draped over the back of your couch and gently covers you with it. You shift slightly in your sleep and turn to the side, somehow managing to wrap yourself in a messy blanket burrito. Mark notices a small eyelash on the apex of your cheek and goes to brush it off before pausing with his hand a mere millimeter from your skin. What is he doing? Why is he tucking you in, brushing stray eyelashes from your face? Why does he want to do this for you? Would you do the same for him? What would you think when you found yourself wrapped in a blanket that wasn’t there when you fell asleep? 

While he's agonizing about this, Mark's heart both races and feels extremely sluggish. He's almost painfully aware of how his pulse makes his hand twitch. He notices the same pulse in you too, your chest rising and falling in a slow and deep rhythm, your breath lightly passing over the back of his hand. He finally resolves to brush off the rogue eyelash and picks up his bag. He walks to the door and looks back at you once more before picking up a spare key you have hanging on a hook next to your door. He walks out and locks the door behind him before sliding the key under your door, the softness of your skin still lingering in his nerves' memory. He clenched his fist to try to lose the sensation, but it's too late--you've wormed your way into him, enveloping his senses like the warmth of sunlight on a summer afternoon.

[halloweenvalentine1997]

Arsenic Weather by Darla Cathilde Cutherford

1.

I am as cold as the moonlit snow that drifts onto a frost-covered grave. I am the reason she is in a casket underground. She was the bane of my existence and a hollow, shallow piece of trash. Now, I live in a storm-colored cell. All I do is avoid the rest of the prison population and read an eternal supply of paperbacks. 

I got sentenced in 2019. I was only fifteen at the time and am now twenty. My family completely disowned me. They never come to visit me. Each phone call I have made is a dead end. 

“Charlotte, you are dead to me!” my mother screamed as the cops led me out of the mansion. My father glared and kept silent. I was arrested for the murder of Katrina Haze. I killed her in my bedroom when my parents weren’t home. I called 911 and turned myself in. My parents arrived at the house just as the cops were escorting me away from the crime scene. Blood stains and yellow tape and a teacup full of poison. They hate me forever now. 

I have many years ahead of me filled with walls and text and dreams of portals that lead me out of the grim cell and into brightly-lit sanctuaries. Flowers as red as wounds, windswept beside a picket fence. A green lawn and a sky as blue as the skin of someone drowned in a pool. I don’t care for the world outside of the prison. All I want to do is read and dream of liminal spaces. I’m glad I don’t have a cell mate. If I did, they would probably end up like Katrina. For years, my rage has festered like a creature trapped in a basement, throwing itself against a bolted door trying to get out. I cried oceans and longed to construct chandeliers out of my teardrops.

Adolescence was a hard road, and I don’t regret the fucked up decision I made in my freshman year of high school. It’s not like I ever wanted a job or a love life or further education. I spent junior high wanting to run out the doors of the school, sprinting until I was out of breath. Away from Katrina, away from her tittering acolytes, away from the classrooms that seemed to suck the air out of my lungs. Katrina Haze transferred to my school in eighth grade. Her eyeliner was like black wings at the corners of her eyes. She had hair dyed purple and a vacant glare. Bow-shaped lips always painted a dark color. Katrina was obsessed with being thin and looked down on everyone who wasn’t skinny. She terrorized anyone that she found weak, inadequate or lacking in any way. I was one of her favorite targets. I remember the first time she ever spoke to me. We were passing by each other on the way to class. She said, “Charlotte Elizabeth Taylor, lose weight!” I thought, who is she? And how does she know my full name? It must have been an old acquaintance of mine who told her. I’m sure their conversation was callous and spiteful. I didn’t reply to her, but felt glum once I reached math class. I learned later from overhearing conversations at school that she transferred from somewhere in Seattle. Her family spoiled her rotten. She had too many followers on her vapid, depthless Instagram. She sometimes smoked and had once been arrested for shoplifting.

We had English class together in freshman year of high school. By then, she had been making my life a living hell with endless comments about my weight and my acne. She stole my clothes from the locker room. She wrote hate messages on pieces of scrap paper and left them on my textbooks and in my locker. As we were sitting at our school desks, studying James Hurst’s short story, The Scarlet Ibis, Mr. Woods received an urgent phone call in the middle of class. He stepped outside the room to take the call. As soon as Katrina noticed his absence, she also noticed an opportunity to tear into me. She was sitting at the desk behind me. She tapped me on the shoulder with a pen. I turned around. She leaned forward, her face close to mine, her eyes lined in black, pupils dilated. “Slit your wrists,” she whispered. A boy sitting nearby laughed as he covered his mouth. I punched her in the face. Her mouth filled with blood as I relished the shock in her wide eyes. Mr. Woods returned into the room after hearing the din of raised voices and urgent calling of his name. 

“She hit me!” Katrina shrieked. 

“Charlotte, go to the principal’s office!” Mr. Woods commanded.

“She just told me to kill myself!” I screamed at him. Before he could reply, I walked out of the classroom and accepted the principal’s punishment of suspension. He decided that me and Katrina needed to be in separate English classes. A few months later, I discovered that Katrina had developed a cocaine habit. I heard two jocks discussing it during gym class. When they noticed me listening intently, they asked me, “What are you looking at, weirdo?” I shook my head and sauntered away. 

One late afternoon, next to the school buses, Katrina walked up to me. I rolled my eyes and pulled my earbuds out, interrupting the Talking Heads song I was listening to. “What is it this time, you stupid cunt?” I asked her. 

“I can see why you would say that. I’m very sorry for making fun of you this past year. I don’t think it was right of me, and I feel guilty.” 

Pathetic. Suddenly, an idea sparked in me like a red beacon in a dark cavern. It only took me a couple of seconds to jump to the conclusion that Katrina should die. So I fabricated a lie that would lure her into a trap. I can’t believe she bought it. I said, “You know, whatever. It’s in the past now. I want to ask you something, though. I heard some guys say you do cocaine now. Is that true?”

“Uh, yeah! It’s like my favorite thing to do now. I need to get more.”

“I’ve tried it myself,” I lied. “I have some at my house. You want to come over and get high?”

“Sure,” Katrina said. We decided to take the bus up the hill to the Tudor mansion I lived in.

To this day, I have no idea why she apologized for all of the things she said and did. I don’t know why she was stupid enough to believe that I would sincerely forgive her. I wonder what the last thing she thought of was before I killed her. 

2.

The mansion I once lived in was once owned by the Mulvenna family. They were a family of four, a husband and wife with two daughters. Sinead and Mathilde. Sinead committed suicide by slitting her throat while sitting at her vanity table. Later, Mathilde died when the cops showed up outside the estate, accusing her of the murders of Jamie Frances and Stormy Hale. She shot herself in the head. Unlike me, she was desperate to avoid prison. She killed them on a hilltop at Cliff Park and a witness saw her in that area and turned her in. The police had also received tips that she was involved in other dangerous, homicidal situations. Her parents sold the house to mine and they moved away from the city. It was a more exciting house than the one we lived in before. 

Mathilde Mulvenna was an enigma to me. I found her journal in a hidden compartment and was enamored by her prose, about the dead speaking to her from underground, her addiction to methamphetamine, and the glimpses of a ghost with glitter tears gliding down her cheekbones. The ghost, according to her, was haunting the same foyer I walked into every day. I didn’t ever see the ghost until right after Katrina died. Sinead and Mathilde (I recognized their faces from true crime blogs and news headlines) were standing beside the ghost with tears of red glitter blood. She is still anonymous to me. But before I get to that, here’s what happened in Katrina’s last moments on earth. The bus let us off on Grove Street. We walked up to the door and let ourselves inside. 

I told Katrina my parents weren’t home, which gave me the opportunity to carry out my plan. I led her into my room. “Where’s the coke?” She asked. 

“Just a minute, let me go to the other room to get it,” I said.

Instead of cocaine in the other room, there was chloroform in a cloth. I kept it hidden in case I needed to use it someday. I returned to my bedroom and rushed at Katrina as fast as I could, pressing the cloth over her face. I stifled her screams and her protests. She went limp. I tied her to the bedpost. I left her there, unconscious, while I went downstairs to fill a teacup of water with powdered arsenic. I sprinkled in many spoonfuls. I went back upstairs and forcefully poured the water down Katrina’s throat. I slashed it and laughed as her blood gushed all over me. Once I realized she was dead, I was startled by three people standing over me. Sinead and Mathilde Mulvenna. A girl with bleeding glitter eyes. My mouth dropped open. I suddenly knew that ghosts are real. They didn’t say anything. They just smiled at me beatifically and nodded their approval before they vanished. I decided to call 911 and tell them what happened, unafraid to do time. Now I am here and I feel a strange sense of peace. I only leave my cell to eat or watch the occasional TV. I keep to myself so I don’t have to use my claws. 

3.

I don’t believe in purgatory, but I wander through a garden of it every night in dreams. I love the liminal spaces that seem boring to some, like the concrete parking garages, roadsides, riversides, waterparks and red doors of backrooms. Sleeping in my cell at night is a divine escape from reality. I dream of strangers with blurred features in unfamiliar houses, letting me kneel in front of a TV to gaze at flickering images. None of it ever makes sense. The screen shows a golden key, a wrought iron fence, a pink, bloodstained room. Many would say that I’m an evil bitch and that I’m forever doomed by now. But I’ve found that the mind can conjure a paradise out of a hell. My life was always hell before prison, and of course, prison is hellish, too.

So I transcended that in my mind, willing myself into different dimensions, fictional kingdoms, places full of foliage and blooms, where the sun never dies and the sky never screams. I’ve lost my ability to cry or care when I’m taunted. I shut down my emotions. I write all over my walls. Outside in the prison yard, I watch a group of birds circling a piece of animal carrion on the ground. I peer through the fence, watching them eat the dead thing, their black wings spreading as they fight over it. A fight breaks out between two inmates. They are at each other’s throats, attempting to strangle each other. Guards intervene and threaten them both with solitary confinement. I smile placidly. I wonder what the birds are eating. I see one woman crying silently in the corner of the chain-link fence. Another is on the outdoor phone, promising whoever she’s talking to that she’ll follow the conditions of her probation when she’s released. Nobody addresses me. Once it’s time to go inside, I’ll crawl into another world through the wall. Somewhere pretend, but ideal. I’ll stare at that wall until I see it turn to woodlands or meadows. I’ll stare at the ceiling light until it becomes a sunburst and my bed becomes a moor beneath my tired body. In my mind, I can go wherever I please, even if I’m locked up and damned. I can live inside of books. Pretend I’m sitting in a cottage or a gazebo. I can ignore the real world and live in an illusion, if I please. 

I don’t miss what I left behind. I feel calmer since I got incarcerated. 

I saw Katrina as a problem that needed to be eliminated, and I did the eliminating. 

I am not sorry.

[cathilde]

Arsenic Weather by Darla Cathilde Cutherford

1.

I am as cold as the moonlit snow that drifts onto a frost-covered grave. I am the reason she is in a casket underground. She was the bane of my existence and a hollow, shallow piece of trash. Now, I live in a storm-colored cell. All I do is avoid the rest of the prison population and read an eternal supply of paperbacks. 

I got sentenced in 2019. I was only fifteen at the time and am now twenty. My family completely disowned me. They never come to visit me. Each phone call I have made is a dead end. 

“Charlotte, you are dead to me!” my mother screamed as the cops led me out of the mansion. My father glared and kept silent. I was arrested for the murder of Katrina Haze. I killed her in my bedroom when my parents weren’t home. I called 911 and turned myself in. My parents arrived at the house just as the cops were escorting me away from the crime scene. Blood stains and yellow tape and a teacup full of poison. They hate me forever now. 

I have many years ahead of me filled with walls and text and dreams of portals that lead me out of the grim cell and into brightly-lit sanctuaries. Flowers as red as wounds, windswept beside a picket fence. A green lawn and a sky as blue as the skin of someone drowned in a pool. I don’t care for the world outside of the prison. All I want to do is read and dream of liminal spaces. I’m glad I don’t have a cell mate. If I did, they would probably end up like Katrina. For years, my rage has festered like a creature trapped in a basement, throwing itself against a bolted door trying to get out. I cried oceans and longed to construct chandeliers out of my teardrops.

Adolescence was a hard road, and I don’t regret the fucked up decision I made in my freshman year of high school. It’s not like I ever wanted a job or a love life or further education. I spent junior high wanting to run out the doors of the school, sprinting until I was out of breath. Away from Katrina, away from her tittering acolytes, away from the classrooms that seemed to suck the air out of my lungs. Katrina Haze transferred to my school in eighth grade. Her eyeliner was like black wings at the corners of her eyes. She had hair dyed purple and a vacant glare. Bow-shaped lips always painted a dark color. Katrina was obsessed with being thin and looked down on everyone who wasn’t skinny. She terrorized anyone that she found weak, inadequate or lacking in any way. I was one of her favorite targets. I remember the first time she ever spoke to me. We were passing by each other on the way to class. She said, “Charlotte Elizabeth Taylor, lose weight!” I thought, who is she? And how does she know my full name? It must have been an old acquaintance of mine who told her. I’m sure their conversation was callous and spiteful. I didn’t reply to her, but felt glum once I reached math class. I learned later from overhearing conversations at school that she transferred from somewhere in Seattle. Her family spoiled her rotten. She had too many followers on her vapid, depthless Instagram. She sometimes smoked and had once been arrested for shoplifting.

We had English class together in freshman year of high school. By then, she had been making my life a living hell with endless comments about my weight and my acne. She stole my clothes from the locker room. She wrote hate messages on pieces of scrap paper and left them on my textbooks and in my locker. As we were sitting at our school desks, studying James Hurst’s short story, The Scarlet Ibis, Mr. Woods received an urgent phone call in the middle of class. He stepped outside the room to take the call. As soon as Katrina noticed his absence, she also noticed an opportunity to tear into me. She was sitting at the desk behind me. She tapped me on the shoulder with a pen. I turned around. She leaned forward, her face close to mine, her eyes lined in black, pupils dilated. “Slit your wrists,” she whispered. A boy sitting nearby laughed as he covered his mouth. I punched her in the face. Her mouth filled with blood as I relished the shock in her wide eyes. Mr. Woods returned into the room after hearing the din of raised voices and urgent calling of his name. 

“She hit me!” Katrina shrieked. 

“Charlotte, go to the principal’s office!” Mr. Woods commanded.

“She just told me to kill myself!” I screamed at him. Before he could reply, I walked out of the classroom and accepted the principal’s punishment of suspension. He decided that me and Katrina needed to be in separate English classes. A few months later, I discovered that Katrina had developed a cocaine habit. I heard two jocks discussing it during gym class. When they noticed me listening intently, they asked me, “What are you looking at, weirdo?” I shook my head and sauntered away. 

One late afternoon, next to the school buses, Katrina walked up to me. I rolled my eyes and pulled my earbuds out, interrupting the Talking Heads song I was listening to. “What is it this time, you stupid cunt?” I asked her. 

“I can see why you would say that. I’m very sorry for making fun of you this past year. I don’t think it was right of me, and I feel guilty.” 

