#do everything by hoof and take his time

[featherglum]

Klapaucius and Trurl ponysonas. If you even care.

[ceilidho]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

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The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[mixingandmelting]

hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o who’s fam owns a horse ranch and the boys arrive at the ranch with s/o and s/o notices one of the paddocks are open and s/o’s like “Oh.… *horse name* got out again. He’ll be back later. He’s my favourite. Can’t wait for you to meet him”. The horse does appear later and gently sneaks up on the boys and steals their hat and playfully gallops away, stops, strikes a pose and whinnies at the boys mockingly and then elegantly trots away or while the couple is hanging outside somewhere, the horse comes running over and slides down the hall of the stables pass The couple and crashes into hay stall of one of the other horses and it’s perfectly fine or the horse broke into the couples guest bedroom late at night and sits by the bed happily, it’s waaay to big for these shenanigans? (Any other funny horse shenanigans you can think of? 😂).

Dick:

Your horse doesn’t like him. 

“Come on, give me back my hat.” He grits out, smile strained as he finally manages to corner him.

What was meant to be a ranch date ends up becoming a battle for your attention. To be honest, the signs were there: your horse being Max named after Maximus from that one Disney movie and how abnormally fast the horse was galloping towards with full intentions to knock him out (you had told him it was probably from enthusiasm but he saw the horse’s eyes and they were anything but friendly). 

The whole time, Max continued to third-wheel where he’d walk right in between the two of you and give him a sneer when you ruffle Max’s and coo at the affection your horse “innocently”  gives you. 

At some point, Dick was able to somehow trick him into getting distracted so he’d get some alone time with you. Only for Max to find you both and ruin the vibe by stealing and running off with the straw hat you’ve given him. 

“Here, I even got you an apple. Heard it’s your favorite-“ Said apple gets kicked out his hand and lands a distance away from him. 

For a moment, it’s dead quiet, the two staring each down. Completely forgetting about a certain person. 

“So, care to tell me who it was that knocked over the buckets during your grand chase finale?” 

It’s then, he and Max turn around and notice the mess that was made which would also explain the hay in your hair. 

Quickly both males point at each other.

 It takes a while for the two to agree to a quasi-truce, you’re threat of not speaking to either of them doing the trick where they grumble and work together to clean everything up. Though, they did get caught when they start splashing water at the other, stopping immediately once you give them a look. 

Jason:

They must’ve been besties in their past life. 

“Pfft, he’s so stupid.” Max snorts in agreement, munching off the carrot in Jason’s hand while Jason takes a sip of his beer. 

Sure, their initial meeting started out rough where he had raised an eyebrow at your horse’s attempts to intimidate him by appearing out of nowhere and constantly sized him up, puffing his chest out with an aggressive snort while stomping his clove onto the ground where it’d leave a deep imprint on it. 

Too bad for Max though, he’s also an asshole. And only an asshole would know how to deal with another asshole. 

The minute you had your back turned, your horse did it again like he expected. But this time, Jason doesn’t hold back. Throwing a ruthless glare at him (not full blown), it's clear who the victor ends up being when Max trots and sticks close to you, glancing back at him every so often. 

Then your neighbor from the ranch next door comes over and gives you a hard time in front of the two of them. All they had to do was share a look to know what the other was thinking before shaking hands and forming their alliance (hoof, hand, same difference).

“Alright, time to go.” Crushing the can in his hand, he stuffs that and the carrot stub into his pocket, ignoring the rage of anger and despair behind him as he gets on the offered back and ride back to your ranch. 

Morning comes and your neighbor comes over, face completely flushed at the prospect that he’s having to ask for your and your family’s help considering your family were the only ones nearby that could. It gains him and Max a suspicious look, you catching both of them with identical smirks while he casually feeds your horse through the kitchen window and Max eating what’s offered without a problem. 

Tim:

Your horse is a menace. 

“Please. I just want my hoodie back.” After chasing him for the past thirty minutes, he starts losing his mind and resorts to begging. 

All he wanted was to spend time with you and embrace one of the places where you’ve grown up. Hell, all the other horses were nice to him, some affectionately nuzzling into his hair while others asked to be fed. 

But this one? Your horse, Max? He was different from the rest. Personality resembling someone he knows though not as sassy and gremlin-like but equally annoying. 

The chance a horse could be stealthier than a human made no sense as he would appear out of nowhere and either flip Tim’s hoodie over his head or start chewing on it. And it was cute until Max wouldn’t stop. 

Now, he realizes it was a mistake to take it off, your horse taking the opportunity to snatch and gallop away with it. As if that wasn’t irritating enough, every time he’s close to getting it back, Max would move it away at last second causing him to have a couple of close calls of his face kissing the dirt. Oh, and that smugness that rolls off the horse. Having the audacity to even pose-! 

“Psst, Tim!” Squinting his eyes a bit, he sees you motioning with your hands behind the horse. Confusion turns into understanding, licking his lip and turning the gears in his head. 

Sensing something’s strange, Max quickly runs away while Tim starts chasing after him again. What happens next will forever stay in his memories and cause him to agonize that he didn't capture the scene where, once he leads your horse into the stables, you jump from your hiding spot and easily onto your horse’s back without a saddle. 

Out of reflex, he catches his hoodie and continues to stare at you star struck with another crush he’s pretty sure can out do all the other crushes he had on you from the other times, lost in thought how he’s dating someone so cool. 

Duke: 

Your horse is cool. Sometimes makes him think that he’s actually a puppy born in the wrong body. Still cool nonetheless.

“Got any sixes?” At the grunt, he groans and draws another card from the deck. 

Unlike with the other horses, he wasn’t sure what to expect when you casually shrugged at the broken padlock and chirped along the lines of how he would come back. But he can most definitely say for sure he wasn’t prepared to get rizzed when, galloping towards the ranch, Max jumped over the fence and skidded into a stop directly in front of you. All with effortless ease and elegance just like those scenes in the movies. 

“Woah…” 

As if noticing Duke’s amazement, he gives him a courtesy glance before going back to nuzzling your hair. It became obvious that it enjoyed the praise he continued giving him, showing off all the stunts he was able to pull. Well, up until he had tried to slide across the stables only to crash into the ridiculously large pile of hay and the other horse that was in front of it.  It was funny how he glared at him for snorting to cover up his laughter, leading to a light banter to go between them two. 

Right now? He’s playing Go-Fish with Max and you. 

“Max is asking if you got any fours.” How you’re able to translate that from horse, he has no clue. Especially when Max had thrown a fit prior about having to show his cards to you. 

“No, Go-Fish.” Letting out a whine, he watches in amazement and a small, healthy dose of fear one hoof reaching out and pulling a card from the deck. 

“Your horse, he isn’t a meta?” 

“Nope. Born and raised here like any other.” 

Welp. It doesn’t change his theory about Max being a puppy when Max randomly starts trotting in circles in an attempt to catch his own tail. 

Damian: 

He loves Max to the point he considers it a crime for you to hide about him all this time. 

“For  an Andalusian breed, he’s raised quite well.” He hasn’t stopped petting him since you had introduced the two, completely mesmerized by the soft and silky, blonde mane. “To think you never told me about him- I can’t believe it.” 

“Well, you never asked!” You roll your eyes at the tongue-click you’re given. “Also, must I remind you, you raise a variety of animals? A cat, two dogs, a cow, a monkey, and a dragon bat!” 

But they aren’t a horse. Your horse to be exact.

It was love at first sight, finding and watching the equus run through the grassfield. So beautifully from nothing holding him back as he makes his laps without leaving the ranch. 

He wasn’t being sarcastic about you raising Max as well, the signs of him being sincerely loved and cared seen in his bright eyes and clean hooves. Don’t even get him started on the coat, sheen and shiny in the light. 

“Can I touch you?” His voice is gentle, keeping a hand in front of Max’s nose after he comes back and decides to join you at the stables. 

He couldn’t help but close his eyes, fearing the potential chance of rejection. Hence, his heart bursting in childish glee when, one tentative sniff later, he feels something nudging into his hand. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise he didn’t hold back, spoiling Max to both his and the other’s heart content with feeding him apples and carrots to the point you had to intervene. 

“First off, Goliath is a friend not a pet! Second, he left me-us, a long time ago.”  

“Doesn’t mean you can simply horse-napp my horse! Were you there when he was born?! No! It was me!” 

The debate continues deep into the night, him trying to convince you to let him take Max home with your horse on the side and giving his best puppy-eyes. Eventually, it leads you and Damian to have an impromptu sleep in the stables as the three of you fall asleep in the hay with Max in the middle and you two on either side of him.

[justmymindandstuff]

Fiery surprise- Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader

part 2 of jump scare and based on this ask but you can read it as a stand alone.

summary: On the way back to Winterfell, Cregan and his men go on a hunting trip, which ends with a fiery surprise.

words: 1.201

warnings: none I think

a/n: this is kind of short but I´m slowly making process with a few of my WIPs despite from drowning in new ideas. // Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with dark hair// no use of Y/N// English is not my first language// AO3.

requests are open/ main- masterlist / hotd-masterlist / series -masterlist

The journey from the Wall back to Winterfell is tiring, but they're making good progress. In a few days, they'll reach their destination. Cregan is looking forward to being back within the familiar walls of his home.

Today he has taken a small group of men to hunt in the woods. They need fresh supplies. Veraxes and Vermax eat more than Cregan had expected.

So he and his men follow a trail of hoof prints through the dense forest. Presumably a few does and their fawns. There's not much to hunt in this area, but Cregan doesn't want to return without killing something.

After all, the Prince and the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms are waiting in his camp, so he has to be a good host.

Also you're his future wife. He will not embarrass himself by returning from the hunt without any prey.

"Perhaps we should return, my lord," Cregan is addressed from the side.

"Returning from the hunt to his betrothed without any prey? That would take an attack from the Others to bring our Lord to do so." Lord Cerwyn calls him out, laughing. Cregan glances sideways at his friend, but the knowing grin doesn't disappear.

Cregan continues trudging through the forest, following the trail, but his thoughts wander back to you.

When he left, you had just emerged from your tent and made your way to Veraxes. Cregan couldn't help but stare after you for a moment. Of course, he noticed how your dress hugged every curve of your body. Gods Cregan had to force himself not to let his thoughts drift in a dishonorable direction. Even now, it's difficult.

But even though the sight of you from behind is more than pleasant, Cregan can't help but recall the memory of your eyes again and again. The way the sun reflected in the purple irises of your eyes, and that wild sparkle, still makes Cregan's heart race a little.

Gods, you're trouble, he knows that. You jumped off a 7,000-foot wall to prove something to your brother. Of course you're trouble. Reckless, wild, fearless. Or as Cregan would describe you: Perfect for him and the North.

Joyful excitement rises within him as he thinks that in a few days you will be his wife.

Even though he barely knows you, even though there's still much he needs to learn about you and more that you need to know about him for your marriage to work.

Cregan feels as if you might actually have a chance, perhaps not as lovers, but as friends. But for an arranged marriage, that's not the worst thing.

However, Cregan has to admit that he doesn't just want a friendship with you.

The kiss you gave him on the Wall replays itself in your mind. Your lips pressed perfectly against his. The memory sends a warm shiver down his spine.

Will you kiss him like that when you're married? Or was it just to annoy your brother Jacaerys? Cregan hopes not. He wants to get used to feeling your lips on his.

But what do you want? Cregan doesn't even know what you think of him or of this marriage your mother arranged.

The uncertainty is driving him crazy, he simply can't figure you out. But that's also what makes it exciting. He can't figure you out yet, however he hopes you'll let him get to know you. He wants to know everything about you right away.

Cregan needs to rein himself in. One step at a time. First, he has to get this hunt behind him and travel back to Winterfell. He'll have the rest of his life to get to know you.

His thoughts are brought back as he steps onto a small clearing, the does have ventured out from the cover of the undergrowth to drink.

The Lord of Winterfell stops his men with a quick wave of his hand. They move quietly as they draw their bows and arrows.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Cregan's neck stand on end, and a feeling of unease spreads as adrenaline rushes through his body. His body senses danger, and he stops in his tracks. Something is wrong.

The next moment, the undergrowth to his right cracks , and a bear appears from the shadows of the forest. Shit! He has neither enough men nor enough weapons to face a bear, but the animal seems to have abandoned the group of deer and has chosen Cregan and his men as its next prey.

The bear takes a step toward them, opens its mouth wide and roars, spit flies from its mouth.

Cregan's hand goes to his sword, but a heartbeat later, the bear tear his head around and stands on its legs. Again a roar, this time it sounds scared.

Veraxes comes hurtling from the sky. You sit on her back, your long, dark hair blowing in the wind as you move expertly on your dragon's back, nocking an arrow into your bow.

Cregan can only stare at you for a moment, captivated by your beauty.

The bear turns toward the predator in the sky. Veraxes spreads her wings to slow down her flight. She turns her body to the site, flies in a semicircle above the treetops. You turn you upperbody in the saddle, every movement precise as you draw your bow and release the arrow.

You hit the bear right in the eye. The beast screams again, but in the next moment Veraxes opens her mouth and breathes fire, The heat of her flames hitting Cregan in the face. Two of his Lords beside him take a step back in shock.

The dragon twists its body around, roaring a scream that makes Cregan's bones shake before it plunges down and sinks its claws into its prey.

"Fuck," Lord Cerwyn mutters, and Cregan can only agree as he tries to sort out his thoughts. Even though it hardly works.

You are breathtaking.

Not only did you just save his life, but you made it look easy. Not even a strand of hair has come loose from your braids. You sit proudly and elegantly on your dragon, looking at Cregan and his men. A grin on your face, and again that expression of freedom in your gaze. The Lord of Winterfell can't take his eyes off you.

He has to clear his throat before he trusts his voice. "My Lords. May I present you: the future Lady Stark." he can't stop himself from grinning.

You and your dragon will fit perfectly to Winterfell. He's sure of it. His men bow their heads slightly to their future lady, and Cregan isn't sure if your cheeks are really flushing or if the light is just playing tricks on him.

"My Lords. I'll wait for you in camp then," you say laughing and winking at Cregan, while Veraxes gains altitude again with powerful wing beats. She turns to fly back to the camp with the bear carcass in her claws.

The men laugh as they also make their way back. There will surely be no prey left in the area now that Veraxes has announced her arrival as the ultimate predator so loudly.

part 3

[urinarythreatinfection]

Is This Love?

Luffy x Male Reader. Finale. 2841 words. Part one

Desc: Resolution (and partay).

As Chopper monitors Luffy’s condition you sit there, now having time to process what happened. He said he was happy, but is what he said from relief you aren’t going to leave him alone, or from happiness that you returned his feelings? Evidence is starting to pile up that Luffy may have the same feelings for you as you do for him, but there’s still the nagging fear in you that says you’re misunderstanding things and this is just Luffy’s natural affection. As you’re wracking your mind, a voice.

“Hey.” Chopper speaks and you look at him. “This is about love, right?”

“Uh—yeah. Sorry about all this.” You feel bad, you’ve been overworking the small doctor with your issues; yet he shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, this looks complicated. I’m glad I can help even a little.” He’s so nice! Though you’re starting to feel kind of overworked yourself. “But can I say something?”

“Oh, go ahead.” You say with a nod and Chopper nods back, nervously clasping his hooves together.

“Okay, so I don’t know about love stuff but I feel like you guys are making this more complicated than it needs to be.” He jolts slightly. “Ah, n-not that it isn’t complicated, of course! I just mean there’s too much um..” He looks away. “too much hesitation.”

“Hesitation..” You mumble and he continues.

“Yeah. When I joined the crew I kept thinking of every bad thing that could happen, every way that everyone could hate me, could hurt me; but Luffy didn’t care about any of that. He never has.” He puts his hoof on his chest, looking directly at you “I took a risk joining this crew and it was the best risk I’ve taken, even if so many others I've made have had bad consequences. Sometimes I panic or even feel like joining this crew was too dangerous for me, that I can’t do anything, but I keep going and you guys motivate me to get better and stronger.”

“Chopper…” You’re touched, he’s really trying to help you.

“I’m not trying to say that it’s a guarantee that you guys are going to work out, a lot of things don’t, but just stopping and letting every bad scenario and pain you’ve gone through affect what you do for the future is just going to make things worse.” He’s right. Maybe.. maybe you two were making things more complicated than it had to be. Maybe you were making things more complicated than it had to be. So worried about all the harm you could bring to Luffy that it overwhelmed him. Turned him to this. You rub your face and eyes, Zoro was right. He was right, Sanji was right, and Chopper is right. You’re overthinking things, assuming things, overcomplicating everything. Maybe Luffy had been confused himself, but you trying to “protect” him made things worse. The sound of the captain stirring awake catches your attention and Chopper moves to leave the room. “I’ll let you two talk.” Once the door shuts Luffy sits up.

“(Y/n)?” He calls quietly for you, looking around. When he spots you he fully wakes up. “You’re still here.”

“I am. I couldn’t just leave you here.” There’s a bit of silence before you speak again. “I was being serious, I’m definitely still in love with you and I’m sorry I pretended I wasn’t. I thought I was protecting you from me, from my emotions. I thought I would just make you miserable and ruin everything by forcing my love on you. Like—Like you’re fragile.” He tilts his head to the side slightly.