Pathetic. Suddenly, an idea sparked in me like a red beacon in a dark cavern. It only took me a couple of seconds to jump to the conclusion that Katrina should die. So I fabricated a lie that would lure her into a trap. I can’t believe she bought it. I said, “You know, whatever. It’s in the past now. I want to ask you something, though. I heard some guys say you do cocaine now. Is that true?”

“Uh, yeah! It’s like my favorite thing to do now. I need to get more.”

“I’ve tried it myself,” I lied. “I have some at my house. You want to come over and get high?”

“Sure,” Katrina said. We decided to take the bus up the hill to the Tudor mansion I lived in.

To this day, I have no idea why she apologized for all of the things she said and did. I don’t know why she was stupid enough to believe that I would sincerely forgive her. I wonder what the last thing she thought of was before I killed her. 

2.

The mansion I once lived in was once owned by the Mulvenna family. They were a family of four, a husband and wife with two daughters. Sinead and Mathilde. Sinead committed suicide by slitting her throat while sitting at her vanity table. Later, Mathilde died when the cops showed up outside the estate, accusing her of the murders of Jamie Frances and Stormy Hale. She shot herself in the head. Unlike me, she was desperate to avoid prison. She killed them on a hilltop at Cliff Park and a witness her saw her in that area had turned her in. The police had also received tips that she was involved in other dangerous, homicidal situations. Her parents sold the house to mine and they moved away from the city. It was a more exciting house than the one we lived in before. 

Mathilde Mulvenna was an enigma to me. I found her journal in a hidden compartment and was enamored by her prose, about the dead speaking to her from underground, her addiction to methamphetamine, and the glimpses of a ghost with glitter tears gliding down her cheekbones. The ghost, according to her, was haunting the same foyer I walk into every day. I didn’t ever see the ghost until right after Katrina died. Sinead and Mathilde (I recognized their faces from true crime blogs and news headlines) were standing beside the ghost with tears of red glitter blood. She is still anonymous to me. But before I get to that, here’s what happened in Katrina’s last moments on earth. The bus let us off on Grove Street. We walked up to the door and let ourselves inside. 

I told Katrina my parents weren’t home, which gave me the opportunity to carry out my plan. I led her into my room. “Where’s the coke?” She asked. 

“Just a minute, let me go to the other room to get it,” I said.

Instead of cocaine in the other room, there was chloroform in a cloth. I kept it hidden in case I needed to use it someday. I returned to my bedroom and rushed at Katrina as fast as I could, pressing the cloth over her face. I stifled her screams and her protests. She went limp. I tied her to the bedpost. I left her there, unconscious, while I went downstairs to fill a teacup of water with powdered arsenic. I sprinkled in many spoonfuls. I went back upstairs and forcefully poured the water down Katrina’s throat. I slashed it and laughed as her blood gushed all over me. Once I realized she was dead, I was startled by three people standing over me. Sinead and Mathilde Mulvenna. A girl with bleeding glitter eyes. My mouth dropped open. I suddenly knew that ghosts are real. They didn’t say anything. They just smiled at me beatifically and nodded their approval before they vanished. I decided to call 911 and tell them what happened, unafraid to do time. Now I am here and I feel a strange sense of peace. I only leave my cell to eat or watch the occasional TV. I keep to myself so I don’t have to use my claws. 

3.

I don’t believe in purgatory, but I wander through a garden of it every night in dreams. I love the liminal spaces that seem boring to some, like the concrete parking garages, roadsides, riversides, waterparks and red doors of backrooms. Sleeping in my cell at night is a divine escape from reality. I dream of strangers with blurred features in unfamiliar houses, letting me kneel in front of a TV to gaze at flickering images. None of it ever makes sense. The screen shows a golden key, a wrought iron fence, a pink, bloodstained room. Many would say that I’m an evil bitch and that I’m forever doomed by now. But I’ve found that the mind can conjure a paradise out of a hell. My life was always hell before prison, and of course, prison is hellish, too.

So I transcended that in my mind, willing myself into different dimensions, fictional kingdoms, places full of foliage and blooms, where the sun never dies and the sky never screams. I’ve lost my ability to cry or care when I’m taunted. I shut down my emotions. I write all over my walls. Outside in the prison yard, I watch a group of birds circling a piece of animal carrion on the ground. I peer through the fence, watching them eat the dead thing, their black wings spreading as they fight over it. A fight breaks out between two inmates. They are at each other’s throats, attempting to strangle each other. Guards intervene and threaten them both with solitary confinement. I smile placidly. I wonder what the birds are eating. I see one woman crying silently in the corner of the chain-link fence. Another is on the outdoor phone, promising whoever she’s talking to that she’ll follow the conditions of her probation when she’s released. Nobody addresses me. Once it’s time to go inside, I’ll crawl into another world through the wall. Somewhere pretend, but ideal. I’ll stare at that wall until I see it turn to woodlands or meadows. I’ll stare at the ceiling light until it becomes a sunburst and my bed becomes a moor beneath my tired body. In my mind, I can go wherever I please, even if I’m locked up and damned. I can live inside of books. Pretend I’m sitting in a cottage or a gazebo. I can ignore the real world and live in an illusion, if I please. 

I don’t miss what I left behind. I feel calmer since I got incarcerated. 

I saw Katrina as a problem that needed to be eliminated, and I did the eliminating. 

I am not sorry.

[kacchanns]

bakugou katsuki in every episode              ↳   episode 03 ✧ roaring muscles

[kikuism]

fushiguro megumi  —  1

jujutsu kaisen (2020); studio MAPPA

[thirteenstardisfam]

Got him.

[jessiemieli]

endless gifs of Bellamy Blake: Sleeping Giants (5x03)

[rubydragon16]

why does my heart hurt, when you are hurting? it must be love... ♥ ♥

[thewordjunkyard]

Phantasty Phest Day 1

Note: I thought I would try my hand at this since I’ve been watching a lot of fantasy shows recently. The prompt is Canon Rewrite. It short, but it basically a rewrite of the beginning scene of Mystery Meat before the intro plays, if it was fantasy. 

_

“GHOSTS!” a man in an orange jumpsuit boomed. His natural loud voice was amplified by the echo off the underground lab’s metal walls. He was speaking to a group of three teenagers sitting in fold-out chairs. “These monsters of post-human consciousness and Dark Magic have been the bane of Amity Park existence for over a hundred years! Ever since that vile Necromancer cursed this land!” Proclaimed the man, Jack Fenton, as he shook his fist at the ceiling.

“Umm Dad?” Danny Fenton, a young man with blue eyes and dark hair, spoke.

“Yes Danno?” Jack smiled.

“Are you sure it's “Dark” magic and not just natural ambient magic of the land?”  Sam Mansion spoke up and argued. She narrowed her violet eyes at the elder Fenton in defiance. Danny sunk in his seat.

Jack beamed. “Of course! Amity Park is located in the Kent Bones lands, which has the highest concentration of Dark ambient magic than other regions. And even though we are close to the edge of the region, we have the highest concentration of Dark magic in the region thanks to Pariah Dark, the tyrant Necromancer! Ghosts and the Undead are a leading problem here more than other places.” Jack explained. “So Ghosts are made of Dark Magic! So me and Mads built this!”

Jack pointed behind the group. A giant hexagonal hole marked off by black and yellow tape sat in the far wall. It glowed a soft green that lit up the room. It gave off a warmth that surrounded them and sunk deep into their bones.

“Its the Fenton Portal! We theorize that Magic, all Magic, has a point of origin beyond this plane of existence we know! So we built this portal to gain access to the Dark magical plane to study and remove Amity Park’s Dark Magic!... But so far it just produces Magical energy that we've been converting to power the house. A great source of clean energy! A lot of people have been interested in that but more details need to be studied before we can safely use it for other things.”

Jack turned around to go through a box of inventions. He continued on about theories of magical planes and its balance to the earth in his search for one of his inventions.

“Dude, you sure your parents aren’t Mages?” Tucker, a young man in a red beret, asked as he looked around the room. “They sure know how to incorporate it into technology.”

Danny put his head in his hands. “Yeah… they’re just inventors. Who freaking punched a hole in reality.”

Huffed Sam. “Well at least it’s a clean source of energy.” She leaned over and whispered to Danny. “Your Dad needs to have a lesson about Dark magic and Forbidden magic. Dark magic isn’t evil!”

“I know but me and Ja-“ A cold hiccup interrupted Danny. “Oh no.”

“Dan-MMM!!” Tucker was plucked off the floor by a large ghost octopus. Its green tentacles wrapped around his torso and head; pinning Tucker’s arms to his sides and blocking his nose and mouth.

Sam scrambled out of her chair to her spider shaped backpack and grabbed her Ward Stone, a stone imbued with Light magic to combat the Undead and Ghosts. As she turned back around to save her friend, she saw Tucker shaking like a leaf on the ground. He looked fine

Danny was standing close by with his hands glowing green as the ghost shot back through the ceiling. His hair was white and eyes were blazed the same color as his hands. They faded back to their natural colors as the magic disappeared from his fingertips.

Jack turned around with a silver and green thermos. “-and this is the Fenton Thermos! This bad boy can trap and spook! Just point and click this button, with the cap off of course, and Va-La!” Jack furrowed his brows. “Umm, did I miss something?”

The trio looked at him wide eyed. “…Dad, we need to re-Ward the house.” 

Jack blinked. “…Oh…”

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

THE BOX IS NABOO

That’s it, I’m doing it, I’m writing that stupid meta I’ve had in the works for two and a half years, I’m sharing it with the world. I promised it for last Thursday, my poll was forever ago, but whatever! I’m writing that freaking thing.

(super duper long post, press j to skip)

Enter my rabbit hole.

First thing to establish: the Box makes no sense whatsoever in-universe.

((EDIT: Something I forgot to mention. IRL, the premise of a giant murder cube and the aesthetic - wall patterns, light designs, etc - of the episode come from the 1997 horror movie Cube, (see the episode’s wookieepedia page). However, while the two are very closely linked visually, the Box does not follow the movie structurally or narratively, as you can verify by simply reading the movie’s summary.))

Recap of the context for the "Box" episode (s4e17): Palpatine is planning his own kidnapping. It was never meant to succeed, and while the plan would obviously benefit him (making the Jedi look bad, pushing Anakin closer to the Dark Side, making Republic citizens more afraid -> more docile, etc...) his actual goal is never explained, and it’s weird that he’d go to such extreme lengths for results so minimal that we’re never told what they are.

So Palpatine asks Dooku to kidnap him at the Festival of Lights on Naboo. Dooku hires Moralo Eval to design a giant box-thingy to test bounty hunters to hire the best of them to kidnap Palpatine. Moralo then gets arrested to alert the Republic that something is afoot, and hires Cad Bane to break him out. Obi-Wan - undercover to learn Moralo’s plan - goes with them. They evade capture and go to Serenno, and Bane and Obi-Wan have to pass the box-thingy test. The level of brainkarked logic here... Truly on par with Megamind, Gru and Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

Setting aside the insane plot holes and utterly nonsensical behavior of the villains, the Box itself is moronic from a plot perspective. It’s insanely complex, obviously incredibly expensive and would have taken months (more like years but it’s a short war) to make when it’s not even needed for the dastardly plot! Just hire some guys who have already proven themselves against Jedi! Throw cash at Bane and Embo and a few others! Maybe attack them with your saber and see how they do! 

And after all that, Dooku still ends up trying to kidnap Palpatine on his own. I can’t even... 

So why does the Box exist? Well, apart from being a nerdy callback to Cube, giving us a good thrill and being generally awesome to look at, it has actual narrative purpose within the SW universe.

The box is Naboo.

What the Box lacks in plot relevance, it makes up for with its heavily symbolic meaning. It very closely follows Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s experiences on Naboo - but only certain parts, which I’ll explain later.

We start with clean, sterile environments, SW’s favored way of showing villainy.

Then we have the protagonists locked in a room as dioxis, a poison gas, pours in.

And then they escape... this way.

(Okay, here the shaft is down, not up. And it’s not a ventilation shaft per say, it’s the designed escape route. Same difference).

We then skip most of TPM (namely, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon discovering the droid army, finding Padmé, leaving Naboo, landing on Tatooine, going to Coruscant, etc, etc) to come back to Naboo and go directly to the lightsabers and catwalks.

(Note: in both scenes, Obi-Wan has to propel himself from a catwalk.)

In TPM and TCW, the catwalks are immediately followed by ray shields

And we finally end with the last scenes. Now, they don’t look the same but they are structurally identical. 

Obi-Wan is faced with a challenge unsuited for his abilities (facing Darth Maul // shooting three moving targets when he’s far more skilled with a blade than a blaster) on a narrow space above a melting pit/pit of fire. 

He first watches someone die failing to complete the task...

 ... and has to do it himself, faring much better than expected (holding his own against Maul // shooting all the targets easily). 

He then almost falls to his death and gets saved unexpectedly.

And then there’s the final showdown.

In both scenes, Obi-Wan is angry. And in TCW Dooku eggs him on, banking on his anger. (More on that later.) In both cases though, he centers himself and is able to overcome both his opponent and his own unbalance. But in TCW, he doesn’t go for the kill, because he doesn’t need to. 

The Box, as a literal character-explorator ex-machina, thus shows us Obi-Wan’s growth.  

In TPM, Obi-Wan follows Qui-Gon’s lead. In TCW, he is the leader. He identifies the gas, makes the plans. He doesn’t fall from catwalks anymore - he runs atop moving ones. He doesn’t stay stuck behind ray-shields, he finds the solution. (Btw, how did Moralo know what blood type Derrown the Exterminator was? There was a 50% chance of him dying - thus killing all of the bounty hunters. Was that an acceptable outcome? TCW I need answers!) He doesn’t slay his foes, because he’s become powerful enough, skilled enough and wise enough to survive (and win) without needing to kill.

He’s grown - and, even more interestingly, he’s also stayed the same. In the previous episodes, we see some of the dark aspects of Obi-Wan. How he - like all Force-wielders, all people - could lose himself if he stopped maintaining absolute control.

But in the Box, surrounded by the worst criminals of the Galaxy, the most ruthless, worthless people, he’s still kind and tries his best to keep them alive.

The Box is a reminder and a reassurance for the audience that Obi-Wan Kenobi is still there under Rako’s face. He hasn’t lost his compassion, his restrain. He’s still a Jedi. And he’s an awesome, badass one. 

And now, for what it tells us about Dooku! 

It’s much shorter, don’t worry. Basically, Dooku considers that the best way to pick “the best of the best” of the deadliest people in the Galaxy is making them go through what killed his Padawan. There, I’ve broken your hearts, you’re welcome. 

More seriously, Dooku is a manipulative ass. It’s pretty clear that he knows Rako is Obi-Wan, or at the very least suspects it. 

He has an interesting reaction upon learning Rako’s identity, he keeps praising him despite his usual distaste for low-lifes, he smirks secretively after Eval says “I’ll show you who’s weak” (not included there because it’s a close-up of Dooku’s lips and no one wants to see that) and he tells Rako he’s very disappointed when he doesn’t finish off Eval.

[Later]

(Look at this smug asshole - I can’t. YOUR GRANDSON IS THE BEST, WE KNOW, STOP ACTIVELY RUINING HIS LIFE ALREADY.)