“But I’m not.”

“I know.. I was being stupid. I just didn’t want to risk it the moment I saw any sort of change. You were confused, not being ruined. I should’ve helped you, not left you to try and figure things out yourself. I’m sorry.” You hurt him, yet he replies with a nod and a smile.

“I forgive you!” Of course he does. You start to feel like you’re taking advantage of him again, but remind yourself that Luffy is not fragile; nor is he unable to make his own decisions. You take a deep breath.

“I messed up, but I—I do want to try it.” You clear your throat. “Dating, I mean.” Luffy perks up and suddenly jumps up, stretching his arms to propel and wrap around you.

“You should’ve said that from the start!” You hesitate while he grins at you.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to decide right n-�� Smooocchhh. He gives you a big kiss on the lips.

“A romantic way to stop rambling is a small kiss on the lips, if the time feels right of course! Yohoho!”

Brook’s advice. Not quite a small kiss, but the thought is there. When he pulls back there's a slight flush on his cheeks “Shi shi shi” he giggles while you stand there in shock. He certainly stopped your rambling. “I can make all sorts of decisions.” His smile turns softer. “So.. so next time, don’t go.” His smile twitches before he buries his face in your shoulder. “Don’t make me have to think all by myself.” His words are quiet, vulnerable. Your own facial expression softens and you hold him close to you, his legs tightening around your waist as if to stop you from ever trying to leave or distance yourself.

“I’m sorry, I won’t. I’ll stay with you.” You give a kiss to the side of his head. There’s a small sniffle and you pet the back of his head. “Can I see you?” Luffy shakes his head, your shoulder getting wet. There’s silence before you speak again. “Thank you for trying so hard for me. I love you.” There’s a small mumble. “What’s that?”

“iluvyoutoo” He says quickly then pulls away and lands on the ground, hiding his face with his hat and running.

THUD

He smacked into the wall, starting to fumble around with his hands to find the door. You walk over and pull his hat from his face to see a flushed red, teary eyed Luffy. ‘So cute!’ You manage to keep that thought in your head but he uses your distracted state to snatch his straw hat back and hide his face again.

THUD

The same thing happened, though with the door this time. “Nnn..” It doesn’t hurt, not physically anyway. He must be too mixed up to properly use his haki. It’s hurting your heart seeing him like this, even if it's a little cute. You walk over and turn Luffy to face you before picking him up.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to deal with this alone. I’m not gonna make fun of you either.” He takes a deep breath then lifts his hat from his face back onto his head. He’s still flushed but less than before, his eyes a little wet.

“I wasn’t crying.” He states despite his clearly teary and embarrassed state. “I’m not embarrassed either.”

“So you’re just naturally teary and cu- uhh, nice looking? Handsome, even?” You manage to stop yourself from calling him cute, it’ll upset him. Luffy nods, wiggling a bit to show he wants to get down. You put him down and he turns to the door, calmly this time.

THUD

“Are you guys done?” Chopper opened the door and smacked Luffy in the face with it again. “SORRY!” He quickly shuts it again and Luffy stands there awkwardly. You two are off to a bit of a bad start with this but it's okay.

_________________

The both of you migrated to the men’s quarters after Chopper made sure Luffy was okay physically. Which he was, even if his pride was damaged.

‘Nervous.’ He feels like it was easier when he just did things without thinking. Now that you two confirmed feelings for eachother he keeps thinking thoughts, even forming the occasional word in his head. You’re gonna have to take initiative.

“Luffy look here.” When he does, you lean in and give your captain a peck on the lips. He freezes. “You can think if you want to but if it’s making you too nervous just do what feels right, I won’t get angry because I love you.” You pause. “This pertains to relationship things by the way, not you stealing from my plate.” This is hard. You’re anxious yourself but you have to try and guide your new-to-love boyfriend too. Not that you blame him, just because he needs help doesn’t mean you think he’s a burden. It’s just hard. You remind yourself that he’s done way worse things that you and the crew have had to deal with. Luffy looks at his lap then back at you, right, he’ll follow his instincts. He sits up on his knees and kisses you, then again, and again. All over your lips with his eyes closed until he’s kissing your entire face. Eventually he pulls away with a small blush on his cheeks. “How was that?” Your heart is racing but you put that on the backburner to ask him.

“Good but I want to eat your mouth.”

“Okay let’s take things a little slower.” You answer quickly. However.. “You can eat my mouth later.” you aren’t exactly against it.

“How much later?” Luffy’s eyes twinkle and he sits up on his knees again.

“Uh.. few days?” That should be enough to prepare your heart.

“One day.” Your boyfriend isn’t a patient guy.

“...three days.” You attempt to compromise.

“One day.” It isn’t working.

“2 days?”

“Tomorrow.” That’s the same thing. You give up.

“Okay, tomorrow.” It’s not like you wouldn’t want to suck face, you just wanted some prep time. Considering Luffy, though, it most likely won’t be actual making out; just whatever he thinks eating your mouth is. ‘Hopefully no actual biting.’ Luffy sits back down, swinging his legs a little.

“What do we do?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re dating now, right? So what do we do?” He kinda feels like he’s doing something wrong. Relationships are supposed to be lovey dovey so how does he do that? “Do I just keep kissing you all the time?” Something absolutely terrible comes to mind. “Do I have to share my food!?”

“No, you don’t have to,” ‘That’s really one of his worst fears isn’t it?’ “Sanji’s really good at making us enough.” He still looks nervous. “I mean it. If the both of us are really hungry and you find food you don’t have to share it. You’d probably be more hungry than me anyway, you weaken the moment you’re low on food.” That makes him frown.

“Don’t say that, even if I’m hungry I’ll still give you food. You’re my friend… boy. Boyfriend.” He’ll have to get used to saying boyfriend, saying it feels a little off.

“Hey.” You grab his attention. “You don’t have to force it. I love you for you, you don’t have to change for me. You don’t have to be lovey dovey or kiss me all the time or share everything with me. You don’t have to be any different than you are right now.” You clear your throat, being this forward is a bit embarrassing. “Relationships are about adding to a friendship, not completely changing it. Since we’re boyfriends that just means we’re friends that are dating, that’s all.”

“Friends that are dating..” That helps clear his worries. If it’s just friends that are dating that means you’re still his friend. He didn’t lose anything and he doesn’t have to change anything. A big smile forms on his face. “Friends that are dating! I like that.” He looks satisfied. “You’re my friend and boyfriend.”

“Yup and I love you as a friend and my boyfriend.” His cheeks tint a little.

“Yeah!” He nods, then clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m not nervous.”

“I didn’t say you were.” You pat his back. Luffy sucks his lips awkwardly. He usually has no trouble asking for help if he doesn’t know how to do something but he feels a strong urge to be cool around you. Something pops into his mind. Accentuate. Luffy grabs your shoulders and suddenly picks you up, then runs out of the room. “Luffy!? Where are we going.”

“Axe-in. Axe shoes.” He forgot the word. You eventually make it inside of the library and he puts you down, then starts to run around for something. He looks really panicked but determined. Eventually he pulls out an encyclopedia of bugs and a sketchbook, jumping next to you and flipping open the book of bugs then the sketchbook. He reaches a page of a beetle and then in his sketchbook a drawing of said beetle. It’s actually pretty good. Once that's done he stands there determined but nervous like an apprentice chef waiting for a senior to judge their meal. You pick up the drawing.

“This is good. I could tell that it was the same beetle immediately.” He brightens and then flips the pages again to another set of matching beetles. “Wow, you’re really determined about these.” He nods.

“They’re huge but they don’t eat meat at all, and are nocturnal!” He points to the horns. “These are big! The guys are bigger than the girls too.” He begins to list off facts about Atlas Beetles for the next 5 minutes, then turns to different pages to different beetles to give facts about that one. 30 minutes pass until he takes a break. He stopped breathing properly to maximize efficiency in telling you beetle facts. He takes a huge breath, his stomach huge, and lets it out with a “phew” Once his breath is caught he crosses his arms proudly. “How was that?”

“Amazing, you’re really good at retaining information about things that you love.” He smiles and puts his forehead to yours.

“Yup! It’s why I remember so many things about you!”

“Thanks.” All of this must be his way of showing his love.

__________________

Zoro stares at you. “Do you have to tell me of all people? Couldn’t you go to Nami.” He says as you rest after sparring.

“I feel like she would ask way too many questions all at once.”

“Obviously but I don’t know how to help you. At least she would have something to say.” He’s a little awkward about this, what is he supposed to tell you? Congrats on the relationship? That’s corny as hell.

“You don’t have to. You just have to listen.” When you say that he hums, giving a small smile. “I can do that much.” He looks away. “And uh, I’m glad you finally stopped overthinking.” Emotional praise is hard for him.

____________________

“Why would I want to know this?” Sanji asks, leaning back against the dining table chair.

“Don’t be like that, I thought you would be relieved to know.” He doesn’t look convinced. “This is a way of thanking you, since you gave me some help telling me about Luffy.”

“All I did was say it.” He smiles. “It does feel nice to be thanked, though. Even if you’re not a pretty lady. Good job.” His expression suddenly darkens. “I would’ve kicked you into the ocean if I told you all that just for you to still be stupid.”

_______________________

Luffy bursts into the bath where Brook is bathing. “Brook!”

“Luffy!?” He instinctively covers his chest area.

“It worked!” He runs over and stands on the edge of the bath. Brook processes his statement.

“About you and (Y/n)?” The captain nods and the skeleton gasps. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” He wipes his eye socket like there’s a tear then gets determined. He stands from the bath. “This is no time to be bathing, we’ll sing!” Luffy nods again and the musician looks down before squealing. “Kyaa!” His towel fell off. “Oh, there’s nothing to show.” Nevermind.

_______________________

You and Luffy go around the ship collecting the crewmates and telling them over the course of a day. Brook even got a huge bout of inspiration and wrote a song very quickly, not even rushed he simply wrote it that fast. Once night comes the crew parties, sharing both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks as music flows into the cool night air. Luffy and you stand in the middle dancing. Your boyfriend suddenly turns to you with a big smile and gets close to your face, hands gripped onto you.

“Luffy?” You’re nervous, he’s really gonna kiss you in front of everyone? I mean you guys already announced it so it’s not crazy but still it-

BITE

“GAH!” He bit your mouth, grabbing onto the back of your head to sloppily lick and eat your lips. When he pulls away your lips are a little swollen. You’d like to be mad but he looks really happy, even a little sheepish like you two really made out in front of everyone.

“Super!” Franky poses, Zoro looking away to avoid second hand embarrassment. You two can work on how to actually kiss later, you have time.

“Shi shi shi!”

I finally did it guys 🥺 are you proud of me 🥺 I guess i should be more.worried if there are any fans of this series left from the start since I took so long ;;. I learned my lesson and any serieses I post from now on are either gonna be already finished and ill just be able to post the chapters at a pace or i at least have a majority of it done. I do have other serieses after all, ideas, theyre just.. in the works. Anyway this is done now. I hope the ending was satisfactory. From the poll i did on what people thought i was gonna post i have a sneaking suspicion people wanted me to post more shanks getting railed again, but that will be another time. I forgot again had to edit. @yuurivalr @geraldwang

[seoulmatez]

𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁

an incident leaves you and boothill closer than ever, and compels you to reconsider what you've thought about him until this point.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 2k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ mentioning of injury ﾉ teasing ﾉ petnames (little lady. darlin', sweetheart, doll)

previous part ♡ masterlist ♡ next part

“That’s it, pretty girl, nice and easy.”

The horse beneath you sighs and you do the same, relaxation and contentment in the breath you let go of. It’s been a while since you’ve gone riding, a few years at least, but being sat on a saddle with reins in your hands feels as natural as it used to when you’d ride nearly every day of the summer. You’re lucky that your favorite mare—clover—is still healthy enough to take out.

You gently squeeze your legs into Clover’s sides in a silent signal for her to move from a trot to a canter. The sequence of her hoof beats effortlessly switches from the two-beat gait to one of three beats and her pace quickens. The wind against your face is stronger now but you welcome the sensation, a small smile making its way to your face.

As a kid, riding was fun and exciting more than anything else but as you’ve grown into an adult, the activity has become something more cathartic—a release of sorts. Your stress slips away when you’re on the saddle, lost in the summery breeze. You don’t allow a second for the thoughts that constantly nag at you to linger. All of your focus is granted to clover and the field ahead, to how you feel here and now and how you wish you could feel like this all the time.

Unfortunately for you, nothing lasts forever.

You hear the dog before you see her, barking discernible in the distance. Clover must, too, her ears pointing back to listen more closely to the sound approaching from behind. As the barking grows louder, the horse’s neck tenses, and it only takes a second more for her to decide that the noise is worth investigating. You’re in alert mode now, too—no, it’s probably closer to panic mode. It’s been a while since you’ve had to worry about the horse getting spooked and even then you had your grandpa or parents to rely on to make sure nothing got out of hand.

You don’t have time to even think about what the right thing to do in this situation is before Clover spots the dog bounding towards the both of you.

“Clove—!” You try to calm her down, to let her know that the dog isn’t a threat that she should be scared of, but it’s far too late. Before you can comprehend what’s happening, Clover is rearing. The motion combined with your loose hold on the reins is enough to send you flying off the horse’s saddle. A scream is ripped from your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut at being in the air, destined to fall.

You hit the ground with an audible thud.

Pain courses through your body—your back, your shoulders, your head. Everything hurts and hot tears spring to the corners of your eyes but they pool there, refusing to stream down your cheeks. Despite all the pain, the growing soreness, you find your mind wandering. Where did clover run off to? What was the dog doing out here alone? She rarely leaves the house by herself. Someone is yelling, they’re calling your name. Is it Boothill?

“Shit, little lady,” he shakily breathes, “you okay?”

Relief washes over you and for a short second. You think that you’ve never been happier to hear the farmhand’s voice. It’s tinged with concern, a characteristic you have yet to see him display—especially for you. It doesn’t stop in his voice either, you can feel it in how he takes a hold of your shoulders, his grip firm but not tight enough to cause you any unnecessary pain.

You take the risk of finally opening your eyes and instead of being met with the sun’s blinding rays, Boothill's face crowds your vision. His eyebrows are pulled together and for once, there’s no smirk or grin playing at his lips. Upon seeing that you’re conscious, the tension in Boothill's forehead lessens. “There she is.”

His voice is soft, like if he speaks too loud he’ll break you. Though it’s unlike him to be so mindful, you appreciate what you imagine is the temporary change. He opens his mouth to continue but before he can get another word out, the border collie, Missy, nudges between the two of you as if she senses something is wrong. Boothill shoos her away before turning his attention back to you. “You okay? What happened?”

You think back on the moments that led to this—you laid out on your back in the grass. “Missy… I think she scared Clover. She threw me off.”

That’s right, you have no idea where she went after being so startled or if she’s okay, at that.

“Where is Clover?” You dart up into a sitting position, palms against the grass. It’s a bad idea and you face the consequences of it immediately, head throbbing and the dull pain throughout your limbs becoming all the more noticeable. You suck in a sharp breath in response to the discomfort but realize that the pain you’re in doesn’t top your concern for the horse. “Is she still around here? I need to go find her.”

“Woah, woah, woah, hold your horses.” Boothill frowns. He stands up and holds both of his hands out to help you do the same. For once, you don’t think about the underlying meaning of having your hands touch his, you just grab a hold and let him pull you up. You turn your head in every direction you can in search of Clover, readying to pick any of them to start walking in. Though, you can’t, not with the way Boothill is holding your hands hostage. His gray eyes bore into yours. “You aren’t going anywhere but to the hospital.”

“What? No.” You shake your head and try to pull away but Boothill doesn’t budge. The longer he holds onto you, the more aware you become of his touch—how warm his hands are and how, even though they’re rough and calloused, his palms are more comforting than you care to admit. “I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine.”

“Listen darlin’, people who have just been thrown off horses ain’t known for their good judgment.” He squeezes your hands but then seems to think better of it, loosening his grip but continuing to hold them. He gets his message across though, with the hand squeeze and the almost desperate look in his eyes. You’ve never seen him so uneasy, heard him speak so seriously. His new demeanor has your feet glued to their spot on the ground and your gaze glued to his. “You’re going to the hospital.”

You’re rarely one to jump at the opportunity to agree with Boothill but maybe he’s right. You’re running on adrenaline right now and your mind isn’t in the best place—you’re worried about the wrong things. And if the topic is important enough to have Boothill practically pleading with you, you should take it just as seriously as he is.

“Fine, I’ll go, but you need to find Clover before we do.” That came off a little more demanding than you meant it to. You add, “Please.”

He clicks his tongue and groans before telling you, “Alright, I’ll find your damn horse.”

● ● ●

Boothill is a man of his word and tracks down Clover, putting her back in the stable before whisking you away to the hospital. The ride there feels like a visit to the doctor itself with the way the farmhand practically interrogates you about your symptoms. He’s concerned but can’t help but laugh when you tell him that he’s exacerbating any head trauma you may have sustained by making you think so hard.

Despite your initial resistance to Boothill’s insistence on going to the hospital, you’re thankful for his urging. Turns out he was right to be worried—you got a concussion.

Your helmet helped soften the blow but the physician who explained your diagnosis still recommended a few days off work to rest and recover. It’s not the best news to receive but considering things could have been much worse, you’re grateful to walk away with a relatively minor injury.

And if your doctor had any anxiety about you ignoring his advice, it was misplaced. Because Boothill has personally made it his responsibility to be sure you get better.

As soon as the two of you arrived back at the house, he steered you into the living room, sat you on the couch, and disappeared into the kitchen with a demand for you to stay put. You’re tempted to argue but your head hurts too much so you cross your arms instead, closing your eyes and resting your head on the couch cushion.

It doesn’t take long for him to return and his hands are full when he does—a glass of water in one, an orange precariously rolling on a plate in the other, and a bottle of pain medication tucked under one of his arms. He sets the drink and pills on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch beside you, the dip in the cushion enough to make you open your eyes.

Upon grabbing your attention, Boothill jerks his head in that direction. “Take a couple of those.”

You sit up and unscrew the bottle, shaking out two of the pills and popping them in your mouth before taking a few sips of the water he grabbed for you. A beat of silence passes before you speak up. “You know, I could have done all this myself.”

“I’m sure you could have,” he tells you with a grin, hands busy peeling the skin from the orange. It’s still all in one piece. Impressive, you think, but you aren’t surprised. It seems like Boothill is good at everything he does. “Just thought you might enjoy having me at your beck and call.”

You frown. What does he think you are? Some princess who needs a servant? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’, darlin’.” He slides the plate of peeled orange slices across the coffee table so you can eat them when you’re ready. He wipes his hands on his jeans before standing up and stuffing them in his pockets.

The farmhand is on his way to the door when he says, “I’m off, but holler for me if you need anything, sweetheart.” 

You never thought you’d see the day you would stop Boothill from leaving.

“Wait, before you go…” He stops and turns around, eyebrows slightly raised in silent question, urging you to go on. You had more courage to say what was on your mind when he wasn’t looking at you. Though, you know it’s only right to let him know that you appreciate all he’s done for you today. So, you turn your gaze to the floor and let it spill out. “Thank you for finding Clover. And for taking me to the hospital. And for this.” You gesture to the fruit.

There’s a flash of sincerity that passes over his features before that annoying smile makes its way back to his lips. “So you can say thank you.”

You don’t know what kind of response you were expecting, but you should have seen this coming. It’s like he’s hardwired to tease you, even when you’re being genuine. “You can leave now, Boothill.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.” In contradiction to his words, he stays put. And you can’t find it in you to be upset that he does because the humor has left his face, replaced by earnestness. “But you’re welcome, doll. It was really no trouble.”

He finally takes his leave and when you hear the door close, you let out a frustrated groan and lay your head back on the cushion. That nasty fall must have done more damage than you thought. Why else would your heart be working overtime over a simple change of expression?

You shake your head to get rid of the unwelcome thoughts—thoughts of how generous and caring he actually might be—before you think better of the motion. It hurts your head and makes you wonder how long it’ll take before the pain pills kick in. They’ll probably work better if you have something on your stomach.

Your eyes fall to the plate Boothill left for you.

Orange slices should do.

manon here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[jbaileyfansite]

Critics Reactions to Jonathan Bailey's perfomance as Fiyero (Master Post)

“Dancing Through Life,” on the other hand, is the adaptation’s biggest musical accomplishment. Although Wicked is primarily about the relationship between these two women, the charming prince Fiyero always threatens to steal the show, and never more so now that Bridgerton heartthrob Jonathan Bailey is playing him in a dazzling blue/gold suit. Setting this song in a library full of rotating, cylindrical shelves allows the dancers to really show off their moves, while Bailey succeeds at infusing the number with his personality as he flirts with men and women alike. Unless Wicked really hits big with the Academy, it’s unlikely that Bailey will score a Best Supporting Actor nomination at the Oscars, but surely he deserves some honor for being the sexiest actor on Earth at the moment — hope you’re taking notes for next year, PEOPLE! [x]

And Bailey, from his boot-toe book choreography to ovation-worthy gymnastics, is hoofing his way through every step of “Dancing Through Life;” there will be deserved awards attention coming Grande and Erivo’s way for Wicked, and Bailey should be as much a part of the conversation. I can’t remember the last time a performance was so instantly charismatic, the kind of movie-star heist—he nearly runs away with the film during that musical number—that makes going to the cinema so exciting. [x]

A character I was worried about going into this. Jonathan Bailey, he plays Fiyero, who is this kind of just over the top cocky, flamboyant, kind of douchey, but in a fun way character. And there’s just so much there that it could be really easy to mess up. And I didn’t know that he was into song and dance performance, because I’ve only seen him in Bridgerton, so I didn’t know what else was in his repertoire. But I feel like he absolutely crushed that character. You cannot help but love everything he does when he’s on screen. He nails it. [x]

Jonathan Bailey oozes sex appeal and charisma as Fiyero Tigelaar in an utterly swoon-worthy performance, unleashing his West End talents with the dazzling “Dancing Through Life” sequence that cements himself as a true superstar, while his chemistry with both Erivo and Grande is off the charts. [x]

I have to give Jonathan Bailey his freaking flowers. I thought he was going to be good. He got an Olivier award for Company and if you haven't, there is a video of him singing The Last Five Years from years ago….So I was like I think he's going to do a good job, he's also so charming and everybody loves him. I was not prepared to see what we got. The perfomance, the vocals, the gymnastics, the charm, the way he says 'you're perfect' is just engrained in my brain in the right way. And he's so…like he would have chemistry with a chair, I'm convinced. Everyone in 'Dancing Through Life' is now pregnant and so am I. His entire arc of Fiyero being like the daft person and then becoming who he becomes is so clear and every choice, and look, nuances he has…it is calculated but effortless. [x]

Jonathan Bailey delights in the supporting cast as her love interest Fiyero, also offering a fantastic interpretation of someone who hasn’t been called upon too often to be serious but might be willing to give it a try. [x]

“Dancing Through Life” triumphantly translates the joy of seeing Wicked live: Dancers perform acrobatics in rotating circular bookshelves, Jonathan Bailey (who I swear has chemistry with every single person on the planet) taps his way across books with a flippancy perfectly suited to the charismatic prince Fiyero, and the ensemble works (and sings!) in harmony. [x]

Jonathan Bailey uncorks an outrageous scene-stealer as the heterocamp Fiyero, a performance to put alongside Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride. [x]

Chu's usual choreographer, Christopher Scott, delivers again with vibrant, inspired moves, particularly in the elaborate "Dancing Through Life," which takes place in the school's rotating, multilevel library. "Bridgerton" star Jonathan Bailey gets a chance to show off his musical theater background here, and he's terrifically charming as the glib Prince Fiyero, the object of both Elphaba and Galinda's romantic interests. [x]

The true surprise, even more than Grande, is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the charming prince with hidden depths that both Galinda and Elphaba gravitate towards. Bailey has such a light comic touch to him and his performance of “Dancing Through Life” might be the best part of the movie, and the most ambitious set piece in the film. [x]

The true standouts are three-fold, with Grande, Erivo, and Bailey embracing the tonal shifts with unbridled glee. […] Fiyero has major bisexual vibes, and chemistry with every single character. Bailey’s take on “Dancing Through Life” lets the Olivier Award-winning actor unleash his sex appeal on a library full of unsuspecting Oz-ites. [x]

Jonathan Bailey adds renegade bravado as the devil-may-care Prince Fiyero, selling the character's journey from apathy to activism with aplomb. [x]

Elsewhere, British heartthrob Jonathan Bailey steals the show as the vain Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, a love interest for both young witches. Bailey effortlessly dances and sings his way through the film’s most demanding musical numbers. [x]

It's Jonathan Bailey who threatens to steal the show though, instantly charming during Flyero's meet-cute with Elphaba. Anybody not swooning already will be with his excellent 'Dancing Through Life' number, Bailey's palpable charisma shining through the extended number which culminates in a reimagined Ozdust Ballroom. [x]

One more: Jonathan Bailey. His dashing Prince Fiyero is one charming prince, so cheeky that he will have boys and girls everywhere swooning. And swoon they do, within the film — it’s a small thing, and not to get all #RepresentationMatters about it, but I was delighted to see Wicked make very clear that both male and female Shiz students are equally lustful whenever Fiyero’s around. There are some deliciously flirtatious moments between Fiyero and some guys during “Dancing Through Life,” and it had me thinking about the fact that, for as fabulously gay as musical theater so often is, you don’t usually see that kind of thing in a massive mainstream film. Kudos all around. [x]

The standout to me: I’m going to go with Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. He pops up into the film and immediately comes off so cocky, but so charming and likable. Just everybody he talks to, he has this fun rapport and chemistry with them, and just brings to life every scene that he’s in, whether it is just dialogue, joking, dramatic or his big dance number in the library. He’s so good. And it’s one of those things where I am not super familiar with him outside of this, and you just see him and you go - man, that guy is a star, this guy is really good. [x]

And while Wicked is all about is two leading ladies, we must spare a moment or several for Jonathan Bailey’s virile, twinkly Fiyero, who quite literally leaps onto the screen on his horse while clad in tight britches and sturdy riding boots. He’s charming in a way I never found the rather bland character to be onstage, bringing vibrancy to the role as a big screen heartthrob who tears up the floor (and library books) with his aggressive dancing. Now it makes sense that he could turn the head of both Glinda and Elphaba. A West End veteran himself, Bridgerton actor Bailey also boasts an exemplary voice – the casting directors truly spoiled fans here – and there are no exceptions made when every number is treated as a potential show-stopper. [x]

In terms of supporting performances, Bailey’s absolutely dashing and magnetic, giving a star-making performance – a la Rupert Everett’s in MY BEST FRIEND’S WEDDING. He lights up the screen as the object of romantic affection in screwball-esque scenes shared with Grande as much as he does during the library set number leading “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Bailey is a charming Fiyero, using all of his Bridgerton swagger in exactly the right ways. He arrives well into the term, a transfer student who has reached the end of the number of schools to be kicked out of. Fiyero is sometimes treated as a throwaway character–the generically hot love interest for two girls to feud over. But this Bailey’s Fiyero will not be so easily dismissed and his “Dancing Through Life,” plays well when accented by talented professional dancers that make the entire scene pop. [x]

Then there’s Jonathan Bailey, who manages to steal the show from his very entrance. Not since Dan Stevens first showed up in The Guest, or perhaps when Glenn Powell out-cruised Tom in Top Gun: Maverick, has there been this much tantalizing testosterone employed in such an effective way. Bailey’s bravura take on Fiyero Tigelaar, the Winkie Prince who sings about “Dancing Through Life,” is by far one of Chu’s most accomplished moments of filmmaking, managing to make the character simultaneously seductive and disarmingly silly. It’s also a moment in Wicked‘s storytelling where there’s fun to be had, and the massive sequence is absolutely a joy that by far exceeds the smaller scope of the on-stage presentation. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is so very “that guy.” His Fiyero doesn’t have the foppish facade of the original. His portrayal makes us aware he’s more complex than he appears from the moment we meet him and his talking horse, but as a Prince Charming, his rizz is high. Who wouldn’t fall in love with Bailey (and who hasn’t)? [x]

Bailey as Fiyero is the ultimate casting as the Lord becomes a Prince. He delves into Fiyero’s shallowness and his moments between Elphaba and Galinda are so starkly different as Bailey plays into both relationships organically with wonderful chemistry between all three. [x]

Jonathan Bailey has a standout musical number with “Dancing Through Life,” and he manages to have chemistry with everyone on screen as the handsome Fiyero. He’s fiercely flirtatious and fun to watch. [x]

Jonathan Bailey could have chemistry with an inanimate object. That man absolutely shines in the role of Fiyero. [x]

But, it’s Bailey’s Fiyero (surprise!) who steals the movie’s second-best scene: the elaborately choreographed “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Galinda immediately sets her sights on Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey, bringing an outstanding amount of Kenergy to his role). […] And there are certain sequences, specifically Galinda’s signature number “Popular” and Fiyero’s “Dancing Through Life”, where everything does click together nicely and the film suddenly sparks into life. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is absolutely swoony as the flirty Fiyero. While Wicked: Part One is just the beginning of his story, you can already see how Elphaba’s impact is starting to influence him to think more of others versus being shallow and self-consumed. [x]

Jonathan Bailey‘s Fiyero is a joy to watch, and you can see in his physicality and the sparkle in his eyes who he is destined to become. Once we see him dance and sing, he sweeps everyone off their feet. [x]

Fiyero gets one of the film’s most appealing numbers, brilliantly delivered by Bailey, “Dancing Through Life”, as the dashing Prince disturbs the peace of Shiz’s library to entice his classmates to join him for an evening of fun at “the most swankified place in town”, the Ozdust Ballroom. With Bailey gleefully taking on Christopher Scott characterful, silky smooth, choreography, he goes on to offer us seductive glimpses of the more substantial man hiding behind his mask of superficiality. [x]

I can’t say the word scene-stealer without talking about Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. Give Jonathan Bailey awards, give him every role … for being so amazing in this movie. He is just so effortlessly cool and charming and funny, but I love the heart that he gives certain moments … Fiyero just lives with me now … He enters this movie giving me one of my favourite performances. [x]

The supporting cast proves equally magnificent. Jonathan Bailey’s Fiyero exudes oodles of charisma and a strong voice, easily proving he can handle Christopher Scott’s limber choreography while simultaneously putting his own stamp on it.  While his character plays a more major role in the second film, his introduction, through the stunning “Dancing Through Life” number, leaves a lasting impression and makes for a compelling counterpoint for both leading ladies. [x]

Not to be outdone, Jonathan Bailey of Bridgerton fame plays Fiyero. The heartthrob, almost brainless hunk, who arrives at Shiz and drives so many of the students crazy with lust. Now Bailey’s carefree, but passionate, and decisive in both singing and choreography. With his signature song “Dancing Through Life”, Bailey gets to showcase some awesome footwork, along with amazing vocals, for a scene that is just mesmerizing thanks to the energy and the camera work. [x]

That said, it's BRIDGERTON (2020) star Jonathan Bailey who winds up stealing most of the scenes he's in as the Prince, Fiyero Tigelaar. Bailey is fantastic as the Prince, bringing an entertaining sense of levity and delight to the film. This is to the point that Bailey's absence in the film's finale is quite noticeable, with the film feeling somewhat dull without his presence. [x]

Elsewhere, Jonathan Bailey is charismatic as the dumb-but-charming Fiyero, and there’s a campness to his song-and-dance number, “Dancing Through Life” that will stir the loins in a whole range of viewers. [x]

One standout is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the Winkie prince who quickly makes a mark on Shiz after his enrollment. Bailey is not only charming and funny throughout, but exudes an energy that many of the other supporting players simply lack. [x]

Supporting roles are strong too, most notably from Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, full of bravado and fun, as well as a hefty dose of yearning – and fans of Bridgerton will know that no one does yearning like Bailey. His 'Dancing Through Life' is a blast but he's just as powerful in the film's quieter moments as his chemistry with Elphaba burns. [x]

As for the supporting cast, Bailey absolutely shines in his biggest film role to date. Much like Galinda, Fiyero is initially privileged and arrogant, but Bailey instils him with so much undeniable charm that you can easily understand why literally everyone at Shiz is falling under his spell. The seeds are sewn for Fiyero to open up in Part Two, but, for now, Bailey nails it as a seemingly one-dimensional hunk with hidden layers to explore. [x]

The film’s biggest strength is its perfectly cast triple-threat performers – Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba Thropp, Ariana Grande-Butera as Glinda Upland and Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero Tigelaar, a handsome prince whose subplot is best not spoiled. […] The charismatic Bailey, Emmy-nominated for “Fellow Travelers,” is known as the oldest son Anthony in the “Bridgerton” TV series, but in England, he is also an accomplished musical theater performer. He won an Olivier Award as Best Supporting Actor in a Musical for playing Jamie in the revival of “Company” in 2018. Fleet-footed and a nimble vocalist, he gives Fiyero an allure that wasn’t initially apparent on stage. [x]

Meanwhile, Jonathan Bailey channels his incredible Kenergy to bring the effortlessly charming Fiyero to the screen, with his fun take on “Dancing Through Life” almost stealing the show (someone please give him his own musical!) [x]

The same goes for Fiyero as Jonathan Bailey who makes his male lead into a much stronger character by leaning into the sobering moments as strongly as the lighter ones. [x]

Another pleasant surprise was Bailey as Fiyero. Best-known for his role in “Bridgerton,” Bailey isn’t as well-known for his singing chops, but he deftly carries one the most dazzling musical numbers of the whole show, “Dancing Through Life,” serving up both impressive vocals and dancing. Beyond his musical talent, Bailey is charming and roguish as the Winkie prince, while hinting that there’s a little more to him beyond his care-free persona. Bailey also has the unique ability to have chemistry with practically anyone he’s a romantic lead with, so he has great chemistry with both Grande and Erivo. The few, briefly swoon-worthy interactions between Fiyero and Elphaba specifically will likely have fans excited to see Fiyero and Elphaba’s relationship develop in “Wicked: Part 2.” [x]

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 64]

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AO3 Link

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Tobias and Nia introduce Junie and Samir to the guild.