(Dooku... why...)

Now obviously Dooku couldn’t have made the Box specifically for Obi-Wan, because it would have to have been designed months before the Council ever decided to send Obi-Wan undercover, but he has no qualms trying to use it to push Obi-Wan to the Dark Side. Ffs Dooku, making your spiritual grandson relive one of the most traumatic events of his life on the off chance that he’ll join you (and desecrate his Master’s memory in doing so) is not okay!

Final tidbits of analysis: I mentioned that not all of TPM is mirrored in the Box. What’s omitted is the droids (even though Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fight B1′s and droidekas between the dioxis and the ventilation shafts) and anything pertaining to Sidious (all the political stuff on Coruscant). You’ll also note that the fake lightsabers are orange.

=> The Box distances itself from anything that connects Dooku to Naboo. Red lightsabers are the trademark of the Sith, so they’re not used. The bounty hunters will be facing Jedi, so logically the fake sabers should be green or blue - and yet they’re orange, the color closest to red without being red. It fits with Dooku’s special brand of dishonesty - he always tells bits of the real story but twists them just enough to absolve himself of any fault and to justify his choices. 

(”We can destroy the Sith” -> could maybe destroy Sidious with Obi-Wan, but fails to mention he’s a Sith Lord himself; “the Viceroy came to me for help, that’s why I’m attacking the Republic” -> political idealism is a small part of it, but fails to mention he’s Sidious’ underling and is playing the Viceroy like a fiddle; “Qui-Gon would have joined me” -> maybe, still fails to mention he’s working for the man who ordered Qui-Gon’s death; “I told you everything you needed to know” -> debatable, never said that Palps was Sidious; “Sifo-Dyas understood, that’s why he helped me” -> partly true, doesn’t admit to killing Sifo-Dyas right after getting his help)

So we have a twisted version of Naboo, droid-free (as droids are now irrevocably associated with Dooku, even if that wasn’t the case in TPM) and with sabers that aren’t quite red. Keep in mind that Dooku had already fallen by TPM. (We know this because he killed Sifo-Dyas and created the Clone Army - part of Sidious’ plan - when Valorum was still Chancellor, as per the episode The Lost One.) That means Dooku was (in)directly complicit in Qui-Gon’s death. And the Box doesn’t (=refuses to?) acknowledge that. 

(Also omitted in the Box are the Gungans and Tatooine. It makes sense, because Dooku probably wouldn’t have the full details regarding those parts of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s missio as they weren’t as public, and would see them as irrelevant if he did. He utterly despises Anakin, and Gungans are the type of people he always dismisses out of hand). 

Anyway, that’s my two cents about the Box. To quote Lucas...

“It’s like poetry. It rhymes.”

Thanks to @lethebantroubadour @impossiblybluebox​ @nonbinarywithaknife @ytoz​ and @kaitie85386​ for voting for this one. Next up is a compilation of the Jedi being casually tactile with each other (because they’re a warm and affectionate culture, dammit).

Also thanks to @laciefuyu​ for giving me gifs I ended up not using ^^; you rock anyway!

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 15

chapter index

..... sorry guys

She’d been having strange, ominous dreams for days now. Dreams that were so vague, Kagome could barely describe them to Inuyasha once she’d come out of it. He’d said she seemed uncomfortable in her sleep, woke her up once or twice to see if she was having a nightmare, but the moment Kagome roused, it was like the pressing vision faded. She recalled bits and pieces, but she couldn’t remember the emotion present, she couldn’t remember what was happening, and she wasn’t even sure if she knew what was going on while in the dream to begin with.

All she could remember was red.

Everything was in red.

Her hands were red.

The sky was red.

The world was red.

And, waking up to see natural colors, to see the light shade of Inuyasha’s tied back hair, to see his golden eyes reflected with the humble flames of their midnight fire was almost like a shock.

She’d blink, she’d take deep breaths that she wasn’t able to while captured by the vivid nightmare, and after just a few moments, Kagome would come down and forget anything that wasn’t red. She was fine. She’d fall back asleep just fine, and unless she was dragged right back into the vision - which had only occurred once - she’d rest well, thereafter.

Kagome had reduced it to nothing more than an odd string of subconscious play. They were dreams without a meaning. Only a couple of times had they really stolen any energy from her, but other than that, Kagome dismissed what she couldn’t remember and apologized for worrying Inuyasha.

The hanyou chose a high tree branch to perch in one night. Something was off, he could physically feel it, but there was nothing in the air that could guide him to what stung at his instincts. He’d covered Kagome in his crimson robe, and she’d been curled up on her bag as a makeshift pillow, undisturbed and about as comfortable as she could get. Not a single line creased her brow, and her lips were relaxed as she slept through the night, the hoot of owls, the chirp of crickets, and the crack of burning logs the only sounds that stood the potential of waking her. But still, Inuyasha couldn’t shake this feeling. Something was wrong.

There was a sharp twinge of dread hitting his chest, so he stood from his seat, trying to get a better eye over the tops of trees to hopefully spot something. Nothing. There was a scent, but he couldn’t place it. There wasn’t noise to back it up. He heard no yelling, no conversation, no roars, or calls, or even the crack of twigs being broken from the weight of bodies stepping over them. In fact, with this sensation of apprehensiveness hanging over him, the silence was only making it worse.

Below him, there was a small shuffle from Kagome and immediately his eyes fell down to her. She’d merely readjusted herself, laying more on her back now than her side. Her cheek hit her shoulder, one arm was at her hip, and the other rested over her stomach - his robe only managing to cover her belly and down now. Taking a moment to observe her carefully, he gathered the steady rise and fall of her chest. Everything seemed to be as it should. She was fine. So, steadily, his attention shifted back out to the horizon of the forest they dwelled in.

That aroma. He knew it. It was coming closer, and the nearer it grew, the more powerful it became. At this point, it was all a matter of patience. With the direction his body faced, the scent was coming from his right. It smelled of the woodlands and an extremely subtle campfire that he could have easily dismissed as his own immediate surroundings. The only thing that tipped him off was the staleness of the fragrance. It was old, it was laced with an abundance of sweat, and just as he caught the startling odor of that monster appear, the metallic smell of blood singed at his nose.

Kagome opened her eyes, feeling her feet on the hard, packed dirt of the forest. There were whispers around her, but she couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from, feeling incoherent, even dizzy where she stood. She stared at the setting, again shrouded in a haze of red, but everything was so blurry. No matter how many times she blinked, nothing would focus. The world was spinning around her, growing deeper in shade, bringing Kagome to feel nauseous and slap the heels of her hands around her temples to silence the blaring headache that slammed into her out of nowhere.

Her feet stumbled backward, unable to keep her footing, not knowing left from right, up from down, and her back hit the rough bark of a large tree, scraping as she inadvertently slid down to a squat. That was where she was safe from falling, safe to keep her eyes squeezed shut.

Where was she? This time, she was in her own body, she could tell. With a little wiggle of her ankle in her boot, Kagome felt the shape of her father’s blade rub against her, she felt the top beneath her shirt that kept her chest secure with each heavy inhale that pressed her ribs outward, she heard her own voice as she grunted shakily from the bile that threatened her esophagus. Why? What had she done? Where was Inuyasha? Where was she?

The whispers were beginning to reach her ears more clearly now. Kagome could feel the nausea gradually passing. Her fingers still trembled, but they were steadying little-by-little with each focused breath she exhaled. Again, she blinked her eyes open, noticing that now her surroundings were more centered. But, why, why was everything red again?

It felt like looking through stained glass. Every direction she turned was hued all the same. No greens, no browns, no blues, or violets, but the shadows of the night still remained black, terrifying, menacing in this particular environment.

The voices were no longer whispers. They were clear. Two women. From somewhere behind her. Kagome pushed herself from the tree, appreciative to have her own mobility this time around. She moved carefully, watching her step, walking as lightly as possible so as not to give her position away.

“Don’t take me back to him.” One said demandingly. The voice was deep, weighted, muttered between alarming breaths. “I don’t want to die in his arms.”

“I only need your blood. While it’s warm.” This voice was stable, somber.

“Don’t come near me!”

“Look, I didn’t want to do this! I had no choice! I’m telling you he didn’t request for your body; he just wants your blood!”

“For what!?”

“Proof!”

“No!” She sobbed. Kagome recognized that waver, that desperation. She’d known it all along, but had been too in denial to accept that this may be a possibility. Kikyo.

It was Kikyo.

Heedless with her movements now, Kagome rushed through the trees to close the distance, physically stopped by a forcefield that felt to grasp her and hold her captive as soon as she turned the corner and caught sight of the actual scene. It felt as if invisible vines had wrapped around her body, gluing her arms to her sides, immobilizing her and wrapping around her mouth so she couldn’t make a sound - forced to watch but not allowed to interact.

Kikyo was on the floor, trying to sit up against the trunk of a tree, bleeding profusely from her shoulder and chest, covered in sweat and crimson and tears. Her large, beige blouse was sullied horribly, drenched, clinging to her thin frame as if to emphasize her life-threatening wounds.

“Kikyo, I have to! He’ll kill me if I don’t!” She was a tall woman. Beautiful. But, her eyes radiated fear. Her skin was peached, complimented by the moonlight, her short, brown hair tied half up, though strands had escaped to fall down by her cheeks in their charade. Her lips had been painted with a dark rouge, faded but stained.

“I’m not going to survive this! Is that not enough!?”

Kagome tried to scream, to fight, to let this woman know she had a new opponent to take on, to let Kikyo know help was here and she’d be okay, but she couldn’t do a thing. This felt like more than restraints now. She felt like she was under a spell. Or, that maybe she wasn’t even actually there, merely watching on through a red-tinted window. Neither of them had acknowledged her loud footsteps approaching before she’d been caught, neither of them had turned to see her as she ran into the narrow clearing. Even if she was being held at bay right now, the enemy should have at least noticed her.

Quickly, she’d deduced that this was Kikyo’s dark magic at play. And, for the first time, she wished she knew at least a little so that she could subdue the opposite conjurer’s and stand a chance at saving her.

“It’s not! I’m sorry! You know him as well as I do, you know it isn’t enough for him!”

“You’re his creation! You’re practically his child! Don’t act like you pity me! That only makes you appear more vile!”

“You think I care how vile I look right now!?” The enemy snapped, screaming brokenly. “I had no choice, Kikyo! He’s got a little girl in captivity! If I die, what chance does she stand!? I am the only thing protecting her right now, so if it’s between you and me, I choose me! Do not mistake my obedience as admiration for that monster! I hate him! I loathe him! Naraku is the bane of my existence, and I wholeheartedly wished for you to kill him! He knew you were weak, though! He made the call! He sent me alone, because he knew with that little girl’s well being on the line, I wouldn’t come back without my objective complete!

“I do pity you, conjurer. You deserved better. And, I’m sorry I had to do this. Now, I’ll ask again: May I take your blood while it is still warm? Or, must I force it?”

“I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him. I hate - I hate him.” Kikyo had shattered. Her strong demeanor crumbled into little pieces on the earth, her blood slowly beginning to pool at her seat. The powerful confession shifted to one of saddened pleads, and she wept. She trembled and she wept. “I - I hate him. I hate… I hate…”

The demon respectfully kneeled down, taking the presumably white feather from the bun in her hair and bowing her head an inch. “I am sorry.”

“You promise not to take my body?”

“I swear to you, I will leave it here.”

“You won’t tell him where you left me?”

“If he asks, I will have no choice but to say. But, knowing Naraku, he won’t have the courage to face you. Dead or alive.”

“This is the end?”

“Unlike me, you are free now, Kikyo. Be free.”

“Take my blood. See this through. Protect the girl.”

The woman dipped her feather in the gaping wound of Kikyo’s shoulder, dousing the ends in the thick liquid that seeped out at an unforgiving rate.

“Go.” Kikyo ordered. “I wish to at least be in peace.”

Without another word, the demon nodded, rising to her feet. She didn’t bother to brush the dirt from her black dress before using her powers to create a large feather to fly off on, a powerful gust of wind taking the woman up into the sky to disappear over the treetops.

Within seconds, the world was back to normal. The stained glass had been smashed, and Kagome was looking at the setting in the normal hues their luna provided. The vines had released her so aggressively that she was nearly dropped to the floor, stumbling on her feet and to her butt as she failed to catch herself. But, she wasn’t thrusted back into the reality she’d expected to be. This wasn’t a dream. Ahead of her sat a crumpled Kikyo, trying to hold herself up as she grew weaker and weaker, more and more pale, pained, melancholic, and destroyed.

Scrambling, Kagome crawled as far as she could before she forced herself to her feet to hurry over to the conjurer. Her emotions were all over the place, like she didn’t know what to feel first, if anything at all. Panicked, horrified, angry, anxious, helpless, and they all got in the way of her nonexistent action plan.

“Wh-what? What?” Was all Kagome could stammer. Was she really here? Was this really happening? “Kikyo, you’re… what happened? I don’t -“

“I’m sorry.” Kikyo cried, breathing erratically in the hopes to swallow her own fear. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I just couldn’t fight anymore.”

“Where are you hurt!? What happened!?” Kagome frantically implored, trying to be gentle at first. It was too difficult to see in the night, and there was an awful amount of blood that made it impossible to avoid. It was terrifying, but with a swallow that Kagome forced down her throat, she grabbed Kikyo’s shirt and ripped the buttons apart, looking for the wounds to see what she could do.

The gashes were massive in comparison to her frame. They stretched from her right shoulder to the center of her chest, wide, like cracks in a carefully sculpted clay pot that could no longer contain the contents inside. It brought Kagome to gasp so horridly she choked, coughed, quaked with trepidation.

“I couldn’t fight anymore.” Kikyo repeatedly sullenly. “I’m so sorry, Kagome.”

“You’d been trying to get my attention.” Kagome said in realization, her voice low, broken, her brown eyes never leaving the large wound on Kikyo’s chest. “You needed my help.”

“No, you were too far. I had to find myself closer.”

“You needed me. You were trying - and - and I - you needed my help.” Kagome began to cry, the tears burning at her eyes as they fell to mix with the blood.

“There was no saving me.”

“I could have done - you needed me.”

“I needed you to heed my warning.”

“What - what warning?”

Kikyo took her stained hand, mustering as much energy as she could to softly brush Kagome’s cheek and pull her attention away from the ghastly wound. “That I’m out of picture now. That the responsibility is yours.”

“No.” Kagome’s bottom lip quivered as the words penetrated her mind. She didn’t want to allow them to ring with validity. This wasn’t reality. “No. No, no, no. That’s not true.” She shook her head, softly pressing on the worst portion of the wound and gradually applying more pressure. Kikyo grunted loudly from the pain it added, but didn’t move to stop Kagome as she tried to halt the bleeding. “I can still save you! Inuyasha - he can - I’ll go get Inuyasha! I’ll have him bring my bag so we can patch you up! We’ll take you to a healer! You’re still here, Kikyo! You can still live!”

“Kagome!” She cried. “It’s over! You know as well as I that there is no closing up this wound! I’ve lost too much blood as it is! Please! Just -“ Her voice died down some, gurgled slightly as she coughed and blood rose out of the corner of her mouth.

Kagome moved to sit her up some so she wouldn’t choke on it, putting all of her muscle into pulling Kikyo into her arms to support her body weight.

“I am not afraid of death.” Kikyo whispered as the blood trickled from her lips. “I’ve been dead for years as it is. I don’t have to run anymore. I don’t have to hide or - or fight. I’m tired, I’m so tired. Naraku cannot haunt me anymore if I die.” She smiled. And, Kagome clung to her tighter, trying to stifle her sobs.

“Yeah,” Kikyo breathed, almost happily. “He can’t haunt me anymore. He didn’t win. He merely released me.”

“I’m sorry.” Kagome wept, losing the battle against herself. “If I had figured it out sooner -“

“No, Kagome. I wasn’t asking for help. I needed you to - I needed you to know. I wasn’t running to you to seek your assistance. I showed you bits and pieces only to test how far I still was. It was like a map that guided me your way. I needed to show you, myself. I’ve done all I can. The rest - the rest is on you. And, I truly believe you are capable.”

“I can - I can go get Inuyasha.” Kagome offered again, fruitlessly. It felt wrong to give up, it felt wrong to accept this fate, but she could feel in her gut, in her heart, in her brain that there was nothing she could actually do to fix this. To save her.

“Please, no.” Kikyo breathed. “I don’t want to die alone. If it’s not too much to ask, stay with me. Stay with me, Kagome. Speak of beautiful things.”

“Okay.” Kagome agreed, hugging the conjurer a little closer. She tried to stabilize her breathing, but her heart was breaking. She shook and she gasped, sobbing over Kikyo, but no matter what, she was going to tell her everything wonderful in this world that she’d seen. Everything that had nothing to do with Naraku. Kikyo wouldn’t end her life with that horrible creature tainting her final thoughts, her final breath, the final beat of her heart. Kikyo was going to leave this realm in serenity. “I-I’ve never seen so many flowers as I have since leaving home. Most of the flowers in my area are weeds, or dandelions. Some roses, maybe. Tulips are so pretty. And, I really, really love night flowers. The ones that bloom under the moon. I - I don’t know what they’re called.”

Kikyo smiled, unbothered by the pause Kagome had to take to breath, to calm herself, to allow tears to fall so they didn’t hinder her sight. She reached up, carefully stroking tears from Kagome’s cheeks, apologetic for the blood she stained her skin with in its place.

“A few days ago, I saw a bear cub for the first time. It was so cute, but I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever seen Inuyasha.” Kagome giggled wetly. “Where there’s a cub, there’s a mama. He backed off the trail so fast, Kikyo.”

Even the dying conjurer laughed. “You and he.” She spoke, her voice raspy and weak. “Your chemistry is strong. You make a good team. I was entirely wrong.”

“I love him. And, I’m really glad I didn’t listen to you.” Kagome cried, her smile wavering.

“If that’s the case, then so am I.” She wept. “Not all love is bad.”

“No.” Kagome shook her head, searching for anything she could speak of to bring Kikyo’s smile back. “Kaede. Kaede, she’s - she’s incredible.”

“My sister?” Kikyo asked, her eyes large and hopeful, brimming with tears that streamed down her face.

With a nod, she continued. “She’s headstrong, and brilliant, and a quick thinker, and I’ve never seen a woman bully so many men and put them in their place before. It’s inspirational.”

Kikyo giggled. “Tell me more about her.”

“You’d be so proud of her. The texts about - about enchantments that she got while you two were still together, she never stopped learning them.”

“She didn’t?” Kikyo inquired with astonishment.

Kagome shook her head in reply. “No, and she helps so many with what she can do. People like us, and like Inuyasha. Those who deserve a chance, who haven’t done wrong to deserve the hands they’ve been dealt. She sets up these - these deterrents around her village and it wards demons away from scents they may be tracking, and she has special rooms designated for those on the run. Kaede’s a savior. The first time I met her, I was sick. I used too much strength and hurt myself, so Inuyasha took me to her. She had some remedies at the ready and took such good care of me. She’s sweet, Kikyo. Kaede’s a good person. She’s such a good person.”

Kikyo was reduced to sobs, but the sadness was of her own regret. Of how she couldn’t have witnessed this for herself. Overpowering that was her happiness. Kaede was healthy. She was fighting for something. She wasn’t this frail girl that hid behind people, but in fact was the person others stood behind instead.

“You’ll also enjoy that she constantly puts Inuyasha in his place.”

“I thought they were friends.”

“They are.” Kagome giggled. “But, she’s a take-no-shit kind of woman, particularly with the opposite gender, I’ve noticed. It doesn’t seem to matter who you are, if you step out of line, she’ll be the first to remind you to back up.”

“She’s always been like that. I’m so happy to see that it hasn’t gotten her into any trouble. I was always worried about that.”

“No, Kaede holds her own just fine.”

“I am. I am proud of her.” Kikyo confirmed quietly.

“I think she’d be proud of you, too.” Kagome whispered.

Kikyo trembled as she cried.

“I think she’d be unbearably proud, Kikyo. And, I think she’ll understand everything better than you think.”

“Does she know yet? About our last discussion?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Please - please tell her I love her. Add that in. Tell her I said I’ll meet her under the willow tree.”

“The willow tree?” Kagome’s voice cracked as she clenched back her sob.

“In our - in our village growing up, there was a willow tree. We always sat beneath it.”

“I’ll tell her.” She promised, gently stroking the matted hair from Kikyo’s sweat-soaked cheeks. “I promise, I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you. Thank you so - thank…”

More blood was seeping from her mouth. Kagome was drenched in it. It was warm and thick, dressing her hands, her arms, stomach, and legs. Kikyo’s skin was ghostly white, and her eyes lost any vibrancy they held before. Every swallow could be seen as it went down harshly, her throat bobbing with the movements, and it was more like she was looking through Kagome now. Not at her.

“Shh, maybe you shouldn’t talk anymore.” Kagome hushed, stroking her hair. She spoke as her own mother would to her when she was emotional, when she was devastated; softly, soothingly, patiently. The world could wait for just one moment. Right now, it was just the two of them. That’s all. That was all they needed. Just for right now. “Everything’s okay now, Kikyo. You fought so well.”

Hot tears streamed from her eyes, and the dying conjurer looked up toward the sky. The moon was so big even though it was completely full just two days prior. It felt like a greeting from mother nature. A kind, forgiving smile from the goddess that held her hand out for her to take, her long, black hair swaying behind her feminine frame with the breeze.

“I’m s- I’m sorry.” Kikyo breathed brokenly.

“Don’t be.” She whispered in reply. “You did your best. We’re all so proud of you. Thank you, Kikyo. Thank you so much.”

Kagome continued her tender brushing, holding the woman closer to her so she could hopefully feel her own warmth. Kikyo was cold, was small, her hands unable to grasp onto Kagome’s shirt any longer.

“Everything’s okay.” Kagome repeated sadly, but sweetly. “You’re going to be okay now. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

Kikyo’s eyes fluttered closed.

Her breathing came evenly.

Slowly.

Not as it should.

“You don’t have to fight anymore. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” Kagome was sobbing, shaking, fading away.

Her grip on the woman was growing weaker, she could feel it slipping. With Kikyo’s life dwindling, so was the power she used to keep Kagome to her. Carefully, she set Kikyo down so she wouldn’t chance dropping her, continuing to pet her cheeks, whispering the same, kind statements over and over until she couldn’t physically feel her cold flesh beneath her fingers any longer.

There was a moment of pitch darkness. As she blinked her eyes opened, coming to consciousness, it seemed as if all sounds followed. The song of the crickets, the fire popping just feet away. Kagome was back in her camp, her head against the bag that served as a pillow where she’d fallen asleep just hours before.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

Either way, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. I couldn’t have been.

Slowly, timidly, Kagome moved her arms, instantly feeling the uncomfortable drench of her soddened clothing sticking to her skin. It caused her heart to pound inside her chest, it caused her panic to return, and as she lifted her hands above her face, she saw the blood that stained her skin.

“Inu - Inuyasha.” She couldn’t even call out for him, she was so terrified. Her voice came out small and broken, raspy, as if she’d been screaming for hours and this was the aftereffects. “Inuyasha. Where are you?”

He’d heard her from below, movement, but it wasn’t until he’d caught the desperate whisper of his name that his ears twitched in her direction and he looked down. She was slowly sitting up, looking at her hands, and he smelled blood. A lot of it. Instantly, he jumped down from the branch, landing on his feet so roughly that he stumbled forward but never stopped on his scramble to her side.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m right -“ He froze. He was right. The blood. She was covered in it. How? There wasn’t an inch of clean skin on her hands that he could see, her charcoal shirt sticking to her chest, her abdomen, stained with such a deep red that it had his stomach sinking at a drastic rate. Frantically, Inuyasha yanked his robe off of her lower body, looking to see if there was a source, only to find her legs and boots soaked, as well.

He couldn’t speak. A huge lump had formed in his throat from the fright he felt, and his gaze climbed up her body to find her large, weeping eyes.

It had taken a moment to push passed his initial dread in order to think rationally again, but he knew the smell of Kagome. He knew the smell of her blood. This wasn’t hers. This was the metallic odor he’d caught before. He smelled the familiar scent of a person he couldn’t pin, he smelled a horrible amount of blood, Naraku, and then within a split second, it was all gone. It had him further on edge than he’d been before, but he watched. He waited. All for nothing to rise again. He’d felt like he was in a simulation of sorts and he’d just witnessed a glitch in the system.

So, how the fuck was Kagome now soddened in the very same blood he’d just smelled moments before? She was asleep. She was safe. She was under his watch. Nothing could have gotten her, so how in the hell was she looking at him with finger streaks of blood painted on her cheeks that her tears didn’t even bother to clean?

“Kikyo.” Kagome sobbed, holding her hands out before her as if she was afraid to touch herself, or him, or anything in between. “It’s Kikyo. She’s - she’s dead.”

Kikyo.

That was who it was. He knew he’d caught it. It was only once that he’d met her though, so his olfactory system wasn’t familiar enough to have memorized it.

“What do you mean she’s dead, kid?”

“She’s dead.” Kagome repeated, unable to bite back any emotion. “I saw. I was there.”

“H-how?”

She presented her hands, her arms as if they were statement enough. “Her - her magic! It was one of Naraku’s underlings! They killed her! Inuyasha, they - they -“

He closed the gap, pulling her into his lap, holding her tight. He didn’t care about the blood, or the mess. He couldn’t just watch her shatter like that. Inuyasha didn’t understand the magical aspects that some people were capable of, and he’d come to terms with the fact that not everything could be comprehended by others who didn’t experience it firsthand. He didn’t need to understand. He just needed to listen. Kagome had witnessed Kikyo’s death. There was no possible way she could be lying about that while she sat there bathed in the opposite conjurer’s blood.

Kagome shook inconsolably, sobbed loudly, but she clung to Inuyasha with an unmatched urgency. The heaves that wracked her chest became painful, but it felt like no matter how tight she held onto him, she couldn’t feel her hanyou over the liquid that smeared her body. Kikyo was still out there. Her body was still on the ground. She was cold, and alone, and nobody deserved to be left like that after death. If she was able to pull Kagome next to her in such a physical manner, that meant she was close. Very close.

“Can you - can you find her?” Kagome asked Inuyasha between gasps of air.

“What do you mean?” He asked with a gentleness he rarely presented, using the backs of his knuckles to caress her cheek.

“She’s close. She had to be in order to perform that magic. Do you smell her?”

“I did. Before.” Inuyasha admitted. “You were asleep, and I caught her scent for literally a second before it disappeared. Minutes later, you’re waking up like this.”

“But, do you smell her now? She can’t create a barrier anymore.”

Apprehensively, he spoke. “I - I can’t smell anything over you.” And, as wrong as it felt to slide her from his lap and let her go - horribly, sickeningly wrong - he did so, rising to his feet. “Give me two seconds.”

Inuyasha jumped back up to the tree branch he’d occupied before, taking it a step further to go just a bit higher. The breeze should carry something his way. He really had to focus. His instincts were glued to Kagome, his brain only bringing the noises she made, the aroma off of her his way, and he’d had to mentally shove that aside in order to concentrate on their surroundings. The moment he’d caught the heavy scent of copper, Inuyasha locked on the direction they needed to head in, memorizing what he could. He knew the moment he jumped down to grab Kagome, it’d be hard to smell Kikyo out.

His feet hit the floor, and he quickly grabbed the conjurer’s hand. He hadn’t expected her to be on her feet, he hadn’t expected her to be able to run. She was so unsteady in his arms, he’d fully anticipated carrying her, but the woman had relatively pulled herself together so quickly. They left everything at their camp aside from their weapons, and she followed him as far as he could lead. For a while, she had to stay behind him, downwind from Inuyasha so that he could scout the path, reduced to walking now as they trekked through dark, shadowed trails they could barely see through.

It was vague, but there was a sense of familiarity that Kagome felt twinge in her stomach. She wanted to say she knew where they were, but she’d only seen it in red, so how could she be sure? Noticing some disturbed dirt next to a large tree, she reached for Inuyasha, clutching his shirt to stop him so she could crouch down and look without him going too far.

She’d been here. This was where she’d dropped down. This was where she’d almost puked. The disturbed dirt was where her boots had dug into the earth as she’d sunken and scratched her back on the bark of the tree. She did know where they were.

Kagome took off running, rushing in the direction she recalled from earlier, knowing they weren’t far at all.

And, then she abruptly halted. Her feet stopped worked. Her muscles jolted painfully, and her lungs clenched in her chest. The only thing she could feel was an icy sensation swarm over her and the pounding of her heart as it was being forced to slow.

Kikyo laid motionless in the exact position she’d left her in. The moon shined on her, but it illuminated no color except for the crimson Kagome didn’t want to see. There was no pink in her cheeks or on her lips where there should have been at least a slight hue. She was gone. Kikyo was gone. It was real. This hadn’t been a nightmare at all.

She forced herself to amble forward, her chin quivering as she grew nearer the corpse.

“Baby -“

“No. Don’t protect me right now.” Kagome said with a melancholic shake of her head. She’d already suffered through the worst of it. She’d already witnessed the death of someone she never saw falling. If she’d wanted security, a safety net, she would have never asked Inuyasha to find Kikyo’s whereabouts. She would have stayed in camp, continued clinging to him for dear life, closed her eyes and pretended it had never happened.

Inuyasha respected her wishes. He understood this feeling completely. Right now, Kagome didn’t need someone to stand behind, to shield her, but someone to stand directly beside her in support. He could do that. He would do that. If that was what she needed, it was already hers.

The conjurer stopped just a foot away from Kikyo, noticing the markings she’d left behind before she’d returned to reality. “This was - this was where I… I sat here.” Kagome admitted, feeling the hot tears brimming again as she glanced over her shoulder at Inuyasha. “I held her. While she - while she died. I told her about Kaede.”

“You held her?” The hanyou couldn’t help the sympathetic curve of his brow, or the frown that pushed at his lips.

She nodded, looking back at Kikyo’s body. “She didn’t want to be alone. She was just so happy to not have to be haunted by Naraku anymore.”

“Those dreams you’d been having. They’re connected aren’t they?”