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Samir stands strong in the wake of Nia’s enthusiasm. Her tail is a blur as she bombards the poor skiddo with questions that they struggle to answer with a simple yes or no.

“So that’s the mystery visitor?” Junie whispers, fluttering onto Tobias’ shoulder.

“Yeah. A Seeker we worked with in Fort Asra,” Tobias whispers back.

“You don’t seem as thrilled as Nia about them showing up here.”

Tobias’ mouth flattens as he tries to figure out his feelings on Samir’s sudden appearance.

On one hand, Tobias actually liked working with Samir. They’re competent at their job, and their personality isn’t insufferable like Andyn or some other Seekers he’s met over the years.

On the other hand, Tobias hasn’t forgotten that Nia offered Samir a place in the guild, and potentially on their team. Logically, Tobias shouldn’t be against the idea of more team members, but he still feels a little…territorial, maybe? Of his current team with Nia. He doesn’t want anything or anyone to intrude on the partnership they’ve built.

Then again, they’ve already got Junie and Fidel tagging along to the mountains, so what difference would one more Pokemon really make?

Tobias shakes his head. He’s getting ahead of himself.

“No, I like them,” Tobias admits. “Just…surprised to see them here so suddenly.”

Junie hums, but doesn’t push further.

Samir interrupts Nia’s chatter by holding up a hoof. Then they use their teeth to carefully pull a rolled-up tube of papers out of the side of their pack, holding the makeshift scroll out to her.

Nia blinks, then takes the offered papers and unrolls them to read. Tobias walks closer to read over her shoulder, giving Samir a cordial nod of greeting first.

He’s unsurprised to see that the first page is an official guild form. A transfer form, for Samir to join or create their own team here at the Lexym Guild.

Tobias’ stomach sinks. Looks like he was right. And he doesn’t really hate the idea—or at least he shouldn’t. Samir is just about the best option they could ask for when looking for a third teammate, but…

It’s just weird to think about having another official member on their team. It would change everything about their dynamic and how they run missions. No more Tobias and Nia. Instead, it would be Tobias, Nia, and Samir.

Tobias forces himself to continue reading with a neutral expression. The letter stipulates that Samir can officially leave the jurisdiction of their old guild and join the Lexym Guild as long as they get August’s approval. Which, judging by the leafy stamp at the bottom of the page beside August’s sloppy signature, they already did.

There’s a second sheet below the first, and Nia flips to it, only to find an additional request form to join Team Scarlet specifically. Samir’s signature sits at the bottom of the page, in even messier handwriting. There’s an empty space above it for Nia and Tobias’ signatures, if they approve.

As one, they all look up at Samir.

The skiddo is clearly nervous, as much as they try to hide it. They gesture again at the papers. Nia flips to the final page, which is covered in blunt, shaky Ordirune, likely penned by the tip of Samir’s hoof. It’s so messy it’s almost childlike, but it’s legible.

I WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST TO JOIN TEAM SCARLET OFFICIALLY. I BELIEVE WE WORK WELL TOGETHER AFTER OUR PARTNERSHIP IN FORT ASRA.

NO OBLIGATION IF YOU DO NOT AGREE. I CAN FIND ANOTHER TEAM.

THANK YOU.

SAMIR

The blunt yet formal language actually gets a snort from Tobias, despite his mixed feelings about the whole situation. He really does like Samir. He just…needs some time to think this over first.

“You really want to join our team?” Nia asks, dumbfounded. Then a frown creases her face. “You’re sure you’re all right leaving your old guild?”

Samir grimaces, then nods. Tobias remembers the words they scratched into the dirt during their stakeout in the desert, about the partner who’d abandoned them after their injury made them mute.

DIDN’T WANT ME

Their partner and the guild as a whole were probably happy to be rid of Samir, if the skiddo’s judgement is accurate.

Tobias swallows down a growl. Samir’s old partner and guild are idiots for shunning the skiddo so blatantly. Especially considering how capable they are as a Seeker, mute or not.

Samir must’ve come straight here after finishing their duties in Fort Asra and putting the transfer paperwork through. It feels…not quite desperate, but close enough for sympathy to well up in Tobias’ gut. He knows what it’s like to be disliked or—at best—pitied by those around you. He can imagine it’s even worse for something you can’t help, like losing your voice from an injury.

Still, Tobias is grateful that Nia looks at him before blurting out an answer, a question clear on her face. Tobias’ expression must look as uncertain as he feels, because she doesn’t even hesitate before turning back to Samir to say, “Could we talk it over on our own before giving you an answer, Samir?”

The skiddo nods, looking relieved that Tobias and Nia are going to consider the proposition at all. Then they turn to leave.

“Wait!” Nia says, reaching for them. “We need to talk before giving you an official answer, but you’re still our friend. You don’t need to leave. I-If you want to stay, that is.”

Tobias can agree with that, at least, and shrugs casually when Samir looks at him.

“Yeah! Come help us piece this monster of a bed together,” Junie says. “It’s craft time in here and boy are these two bad at it.”

“You could help if we’re so terrible,” Tobias grumbles, brushing the rookidee off his shoulder and moving back to the half-assembled bed frame.

“That peg is heavier than I am, Toby! What am I gonna do? Get squished? Not helpful. For your information, I am doing an excellent job at supervising.”

“You’re doing an excellent job at being even more annoying than usual.”

As they bicker, Nia leads a hesitant Samir over to their operation, pointing out what they’re doing: fitting wooden pieces together and building up the bed’s frame piece by piece. Once Samir has the gist, they jump in to help with a serious expression. They’re painfully earnest about it, too, as if this is a mission to prove their worth to the team as a whole.

Yeesh. It’s a bit intense, even for Tobias.

“Jeez, you’re a serious one, aintcha?” Junie asks, peering down at Samir from her “supervising position” atop one post of the bed frame. “It’s all right to lighten up a bit, y’know?”

Samir ignores the suggestion, shrugging uncomfortably

“Toby said your name’s Samir, right? I’m Junie!”

Samir offers a distracted nod in greeting.

Junie is quiet for a moment, tilting her head one way and then the other. “So…is the no-talking thing by choice, or..?”

Samir drops the wooden dowel they’d been delicately holding in their teeth. Nia stammers something unintelligible.

“They’re mute,” Tobias cuts in, pointedly casual. “Injury.”

“Ohh.” Junie nods. “’Kay! Just curious. Guess that means you don’t have vines to talk with, either.”

Tobias pauses in his own work, curious despite himself. Can skiddo learn vine whip?

Samir winces, then lifts their chin to tap at their throat. It takes Tobias a moment to understand what they’re saying.

“Your injury?” Tobias guesses.

Most grass types do have the base of their vines somewhere around their throat. If Samir’s injury was bad enough to damage their vocal cords, it’s possible that it messed with other parts of their body as well.

How did they even survive that kind of injury?

Samir nods, confirming Tobias’ guess. Then they focus back on their work with a steeliness that screams for Junie to stop talking about this.

So Junie, of course, keeps talking about it.

“Oh. Have you ever tried talking with like…morse code or something? Oh! Or whistles? Sometimes mail ‘mon use different chirps and stuff to communicate codes instead of talking. It’s super neat!”

Morse code? Tobias thinks Nia mentioned something similar during their stakeout in Asra. And the whistle idea isn’t actually a bad suggestion, either.

Samir’s stiff posture eases as they blink at Junie, surprised. Whether by her easy acceptance or her surprisingly thoughtful ideas, Tobias isn’t sure.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of whistling!” Nia says, pausing in her own work. “Can you whistle, Samir? Or, like, click your tongue?”

Samir hesitates, looking between the three of them. Then, quietly, they click their tongue against the roof of their mouth. Once, twice.

Nia beams. “You can!”

“Try to whistle,” Junie prompts.

Samir’s muzzle clearly isn’t made for it, but after a few tries, they do manage to get a weak whistle out between forceful gusts of air.

“Now we’re in business!” Junie cheers. “There’s gotta be some kind of Pokemon language set up for situations like this, right? I mean, some Pokemon don’t even have mouths and I can say from personal experience that sign language isn’t always an option.”

“I bet Avery or their dad would know!” Nia says, perking up at the chance to go to the archives and learn something new. “Would you be interested in that, Samir? Learning something like Morse code or whistle phrases so we could communicate a little easier?”

Samir, once again, looks blown away by the easy acceptance that Nia and Junie are offering. They swallow hard with suspiciously bright eyes, and nod.

“Great! How about we stop by the archives right away once we get this built?”

“If you get it built,” Junie corrects. “I’m down, though. I want the whole grand tour of this place!”

“Oh, right! Did anyone give you a tour of the guild yet, Samir?”

Samir makes a so-so motion with their hoof. So likely a surface-level tour that covered the necessities, but nothing in-depth. August probably just assigned a random low-level Seeker to do the honors.

“We’ll show you around,” Tobias decides, grunting as he finally gets two wooden posts wedged together properly. He steps back to give it a look, nodding in satisfaction.

It thankfully doesn’t take much longer to fit the bed frame together, and then Tobias, Nia, and Samir haul the surprisingly heavy mattress atop it. When that’s done, Nia grabs the blankets they’d pulled from storage during their previous trip to the guild, and throws them on top. The whole setup creates a strange but cozy-looking nest elevated a foot off the ground. Just high enough for Tobias to comfortably sit on. It’s surprisingly large, too, easily big enough for both Nia and Tobias to curl up together. Samir could probably even squeeze in if they wanted to, and Junie could definitely find a spot.

While Tobias isn’t sure how to feel about that mental picture, he can’t deny the bed itself looks incredibly cozy. He’s willing to give it a shot, after how soft it felt earlier.

“I am pumped to go to sleep tonight,” Junie says. “Good job, crew.”

“Same!” Nia says, sitting on the bed and looking pleased about its bounce. “Tobias, Samir, are you two going to try it too?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Tobias says.

Samir looks surprised to be included, giving a noncommittal shrug and a shuffle of their hooves in an almost shy gesture.

With that task complete, they finally get to show Junie and Samir around the guild properly, starting on the bottom floor where the mission boards are stationed. They briefly explain the network of tunnels surrounding them, taking a few steps inside one so the newcomers can get the full effect. Junie is expectedly awed by the glowing crystals growing from the walls and floor and ceiling, but even Samir seems impressed by their quiet beauty.

Their group stops by the nursery floor, too, both to show it to Junie and Samir and so Tobias can check in on the shinx cubs. He isn’t at all surprised to find that Asher has captivated the entire group of children, the zorua shifting between each child’s species with ease and delighting in their excited reactions. It feels strangely dreamlike when Asher turns into a fourth shinx cub at the others’ behest, and Tobias leans over to bet Nia that they’ll use that ability to torment their older brother at least once. Nia laughs and doesn’t take that bet.

Fidel is there too, the zoroark watching his son entertain the other children with a relieved smile as he sits next to Arlo. The drampa is keeping a watchful eye on the kids as usual, but he’s taking the opportunity to rest while Asher keeps them busy. The two older ‘mon wave at Tobias, Nia, Junie and Samir when they notice them lingering in the doorway, but otherwise don’t move to approach.

Next, Tobias and Nia show off the cafeteria, Nia giggling as she regales them with their last mission on kitchen duty. After that, they show them the item dispensary floor and the training floor, too, which clearly catches Samir’s interest. Nia waves enthusiastically to Val when she spots the medicham across the room, supervising a mock battle between a treecko and a venonat. Val gives a slight upturn of her lips and a nod in return.

They do end up stopping by the archives as well, and Nia introduces the two newcomers to the archivists, Alistair the gardevoir and Tawny the ribombee. Tawny and Junie hit it off right away, tiny chatterboxes that they are, and Alistair is clearly intrigued by their quest for a non-verbal language that Samir could use to communicate easier.

The gardevoir disappears into the shelves with Nia and Samir in tow, and Tobias—despite his better judgement—stays behind to listen to Junie and Tawny ramble about…nesting on top of the library shelves?

Maybe he should’ve went with the others.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for Alistair to return with Samir and Nia. The gardevoir has a book in his hands that’s dusty from disuse, and while he sounds apologetic that he can’t help much personally, he does comment that Avery actually knows a few rudimentary phrases of the whistle-based language contained within.

Samir still looks shocked by the easy, enthusiastic help that Nia and the others are offering, and Tobias feels a jab of anger towards the skiddo’s old guild. Seekers are supposed to help, regardless of the problem, and that includes their own members. Tobias should tell August to look into Samir’s old guild when this whole “world-saving” business is done. Something isn’t right over there, and he knows August would take his concerns seriously.

Once they’re done checking out the book, Tobias smothers his ire and leads their group farther up the tree, past the administrative floor and the Seeker quarters until they finally reach the medical wing. Fen is busy looking over a pair of Pokemon when they pass by, but Maggie immediately abandons what she’s mixing up at the counter as soon as she notices their arrival.

“Welcome home!” The meganium says, happily returning the hugs Tobias and Nia press into her flowery mane. Then she looks over their heads and smiles. “And with two new faces! Would this happen to be…Junie? And Samir?”

“Are you a psychic type or did Toby just complain about me that much?” Junie asks, fluttering forward to land on Nia’s shoulder. Samir just looks surprised to be recognized at all.

Maggie stifles a laugh, a vine coming up over her mouth. “I assure you he only complained his usual amount, and Nia had all good things to say. It’s lovely to meet you, dear.”

“You too!” Junie chirps. “You have excellent vibes, ma’am. No idea how you’ve dealt with Toby’s nonsense for so many years.”

Maggie does laugh aloud this time, and Tobias rolls his eyes.

Nia waves Samir forward, and they hesitantly step closer.

“And you must be Samir,” Maggie says with a gentler smile. “It’s lovely to meet you as well, dear. Thank you for taking such good care of these two in Fort Asra.”

Samir ducks their head into a shy nod.

“Dude, stop being so adorable,” Junie teases. “I wanna be the new favorite child.”

Samir hunches even more into themself. Tobias has to admit it’s kind of hilarious, after how stoic and sure of themself they were in Fort Asra. Clearly the new location and overwhelming friendliness is an environment they’re much less confident in.

Tobias and Nia quickly catch Maggie up on their trip to Will’s settlement, and it’s only when Samir can’t seem to hide a look of shock that Tobias realizes something: Samir wasn’t aware of the whole world-saving business they’d been assigned by Giratina. Samir didn’t even know that Nia was human.

All things considered, Tobias thinks the skiddo is taking it rather well. Their brow is furrowed and their gaze is distant as they try to process everything, but they aren’t sprinting from the room or visibly upset. Still, Nia and Maggie both seem concerned.

“Samir..?” Nia prompts.

Samir opens their mouth to speak before closing it again with a frustrated grunt. They shake their head and wave Nia off, as if to assure her that they’re fine.

“Gotta say,” Junie laughs, clearly enjoying the whole situation. “You’re handling this whole, ‘The world is ending and an eldritch god assigned us to save it’ thing better than I probably would’ve all at once. Oh! And Nia being human. I’m human too, if it matters.”

Samir once again loses their composure for a moment, eyes bulging as they look at Junie. Then they whip their head back to Nia and Tobias as if to ask if there’s anything else earth-shattering they should know about.

Nia holds up her paws. “That’s it! I promise!”

“For now, at least,” Tobias adds.

Samir’s gaze goes distant again, as if already beholding the horrors that lie ahead.

“Sure you still want to join this team?” Junie jokes.

“Yeahhh…we probably should’ve warned you about, uh, all of that first,” Nia says, cringing. “Um. You’re welcome to back out if it’s too much? We’d understand.”

Maggie looks more surprised by the idea of Samir joining their team than by anything else in this conversation. She gives Tobias a probing, concerned look.

He shrugs, mouthing, Still deciding.

Maggie’s expression softens, and she mouths back, Tell me if you need to talk.

Tobias nods, relieved that she knows him so well. He doesn’t know if he’ll take her up on the offer, but it’s always good to be reminded that it’s an option.

Samir, on the other hand, is clearly still riding the waves of all the information just dumped on them. But after a minute of silent thought, they finally shake their head, tap the ground twice, and nod. Their expression is determined.

“You want to help?” Tobias guesses.

Samir nods again.

Nia brightens. “Then we’re happy to have you along! Though it is unfortunate that we’re heading somewhere so cold right off the bat, since you’re a grass type. Will you be okay up in the mountains?”

“You can pick up a cloak from Vera’s winter storage before we go,” Tobias says. “But Nia’s right. It’ll still be rough on you and Junie in particular thanks to your typings.”

Samir doesn’t seem overly concerned by the terrain they’ll be facing. If anything, they simply look deep in thought, as if strategizing what they’ll need to combat the harsh environment. Tobias can’t help admiring that, even if it’s what he expected of the skiddo after Fort Asra. Samir doesn’t balk from a challenge, even if that challenge may decide the fate of the world.

Their group spends a bit more time with Maggie before heading back downstairs to the Seeker quarters. Nia wants to see if Xander’s team has returned yet since it’s nearing late afternoon.