“It was Kikyo. She was using our connection to find me. She wanted me to know what was happening first hand, but she needed to be closer.” Kagome found herself kneeling down at Kikyo’s side, feeling like the right thing to do was pick Kikyo right back up into her arms and continue comforting her, but she resisted. If she’d done that, there was a strong chance she wouldn’t have been able to put her down. “That means, she’d been running, and hiding, and doing everything she could to stay alive for days. What’s it been since the first vision? Four? Five?”

“Kagome, it’s not your fault.”

“She should have told me where she was. We could have helped her.” Though tears streamed from her eyes, she didn’t sound to be sobbing. Her tone was so sunken, so sad it was almost devoid of all emotion.

“But, she didn’t. That’s not on you. What did she tell you? She had to have given some sort of explanation.”

“She said she knew she wasn’t going to survive. That she just wanted me to know that - that she was gone. That she couldn’t fight anymore.” Kagome blinked away the sadness that refused to stop flowing through her eyes. Naraku didn’t win. He wasn’t allowed to even think he’d won. All he’d done was set her free. Much like Kikyo said, he’d released her. “I think it was Kagura. The woman that killed Kikyo. She was apologetic. Remorseful. And, she mentioned having no choice but to do this because she had a child’s safety to ensure. That means Sesshomaru’s family is still alive. They’re okay.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, kid.” Inuyasha sighed, sauntering over to kneel beside her. He didn’t like the way she looked right now, how she wouldn’t even glance at him anymore. Her eyes were dull and listless, drowning in grief. He wished she’d weep again. He wished she’d crumble. At least that way she’d be getting all of it out of her system. But, this? This was the works of the sorrow taking her hostage. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t want to think about me right now.” She confessed. “This isn’t about me. Later. I promise.”

“Okay.” Inuyasha breathed, accepting her compromise. He took a moment, sealing his lips, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stared on at the corpse. With the way her fingers twitched forward, he could tell she was wanting to feel Kikyo again, hold her, console her. Like, she was trying to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t necessary anymore. She was dead.

“We should,” He sighed. “We should bury her. You want to do that?”

Kagome nodded. “Yeah. But, not here.”

“Not here?” He echoed, more for a reach into her mind to understand.

“Kagura told Kikyo that if Naraku asked where her body was located, she’d have to tell him. Kikyo doesn’t want Naraku to have her body. I don’t want him to find her.”

“Okay. Let’s find some place else, then. Come on.” Inuyasha held his hand out for her, waiting patiently until she took it.

He let her guide their way. He didn’t mind the silence, or the loose grip she had on his fingers. He didn’t mind her minor stumbling, or how she was aimlessly wandering. Inuyasha would be able to find their way back, and he would walk however far Kagome deemed appropriate.

They came upon a hillside that overlooked a valley. It was green, dewy from the moisture in the crisp air, and peppered with wildflowers. Instantly, he knew Kagome’s attention was on the single tree just to their right. Before she’d even pulled him in that direction, he knew.

“In the daytime, she’ll be shaded, but at nighttime, she’ll have a clear shot of the stars. What do you think?” She asked. She’d finally stopped crying, her cheeks positively stained with streaks of old blood and salt. Yet, she was still capable of being kind, of being compassionate. Kagome didn’t choose a spot at random, but put some thought into the scenery that felt right.

“I think it’s perfect.” He answered. Pointing to a spot that he felt would be best covered by the branches above, Inuyasha asked, “Here?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the easiest, but they dug a whole that ran deep, one the average demon's nose wouldn’t be able to catch a whiff of the deceased through. One Inuyasha felt would properly shield Kikyo from Naraku within. They traveled back to grab Kikyo, and Inuyasha was careful with how he carried her, handling the former conjurer with extreme care as Kagome followed immediately behind with her discarded bow to bury her with.

The sun was beginning it’s ascent as they returned to the gravesite, and by the time Kikyo was fully laid to rest, the sky blended with awakening tints of pink and blue. Inuyasha remained quiet, respectful as Kagome continued to pat the dirt to ensure it was packed firmly. It was easy to tell she was hesitant to leave Kikyo. He could physically feel the remorse she waded through, but still, he wished she’d shed tears again. It hurt so bad to watch her suffer in silence, to watch her shut down, to watch her fingers tremble while he could do nothing to ease her heartache.

It was one thing to understand a person you knew had died. It was one thing to learn of it from another, or even to witness it from a safe distance. But, to hold them as it happened? To see the light fade from their eyes, to hear their voice trail away, to feel them grow heavy in your arms, it was an entirely different story. It was traumatizing. He’d been there. He held his mother. He held a few strangers he’d found mauled, on their final breath, and so afraid to die alone. It was hard. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to continue to feel the weight of Kikyo in her arms throughout the duration that she mourned, as if the woman were still present and there. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to wash the blood from her body but still see it as if it had seeped through the first layer of her flesh and she’d need to scrape it all off until her skin was angry, raw, and prickling with her own blood. And, there was nothing he could do to save her from that. Those feelings were going to demand her undivided attention, and the only thing Inuyasha was aware he could offer was his unwavering support. No matter how badly he wanted to protect her, even steal the emotions away to be felt as his own so that she wouldn’t have to shoulder them, he knew he couldn’t.

In no way did he plan on allowing her to sink into those dark thoughts he was all too conscious of. The ones that dragged you down while you were weakened by a state of grieving, that made you feel like there was no amount of sunlight that could brighten the darkness. As time had passed and Kagome merely stared at the grave, silent, motionless, the hanyou made the call. It was time to go.

At her side, he held out his hand. “Come on, Kagome.” He’d spoken so softly. Her dull gaze slowly shifted to his extended fingers, and by instinct, she went to place her hand in his, but paused halfway.

It was the guilt. That she got to continue living while Kikyo did not. That Kikyo would be left here alone. All alone. Kagome’s hand faltered back and forth between taking Inuyasha’s and touching the dirt that bedded the former conjurer. All the while, he was patient. He knew she would understand that she couldn’t stay here forever, and he didn’t have to articulate the reminder. Kagome would choose to move forward.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered to Kikyo, and before long, her fingers slid within Inuyasha’s gentle grasp.

The hanyou assisted her to a standing. “She doesn’t have to fight anymore. She’s at peace now.”

“I know.” The surviving conjurer replied quietly. He could tell, at the moment, his statement was in one ear and out the other. She wasn’t in the right state of mind to receive reassurance. Her walls were up. And, he had a feeling he’d know when she was ready.

They made their way back to their campsite to gather the few things they’d left behind. Inuyasha knew she wouldn’t want to stay. He didn’t need to kick out what embers may have still remained because they’d long died off on their own. Instead, he took the bag before she could secure it over her shoulders. He couldn’t do much for her right now, but the least he could do was remove the physical weight from her back.

Kagome wasn’t talkative in the least, didn’t even make a sound when she’d accidentally tripped over a root and stumbled into his arm, the gasp she’d released so light even he had hardly caught it. She needed to rest, he was more than aware, but he knew that if he verbally made the suggestion, Kagome would shake her head to decline. She’d closed herself off so much, he was certain she didn’t even realize they were still covered in dried blood and dirt. As far as he was concerned, it was his executive decision to make. So, he sought out a river, or a lake, or any small body of water they’d be able to wash off in.

He’d thought he’d been following the sounds of a stream, but as the rushing water became more thunderous than expected, he’d realized they were at the bottom of a waterfall. It was secluded, it was peaceful, it was where they were calling it a day. And, he meant that. He didn’t care if she wanted to keep going after they’d cleaned up, and he didn’t care if they got into an argument because of it; Kagome needed to sit down and rest. She hadn’t gotten much sleep as it was, and she couldn’t just walk this feeling off. She, of all people, should know.

To his surprise, as they forced their way through bushes to come out onto the greenery that surrounded the pool, Kagome seemed to have no objections. She knew what they were there for, and as he set the bag down, removing the sheath of his sword from the loop in his belt, she dropped her bow and quiver from her shoulders to the ground beside them. After placing her father’s knife in the pile, she followed the hanyou into the water, neither yet bothering to remove any clothing.

Inuyasha reached for her hands, which this time she didn’t hesitate to take, holding the both of his as he pulled her in deeper. For the first time in hours, Kagome sighed out heavily, a little shakily. The pool was cold, it was a shock to the system, and it served to both cleanse her person while jolting her out of the bleak depths of her depressive state.

The hanyou gently began washing her palms off, taking meticulous care, and finally he heard her voice. It was cracked, it was small, but it was her voice.

“I can do it.” She claimed. And, he gave her a small grin of acknowledgment, releasing his meager grip to give her space.

Kagome dunked her hands in the water, beginning to rub the filth on her fingers away. Some of it washed off easily, but a good portion was stuck to her skin. It would have been easier if she had a rag, or maybe something coarse. Something that could lift the crimson stain so she’d never have to see it again. Utilizing the next best thing that she had, Kagome removed her shirt, balling up the ruined cloth and plunging it into the pool. For some reason, she’d tried to rinse it the best that she could, no matter how much of a lost cause it was from the start.

Grabbing an end that wasn’t stained, Kagome used it to scrub at her hands, finding it helped substantially. She continued up her arms, taking her time, but during which, finding her stability wavering. As she washed the remaining evidence of the last of Kikyo’s life away, she revisited the wounds that marred her flesh, her final words, the way her eyes faded, and hot tears quickly brimmed that had to be blinked away.

“I’m gonna dive.” Kagome mentioned, warning Inuyasha so he wouldn’t worry.

She took a deep breath, and down she went, kicking off of the rocks beneath her feet to swim deeper into the pool. Coming up to the surface, Kagome treaded in the water for a moment, quickly acclimating to the temperature now that she’d fully submerged. She backed up until her feet could reach some of the loose, mossy floor beneath, and then continued until she was only engulfed from the chest down. Even the cold didn’t help anymore. Kagome couldn’t silence her grief, tears streaming from her eyes as her breathing became heavy and sputtered once more.

Kikyo was gone. She was gone. She could still feel her in her arms, she could still hear her cries. She was told it wasn’t her fault, but if that were true, why did Kagome feel such a horrible sense of remorse in the pit of her chest? Why did she feel so guilty? Just because Kikyo felt she couldn’t be saved didn’t mean Kagome shouldn’t have tried. Why hadn’t she figured out the visions were coming from Kikyo? How could she not have pieced that together sooner? It didn’t matter that she had never experienced the detrimental tint of red before, it didn’t matter that she was apparently seeing things through Kikyo’s eyes for just small glimpses at a time. They were reoccurring and precise. How could she have dismissed them as nothing more than dreams without a meaning? She was smarter than that. It felt insensitive to have belittled them as such, it felt cruel of her to shrug them off and carry on with her day while Kikyo had been fighting for her life. Kagome had failed. She’d failed herself, and she’d failed her friend.

Her sobs were beginning to wrack her body, like hyperventilated breaths that made it hard to actually attain oxygen. This sadness, this thick sludge of loss was impossible to ignore, and instead of trying to regain control over herself while it wasn’t necessary, instead of reaching for composure that was miles away, Kagome turned around to face Inuyasha.

He’d been watching her. Carefully. Closely. All while minding her space. He, himself, had removed his shirt using it to scrub clean, but he never had his eyes off of her for more than a second at a time. Each gasp he heard her breathe as she began to cry was like a thorn to his heart. It was difficult to respect the distance she’d created, but as the water rippled, and she turned his way, looking at him with such a sorrowful expression, that was all he needed in order to know that he no longer had to. She was ready for him.

Taking his cue, Inuyasha waded over, his arms catching her as she closed the distance herself by bounding into his chest.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered soothingly into her hair, tightening his hold around her as she cried against him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Inuyasha kissed her head, stroked his fingers over the soaked backside of the top that supported her breasts, gently pet her hair, and waited patiently. He would have stood there holding her all fucking day and night if that was what it took. He didn’t care. If this was what Kagome needed, then nothing stood the chance of pulling him away from her.

As her weeping gradually died down, and the aftershocks of hiccups shook her core, his hands began to massage at her upper back, creating tiny ripples of water with his skillful movements. Her arms had slackened some around his waist, but Kagome still nuzzled into his chest.

“I can’t get all of the blood off of me.” She mentioned, her words raspy. Broken.

“You got most of it. I saw. You want my help?” Inuyasha spoke sweetly.

“Please.” Kagome nodded against him, leaning back the tiniest bit. “Is it - is it still on my face?”

Inuyasha didn’t answer just yet, dipping his hands in the water before bringing his thumbs up and gently rubbing against her cheeks. “Not anymore.”

He didn’t say anything else before his hands traveled downward, washing her chest, applying a little more friction to the mess on her stomach, all the while placing a tender kiss to the center of her forehead.

“I’m sorry. I have to ask this.” Inuyasha whispered into her ear. “But, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know the situation. Were you hurt, kid?”

In response, Kagome shook her head. “Kikyo protected me with her magic. Kagura didn’t even know I was there.”

“Then, what’s this on your back?” He asked, gently rubbing over the scraped area as he had numerous times already.

“That was me.” She said, tucking herself back into his arms so he’d rest his chin on top of her head. “I stumbled into a tree.”

It wasn’t until her nerves had died down and she began to shiver that Inuyasha made the decision to guide her out of the water. Their soaked clothes were set out to dry, and the both of them were soon donned in fresh apparel, sitting around a fire she’d insisted on being the one to build.

Kagome hadn’t wanted to deal with her hair, finding herself growing impatient just by brushing the damp tangles away. As soon as the last of it was smoothed out, she grabbed her hair tie and set to braiding it, uncaring of the uneven chunks of hair that she grabbed while she started at the crown of her head and worked her way down.

“That’s cute.” Inuyasha smiled, crouching before her and taking it upon himself to fix her loose bangs. The only reply she could muster was a lazy crinkle of her nose, bringing a chuckle from his lips as he got some fish cooking over the fire.

At first, he’d figured she didn’t want to talk about anything, but before long, Inuyasha realized it was more that she couldn’t. Kagome looked exhausted. Her emotions were justifiably all over the place, and in her state, how could she be expected to be able to put them into words? He wasn’t the least bit bothered by her silence or how far she seemed to sit from him. Truthfully, he figured it was all absentminded action. At least now she didn’t seem so sunken inward. Her irises were still dull, but there was the glimmer of Kagome in them again. He suspected that slowly, steadily, she would return at her own rate. And, Inuyasha would be right there when she did.

Kagome managed to eat more than he’d expected of her, and though he’d left her alone to rest, he knew she was fighting it. Couldn’t say he blamed her for that. It was twilight, but a monotonous one. No gorgeous colors glowed in the sky to end their day, and from their position behind the mountain, they couldn’t even see the sun as it fell. Before they knew it, the two of them were shadowed completely, the air quickly growing crisp as it lost the warmth that the sun provided.

It was chilly. She sat near the fire, but being so close to the waterfall had a draft hitting them that was hard to ignore. Kagome was trying not to make it obvious. She knew Inuyasha was already worried about her, and he had been so kind, and sweet, and diligent all day, so she was scared that merely shivering would exacerbate his concern. She’d considered laying down, trying to sleep, but it was hard to close her eyes for more than a second without seeing Kikyo’s body. Even now, there was still a hard lump caught in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. She was just all cried out for the moment. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her chest ached from the hiccups that had taken forever to go away, her muscles felt sluggish and heavy, and her head throbbed horrendously.