Instead of Xander, it’s Andyn who Tobias runs right into while rounding a corner of the hallway.

Oh, perfect. The gods are laughing at Tobias in their sleep.

Andyn backsteps. “Oh, sorry, I—"

She cuts herself off as she realizes who she bumped into, and her expression darkens. The deerling stalks past Tobias and the others without a word.

“Wait, Andyn—” Nia says.

“We’re busy, Nia.”

Nia falls silent, wilting. Tobias is tempted to snarl something after Andyn, but he’s distracted by Ezra and Jaz, who are hurrying after their team leader from the direction of their room. The two ‘mon pause once they see Tobias, Nia and their tagalongs.

“Oh, hey!” Ezra says, grinning with his sharp sneasel teeth. “Didn’t know you were back already!”

“Is she still in a mood?” Tobias asks, crossing his arms. “It’s been like a week.”

Jaz sighs. “No, she’s been okay. Probably just wasn’t happy to see you again so soon, Tobias.”

“She can really hold a grudge,” Ezra adds cheerfully. Then his eyes land on Samir and Junie. “Ooh, new faces! You two friends with Nia and Tobias?”

“We are!” Junie chirps, puffing out her chest with pride. “Name’s Junie. That’s Samir. I’m guessing that ray of sunshine was your teammate?”

Jaz gives her a regretful smile. “I promise she‘s not normally like that. She’s just trying to untangle some…unpleasant emotions that Tobias brought out last week.”

“Doesn’t mean she has to ignore Nia to do that,” Tobias grumbles.

“Nah, but she probably finds it easier to push you both away rather than trying to sidestep one half of a team,” Ezra says. “After all, you’re pretty much joined at the hip nowadays. She’ll figure it out eventually, Nia. Try not to take it personally.”

“That’s stupid,” Junie scoffs. “Why shouldn’t Nia take it personally? We shouldn’t just have to deal with miss priss acting like a brat because Toby made her think about something she didn’t want to hear.”

Jaz winces. The stufful’s usual composure falters with guilt. Nia looks like she’s about to protest, but Jaz cuts her off. “No no, she’s right. We…probably enable Andyn more than we should.”

“She’s never gonna stop being a brat if you don’t put your foot down,” Tobias agrees.

Ezra and Jaz exchange a look.

“You’re right,” Ezra says, chuckling. “But it’s just easier to ride it out sometimes, y’know? Andyn can be a lot, but she’s still our best friend. It can be hard standing up to her when she’s upset.”

Samir nods immediately in understanding, and once again Tobias wants to meet the skiddo’s former partner. Just to talk. And maybe punch a little.

“Ez! Jaz! C’mon!”

Andyn’s voice rings out from the hall behind them, and Tobias huffs. Not even doubling back to grab her teammates? Coward.

“Sorry, gotta go,” Ezra says. “But we need to catch up when this all blows over!”

“Stay safe,” Jaz adds.

And then the two Pokemon are gone, hurrying after Andyn. There’s a moment of quiet.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like a very healthy team dynamic,” Junie chirps from Nia’s shoulder.

Nia makes a sound in her throat like she wants to agree, but doesn’t want to badmouth her friend. “Andyn’s dealing with a lot of pressure from her parents. I’m sure she’ll figure it out soon!”

Tobias doesn’t argue, knowing a futile battle when he sees one. Instead, he pushes past the encounter to lead their group to Team Shellshock’s quarters. Much as Tobias didn’t get along with Xander in the past, at least he can count on the luxio to actually act like an adult.

When they get there, the team’s door is halfway open, and inside Tobias spots Xander removing items from Team Shellshock’s satchel, Avery logging something onto their team badges, and Felix flopping down into a nest with a relieved sigh. Looks like they just got back from a long day.

Xander’s ears twitch before Tobias can knock, and he looks up with a warm smile. “Hey. Almost didn’t recognize you two with an extra set of hooves along for the ride. Come on in.”

They do so, Nia going straight for a hug that Xander returns with a loud purr.

Kry, munching on a yache berry against the far wall, locks onto the new faces of the group immediately. “Who are you two?”

Junie perks up, fluttering forward to perch on a windowsill by the fraxure. “I’m Junie! Mail ‘mon in training.”

Kry loses interest immediately. She looks at Samir instead.

Samir straightens up, glancing at Nia in an almost panicked fashion.

“Oh!” Nia pulls out of the hug to gesture towards the skiddo. “And this is Samir. They just transferred here from another guild.”

“You battle?” Kry asks.

Samir blinks, but nods.

Kry bares her teeth in a grin. “Consider me your next opponent, then. I wanna see your battle technique after being trained by a different set of mentors.”

“That’s her way of making new friends,” Felix whisper-yells to Samir.

Samir looks uncomfortable being the center of attention, but they hesitantly nod.

“So what’s your deal?” Junie asks. “You’re only friends with people you can fight?”

Kry shrugs. “You don’t impress me much if you don’t.”

Oh. Oh, that was the wrong thing to say to Junie.

The rookidee narrows her eyes. Then, quick as a flash, she lunges, grabs the last of Kry’s berry—almost half her size—and flies out the open door.

Kry blinks, hand still curled around an invisible berry.

Felix barks a laugh, and Nia’s giggles follow shortly after. Xander and Avery look just as stunned as Kry.

Tobias grins. Okay, he can see the humor in Junie’s antics when they aren’t being directed at him.

“Hey!” Kry yells, bolting out of the room. “I am going to murder you, you ball of feathers!"

Samir looks genuinely concerned by the threat, but Felix waves them off. “She won’t actually hurt her. She knows she’d get a scolding for that.”

Tobias snorts. “You should be more worried about Kry, honestly. Junie’s a menace.”

Felix’s fluffy ears perk, the wartortle clearly delighted by that tidbit of information. “Really. Well, that’s a fun development. I’m guessing this is the same Junie you all met back in Ghatha?”

“Yeah!” Nia says. “And Samir is the skiddo we met in Fort Asra.”

“Sounds like you’ve been as busy as ever,” Avery says. The kirlia folds into a sit with unnatural grace, patting the ground for Nia and the others to join them. “Feel like sharing?”

“Ooh, yeah! You two always get into the craziest binds,” Felix says, scooting closer. “What’ve you been up to this time?”

Tobias and Nia exchange a look, then start on the (abridged) version of their trip to the human settlement. While they don’t go into detail on why exactly they visited Kaleido Bay, Nia does make sure to thank Team Shellshock for their gift of an all power-up orb.

Who knows if they would’ve been able to defeat Dismas without it.

Xander just sighs at that, giving them a tired smile. “Sometimes I don’t know who’s pushing me towards gray fur faster—you two or the cubs. I’m glad we could help, though.”

“Now I feel like we need to supply you more often to ensure your safety,” Avery says, only half-teasing. “A weekly care package, perhaps?”

“That won’t be necessary!” Nia laughs, waving the kirlia off. “Um. Probably not, at least.”

Tobias snorts. “With our track record? Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Even Samir has a long-suffering expression of agreement on their face, and they’ve only been with Tobias and Nia for one life-threatening scenario.

“I guess it makes sense you’d run into trouble so often when you travel as much as you two do,” Felix says. “Actually, do you mind me asking why you travel so much? I’ve been wondering. Most teams stay closer to home, especially this early in your career.”

Nia opens her mouth to answer, then hesitates. She glances at Samir, recently roped into the whole “world-saving” business, then gives Tobias an unsure, questioning look. He shrugs in response. Nia is the one with the personal quest from Giratina, and these are Nia’s friends before his. She gets to decide who she clues into the reality of their situation. He’s honestly kind of surprised she hasn’t done so already.

After an awkward moment of silence, Nia says, “It’s…actually kind of complicated. I didn’t want to tell you guys if I didn’t have to worry you, but it might be good for you to know.”

The quiet flap of wings interrupts before Nia can go any further. Junie glides causally into the room, perching on Nia’s shoulder with berry juice staining the feathers around her beak. Smugness radiates from her like a visible thing.

“Hey.”

Felix raises his brows, clearly impressed. “Hey. I see you survived Kry’s rampage?”

Junie laughs. “She’s so clumsy! I thought she’d give me a better chase, honestly. She’s even easier to rile up than Toby.”

Right on cue, Kry comes crashing into the room, breathing hard with rage in her eyes. She locks onto Junie. “You.”

“No murdering, Kry,” Felix drawls.

Kry glares at the wartortle, but then looks at Xander as if to verify.

The luxio sighs. “No murder, Kry.”

The fraxure growls. “Meet me in the arena, you little puff of air.”

Junie puts on a show of considering the idea, then smirks. “Nah.”

For a moment, Kry looks like she’s actually going to lunge. Junie snuggles closer to Nia’s neck, apparently safe in the knowledge that somebody will stop any actual assault.

“Sit down and breathe, Kry,” Avery says, somehow managing to sound sympathetic rather than patronizing.

Kry stares at the kirlia for a moment, then huffs and stalks over to the alcove in the wall that Tobias has seen her use before. She flops into it, tail tip flicking with irritation.

“Now, what were you saying, Nia?” Avery prompts.

Nia glances at Samir again, as if asking whether they’re glad Nia told them the truth about everything. Samir seems surprised to be part of this decision, but gives a nod of encouragement.

Nia takes a deep breath. “Well…it’s about the world, actually. Everything that’s been going wrong with it. Mystery dungeons, natural disasters, the legendaries, evolution. How everything is breaking down. We’re sort of…looking into how to stop it?”

Team Shellshock clearly isn’t expecting this to be the reason for Tobias and Nia’s constant traveling and danger-prone adventures. Their expressions shift from surprise to solemn interest. Even Kry turns over with a frown on her face.

So once again, Tobias and Nia explain everything. About Giratina, about the weakening dimensional border, and about their mission to find Xerneas so she can stop everything from falling apart. Tobias’ throat is dry by time they’re finished.

“Samir just learned about all of this, too,” Nia adds, glancing at the skiddo. “They’re going to come with us to the mountains to help look for Yveltal.”

Samir nods.

At that, Avery surfaces from their pool of deep thought. Surprisingly, their first question isn’t directed at Nia or Tobias, but Samir. “Apologies for being so blunt, Samir, but are you mute?”

Samir’s jaw tightens, but they nod.

“Oh! Yeah! We stopped by the archives earlier and talked to your dad!” Nia says, perking up. “We were hoping to figure out an easier way for Samir to communicate with us, so he gave us a book about whistle-based language and told us that you already know some phrases. Would you mind helping us get started on the basics while we’re still here at the guild?”

Avery mirrors Nia’s excitement. “Oh, of course not! I’m afraid I don’t know a lot, but I was curious a few years ago and dove into researching the language for a week or two. Xander figured it might be helpful to know a few non-spoken codes for missions, so we actually all know some short commands.”

Avery gives Xander a soft look, as if thankful for his support. In response, the luxio looks away with pinned ears and an embarrassed little smile. Ugh. They’re so gross together.

“We’ll only be here for a couple of days, though,” Nia says. “So we won’t have a lot of time to practice before then.”

“Oh!” Felix straightens up. “You could come with us tomorrow morning for a joint mission! If you don’t have plans already.”

“That would give us a bit of time to practice before you leave,” Avery murmurs.

Tobias blinks at them. “A joint mission?”

Even Nia looks surprised by the proposal after Andyn’s reluctance to team up last week. Xander’s team is even B-rank, a full two ranks above Team Scarlet.

“As long as you don’t slow us down, I don’t care,” Kry grumbles from her little cave.

“It’d be fun to see you two in action,” Felix says. “Especially since Nia apparently takes down steelixes in her spare time.”

Nia smiles bashfully, and Tobias rolls his eyes. He knows the wartortle flirts with everything that moves (and probably things that don’t, if a particularly shiny cascoon caught his eye), but somehow it’s even more irritating when directed at Nia.

“We were planning to go after an outlaw who was spotted nearby,” Avery says. “But he is at a high C-rank level.”

“Oh,” Nia says, the jump in difficulty clearly intimidating her. She glances at Tobias.

“Feel free to say no,” Xander stresses. “We can always pick a lower-level mission. It’s difficult enough just working with a new team member.”

Tobias fights down the urge to bristle at that comment. He has to tell himself that Xander is just being considerate of their lower rank, and maybe a bit overprotective of Nia. It’s a reasonable concern, after all, not an insult to their skills.

However, what Tobias thinks but doesn’t say is that a high C-rank mission would only be two ranks above the tasks they’re supposed to be taking at this point. Tobias is pretty sure they’ve gotten so strong so quickly in part because they keep running into (and barely surviving) situations far above their pay grade.

Tobias looks at Nia. She still seems unsure, but with her anything that isn’t an outright no usually just means she’s nervous.

Tobias’ own knee-jerk reaction is to say no to joining the other team at all, but…well, the mission with Team Evergreen was fine, other than Andyn being insufferable. And Tobias actually learned a lot while sparring with Team Shellshock last week. It would be a good opportunity for Samir to get a crash-course in whistle communication with Avery, too.

Finally, Tobias looks to Samir. The skiddo looks back, seemingly fine with whatever they decide.

“We can handle it,” Tobias decides. “What kind of outlaw are we talking about here?”

“A victreebel,” Avery answers. “He was seen yesterday near the mystery dungeon that opened up last week after the earthquake.”

“And since he’s a grass type, it’d be extra nice to have a fire ‘mon on this mission,” Felix teases, leaning over to nudge Tobias with a friendly elbow.

Oh. That sentiment makes Tobias feel…weird. Lexym Pokemon never want a fire type around.

Tobias isn’t really sure how to respond, so he just shrugs and looks down to fiddle with his scarf.

“Well, I’ll leave the whole ‘fighting bad guys’ thing to you, then,” Junie says, unbothered. “This girl ain’t built for battle. I think I’ll explore the guild some more while you’re gone. See if Asher’s rallied the kids into an army yet.”

“Coward,” Kry growls.

“Meathead,” Junie retorts.

Kry snarls. Junie bats her eyes.

“Anyways,” Nia says, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “Do you know anything about the dungeon, since he’s probably hiding in there?”

Team Shellshock goes into debriefing mode, explaining that the dungeon has taken on a rocky jungle atmosphere, with lots of grass, bug and ground types. The two teams solidify their plan to meet up in the psychic wing at dawn for an easy teleportation to the edge of the dungeon.

Afterwards, Tobias, Nia, Junie and Samir head out, seeing as evening is setting in and fatigue is visibly weighing on Team Shellshock’s shoulders. Nia suggests they grab food from the cafeteria to take back to Team Scarlet’s room for supper, then relax for the rest of the night.

They do so, settling down in their room with steaming bowls balanced atop wooden trays. Supper tonight is a hearty stew to combat the cooling fall weather, and they gobble down their bowls with a side of fresh bread and cheese.

During the meal, Nia wonders whether Samir needs their own scarf or badge before tomorrow’s mission, which makes Tobias pause. The skiddo is still wearing the same scarf they had in Fort Asra: a dark green bandana that blends into the leafy mane around their neck and covers up the scar hidden underneath.

Huh. Another similarity between them.

“Can you even get those if you aren’t officially part of a team yet?” Junie asks with a tilt of her head. “I mean, since you’re still deciding and all…”

Speaking of which—they need to talk that over, too. Which is decidedly harder to do when Samir and Junie are right there. Despite the easy atmosphere of the meal, Tobias feels a fresh ache of longing for the simplicity of when it was just him and Nia.

“They should be able to give you a scarf at least,” Tobias hedges. “It’d be nice to be able to match when we’re outside the Haven, in case we get separated.”

Samir nods, something like relief in their expression. Although Tobias has a feeling it’s more that they’re ready to leave their old scarf—and the memories attached to it—behind, rather than them being afraid of getting separated from the team.

Junie looks between Samir and Tobias. “Would we get that on the item floor? If that’s where we can grab cloaks and snowshoes and stuff, too, then me and Samir can go get those together!”

Tobias blinks, surprised by her initiative. “That…could work, yeah.”

Samir seems reluctant to be partnered off alone with someone they aren’t familiar with, but the skiddo nods before Nia can act on their discomfort. Good. If Samir and Junie take care of grabbing those items, then Tobias and Nia will have a few minutes alone to talk about Samir’s potential placement on the team.

Tobias nods his approval. “You remember which floor it is? Rainer will probably be there on his evening shift. He’s a politoed. Talk to him and he can get you a scarf and directions to Vera to pick up some snow gear.”

Junie salutes with a wing. “Aye-aye, cap’n! C’mon, Samir!”

Junie doesn’t wait for a response, flapping into the air and flying out of the room. Samir scrambles to their feet, nearly knocking over their empty bowl. They look wide-eyed between the door and Nia and Tobias.

Tobias raises a brow, tilting his head as if to say, “Go on.”

Samir hesitates for a moment longer before hurrying after Junie.

Nia giggles. “They’re quite the pair.”

Tobias snorts. “Junie certainly talks enough for the both of them.”

Then, he turns to Nia, expression falling serious. For a moment, Nia seems confused by the sudden shift in atmosphere. But then she glances at the door, and realization dawns. She sets her own empty bowl aside and turns to face him as well.

“You want to talk about Samir, I’m guessing.”

Tobias nods. “Junie gave us the chance. Might as well take it.”

“All right. Well…what do you think about them joining our team? You can tell me if you don’t want them to. This feels like a big decision, so I think it should be unanimous.”

Tobias releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He’s relieved that Nia’s aware of the significance of this decision and seemingly willing to take a No without complaint. “Samir…wouldn’t be the worst choice for a partner. Not by a long shot.”

“But?”

“But…” Tobias hesitates, feeling a flush come to his face. How does he phrase this without it sounding pathetic? “It would be really…different. From how it’s been so far.”

Nia makes an encouraging sound in her throat.

“I know we end up with other ‘mon more often than not,” Tobias says, slowly picking his words. “And I’ve gotten used to Junie being around so much, but…”

“But it’d still be different,” Nia summarizes. “Between us. Junie will go home eventually. Samir wouldn’t.”

Tobias nods. “It’s just…a different dynamic. You and I are partners. I lead a lot of the time, but you know how to lead if you need to. And I don’t have to think about you just following an order without thought because I’m your ‘leader.’ Samir, though…”

Nia tilts her head thoughtfully. “They have kind of been defaulting to whatever we want them to do ever since they showed up here.”

“I think they’re just desperate to make a good impression, after their last guild experience,” Tobias mutters.

“I…don’t think you’re wrong. But I think they’d put their foot down if they really thought it was important to do so. They did that in Asra, right? They tried to stop you from going down into the mines.”

“True,” Tobias admits. “And we did work well together. They do a good job balancing out some of our impulsiveness.”

Nia’s mouth twitches with a smile. “We do have a tendency to run headfirst into dangerous situations. They could help us slow down and think things through.”

A beat of silence. Tobias stares at Nia’s open expression.

“You want Samir to join. Don’t you?”

Nia shrugs. “I do. I think it’d be good for all of us, and I like them. But I don’t want them to join if you don’t want them to. We’re partners, and this is a big decision. It’s either two yeses or it’s a no.”

Tobias feels some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. Nia said the same thing not five minutes ago, but it reassures him to hear her say it again, and to hear it said so easily.

His opinion matters here.

“If we’re going to have another teammate, Samir is about the best I could ask for,” Tobias admits. “It’s just…hard, knowing things will be different without knowing exactly how they’ll be different.”

“Different is scary,” Nia agrees. She holds out a paw.

Hardly hesitating, Tobias takes it. She squeezes his hand.

“My vote is yes, but I don’t want to rush you,” Nia says. “Take your time. Samir is patient. They know this is a big decision.”

“But it’s not fair to string them along, either,” Tobias mumbles. Especially not after their last terrible partner.

“You’re not stringing them along. You just aren’t sure. It’s okay to take your time making a decision.”

Tobias takes a breath and nods. Nia waits with him in silence, her thumb stroking the back of his hand in a soothing gesture.

Tobias is no closer to a decision when Nia speaks again. “How about a trial period?”

“A trial period?”

“Yeah! We have Samir join us for now, but kind of like…on probation? They can help us while we save the world, and then if everything’s still good afterwards and we both agree on it, they can join officially!”

That…doesn’t sound too terrible. Tobias knows that it’s just another way of pushing the decision off until later, but he’s too relieved by the suggestion to care. Somehow, knowing that it isn’t quite permanent helps. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s run it by them and if they’re okay with that, then I am too.”

Nia beams. “Great! Thanks, Tobias.”

“For what?”

“For giving this a shot,” Nia clarifies. “I know it’s hard for you to open up to people.”

The casual familiarity of that remark makes something like embarrassment balloon in Tobias’ chest. He gives Nia’s paw one last squeeze before pulling away.

Then his eyes land on their satchel, where he’d gently set it against the wall earlier today.

Oh. This might be the last time they’re alone for a while. And Tobias does not want Junie here for an exchange that’s already likely to be mortifying.

“Close your eyes,” Tobias says, getting up and moving to rummage through their bag.

“What?”

“Trust me. I’ve got a surprise.”

And there it is, wrapped up and carefully stashed away at the bottom of the bag. Tobias pulls the paper-wrapped object out and holds it behind his back, careful with the heft of it. He feels a flutter of nervous excitement in his gut.

Nia’s head is turned his way, a confused smile on her face, but her eyes are closed. “A surprise?”

Tobias makes a quiet noise of agreement, sitting down in front of her again. “Hold out your paws.”

Nia does so. “What’s the occasion?”

Tobias pauses, something like “Thanks for being my partner” running through his head before he shoves away the mushy thought.

“No reason,” he grunts. “Just wanted to. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Tobias sets the gift in her paws.

Nia is clearly surprised by the weight of it. Her eyes open, and she blinks down at the package before tentatively starting to unwrap it.

Tobias holds his breath, heart pounding.

As soon as the first sheen of blue shows through, Nia gasps. She speeds up as she unwraps the rest of it, until she can cradle the glass in her paws like it’s the greatest treasure in the universe.

“The sculpture from Kaleido Bay?” Nia murmurs. She looks up to stare at Tobias.

“Uh. Yeah. You seemed like you really liked it? And it’s not like I’m doing anything important with my personal funds, so—"

Nia’s lip wobbles as tears fill her eyes.

For a heartbeat, Tobias panics. She said she liked it, right? Did he misunderstand? He’s already calculating how quickly he can rip it from her paws and chuck it out the window.

But then Nia’s gently setting the statue aside and yanking him into a hug.

Oh.

Slowly, Tobias returns the gesture, flushing. He always forgets how soft Nia’s fur is, cool against his warmer skin. “Does that mean you like it?”

“I love it! You didn’t have to do that.”

Tobias huffs a laugh. There are obvious tears in her voice. “I mean, I can always send it back?”

“Don’t you dare,” Nia mumbles, sniffling into his shoulder. “This is the first decoration we even have for this place.”

Tobias laughs, and Nia pulls away, keeping her paws on his arms as she smiles at him, soft and sweet. “Thank you, Tobias. Really. You’re the best.”

Tobias can’t handle her looking at him like that, so he coughs and reaches to pick up the statue, pretending to check it for cracks. Luckily, it looks like it survived the journey perfectly intact, delicate flame-likes wisps arcing up without flaw.

Nia’s smile turns confused as she takes it back from him. “Wait, but you didn’t buy it while we were at the stand. When did you—" Nia cuts herself off. “When you went back to get Rico’s name?!”

Tobias laughs. “Yeah, his name’s not Rico.���

Nia looks somewhere between scandalized and delighted, and settles on breaking into laughter. It’s unfortunate that she has to stifle it a moment later to spare her ribs, but even through the pain the giant smile never leaves her face. Her ruby eyes linger on the statue in her paws, soft and admiring.

“Thank you,” she whispers again.

Tobias feels the heat return to his face. He shrugs.

He basks in a quiet wash of pride for the next few minutes, as Nia babbles on about where to display the glass piece. Eventually, she settles on the bookcase set against the wall, still woefully empty. The statue is placed in the center of the top shelf, an eye-catching blue against the warm wood. It glistens in the dying sunset.

Shortly after, Junie and Samir make their return. Junie flutters into the room unhindered, but Samir follows with a bulging sack slung over their shoulders.

“We’re back!”

“Took you a while,” Tobias notes.

Junie laughs as she settles onto the bed frame. “Samir took forever finding the perfect cloak for themself and snowshoes for you guys. The measurements couldn’t be off by even a centimeter.”

Samir gives Junie a dry look as they sling the sack to the ground, tugging it open so Tobias and Nia can see the wooden snowshoes and snowcloak stuffed inside. Tobias knows that expression well, though. Junie is growing on Samir, much as they might not want to admit it.

The skiddo also has a scarlet red scarf tied around their neck, replacing their old green one. Something about seeing their team’s color on a new ‘mon does make Tobias feel proud, like Samir joining permanently might not be so scary. This could be their third team member one day. They are their third team member, at least for now.

Tobias tears his gaze away to examine Samir’s haul. Nia is already oohing and ahhing over the construction of the little snowshoes brought back for them. They are impressive, the outer ring made with some kind of hardwood, and the inner “webbing” a crisscross of reinforced string shot. A similar string shot strap, thicker and wider, is attached to the side of the shoes to secure them onto their feet. They’re well-made, as far as Tobias can tell, but that’s not a surprise with Vera in charge of accessories at the guild. The leavanny is a professional.

While they’re busy examining their new gear, Junie spots Nia’s gift. She flies closer to get a better look at it.

“Whoa, where’d this come from?”

Nia eagerly bounds over to show it off. “Tobias got it for me in Kaleido Bay! He surprised me with it while you guys were gone. There was this little glassblowing shop there and—"

Tobias is expecting the smug, irritating look Junie sends him as Nia rambles on. As the riolu picks up the statue to show to Samir, Junie flutters on top of the bed post closest to Tobias, and leans over to whisper, “Nice work, Romeo. That was actually pretty sweet.”

Tobias doesn’t know what a ‘Romeo’ is, but he catches the implication and bats her off the post so she bounces off the nest—the bed—with a shriek of laughter.

Thankfully, Nia can’t gush about the gift forever, though Tobias keeps catching her giving it happy glances even after putting it back. Each time, something warm blossoms in his chest all over again, pleased with his impulsive decision even if his personal funds are nearly empty.

Worth it.

As they all settle in for the night, Nia is the first to approach the lingering question in the air.

“Oh! Samir, we talked while you two were out. About you joining the team.”

Samir stops in the middle of unpacking their own bag, and despite the way they clearly try to appear casual, Tobias can’t help thinking they look like they’re bracing themself for a blow.

“If you’re all right with it, we’d like to do a sort of, um…trial run?” Nia says. “We loved working with you in Fort Asra! But we just want to make sure we’re a good fit before deciding for sure. We were thinking we’d see how the trip to Silenfroar and the whole world-saving business shakes out, then talk. Are you all right with that?”

Samir, thankfully, just looks relieved by her answer, as if they were expecting an outright no. They give her a nod, then glance at Tobias.

“It’s a big decision, adding a new team member,” Tobias says. “But you’re definitely not the worst choice. You’re very bearable compared to some ‘mon.”

Tobias gives Junie a pointed look, and she sticks her tongue out at him in return.

“Yeah!” Nia says. “Welcome to the team, Samir. Patent pending, I guess. The scarf looks good on you!”

Samir straightens up, giving her a determined nod. As if to say they won’t regret giving Samir a chance.

From there, the rest of the evening is peaceful. Tobias digs out his guitar and rests against the side of their new bed as he picks idly at chords, trying not to feel self-conscious when both Junie and Samir watch with open curiosity.

Junie doesn’t comment, though, instead following Nia’s lead and sprawling across their plush scarlet rug with the book they’d picked up earlier in the archive. Together, the three of them flip through the pages of clicks and whistles, and start practicing basic phrases.

Yes and No are easy when you can see Samir nod or shake their head, but it’s good to have verbal cues ready, too, in case they’re in a situation where they can’t actually see the skiddo. The book’s translation for No is a simple high note whistle that dips into a low note, and Yes is the same but with the two notes reversed. Junie picks it up immediately, while Nia and Samir struggle with molding their mouths into the right shapes.

Samir seems a little frustrated and embarrassed after their first few attempts, but Nia and Junie laugh it off, the little rookidee making fun of Nia for spitting everywhere until even Samir is fighting off a smile.

Tobias listens as he plucks at his guitar, committing the whistles to memory and silently practicing the mouth shapes alongside them.

That’s how they pass the evening until the first yawn floats across the room. Junie takes that as her cue to call it a night and dives into their new nest, using her beak to burrow underneath the blankets and pop out on the other side with her little face peeking out.

Nia follows shortly after, pulling Tobias with her. It takes a bit of convincing, but even Samir is dragged into the bed, and altogether it’s just large enough to fit the four of them. Nia and Tobias curl up close side-by-side, with Junie nesting in the crook of Nia’s neck. Samir shyly scoots to the edge of the bed, leaving a bit of space between them and the rest of the team, but they seem comfortable enough, if not a bit awkward.

As soon as Tobias lies down, he gets it. This is the comfiest thing he’s ever laid on in his life.

He’s never going to be able to go back to a regular nest after this, is he?

“Oh my God, this is the best thing ever,” Junie mumbles, sounding half-asleep already. “I’m gonna marry Hazel.”

Nia barks a laugh. “She’s, like, a grandma, Junie! And already married!”

“Then grandpa better watch his back or I’m gonna steal his woman.”

Nia snickers as Tobias snorts. Samir seems unsure how to respond, but Tobias can see them slowly relaxing in their little corner of the bed.

Junie asks Nia to tell her more about Hazel and her family, so Nia whispers about the raichu living in Afon’s Cap. Tobias listens with half-lidded eyes and takes in the darkness of the room, lit only by his tail flame and the moonlight filtering through the window’s leaf curtain. All around him, he’s surrounded by softness and warmth.

Tobias drifts off quicker than he has in a long, long time.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[hiddenzev]

Second Confession: Final Part

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Something happened to reader, causing Joel to take care of her. A happily ever after.

Chapter Warnings - Fluff, Idiots in Love, (let me know if i missed anything)

WC: 13.3K

series masterlist, AO3

A/N: The hardest chapter for me to write yall that's why it took me longer to write. It could be better but I hope you guys love the closure. Thank you for taking the time to read this story!!

Breathing in the crisp and refreshing morning air, leaving fresh hoof prints in the snow that has piled up over the night, you’re out for the supply run with Joel this morning. It had started snowing a few days after that night at the bar like you guessed. With one horse each, both of you are riding along the trees in the woods in silence.

Ever since the outburst of emotions between you and him, he has been keeping true to the words of giving you as much time and space as you need before coming around to him again and he took it way too seriously. You never see him in the library after that or the town hall or anywhere else. As a matter of fact, it’s like he has disappeared from the face of this earth. He is avoiding you as much as possible.

You use that time to comprehend everything that happened during that exchange and properly consider the actions that you should take after that. The apology from him was unexpected and it caught you off guard. Time and time again, you would see the big brown puppy eyes that were gazing into yours, begging you for forgiveness, in your head throughout the whole day. The sincerity that you see from the desperation in his eyes, the trembling of his strained voice, moist lush lips from his constant nervous licking to the soft touch of his fingers on yours. You have never seen this side of him up close before and it shook your determination to not let him get to you again.

During those days that you didn’t see him, it felt kind of empty. It’s the first time he was out of your sight for more than a day and you get the feeling of ambivalence. On one side, you get to think more clearly without him affecting you in a physical way but on the other hand, you miss him a little bit. The constant consumption of his presence vanished and it bombarded you with the longing to see him even if it is just for a second.

He definitely needs to show more through his actions if he wants to be forgiven. You’re not going to let him off the hook easily just by him apologising like he did that night. Like he said, he should do whatever it takes to make it all up to you. At the same time, you want to be a better person and not treat him like shit at least. To give him the chance to prove himself that he do want your forgiveness.

The silence of the supply run is suffocating but you don’t mind it as you make up for the time that you were not able to see him by staring at him from the back as long as you can. As much as he frustrates you, you will never get bored of looking at him. As if he could sense that you were staring at him, he glances back to say that you both are nearing the first checkpoint to take a break. By this time during your usual patrols, the both of you would have already start to make your way back to Jackson. This is going to be way more taxing but you know you got to push through it.

Surrounded by some bushes and trees, you and Joel are sitting facing each other, resting. You packed enough food for at least 2 days, packing as light as possible for the travels and supplies. You’re munching on the last few bites of your sandwich when Joel hands a small cup of his coffee to you. You raise your eyebrows at him, not expecting him to share any of his beloved coffee with you. He points with his chin, telling you to drink it.

“Thank you.”

You hand him the cup back after finishing the coffee within a couple of gulps. You didn’t bring any coffee with you unlike Joel who is definitely a caffeine addict. Coffee is a scarce resource so to have him sharing it with you is definitely surprising when he doesn’t even want to share it with Tommy.

“I think we should pick up the pace if we want to reach there before it gets dark,” he says while looking out at the sky.

“Okay. Let’s move on now.”

You stand up and brush off the food crumbs and dirt on your pants. You move to your horse and make sure everything is alright before getting on it. Joel’s eyes follow your every movement and slowly make his way to his horse.

“Cmon Miller, we’ve got no time. Pick up the pace.” you jokingly nag at him as you watch him strap his stuffs back on the horse.

The goofiness in you just want to poke some fun at him since the whole trip from the start has been a boring nightmare. Raw dogging the whole ride on a horse with a quiet and stoic man like your partner is actually brutal to your sanity right now.

He looks back at you, annoyed. You want to let out a laugh so bad but you keep it in. Instead, a small smirk creeps out of your mouth as you look down at him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your smile, you turn your head to the side to hide it. Joel glares at you but his eyes soften when he catches that smirk of yours that you are trying to hide from him. He almost smile but straighten himself out and gets on the horse.

Both of you make your way to the designated spot to search for supplies in a faster speed than before. Eventually, you and Joel arrive there a couple hours before the sun goes down. From a distance, you can see there is a couple of cabin houses. Joel slows down and you follow suit, sensing that you should be cautious and ready if anything is going to happen. You scan the surrounding areas with sharp eyes, not wanting to miss something weird going on.