For some reason, her attention kept shifting to Inuyasha. He was leaning back against a tree, sitting nonchalantly as he gazed up at the sky. Why were they so far apart? Why had she sat alone? Maybe because she was worried about bothering him further or seeming clingy. Would Inuyasha actually mind if she was clingy for a little while? She honestly couldn’t see him being bothered by it. At all. She didn’t want him to just allow it because she was in a bad state of mind at the moment, though. Like he pitied her. She didn’t want pity. She wanted compassion. But, this was Inuyasha. This was her Inuyasha. If she wanted to be near him and didn’t act on it, and he found out later, he’d probably call her an idiot. No, he’d call her worse. If she wanted to touch him but kept to herself out of fear of bothering him, Inuyasha would give her the look. The look that said more than his mouth ever could, and that was saying something given Inuyasha was probably the most outspoken person she’d ever met. It was a glare that scolded, a slant of his eyes that condemned her, but there was no frown. His lips were set straight, pulled in no direction, and it was probably what made the expression worse since she couldn’t read what level of upset he was actually conveying. It was rare that he ever looked at her that way, but she’d seen it twice, maybe three times, before. And, it was the one thing he could do to make her truly pout in shame.

Resolved and hopeful for an inkling of peace she knew his arms would provide, Kagome picked herself up from her spot, sauntering over to the hanyou. His eyes shifted her way, and as she grew closer, a small, welcoming smile appeared. The empty spot beside him didn’t suit her liking, though. As odd as it seemed, it just wasn’t close enough. Feeling a rush of shyness mix into her already-swarming emotions, all Kagome could bring herself to do in order to communicate was glance down at his legs while she stood in front of him. Verbal communication was far out of reach, but she knew Inuyasha was the only person who’d learned to understand her with or without.

Inuyasha’s grin only inched wider when she gave such a subtle signal for him to take. She wanted his lap. Honestly, he was just happy she wanted to be near him right now. He’d fully accepted that she needed her space and was going to respect it, but he’d be a lying sack of shit if he didn’t admit that he wanted to at least be within arms reach for his own sense of comfort. Having her sit across their camp was hard while he knew she was struggling and all he wanted to do was help, but he was more than willing if it was what she’d wanted. But, now she wanted him.

He outstretched his bent legs, patting on his thighs for her to lay on as she had several times before, but this time Kagome gave a small shake of her head. At first, Inuyasha was a little confused. He’d read her correctly, right? She does want his lap, right?

“Not like this?” He asked. And, Kagome replied with a shake of her head in confirmation. “Did you want to sit?”

She gave a small nod, pointing in between his legs. In another attempt to get it right, Inuyasha bent his legs as they’d just been, spreading them wider so she had room to sit between his thighs. Again, she shook her head, a bashful flush heating her face as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh,” He chuckled. “I know what you want.”

Of course. It was foolish of him not to think of it first. Kagome didn’t want to just sit with him, or lean against him. She wanted to be held by him. She wanted to be tucked so securely against him that nothing stood the chance of harming her. She wanted, just for a moment, to not have to put up a strong demeanor. She wanted to shrink into his chest, his arms, she wanted to close her eyes, and she wanted the sound of his heartbeat to mute all other thoughts her mind could threaten her with.

Inuyasha folded his legs, watching the tiniest smile pull at the corners of her lips when he opened his arms to invite her in. She carefully crawled into his lap, her own legs folding over one of his thighs as she curled into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against him.

“Better?” He asked just before kissing her temple. Kagome granted him a hum of approval, sighing out deeply as he hugged her close, tight, safe.

Inuyasha relaxed back against the tree, enjoying the feel of how her breath hadn’t yet synced to his. The push of her lungs met his abdomen in disagreement with his own pattern, matching their own rhythm, and it brought him a sensation of tranquility. When their breathing matched, it wasn’t that he didn’t love it. It was more that it just became too second nature and he had to focus to make sure her lungs were really doing their job. But, when she opposed his own, he didn’t need a reminder. He could feel it.

Quicker than he’d expected, Kagome’s weight began to increase against him. She was falling asleep. His arms were snug around her, his chin was resting on top of her head, and if he didn’t risk pulling her from that in between state, he’d be kissing her goodnight right now. It was that in between state that he knew was the most worrisome, though. Where you weren’t quite unconscious so the thoughts that you barely kept at bay during the day could sneak up on you at any given moment without so much as a barrier to hold them back. All Inuyasha could hope for was her serenity. Kagome deserved that much. She deserved to rest right now. And, as he felt her breathing deepen, a small twitch from her fingers on his backside, he knew she’d gotten past it without harm, sleeping soundly in the refuge of his protection.

—

It would be an understatement to say Kagura was shaken. The choice of vocabulary was laughable in comparison to what she’d actually felt. She was no saint. She’d done horrible things in her lifetime. Before she thought to escape her “father,” Kagura had done his bidding without so much as blinking an eye. She’d murdered, she’d robbed, she’d come home covered in blood belonging to numerous people at a time, took a bath, then moved on with her life without feeling an ounce of compunction. It wasn’t that she could claim she had a conscience. In fact, she was sure she was deliberately created without one. If Naraku surely didn’t own one, how could she? That didn’t mean she wasn’t smart enough to know right from wrong. That didn’t mean she wanted to be the same sort of beast Naraku was. That was where he’d made his mistake in creating her. He’d given her a mind of her own.

Naraku was more than vile. His twisted laughter at another’s expense caused her stomach to churn and ache, his malicious smile made her welcome the dark so she’d never have to see it, his unforgiving brutality had her wishing for her own death at times, and it wasn’t all that long after her rise that a switch flipped in her brain and she realized she wanted to be as far removed from him as she could possibly get.

Maybe that meant she did have a conscience. Maybe she’d developed one after so many pleading screams had echoed in her ears. Maybe running away and experiencing love was both the best and worst thing for her, because killing Kikyo was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

It was too easy. It was entirely too easy. Why was she ordered to kill Kikyo when she was on her deathbed as it was? The conjurer had run herself dry, depleted her energy, and was so far gone that no matter how well she’d tried to take care of herself thereafter, there was no coming back from it. Kikyo would have died on her own in just a matter of weeks if things continued as they were. So, why the hell did Kagura have no other choice but to savagely murder her?

She knew the story. She knew how Naraku attempted to corrupt Kikyo, how they’d met when she could still be considered a child, how that monster upheaved her life, flipped it upside down, and burned any future she may have been able to create for herself. Naraku had singlehandedly made that woman’s world hell, and Kagura was furious that she had to personally see to the end of it. Naraku killed her spirit, and Kagura killed her heart.

And, she knew what was about to happen. She knew Naraku too well not to know what sort of reaction waited for her on the other side of the manor. As disgusting as it was, while he was still human, he truly did harbor some sort of affection for Kikyo. And, Kagura had her blood dripping down her fingers.

She took a deep breath, easily shoving aside her conflicting emotions so that she could get this over with. She’d been gone for too long as it was, so any feelings that slowed her down were useless right now. Kagura’s heels clicked along the hard floor, a frown curving at her stained lips as she approached the study and entered through the cracked door.

He’d smelled it. He’d smelled her coming, and he smelled the liquid oozing from the feather she held and down her hand. That was why Naraku was already staring at the door, that was why his jaw was hard and set, that was why his red eyes were more piercing than she’d ever seen in her entire life. Kagura instantly understood that she had underestimated the situation. From the way the half demon bristled at the other end of the room, from the way his tentacles curled malignantly, and the spider legs that grew out of the free space of his back appeared and stiffened, from the way his demonic energy began to swirl like she’d only felt a handful of times, things were already appearing to be worse than she’d imagined. It’d caught her off guard. She froze in the entryway, apprehensive, her breathy gasp caught in her throat to emphasize the hollow.

“That - that’s -“ It seemed like her master was in a state of shock. Kagura had never seen his lips twitch this way, or his chin quiver in the manner it did now. “Did you…”

“Miss Kagura, you’re -“ Rin’s small smile of greeting faded as quickly as it had appeared as the man standing just a few feet away from where she sat on the floor playing with dolls screamed at her so loud, his voice cracked.

“SHUT UP!” Naraku had curled his spine some, his thick fingers positively quaking. “Did you do it, Kagura!? Is she dead!?”

“She’s - yes.” Kagura answered unsteadily, eyes wide and breath trembling. “Yes, I did it. Kikyo’s dead.”

“And, that’s her blood?” He didn’t need to ask that question. She knew his sense of smell was somehow stronger than her own.

“It is.”

“You’re unscathed. How? Kikyo is strong, you should have come back half mangled! You’re lying! You betrayed me again, didn’t you!? You made a deal with that cunt and took some of her blood to try and fool me! She’s still alive out there, isn’t she!?” He raced over to her, grabbing Kagura by the throat and pinning her against the wall before she could so much as think to react. She’d had to ignore the little girl’s scream, her broken cry, praying she’d keep the promise they’d made when she’d first arrived. If Naraku were to ever do anything to Kagura, Rin swore to keep her distance. Rin swore never to run up and try and do something her father would, because Naraku wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. “Isn’t she!?”

“N-Naraku.” Kagura gurgled, trying to push him off, to pry her neck from his grip with her free hand while preserving the evidence she held in the other. “Kikyo’s - Kikyo’s dead.”

It was another moment before Naraku’s eyes went blank, his fingers gradually releasing Kagura, and a thick swallow had his Adam’s apple bobbing.

She gasped in some air, recovering as quickly as she could to give the explanation he was looking for before he could grow angry again. “Kikyo did strike me.” She said, pointing to a tear in her gown on her arm that she’d received days before. “It’s just healed already.”

“She’s a conjurer. You should have been dead from her strike.”

“She was dying, Naraku. She hardly had any power left in her.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the logistics of their kind. She looked passed the point of fatigue. When I had appeared, she had this look in her eyes. Like, her final chance had just been stolen away. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try.” He said through gritted teeth.

“I saw hope, but I saw it gradually fizzle the nearer I got.” Kagura said. “You were the one who’d told me she was weak and sick. Why is this coming as such a shock to you?”

“Such impudence to question me!” Naraku yelled, slapping the back of his hand across Kagura’s face. Forcefully, he jerked the feather from between her fingers. “This will tell me if you’re lying.”

The monster hovered the stained, white object close to his face, observing it intensely, intimately. His red irises traveled over each minor detail of the feather, gazing at the blood with a sense of dedication that steadily shifted into desire. It was grotesque. It was disturbing. It had Kagura pressing herself flush against the wall in an attempt to further separate from the madman.

Dreamily, Naraku dragged the feather over his tongue, the conserved blood coloring the surface of which before he closed his mouth and took his time studying the taste. His eyes blinked hazily, sort of rolling into the back of his head as a vicious grin turned at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t tooth-baring. It was minute, subtle, but speaking volumes of the pleasure he felt. Kagura had to swallow her shudder, tensing her entire body so she risked no involuntary, negative reactions from her muscles.

“I can taste you.” Naraku breathed.

“You sliced her.” He chuckled.

“Your demonic energy is mixed with her mortal essence.” He moaned.

“She still tastes as good as she did before.” He licked the feather again.

“Fuck,” He groaned pleasantly. “I can practically taste her final breaths.”

“She was so pathetically weak when she died.” Naraku laughed, stumbling backward as he grew intoxicated by the blood. “She’s dead. The bitch is dead! She’s dead!” But, then his glee began to dwindle, his crazed eyes glued to the feather as he began to furl his spine forward. The extra appendages on his back began slithering, growing, twitching erratically. His mental state had slipped, his footing was unstable as he continued to stumble backward, to the side, forward, stopping in the center of the floor when his spider legs planted roughly and supported him. He neither blinked nor swallowed, drool with the slightest tint of red dripping from his opened lips to dribble down his chin while his smile fell into a horrible, enraged frown. It was processing. His ex-lover was deceased. She was no more. Kikyo’s existence was gone, and even he, with the decrepit heart that beat within his chest, felt the pain of loss. “She’s dead? She’s dead? She’s dead. She’s - she’s - no.”

With a quick a demanding snap of her fingers, Kagura looked to the terrified and crying girl on the carpet, directing Rin to run to her side immediately with a point. The patter of her feet was rushed as she scrambled up and away from her spot, opening her arms wide for Kagura to grab her and pick her up, securing her against her body.

Naraku’s energy was soaring. It was so irate that a literal strength circled around him, building, growing, sending objects flying, the jar on Naraku’s desk holding Moryomaru’s still and rotting heart shattering against the far wall.

“Kikyo! Kikyo, my beloved!”

As quickly as she could, Kagura tucked rin’s head down against her shoulder and raced out of the room to safety. She’d never seen him like that. She’d never witnessed just how insane Naraku could be. She’d thought she’d seen it all, she’d thought she’d lived through the worst, but the entire place was shaking with his rage, and she wondered if killing the conjurer was truly worth it now.

—

Inuyasha turned to check how far behind him Kagome was trailing. Seeing she was within arm’s reach, regarding him with a small smile had his chest feeling a little lighter. It hadn’t yet been a full week since Kikyo’s passing, just a day shy, and he couldn’t quite claim she was back to normal, but she was handling herself well. He knew the further they got from the place it all happened, and the further they got from the date, the more Kagome’s state improved.

Just recalling how she was a few days ago had a heavy throb making home in his heart. She’d wake up and her irises would seem dull and spiritless, she’d either lay or sit there for a long moment before really coming to, and then she’d check her hands. Every day, she had to make sure they were clean. Kagome said her peripheral vision was playing tricks on her. In the corner of her eyes, she still saw red staining her skin, and first thing in the morning her not-yet-functioning brain would convince her she hadn’t succeeded in cleaning it all off. He’d quickly made it a habit of checking behind him to see where she was. He was so used to her by his side that when she was missing it was unsettling, but he also comprehended that keeping up was a little more difficult at the moment than when she was mentally sound. Inuyasha didn’t want to make her feel like she needed to hurry along, though. Right now, he didn’t mind taking it easy. Their next destination, one he hadn’t brought up to her for the sake of her momentary sanity, wasn’t necessarily one he was eager to get to anytime soon, anyway. As important as it was to get there soon, it wasn’t pressing to get there now. They had a few days to spare; it could wait that long.

Kagome still broke down. She wasn’t an empty shell of herself, and sometimes the pain in her chest became too much to bear and she’d crumble where she stood. It wasn’t difficult at all to be patient, and he hushed her whenever she apologized between shuddering sobs. If she’d stop while walking and crouch down to cry, Inuyasha would stop too. He’d kneel right next to her and either stroke her hair or rub her back. He wouldn’t say a thing unless prompted, because he knew very well that this was just a form of release. If she allowed it to build up, if she swallowed it and pushed the feelings away like she used to, it would eventually become too much to bear and potentially grow worse. It would ultimately effect her mentality, and her spiritual power would be difficult to control. Kagome couldn’t allow her emotions to pave the way, so she had to let them out.