Joel leads you to a nearby tree to the nearest house, tying the horses to it. With rifles already gripped, both of you look at each other to discuss the plan.

Joel steps closer to you, eyes unwavering, whispering the plan, “We’ll check the houses one by one first. You stay close behind me and check our six. You see something, you let me know,” you nod, staring into his eyes, “If there’s no one, we’ll discuss more after. Ready? Stay sharp.”

“Stay sharp.” You echo his words and with determined glint in yours and Joel’s eyes, both of you start walking slowly to the nearest house first.

Joel is moving forward while you are checking the six, moving backwards towards Joel. You scan slowly if there’s anything or anyone hiding behind the trees. There’s no boot prints or any animal prints in sight except yours and Joel’s as you move. Reaching the first house, Joel opens the door easily as it wasn’t locked. Everything seems intact in their respective places, dusts everywhere meaning there wasn’t anyone that came around recently. But still, both of you are careful in exploring the place.

Joel and you check out the other houses as well and as you thought, this whole area hasn’t been infiltrated by anybody else for quite some time. There is an empty shed right beside the first cabin which Joel uses to shelter the horses for the night. After ransacking the houses, the both of you move the supplies found to the same shed and pack the things properly for the ride back to Jackson tomorrow.

The sun is setting once both of you are done with it and Joel is getting ready to warm the place up using the fireplace in the house. There’s only one couch that is big enough for one person to lie down on. Other than that, there are only a couple of wooden chairs around. You push the couch nearer to the fireplace and sits down on one side of it, watching Joel lit the fireplace up.

After making sure the fire is burning okay on its own, Joel moves back to the other end of the couch. You can hear his knees cracking as he sits, sighing heavily as his head reach the back of the couch. He closes his eyes as he listens to the cracking of the fire. You turn to look at him resting, taking in everything that you can to memory. His chest moving up and down slowly as he breathes. Noticing his beard and hair thicker and longer than it was a couple weeks before.

“I can feel you staring at me.” he speaks, breaking the silence in the cabin.

You look away to gaze at the fire as if you were not just staring at him.

“I wasn’t,” you deny.

“Yeah right.” He opens his eyes slightly to look at you while you tried to maintain your lie by focusing on the fire.

It is getting awkward again so you take out the food that you stored in your bag to eat for your dinner. Distracting yourself with food, Joel does the same thing, taking out a small packet of salad to eat. You notice that he was only eating greens which makes you wonder how the hell is he getting the strength without any protein in his food. The meat lover in you wouldn’t survive with just greens but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, you get it.

“Just salad?” You subconsciously frown as you ask him.

He snaps his head to you, surprised that you are making conversation with him, “No. I was short on protein. Only had the jerky which I stupidly left in my kitchen.” He looks forlorn like a kid being sad about the candy that dropped on the floor.

You hand him one of your leftover sandwiches that you have. You don’t mind giving him one because you made a bunch of sandwiches which is more than enough for you alone. He shakes his head refusing to take it.

“It’s fine. It’s your portion for tomorrow.” He refuses while picking at his salad.

“Nah, I’m good. I have more than enough.” You reassure him, not taking a no for an answer.

He takes the sandwich with hesitation, thanking you and takes a small bite out of it. You finish yours while glancing at him from time to time, making sure he is finishing his meal. He tries to hand you his coffee after the dinner but you refuse it this time because you needed to sleep soon. Both of you are slumping against the couch, legs stretched out, falling into the comfort of the night. You are in a daze as you stay still, fire gazing, before he speaks again.

“I read your letter.” He murmurs in a soft voice.

You keep quiet thinking about the letter that you wrote. You can vaguely remember word for word but you definitely know the highlights of it. Your face burns from the embarrassment again.

“I didn’t know how deep your feelings were before reading it. I’m sorry again for being a dick.”

You look down on your hands, not knowing where to look and what to say.

“I love the horse piece by the way. It’s beautiful. You should try to carve more often.” His eyes focuses on you when you turn your head to him.

His eyes twinkles with the reflection of the fire in front of the both of you.

“I thought you must have thrown it away after seeing your reaction that night,” Looking away from him, reminiscing what happened.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head, feeling disappointed in himself for reacting badly.

The silence grow stronger as he is wallowing in sorrow of that night.

“How about the, uh, guitar pick?” In a quiet voice you ask.

He huffs softly thinking about it, “It’s so corny.” A small curl at the end of his mouth appears as he talks about it, his eyes everywhere else but you. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling shy from talking about it or maybe it’s just you that is affecting him.

“Ellie saw it one time and kept pestering me about why I didn’t tell her that I found it.” He shakes his head, almost smiling, remembering how annoying Ellie was with the bad jokes.

“So you didn’t tell her how?” you’re full on looking at him now, intrigue with this openness from him.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head and glance at you with an unreadable gaze, “want it to be my own little secret for a bit.”

You blink a couple times at him, flustered by his reply. Meanwhile, his eyes are gazing into yours without a blink. You clear your throat, adjusting your position a little trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Did you tell her about the gifts? Because she’s been on my ass about it recently.” He continues the conversation.

“Yeah. Knew she’s gonna kick your ass about it. Can’t say you didn’t deserve it though…” you shrug your shoulders, giving him an awkward look.

“I still do deserve it.” He sits up and lean forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

“I want to let you know that I am sincere with everything that I said that night. I’m terrible with this…feelings stuff but,” he pauses to look at you, “I will do my best to regain your affection.” He says in a firm and soothing tone.

Hearing his determination to redeem himself outright to you, it makes you speechless. You just have to see through his actions as time goes by. He breaks the eye contact and stands up to pick up his rifle.

“I’ll take the first shift. Get some sleep.” He takes a couple seconds to look at you, making sure you’re okay before making his way out of the door to check if there’s anything dangerous outside.

You proceed to lie down on the sofa, resting your head on the arm rest as you face the ceiling. Too tired to think of the conversation with Joel a couple of minutes ago, you fall into a deep slumber almost straight away.

Your eyes blink open to a brighter surrounding. The sun is starting to rise and you can hear the chirps of the birds in a distance. In a daze, you look around wondering why Joel didn’t wake you up. You notice he is sitting on the floor, leaning his side against the front of the couch seat. His head is resting sideways on the seat, facing you and almost touching your hip. His face is calm without his usual frown and you can hear his soft snoring as you stay still. His body probably going to ache so bad after this.

Your hands are twitching, wanting to caress his head but you hold back that thought, clenching your fists. You can only take this time to take in his features as he sleeps, wishing things were simpler but you get up from the sofa silently after watching him for awhile before you make any stupid decisions.

He must be in a deep sleep because he does not even move even after the rustling that you made on the sofa. You grab your rifle and get out of the cabin to check on the horses and be on watch before it’s time for you to wake Joel up. The cold air that suddenly hit you as you step out, gave you the shivers so you adjust your jacket right away, zipping it all the way up to keep yourself warm. Gripping the rifle tight, you keep your guard up as you look around for potential threats.

You didn’t find anything amiss as you make your way to the shed so once you are nearby, you sling your rifle back on your shoulders to open the shed door. The horses greet you with a few nickers as soon as they notice you coming in.You smile while giving them a couple of firm pats on their shoulders, rubbing their sides and even nuzzle your face against the neck of your horse, finding some comfort in it. Then, you make sure once again that everything is settled and ready to go.

You sit down at the corner of the shed, somewhere near the door that you left slightly ajar. Still reeling in the relaxation of the morning, you observe the horses across the other side of the shed. Once you realise that you should get back to Joel, you hear a strange noise not too far away, With no time wasted, you move cautiously to the door, hands gripping the rifle as your heartbeat starts to rise.

There isn’t much that you could see as you take a peep through the space left open by the door. You squint your eyes to see a few figures through the soft fluttering snow so you bring the rifle up and point towards them. You place your cheek by the stock of the rifle and look through the scope to have a clearer view. This time, there are shivers running down your spine, not from the cold but from what you see.

Your eyes widen as you take in the clickers approaching the cabin house. You should have guessed it from their erratic movements. There are three of them that you can count in your sight. Your mind is running in full speed, thinking the possibilities that you can take from this point onwards. Joel is probably in the house, still deep in sleep and they are coming in hot.

Without much thought, you take a few controlled breaths before shooting at one of them. Headshot, it falls to the ground, dead. The other two changes their direction towards the shed and started to pick up the speed, sprinting. The horses behind you are grunting noisily, restless after hearing the gunshot but that didn’t distract you from hitting the targets that are coming. The remaining two clickers finally went down after taking a couple of shots to their bodies and heads.

“Fuckin’ hell” you whisper under your breath as you look back at the horses, checking if they are okay.

You continue to take a few deep breaths before opening the door and steps out of the shed carefully to go back to Joel. As soon as you do that, you hear snarling coming from your right and you turn to see another group of clickers, only a few metres away, heading towards you.

“Oh shit!” You exclaim before making a run in the opposite direction, towards the woods.

You turn back a few times to take a few shots at the clickers, successfully getting two of them. There are five more on your heels, still charging towards you.

“JOOOEEELLLL!” You shout for him as loud as you can, multiple times, as you try to keep the distance and kill the clickers.

Luring them towards you, you can only hope Joel wakes up to get them from behind.

“Cmon Joel,” you beg to no one but yourself, “wake up!” You scream helplessly.

As if Joel could telepathically read your mind, you spot him over the shoulders of the clickers, coming out of the house frantically. Then, you hear a few gunshots which brings you a slight relief that he is awake finally.

Now that he is up, you plan to get back to him but you have to make it past the remaining two clickers that are still alive. You need to reload the rifle but with their arms flailing, trying to claw at you, you are not able to do it. In a haste, you duck down to get the knife that you had strapped in your boot. Popping the blade out, you stab one in the head, twisting the knife before pulling it out in one swift motion. One more kill.

Joel is making his way to where you are at while shooting the ones that are coming for him. In a blink, the two clickers drop dead at his feet as his running speed starts to increase towards you, worried. He sees you stabbing one of them in the head before dodging the arm of the other one that tries to attack you.

You avoid all of the aggressive flailing of its arms and move around it to run towards Joel. You take a couple steps but you didn’t notice the large roots of the surrounding trees which are covered in snow, resulting in you tripping and falling head first onto a rock. This causes Joel to scream your name in a bellowing voice, his stomach drops, seeing the scene that is unfolding in front of his eyes.

You tried to move but the overwhelming pounding in your head from the fall makes you freeze. With your head down on the ground, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch your head in pain. You can faintly hear the clicking behind you as you are lying on your stomach. You close your eyes shut, with a pained hiss as you think that this is the last moment of your life before getting bit. However, as you lay there helplessly, you didn’t feel any biting but only the throbbing at the side of your head.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of strong hands grabbing your arms, which causes you to flinch. Joel flips you around slowly, resting your head on one of his thighs as you look up at him. He looks down at you with wide eyes that are examining your face quickly and mouth slightly ajar as he takes long, dragged breaths. He moves your hair away from your face and checks out the cut from the fall with the touch of a feather. You feel warm liquid trickling down your head as his finger accidentally grazes the pained area which makes you scrunch your face and whimpers.

“I know, I know. You’re going to be okay.” He says in a reassuring voice.

In your head, you want to say something sarcastic like, ‘Took you long enough’ but all that comes out from your mouth is just unintelligible mumbling because of the concussion which takes the articulation out of you.

“Can you move?” He asks with a raspy voice, eyes boring into yours.

You nod slightly with a weak voice, “Yeah.”

The both of you get up slowly with one of his hands holding your arm and the other, around your waist. You pause after standing up, taking a moment before moving to stabilise yourself. Your vision is kind of blurry but you push through the dizziness while still holding onto Joel. You can see your bright red blood in contrast to the shallow white snow on the ground. With him by your side, not letting go of your waist, you stagger back to the shed, passing by all the dead bodies of clickers.

You reach the shed without much complications with the help of Joel. He sits you down on the stool that you were sitting at not too long ago before the disaster that you were in. The headache is still prominent but you don’t want to be a burden and prolong the journey back to Jackson. Not only that, you start to feel some parts of your body aching from the fall as your adrenaline level starts to reduce. You are sure there are going to be some bruises and wounds on your body from the impact of the fall but you are more worried about your bleeding head.

Meanwhile, Joel rushes out of the shed to check the house again if there’s anything that has been left behind. He comes storming back to the shed glancing at you to see how you are keeping up. You are taking deep breaths to try and ease the pain but it doesn’t really help you. He goes straight to his bag to grab some stuffs out of it and comes kneeling in front of you, eyes levelling with yours. The whole time your face is scowling from the throbbing pain, it’s difficult for you to keep your eyes open.

He pours some water on a small towel to clean the blood that is smearing the side of your face, down to your chin. You open your eyes slightly, taking in the way his forehead creases, eyebrows knitted and eyes unblinking as he cleans your face gently. However, you don’t have the luxury of time to be lost in him when the ache keeps on increasing. He takes your hand and gives you a small cloth, telling you to keep pressing it on the open cut to slow down the bleeding. You hesitantly do so, sucking in a breath due to the stinging from the contact. He wraps your head with a long shredded piece of cloth to help it stay intact.

“Eyes on me.” You hear him say once he finishes with it.

You look straight at him, biting your lip.

“I’m going to get you on the horse, okay? We’re going back to Jackson right now as fast as we can.” He explains to you in a low, steady voice, grounding you.

“Okay.” You whisper in a strained voice.

He leans in closer to cup your face with his gloved hands that warms your cheek, “You’re going to be okay. I got you so just hold on for a bit longer.”

HIs eyes darting between the both of your eyes for a few seconds before getting up to get everything set and ready to go. Once everything is ready, he move the horses outside. You follow suit with staggering steps as you approach him. He gets a hold of you the moment he notices you walking up to him without his help. Somehow, he manage to get you up on the horse and he is seated closely right behind you. His arms surround you as he holds on to the reins while his thighs cage your legs. The warmth emitting from the closeness of his body engulfs you all of a sudden as he nudges the horse to move.

About 30 minutes of riding, you start to feel way more dizzy. The continuous motion of riding mixed with the blinding daylight is causing you to feel lightheaded and nauseous. You cannot help but to lean back on Joel’s chest, resting your head on one of his shoulders, as you grimace in all of the sickening symptoms you are facing. Your hands reach out to grab whatever parts of him that you can, his thighs and his arms, clenching it tightly. Nails that are covered by your gloves can still be felt digging into his clothes.

“I know, baby, I know.” You feel his warm breath at the top of your head, not even registering him calling you baby as you wince, eyes keeping shut.

“Cmon, stay with me.” He murmurs with a wobbly voice in anxiety, seeing you in excruciating pain.

Your hearing is already reduced and whatever Joel says sounds muffled to you. All you can hear is the rapid heartbeat of yours. Within seconds, you lose consciousness and your body goes limp. Joel uses his arms to keep you steady while still holding on to the reins. He calls out your name louder for a few more times but you did not respond, causing him to slow down to check your pulse. He removes his glove to touch your neck and he feels the coldness of your body against his hand. After making sure that you are still breathing, he picks up the speed, arms circling your waist as his front sticks to your back like glue to share his body warmth with yours.

Throughout the journey back, you are in and out of consciousness from the overwhelming pain and the blood loss. Joel had stop multiple times to give you a few drops of water so that you would not be dehydrated. It is all a blur to you and you just wish to be back in Jackson already.

“TOMMY!” Joel’s yelling makes everyone in the nearby vicinity turn their heads. He shouts for Tommy as soon as the gates open.

Tommy, Maria and a few others patrollers are waiting by the gates as they were starting to get worried, not seeing any glimpse of you and Joel a few hours ago and now, it’s already getting dark. When the gates open, they rush to Joel to help you off the horse. Eddie, your previous patrol partner before Joel, carries you to the infirmary with Maria beside him. Joel gets off the horse, letting the other people to take over the horses and supplies and hurries to follow where you are brought to.

“What happened?” Tommy asks while running back towards Eddie with Joel.

“We were attacked by some clickers back at the cabin house.” Joel answers with eyes fixed on your form being carried by Eddie.

“Did she get bit?”

“I don’t think so,” Joel blinks, eyebrows furrowed.

“You didn’t check?” Tommy asks with a louder voice than before.

Joel didn’t respond, his jaws clenched. He knows he should have checked whether you got bit but he wasn’t thinking clearly. Getting you somewhere safe was his only priority at that time.

“Joel-“

“I didn’t check.” He stops outside of the infirmary doors and turns to Tommy, glaring with fiery eyes.

“She was bleeding out from the head, Tommy, and I can only think of bringing her back here safely.” Joel argues, already stressed about you and now his brother is trying to lecture him about his mistake.

He goes in, pushing the doors aggressively, leaving Tommy to chase after him. He approaches your bed which are already crowded with the only doctor and a couple of nurses on duty in Jackson, checking your condition. He joins Maria and Eddie that are waiting a few steps away from the foot of the bed. Joel cannot keep his eyes away from you. His heart is still racing from the adrenaline rush. You are still unconscious and the blood is trickling down from your head as the doctor loosens the stained alternative bandage to check the open wound to mend it later on. The nurses continue to check the other parts of your body for other wounds or bite marks, just in case. To check, they have to undress you and that is when Maria guides the group of them watching, to wait outside at the waiting area.