Inuyasha knew that sensation. He knew that stuffiness in the center of your chest where it felt like a literal weight was making your entire body seem heavy. He knew how quickly it expanded, how bleak it made everything seem, how it made you feel like you would never recover and you were bound to be stuck with this burden forever. So, he was glad Kagome was taking care of herself. He was glad Kagome was crying. He was glad when she looked at him with those reddened, puffy eyes and that pouting, bottom lip that jutted out just a tiny bit, and she allowed him to clean the tears from her face and express just how tender he was capable of being.

Gradually, as the days passed, she cried a little less, she fell behind a little less, she replied a little more, she smiled a little wider, and her laughter was beginning to return. Inuyasha reached behind him now, accepting her modest grin by grabbing for her hand.

“Need a break?” He asked.

“I need a snack, is what I need.” Kagome said with a little grumble

“You’re hungry?”

“I mean, I could eat.”

Inuyasha chuckled, squeezing his grip on her hand. “Okay, we can climb down the mountain for some fish and actually sit down to eat a lunch, or we can eat some berries and hope that tides us off for a while. Option A will take at least an hour given we’re pretty high up from the river, option B will take about ten minutes because I’m pretty sure I saw some bushes with berries not too far back. I’m just not sure if they were the poisonous sort or not.”

“Berries!” Kagome chose with a small bounce.

“Okay,” The hanyou had to look away then, standing no chance of subduing his flush. In such a short time, her happiness appeared so far away from him that now that she was beginning to show it again, to be herself again, it made him stupidly flustered. She was cute. Too fucking cute. Irritatingly cute. “How about I go grab the berries and you find a spot to relax?”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” She questioned.

“Nah, you don’t need to. Don’t wander off too far, though.” He replied, slipping his hand out of hers and turning around to backtrack the trail they’d traveled.

Kagome felt a tug on her heart as he grew further. She’d felt so absent this past week that she actually missed Inuyasha, and he’d been right next to her the entire time. He’d kissed her head numerous times, her cheek, her temple, and once even on her hand, but right now she wanted that little bit of affection she’d been too far gone to receive and reciprocate. So, Kagome spun around on her heel, albeit bashfully, as she played with the sleeves of her shirt.

“Hey.” She called out, stopping her hanyou in his tracks.

Inuyasha looked over his shoulder at her, cocking a brow as he waited for her to say something. But, no words came forward. Instead, she pursed her lips, starting small until she lifted her chin, making it evident she wanted a kiss. His heart gave a delightful thud, but his entire body grew uncomfortably warm.

“Use your words.” He teased, trying to swallow his own rush of shyness. She had too much power over him and he was pretty sure she knew it. She knew he was wrapped around her finger just like the red string that knotted around their pinkies, tying them to each other. That didn’t mean he was always going to present himself as the goo his brain turned into. He was still a hard ass through and through, and he’d been nice enough where necessary. Right now, he felt well within his rights to play around with her a little.

Kagome’s mouth fell into a minor pout, finding herself just a bit too timid under his stare to say anything now. He was just taunting her to be a jerk, she was well aware of the games he played. But, she wanted a kiss, dammit. If she gave in and asked, he would only tease her more by saying something like, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” There was no way Kagome could give him that sort of satisfaction, so again, she tried to communicate her wishes by pursing her lips, this time letting out the smallest whine.

“Is that any way to get what you want?” Inuyasha laughed.

With a skeptic arch of Kagome’s brow, her lips falling into an expression that easily said, obviously, she nodded.

He couldn’t help his sputtering laugh. Yeah, she definitely knew the effects she had on him. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Inuyasha walked right back over, rushing her at the tail end so she’d squeal and jump back just as he grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss.

“There,” Inuyasha spoke between a peck, his word murmured against her lips. “Happy?”

“Wait, one more.” Kagome replied, just as muted by his affection. “Okay, now I’m happy.” She giggled.

“I’ll be right back.” He lightly stated, giving her rear a small tap before he went to walk away again.

Kagome smiled, turning around to find a good spot to sit down for a moment. They could always just park it on the floor, which they may very well have to do given the trail they were currently on, but it was at least worth looking for a better spot.

They’d been heading uphill for a while already, and she was glad Inuyasha offered a break. She knew she’d been slowing the two of them down for days now, but it honestly couldn’t be helped. And, while she was aware he more than understood her current state, that didn’t mean she wanted to request more stops just because her legs and ass were on fire from the steep mountain they traveled on. If he hadn’t have brought it up, Kagome would have pushed through it all without complaint.

Down below, she could just barely hear the river. It was still so full from all the rain it had recently received, moving wildly along its course. As she traveled just a bit further, Kagome noticed a slim peek of rock through a break in the bushes and trees. It looked like a cliff that extended outward, overlooking the scenery - a wide one that had no previous accessibility until this point, and even now that accessibility was narrow. Still, if she were right, it would be the perfect spot to sit down and rest for a moment.

It wasn’t until she grew closer that she began to feel like something was off. It felt like an object was very subtly radiating demonic properties, yet it wasn’t a demon, itself, she was sensing. In essence, it was similar to Inuyasha’s blade, but for some reason, it also felt very different. Curious, Kagome pushed through the thick shrubbery to come out most of the way onto the cliff - extending longer than she’d anticipated. Immediately, her brown eyes landed on a man at the edge, facing away from her, his hair long, waving, darker than her own, and ruffling in the breeze. Despite the large amount of noise she’d made pushing through the bushes, the man hadn’t seemed to notice her, and if he had, he didn’t bother to turn around. Not straightaway. He was leisured as he slowly glanced over his shoulder, and it was only after the noise had completely died.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Kagome said, trying not to stare into his red irises as he gradually turned around to fully face her. She’d never seen any quite like that. Not where the pupils were white. It was piercing. Intimidating. But, the gentle smile he wore contradicted that, and that was what she chose to focus on. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here.”

The man still didn’t speak. His thin lips didn’t even part as if he wanted to say something. He merely gazed on at her, his head leaning ever so slightly to the side.

His silence was unsettling. Worse, his never-dying grin was becoming so, as well. What once was gentle was now disturbing. With the way he stared at her, it would be normal to perceive it as him looking straight through her, but he wasn’t. Kagome could feel it. This man’s eyes were right on her, studying her, eating her up.

“Are you - are you okay?” She asked nervously, unable to help the way her fingers fidgeted. What she truly wanted to know was if this man was mentally present. He was standing unnervingly close to the ledge. One misstep, and he was gone.

To her surprise, he chuckled. His voice was deep, silky. “I can’t even remember the last time anyone’s bothered to ask me that.”

That, alone, had Kagome feeling substantially more uncomfortable. What had he been looking at before she came? What had been running through his mind? What was this man contemplating just before she disturbed his silence and came trudging through the thickets? Her eyes, yet again, fell down to the edge of the cliff just behind his heels, then shifted back up to his face, his mouth.

“If you’re worried I’m going to jump, don’t be.” He said kindly, showing a little more personality with the way he smirked and looked away in amusement. “That’s quite the opposite of what I want. Really, it’d be counterproductive.”

“Oh,” Kagome breathed. While she wanted to feel relieved, there was something off-putting about the man. Severely off-putting. What was the object that drew her attention? She saw nothing on his person. No weapon was belted to his hip, nor his thigh, nor his shoulder. He held nothing in his hands, nor was there a bag strapped to his back. Maybe, it was something else she sensed. Or, maybe she should heed the warning her gut was receiving and leave it alone, back away, find Inuyasha, and rest on the very far side of the mountain. “Well, I apologize for bothering you.”

“You don’t have to leave.” He said before she could even move.

“I have to go find my boyfriend. I promised him I wouldn’t walk off too far.” She quickly stated.

“Then, why did you come out here?”

Kagome tensed. “I - Well, it looked like a nice spot to rest, and the scenery would be pretty. I wasn’t aware you were here, though. The last thing we’d want to do is disturb you. Besides -”

“You want to look at the scenery?” The man offered, his smile widening an inch as he turned to look over the cliff, at the mountains opposite, the green, the trees, the blue sky. “Come. Look. No need to be shy, Kagome. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I -“ Kagome froze mid-step, turning around to exit through the bushes when it hit her. As a chill ran down her spine, she pushed herself to look back at the man, her lips still parted, her brows furrowed in question.

He chuckled. “You’re not as easy to find as I’d thought you’d be.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked apprehensively.

“Isn’t it funny, maybe even a little ironic, that I would figure out who you were before you would me?” He carelessly ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you even bother to ask what I looked like? Given you’re a conjurer, I’m assuming your vendetta is with me. Of course, that could very well be my arrogance talking.”

No. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be…

“Oh, there it is.” He laughed, chest and shoulders bouncing with the amusement. “The face of someone realizing just who they’re talking to. So, am I right? Was it me you were looking for?”

Kagome didn’t answer, an alarming sensation igniting in her core. Was this really Naraku? How did he know they were looking for him? Was it because she and Inuyasha had killed Moryomaru and it had gotten back to him? Or, had she been betrayed?

“You look to be in a state of shock. Disbelief? Kagome, it’s really me. Baby, honey, sweetums, pookie, I’m the man you’ve been searching for. In the flesh. Why don’t you seem happier?” He taunted jeeringly.

“Naraku?” She asked. She couldn’t help her skepticism. If she was in the presence of Naraku, why hadn’t she felt his demonic energy? Why hadn’t Inuyasha? It wasn’t a being she was sensing, but an object, and Inuyasha should have picked up his scent given she wasn’t all that far from where they’d parted. But, he hadn’t smelled anyone. Otherwise, the hanyou either would have warned her to be careful, or just purely wouldn’t have left her alone. This couldn’t be right. Naraku was supposed to be insanely powerful, so why wasn’t she feeling him. Was he able to conceal his powers? Was that possible?

“Good job, boo boo.” He said mockingly, smiling.

“But, how?”

“You killed Moryomaru. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Naraku shrugged his brows. “If you wanted my attention so bad, there were other ways to go about it. So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?”

Kagome didn’t know how to read him. She was so thrown off, her perception of this reality was distorted. She needed to get a grip fast, she needed to draw her weapon, but she felt so solid, so confused, so afraid by not only his presence but his carefree demeanor.

“Come on, spit it out.” He wagged his hand in a rushing gesture. “God, for someone with a target on me, you sure seem scared. You sure you can do this?”

“Stop.” She finally spoke. “What are you doing? How are you talking so lightly right now?”

“What do you -“

“You know what I mean!” Kagome intentionally shouted, hoping to catch Inuyasha’s sensitive hearing. “You’re a mass murderer! You’re evil! You’ve been committing genocide, and you want to stand there spewing jokes at me as if nothing’s happened!”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” Naraku nodded, agreeing to everything she’d just listed. “But, see the thing about being evil is, you don’t really care. I know that’s a difficult concept to grasp, what with the whole conscience and all.” He sneered with a light roll of his eyes.

“And, what for? What’s the purpose of all of this? World domination or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He curled his upper lip in slight disdain. “Sounds like a lot of responsibility. I would probably have to say power. And, recognition. Like, imagine another region saying, ‘Hey, you’ve heard of Naraku, right? Yeah, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him either.’ To see everyone fear me, to be unbeatable, to know that if I did someday want world domination, I could attain it with the flick of my wrist. Yeah, that’s probably what I’m shooting for.”

“Oh, screw you. You said that all as if you didn’t already know. As if you started all of this because you could.”

“That’s the thing, Kagome. I did. I had the power, so why shouldn’t I be the one to rise to the top? In doing that, I’d have to dispose of the waste, silence the challengers, make a few demonstrations to get the word out, so on and so forth. See, you conjurers are weird folk.” He pointed. “Acting like you’re better than anyone else. It doesn’t make sense to me. What’s that about?”

“We don’t kill for fun.” Kagome replied, a deep scowl forming on her face.

“Oh, no, see that’s not what I’m getting at. Sure, you gotta kill to survive sometimes, self defense, I get that. But, like, you guys act like you’re the peace keepers of the world just because you have the power to purify demonic entities. If you think about it, it’s kind of like you guys are acting like you’re the superior species. It’s the same shit.”

“It’s not the same.” She fired in defense.

“It kind of is.” He chuckled.

“You’re just trying to get me to react.” Kagome said, sighing out a deep breath to regain her bearings. “You really can’t put us on the same level as you. The only thing I heard you admit was that we’re competition. Our existence is a threat to yours.”

“Your existence,” He began, his tone taking a slightly darker note. “Is unnatural.”

She didn’t say anything, utilizing the silence to allow her bow to slide down her arm and into her hand. It would have been impossible not to notice, she was sure, but Naraku mentioned nothing about it, not even bothering to glance down at it in her grip.

“Humans aren’t purposed for supernatural abilities. You guys are the bottom feeders. In the game of the wild, you’re the boars intended for demons to hunt and cook over fires. And, yet here some of you are, popping out of the womb with spiritual powers as if you’re archangels placed on Earth to fight, good versus evil. Allow me to set you straight, Kagome, there is no competition between you and I. Whomever told you that was spitting a pathetic attempt at a lie that you idiotically fell for. If no one told you that and you truly feel I think highly of your kind, you’re delusional.”

“Then, what’s your reason for killing us all?”

“Simply because you’re no archangel. I am as close to a god as you’ll ever get, but you’re meant to join the fallen. So burn, Kagome. Burn.”

“You say it, but you don’t look like you mean that.”

“And, you want to pretend you know me well enough to make that determination? You didn’t even know what I looked like just minutes ago.”

“You’re putting up a front. I know how to read emotions, and you’ve got plenty. What you’re trying to do is conceal them all behind a wall of big talk. Yes, you think my kind is unnatural, but you honestly do think highly of us. I can say that with confidence, because if I recall correctly, you asked a certain conjurer to join your fight toward the very beginning. You thought combining your power with theirs would make you significantly stronger. If you really considered us bottom feeders, you’d have never contemplated such a suggestion. You’ve experienced years of struggle fighting against that conjurer, and have since deemed us all a threat. You’re afraid of us.”

Naraku laughed malevolently, almost appearing taken aback by her insinuation. “Fear. That’s bold to suggest since you’re currently too nervous to even pull an arrow from your quiver.”

“I am afraid.” Kagome admitted without apprehension. “My pride’s not the thing up for question right now.”

His smile was one of incredulity as his red eyes gave a small shift to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this? Fight me?”

“Like I have a choice.” She said through clenched teeth.

Naraku gestured to the ledge. “You do. Jump.”

“Never. I was sure I wanted to do this the moment I recognized the war you were waging. Now that you’ve killed Kikyo, there’s no way I’ll ever back down. You’re cruel, and -”

“Hey, woah, hey, hold on a second there, lady.” The demon braced his hands before him to silence her, pursing his lips for a brief second. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you, you don’t want to mention her. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you can’t detect my presence. Where’s you’re half breed boy toy? Who knows, because he has no idea I’m here, right? It’s because I’m not. I’m not real. Naraku, he’s kind of - he’s having an -“ He delayed for a second, bobbing his head as he pondered the proper wording for the predicament. “- an episode at the moment. I’m a puppet. A puppet without any strings, if you will, created to complete this task and then - poof - I’m gone. There’s sort of a tether between my mind and his, and god forbid he’s actually paying attention right now. For your sake, you’d better hope he’s still underground. I mean, I’m not trying to play any sort of good guy - it’s nothing like that. You’re still gonna die today, I’m just trying to show a little mercy. Naraku hears her name, he’ll show up because he’ll be able to locate me real fucking fast, and in the mental state he’s currently in, he’ll literally rip you to pieces. Come on now, that’s no way for a girl with a pretty face to go.”

Kagome was grimacing, a deep frown of disgust pulling at her lips. “He kills her and then has the audacity to cry about it!?”

“Drop the subject.” He warned.

“So, you came to kill me in his stead? Just like he had another underling kill her? And, you want to tell me he isn’t afraid!?”

“He doesn’t like to waste his time squishing bugs.”

“Pathetic.” Kagome said, her voice low, demeaning. “How can anyone be expected to take him seriously as a powerful anything if he can’t even do his own bidding? Naraku is a joke. I’ll bet he’s broken inside. I’ll bet he’s fragile.”

“Stop while you’re still ahead.” The puppet had taken on a serious expression, dark lashes fluttering as he blinked his eyes.

“And, I’m supposed to be intimidated by you? You’re not even him.”

“Oh, no, I’m Naraku.” He corrected. “I’m just not him. Count your blessings. I look exactly like the guy, I can do everything he can do aside from multiply, and you really should learn to watch your mouth.” The puppet began to sprout additional limbs from his back, slithering, green tentacles appearing first, soon joined by long, thin legs looking to belong to a spider, planting themselves on the floor to elevate his body from the earth.

Spider-legged-tentacled creep. Koga had said it, but at the time, Kagome hadn’t known how to comprehend the snide remark at Naraku’s appearance. It was shocking, terrifying, but she knew she didn’t have time to stand there and gawk, to take him in, to actually acknowledge her fear.

As swiftly as she could, Kagome drew an arrow from her quiver, about to aim at the monster before she sensed a powerful energy budding from behind.

“Kagome, down!” Inuyasha ordered, and without a moment’s hesitation, knowing exactly what she was feeling, Kagome dropped her body to the hard surface of the rocky cliff. Air was pushed from her diaphragm from how heavy and quickly she’d dodged, but she remained low, feeling that swarm of demonic power blow directly over her, kick against the surface of the ground, and hit Naraku’s puppet.

With a hasty maneuver, Kagome rolled onto her back, lining the knock of her arrow up with the string of her bow to aim at the demon. It was an odd position, one she wasn’t used to, but she powered through it, pulling back her weapon and releasing to hit just as Inuyasha’s wind scar died away. It seemed as though a barrier had protected Naraku from Inuyasha’s attack, and she’d just caught the way the storm of wind rolled right over him, but her arrowhead stuck in the surface of the invisible barricade, penetrating just passed the tip.

She’d noticed the flinch of his brow, how it pinched inward an inch in observation before relaxing. Was he not expecting such quick reflexes from her? Or, was he not expecting her to make a dent at all?

“So, the half breed finally joins. How long were you listening from the sidelines?” Naraku’s puppet inquired, pretending his expression hadn’t accidentally betrayed him.

Inuyasha didn’t answer. His amber eyes were glowing with anger, his skin was blisteringly hot, and his lips twitched as his glower only managed to deepen. This bastard thought he’d catch Kagome while she was vulnerable and alone? This cheap, knock off, son of a bitch really thought he could kill her so easily? The hanyou was furious.

He’d picked up on Kagome’s voice the moment she’d started talking, and he was sure there was no one on the mountain with them. They were alone, and unless she was talking to a ghost, conversations shouldn’t have been had. Instantly, a bad feeling began to curdle in his stomach, so he headed back. He’d rather be safe than sorry. He’d decided to stay off to the side, listening, peeking through the cracks in the trees to get a glimpse at the man she was speaking to. It was easy to tell something was incredibly wrong. Inuyasha couldn’t smell him. He smelled wood, and just a small piece at that. It was very lightly - very lightly - tainted with Naraku’s scent, though. Something that smelled so far off, it was no wonder he didn’t catch it from down the trail. Then, he admitted to being Naraku, but he knew that couldn’t be the entire truth. He didn’t sense a person. He knew this was an illusion of some sort, but the minute Kagome’s life was so readily threatened was the minute Inuyasha’s anger rapidly bubbled. He was not only underestimating her so disrespectfully, but claiming he was going to put his hands on her. He’d told her to jump off the cliff. He’d claimed to offer her mercy. Inuyasha was going to personally see to this thing’s demise.

This was simply a new message that could be sent the real Naraku’s way. They killed Moryomaru. Now, they would be sending his puppet back in pieces. He was next.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Inuyasha said lowly, stepping through the thickets he’d torn apart with his attack. He didn’t bother taking his eyes off of the underling as he supported his sword in one hand, holding his free one out to help Kagome up.

“I’m fine.” She replied, pulling a new arrow from her quiver.

“Don’t want to bother with small talk? Fine.” Naraku smiled, his tentacles somehow growing. A thick one hastily flew upward to slam down between Inuyasha and Kagome, the two of them dodging but ending up separated.

“Inuyasha, aim at the arrow in his barrier!” Kagome instructed.

“Got it!” The hanyou shouted, dodging another mad tentacle before swinging his sword in another wind scar. Naraku laughed, watching the attack yet again slide over his blockade, missing the arrow entirely.

“What the hell was that!?” He guffawed, his laugh almost choked on as he sputtered to a halt, feeling the disruption of a sharp tear in his wall poking his arm. Another arrow had gotten ninety-percent through, stopping just at the feathers and piercing the surface layer of his flesh through his long-sleeved shirt.

“A distraction.” Kagome stated, pulling another arrow.

The puppet smiled again, but it was daring. Challenging. Kagome could quickly tell he was becoming irate, the way his jaw flexed conveying a lethal threat. She sensed the danger about to come her way, but she fell for his ploy. Naraku sent an appendage shooting at her right, but when she went to swerve left, she was struck by a tendril she hadn’t thought to expect. It sent her flying back onto the ground, a cough sputtering from her mouth from the force, but the puppet failed to pin her. He had lost his grip in the moment, and Kagome rolled away. Still, it would have been impossible of her to get to her feet in time, and again, his tentacle dropped on her, trying to wrap around her waist.

His grip was feeble, sliding away altogether as Inuyasha provided a destructive attack right against the barrier. Kagome looked across the way to see his Tessaiga glowing red, the skin of his face reflecting the bright color, worsening the shade of the fury he radiated. His blade sliced through the barricade, decimating it with the blow, and Naraku’s puppet stood there, stunned.

“Fancy trick you got there.” He growled. “A sword that can break through just about anything, huh?”

“Just about.” Inuyasha said in return, his tone gruff.

Naraku didn’t bother to construct another barrier. If they really wanted to think it would be that simple to take him down, he’d be glad to show them the contrary. To his right, Inuyasha stood with his sword at the ready, the red aura dwindling away to reveal its original appearance. To his left, Kagome stood with an arrow aimed directly at him. She’d shrugged off her backpack in the slim moment his attention was off of her, most likely for better movement control, but the puppet couldn’t help but cock a grin.

He moved swiftly, throwing tendrils of his body outward to distract his opponents. He accepted the hits, laughing tauntingly as he raised his hand and extended it in the direction of the half breed. His demonic powers soared outward, clutching the unsuspecting man in a telekinetic and vise grip, throwing Inuyasha to the ground with a loud thud.

Kagome was trapped, caged, and she didn’t know which appendage to aim at first. It was like they were trying to grab her, closing in to make it harder for her to fight back. It was causing her to panic, to second guess her actions, to back step, and his villainous laughter helped none. She’d heard the loud gasp of Inuyasha colliding with the rocky floor, her panic growing when she called out to him and didn’t receive a response.

Spotting an opening, Kagome aimed between the tentacles, straight at Naraku’s body. One of the slithering things was beginning to snake around her, but despite her trepidation and how badly she wanted to jump away, she stayed perfectly still, waiting for a smidgen of a clearer shot. On an exhale, Kagome released her arrow, her spiritual power demolishing a portion of Naraku’s ribcage, his arm, the tentacles around her dying off, and she quickly jumped out of those that hadn’t yet eroded, shaking them off and scampering toward Inuyasha only to halt halfway.

The hanyou was sitting on his knees, pushing himself back to a standing when his attention flew from Kagome to the monster’s incarnation. Kagome had shot him, had used her powers and blown off a part of his side, but at an alarming rate, Naraku was regenerating.

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t impressive.” The puppet spoke, and he almost seemed humored. “I’ll admit, you’re putting up more of a fight than I’d expected of a little girl and a mutt. Bet you didn’t see this coming, though. I’m not real, remember? Your conjurer strength can’t just deteriorate my arm and think it’ll hurt, I’ll scream a little, fall to my knees, and then you’ll be good to serve the finishing attack. It’s gonna take a little more than that, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby!” Kagome demanded, quickly pulling an arrow and shooting it at his body. It nailed the same arm, bringing an annoyed groan from his throat as his skin crumbled, but so rapidly did it heal.

“That make you feel powerful?” He mocked. “Get your point across? ‘Don’t call me baby!’” Naraku echoed in a high-pitched voice. “Stupid ass bitch. You’re not fucking listening, are you?”

Before her very eyes, the puppet’s body seemed to be transforming. More tentacles, vines, slithering demon tails grew from his flesh, entangling around his lower body and plunging into the earth. He was surrounded by a mountain of crawling parts that threatened them and protected his core. Roots began sprouting all around them, loosening the ground that supported the cliff, causing their footing to quake as they stumbled and dodged what grew.

“Kagome, come here!” Inuyasha called, wanting her next to him. He couldn’t protect her this way, he couldn’t adhere to her safety when they were divided, and he couldn’t predict what sort of move this monster was going to make next. In his peripheral vision, he could see the conjurer trying to follow his command, but the puppet was teasing her with his roots, pushing her back. When she finally got over them, Naraku slammed a tendril down in between to keep the two lovers separated.

Ferociously, Inuyasha raised his sword to attack, slashing it down in a formidable wind scar that hit the creature dead on, damaging its faux body. It was insane, the speed at which it regenerated, but the hanyou noticed a small part of his abdomen piecing together just a little slower. That must have been his weak point. That must have been why the demonic parts were protecting his stomach.

“Alright, you’re getting a little annoying.” Naraku commented, swiftly snaking multiple vines around him.

Inuyasha knew it was a distraction, the one that stabbed through his left arm, so he growled and clenched his jaw, but that was the only reaction he allowed himself to give, never taking his eyes off of the damned puppet. Kagome shot another arrow, piercing Naraku’s chest, and as quickly as he could to add his own power to the mix, to end this, Inuyasha swung his sword. His attack rumbled dangerously, shooting over the puppet’s body, but his core was protected in the nick of time.

He hadn’t noticed the tendril around his ankle. He hadn’t noticed the knot it had created. And, it was too late to try and cut himself free before the tentacle yanked his foot back and sent his body crashing forward to the ground. Inuyasha had lost his grip on his sword then, the metal clanking against the rock as he was lifted upward by another root that circled around his waist. He was trying to fight, to free himself, but the root was difficult to slice through with his nails. The ground came flying at his face before he could process as he was wasn’t just dropped, but thrown down heavily, the world going silent and black.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome cried, noticing how he hadn’t attempted to get up or reassure her. The hanyou laid still on the ground, a hand beside his face that neither twitched nor reached for his sword.

It was difficult to focus on what was happening with all the movement around her. So desperately did she want to sprint to her hanyou, but at the moment, she absolutely couldn’t. The second she let her guard down would be the second Naraku would win. It all happened too quickly, though. She’d decided to aim at his body, trying not to be distracted by the wriggling roots and appendages, but just before she could release her shot, something large grabbed around her waist, yanking her back so she’d lose her handling on her weapons, and then thrusting her forward and off of her feet. Kagome was ensnared, the tentacle progressively growing tighter as it wrung around her, pulling her closer to the puppet’s side.

Her groan was pleading, and she pushed fruitlessly at the green flesh around her stomach with her empty hands. It hurt. The closer she got to his burning, red eyes and sadistic smile, the more terrified and panicked Kagome grew.

“So, what now, conjurer?” Naraku asked, hovering her near him. He liked the tiny whimpers that escaped her throat. He liked the way her brown eyes were glimmering with urgency. “Come on, I’m within reach. Now’s your chance. Kill me. Save yourself and your precious mutt.”

She was trying. Kagome was damn near outwardly begging for her powers to work with her. Just once - just fucking once - come through her hands, her skin, anything. Follow the wave through the surface of her flesh. But, nothing was coming. The puppet squeezed her waist tighter and Kagome cried out, but still she tried to utilize that point in her body. She could feel something there. She could feel her powers bubbling where she was being strained, and she pushed, and pushed.

Let it out! Let it out, little bird!

“What a shame.” Naraku lamented. “Who’s pathetic?”

Kagome didn’t have time for this. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him win. Reaching behind her, she grabbed an arrow, swiveling the head forward in her fingers and jabbing it into Naraku’s neck.

The demon smiled. The girl was too flustered to apply enough force into her attack. Her powers ran deep, but just an inch further and she would have actually struck his “heart,” protected within his abdomen. It was too bad she’d fallen short. He waited as his body regenerated, plucking the arrowhead from his throat with a disturbed grunt.

“I don’t bleed.” He said, jerking her forward to hover just a couple of inches from his face. His tone died down to a gruff whisper, red eyes staring directly into her stricken irises. “But, you do. Don’t you? How should I do it? Should I make you cry first? Or, would you prefer something quick? Either works for me.”

“You won’t win this.” Kagome whispered, trembling. She was petrified, her heart was pounding, and a thick lump formed in her throat as she felt like the worst was about to happen. It was weird, the way fear would sit in your chest. It made you feel light but jittery, like you should scream to release some of that sensation but you physically couldn’t.

“Famous last words.” Naraku said, stroking the back of his finger over Kagome’s cheek. “How could you possibly take on the real thing if you couldn’t even defeat a puppet, though?”

No. He wasn’t right. They were going to win this.

Weren’t they?

Naraku was moving her over the edge of the cliff, and she fidgeted, gasped, shuddered.

Kagome wasn’t done fighting. She hadn’t seen this through yet. This was just a threat, and she was going to pull out of it. But, why did she get the leadened feeling that she wasn’t?

Why did Kagome suddenly feel so afraid that she couldn’t even breathe anymore?

She heard a sigh, a groan, and Kagome’s attention shifted to Inuyasha as he was coming to, blinking his golden eyes open as he pushed himself up onto his forearms.

Inuyasha was trying to reattain his bearings. His head was throbbing, and blood had gotten into his eye as he opened it, burning. He was still being restrained, his lower body pinned to the ground from the hips down. The battle wasn’t over. How long was he out? Why didn’t he hear Kagome? Where was Kagome?

He blinked some more, stabilizing his lungs as he pushed past the bleary state he was in. At the ledge, held over in a twisted grasp of tendrils, he found her. She wasn’t entirely clear, but he could make out the setting.

And, his stomach dropped.

His vision settled then, and Inuyasha stared on as Naraku grinned, holding Kagome’s life over the edge of the cliff.

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