Eddie has to go off to check on the horses and the supplies that were brought back, telling Maria to update him on your status. Maria and Tommy thank him for his help while Joel gives him a silent nod. His arms folded while he leans on one foot to the other, pacing back and forth from time to time, staring at the door to the ward room. He looks back on what happened back at the cabin house and he thinks the state that you are in right now is somehow his fault. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep and let you fight the clickers by yourself. He should have protected you from this situation. He runs his fingers through his hair, scratching his head as he feels guilty.

Tommy and Maria doesn’t say a word, seeing Joel already agitated from you being injured. The three of them wait in silence before the doctor comes out to let them know how you are holding up.

“Her heartbeat is stable now. I’ve already stitched the open wound on her head to stop the bleeding. She must have taken a hard impact of a fall seeing the bruises on the left side of her body, especially the shoulder and the arm. Luckily, there isn’t any broken bone or bite marks. For now, we’ll keep on looking after her and wait til she wakes up.” The doctor informs the three of them.

Joel rubs his face as he releases a sigh of relief knowing that you’re okay now. Maria and Tommy hold hands, comforting each other, relieved as well.

“Can I see her now?” Joel in a rush to get back to you after hearing everything from the doctor.

“Of course,” The doctor gives Joel a tight smile.

Joel goes back in to the room after murmuring his thanks to the doctor, not looking back.

“Thank you, Remy, as always.” Maria shakes Remy’s hands before walking hand in hand with Tommy to the ward room.

Joel pulls a chair close to your bed and sits on it, eyes fixed on you. The nurses has already changed you out of your clothes to a more comfortable patient gown. Your stitches is covered with a pad to keep it dry. He notices the red bruises on your shoulders that is peeking out of the gown and there are also a few scrapes on your arms like the doctor had said. He can feel his heart breaks a little, looking at your injuries. He raises his hand to swipe at your cheek gently, feeling your soft skin. He sees your eyes flutter slightly from the touch but still not opening awake.

Tommy clears his throat causing Joel to freeze from what he was doing. He glances back at Tommy and Maria who is observing him and clasps his hands together between his thighs. Shying away from the looks of them, Joel keeps his eyes on your face.

“We’re glad the both of you are okay.” Maria speaks to Joel.

Joel as usual, doesn’t speak but gives a slight nod to what Maria said.

“She’ll be fine Joel. Don’t stress yourself out more than necessary.” Tommy tries to comfort his brother who is clearly defeated from the hours of travelling and tending to your unconscious body.

Tommy and Maria stays there for a while more before leaving to let Joel be alone with you.

“Do you want me to bring you dinner?” Tommy asks him.

“I’m good,” Joel shakes his head, not having the appetite to eat.

“Alright. Do you want me to tell Ellie that you’re here?”

Joel looks up at Tommy, momentarily realises that he was not thinking about Ellie at all,  “Let her know that we're fine. I don’t want her to stay up waiting for me, I’ll see her in the morning.” Tommy places his hand on Joel’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze and heads out with Maria, leaving Joel alone, keeping his eyes on you.

The following morning, Joel is dozing off in his seat beside you, heads nodding awake time and time again. He clearly needs a proper sleep but he is fighting it off, wanting to be by your side when you wake up. With half-lidded eyes, he looks at you who is still in the same position as yesterday night. Throughout the night, he has pull his chair even closer to you. Holding your hand which seems to fit right with his, caressing your head when he hears your little whimpers, softly running his hands through your hair. He wants to keep doing that but it will be even better when you’re not lying sick in bed and is actually awake.

He stands up carefully to go home and freshen up before coming back to look after you. He also have to explain to Ellie about what had happened so she wouldn’t be worried. He gives you a last long look, eyes sunken deeply in sadness before turning around to leave while the nurses give morning greetings to him as he goes.

Not long after, your eyes slowly opens to an unfamiliar ceiling. You can feel a slight ache on your head, not remembering what happened when it suddenly hits you. The memory of the supply run, the clickers and the way you fell resulting in you being out of consciousness. Then, a face comes to your mind. Joel. Joel! Where is he? Where is this place?

You hear footsteps coming towards you. You try to get up from the bed but your body is too weak so you give up in doing so. A familiar face comes into view and you realises that she is one of the nurses in Jackson. She looks away from her board to see you looking at her with confusion on you face.

“Oh! You’re awake. Great to see you again.” She smiles at you, coming closer to check how you are doing.

She presses a stethoscope to your chest to listen to your heartbeat while you are still confused on how you are back in Jackson. She continues to check your eyes and your hearing before letting you know about your health state right now.

“Everything is good but you will still feel dizzy and nauseous, don’t worry, it’s normal after an injury like yours. Your muscles will still be weak and your body will ache for awhile. These symptoms can last for a couple days and up to a few weeks, depends on the how serious the injury is. You can be discharged tomorrow but we advise that you have someone to check up on you, in case anything happens.” She explains to you calmly.

You on the other hand, are at loss of words as you listen to her, still disoriented from just waking up a couple of minutes ago.

“I don’t have anyone to ask. I only have myself.” In a soft voice, you uttered defeatedly. You do not want to be another burden to someone else.

“I’m sure Joel Miller doesn’t mind it.” She mention casually, handing you a cup of water to drink. You pause for a moment, blinking at her blankly and takes the cup.

“Joel?” You stammers out his name, not expecting him to be mentioned.

“Yeah. He was here all night. It was so sweet to see the grumpiest man in Jackson caring for someone.” She gives you a pleased smile, “He left shortly before you were awake.”

You glance at the seat by your bed, knowing he was sitting right there for the night. Your heart skips a beat, imagining him looking at you for that whole time. You’re in your own thoughts when the nurse speaks again.

“Rest up for now. Just call for me if you need anything, alright?” She gives you a knowing smile as if she knows that you are thinking of the man that was just here.

“Thank you.” You give her a thin-lipped smile and thank her for the help.

She leaves you alone in the ward with conflicted feelings. It’s so overwhelming having these different feelings all at once. Before, anger was the forefront feeling that derives you away from Joel while still having a small amount of affection for him that you try to ignore. Then, he confused you with his actions and words, tugging your heart a little bit from seeing the change of his heart. Right now, he has saved you from going into the other side and you remember seeing the look of concern etched on his face when you were going through it. You know that he is definitely not faking it, feeling the sincerity from him in the last 24 hours.

Joel is walking back to the infirmary after washing up and having a short breakfast with Ellie. She was devastated to hear what went down during the supply run and told Joel that she is going to visit you after school. She did not say a word to Joel about how distracted he was during the breakfast. She knows it must be you that is affecting his mood and she cannot do anything about it except not taking more of his time and let him go back to the infirmary. To you.

In his hands, he carries a small bag containing a vegetable soup that he quickly cooked for breakfast with Ellie. He walks in and goes straight to the ward but stopping immediately in his tracks. From the open door, he sees that you are awake, smiling so brightly, not because of him but because of the guy that is sitting on the chair beside your bed. The chair that he was sitting on while rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

You are holding on to the flowers that Emile gave you. The both of you are laughing about something and his heart clenches hearing your laughter. The last he heard of your voice was when you are whimpering in pain and all that he wishes, then, was to hear your gentle and playful voice again. He lowers his head, the hopeful light in his eyes gone as he turns around feeling crushed. He approaches one of the nurses and passes them the breakfast that he brought for you, telling them to give it to you before leaving the infirmary.

While you are busy catching up with Emile, another nurse comes in to give you a bowl of soup. It smells delicious and you cannot wait to dig in as you are starving from the amount of energy that you lost for the past 24 hours.

“This smells delicious. Thank you.” You cheerily says in exclamation.

“Mr. Miller wants you to have this for breakfast.” The young lady informs you with an innocent look in her eyes.

In shock, your head snaps towards her with wide eyes, “Which Miller?”

“Joel Miller,” she looks at you questioningly.

“He just dropped this off?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You peer at the open door, seeing no sight of him while you keep staring. You wonder why did he not just come in and give you the soup himself. Is he busy with another duty? Did he see Emile and was not happy? Why would he go out of his way to give you breakfast?

“Anything else that I can do for you?” The nurse asks looking at you, confused with your reaction.

“No. It’s fine. Thank you.” You give a forced smile at her and your eyes drifting to the doorway as she leaves. You cannot help but to look at the doorway, wanting to see Joel but you are still too shy to admit it to yourself.

“What’s wrong?” Emile’s voice snaps you out of your trance from the doorway.

“Nothing.” You mumble and start to eat the soup made by Joel.

Emile squints his eyes, sensing that you are hiding something but he lets it go, seeing you gobbling the soup down in hunger.

The next morning, you are accompanied by Emile on your day of discharge. You told him that you can go back home today and he offered to walk you home. You are struggling because of the body ache that you are having and also the sudden waves of dizziness if you move too fast. It took you a couple of minutes to be walking without holding on to him anymore. Your stubborn ass is resilient to not hold onto him as you continue walking slowly at your own pace. The three minute walk to your house from the infirmary at your usual speed is now delayed to almost 10 minutes including the intervals of you pausing to let the dizziness or pain pass before moving again.

Joel is sitting by his bedroom window that is facing your house. He knows that you are being discharged today from what Ellie had told him after her visit. If Emile hadn’t offered, he would have gone to help you, given his free time after the supply run. He sees you struggling to walk with Emile by your side with a worried look on his face. For a moment, anger fills Joel’s entire body when he sees Emile not helping you at all but he eventually calms down after noticing how you are holding your hand out when Emile comes closer. He scoffs, a small curl on side of his lips as he shakes his head. What is he going to do with that stubborn head of yours? If he could, he would have already picked you up and carried you in the house.

Emile leaves after making sure you are back in your house safely and you reassuring him that you will be fine, not needing anymore of his help. You haven’t got the chance to eat something yet so you move the kitchen to make a small sandwich for breakfast, already tired from moving too much. You slump down on the sofa after eating, immersing yourself in the comfort of your home without any disturbances. You lay there, eyes slowly blinking heavily, letting your body relax and eventually you are deep in sleep.

A few hours later, you hear knocking on your door, partially awaken from the sound but you are still not moving.

Knock, Knock, Knock

It is louder this time. Grumbling as you get up from the couch, body still weak. You shout as loud as you can saying that you are coming to get the door. You take your time to reach the door and opening it to no one on the other side except a small bag on the floor. You look around and you spot the broad back of Joel slipping into his house, closing the door without looking back. You pick the bag up to find out the contents of it and the mix of nutty and savoury smell of warm avocado toast that hits you almost makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head.

You bring it inside to the dining table and devours it, smiling to yourself. Smiling because of how good the toast was or maybe because of the person behind the toast. You want to thank him for saving and taking care of you when you were out of it. The ice in your heart is slowly melting away, recalling the moments of his newfound vulnerability that he allows you to see. The way he talks to you calmly instead of the usual hostility in his tone when he speaks to you previously. You remember the cold piercing eyes that was replaced with round melancholic eyes that captivates when he looks at you. In your heart, you know that he might just hit the nail right on the head soon and earn that forgiveness from you.

It went on like that for the next couple of days. You will open the door to a bag of packed food whether it would be breakfast or lunch or dinner. It is obviously from Joel, 100%, no doubt. He for sure makes a run home once he hears you coming, taking advantage of your slowed down speed. Every time you open the door, you either sees him already going into his house or already halfway back, walking nonchalantly as he takes a couple of glances back at you.

He comes knocking when there is no one visiting you at that time, knowing when you have not eaten your meal yet. You’ve been trying to catch him, reading his pattern and always sneaking looks out of your window to see if he is coming. You’re in luck this afternoon when you caught sight of him taking big strides towards your house, feeling confident that he is going to get away with it as usual. He does not know that the pain in your head had subsided marginally and your body is stronger now from all the time that you took to rest. Quicker than he is, you are standing behind the front door, waiting for him. Quietly giggling to yourself, expecting to see his shocked face. Unbeknownst to him, this has been a game to you while spending time alone in the house.

You hear the scrapes of his heavy boots and the creaking of the floorboards as he goes up the stairs. Your heart is racing so fast that you can hear its pounding in your ears. He is right on the other side of the door. You don’t even know what you’re going to say to him. He stops, pausing for a beat, then raises his hand to knock on the door. As soon as you hear a knock, you turn the handle, opening the door wide.

Joel’s brows shoot as high as possible, eyes widening as he stays still from the unexpected situation. His arm is still in midair, his mouth parted, not knowing what to say. On his other hand, he is holding the bag of meal that he had cooked for you. You look up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, appearing to be innocent but your mouth is twitching, trying not to laugh seeing him flustered.

“Hi.” You greet him, voice croaked from resisting the laughter that is bubbling in your throat.

He is still speechless, eyes blinking rapidly trying to think of an excuse for his appearance. You wait for his answer but clears your throat instead when he doesn’t respond.

“What do you got for me today?” You point at the bag of meal that he is holding awkwardly.

“Uh, nothing special. Here.” He passes the bag over to you and you take it, fingers brushing his in that split second.

“Thank you, Joel.” You thank him with a small smile, locking eyes with him for a few seconds before looking down at your feet. He grunts a reply, scratching the back of his neck as he fidgets, eyes darting everywhere else except you.

“I think I should go now. Enjoy your meal.” He breaks the awkward silence, not making eye contact as he turns around to head back home.

“Joel.” You quickly call out after him which makes him stop and look back at you.

“Do you want to come in?” You suggested without giving it a thought, not wanting him to leave.

“Sure.” He replies after contemplating for a moment.

You invite him in, heart still racing as you head to the dining table to place the food down. He follows after you slowly, taking in the insides of your house. This is the first time he is in your house and he is observing every single detail of it, knowing this is your comfort place. This is a part of you that he gets to see for the first time so he is going to cherish this opportunity that is given to him.

You’re in the kitchen, washing your hands, grabbing the plate and utensils to place them down at the dining table. You turn towards Joel who is still checking out your place, standing by your living room couch.

“Have you eaten already?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, eyes locked onto the shelves at the front wall of your living room where there is a remaining carved piece of wood that you didn’t put away.

“Can I get for you coffee?” you offer.

He turns around and steps closer to the dining table while keeping his eyes on you.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He nods before taking a seat opposite of yours.

Joel’s eyes drifting together with your movements as you make the coffee for him. He is pleased to be in your presence even though it is nerve wrecking for him but finally talking to you again makes his heart blooms with happiness. He schools his features back to a composed face when you approach the table with drinks.

“Thank you again for the food.” You thank him again before taking a bite of the steak and mashed potatoes that he prepared for you today. He gives you his signature nod as a reply.

Your eyes widen as you take the first bite of the meat and gawks at Joel, “It’s delicious!”

“Glad you like it.” He shrugs his shoulders, tipping his head forward slightly, feeling smug from your praise.

“What the fuck. It’s really good.” You cannot believe it and keeps on eating.

Joel brings the mug to his face, sipping on his coffee to cover the smile that is breaking into his face after seeing your raw reaction to his cooking. The way you react reminds him of Ellie and he finds it so adorable. He scans the side of your head that is covered with a new gauze for the stitch and notices the red bruises on your arms that is fading to brown as it heals. He hated seeing you in that kind of pain and it was gut wrenching to witness that, not able to soothe the pain away for you. He is relieved to see you smile again and this time because of him.You finish the meal while he sits there watching you eat with warm and focused eyes as you steal glances at him.

He insisted that you have a seat at the sofa as he washes the dishes for you. You did argued with him to let you do it yourself but you cannot defeat the man that is way more hardheaded than you. Staring at the back of the man that broke your heart two months ago who is now washing your dishes in your kitchen, you would have never seen this coming. You selfishly want to see more of him, shamelessly admitting it to yourself.

"Uh, I should go now." Joel rubbing his hands on his jeans, wiping the leftover wetness as he comes out of the kitchen area, towards you.

"Already?" your brows furrowed unknowingly, standing up slowly to see him out.

Joel cocks his head to the side, hearing the disappointment in your voice. He moves closer to you, heart beating rapidly, knowing that you want to spend more time with him.

"I'm on patrol duty with your temporary replacement soon." He explains.

"Oh. Hopefully you don't scare him away while I'm gone." You tease him.

He huffs before replying you with a smirk, "We'll see bout that.”

Just before he steps out of the house, you grab his wrist instinctively, turning him around to face you again.

“I really want to thank you for everything that you did for me. I appreciate it and it means a lot to me that you had my back. I’m sorry if I was a troublesome-“

“You weren’t,” Joel interrupts, twisting his wrist to hold your hand instead, “you never were.” He whispers, still shy to convey his true feelings.

His eyes are expressive with so many unspoken words as he gazes into yours, instinctively rubbing circles on the back of your hands like he did in the infirmary, waiting for you to be awake. But you don’t know that. Don’t know about the delicate touches that he leaves on your skin that night.

“Also, don’t leave the food by itself in front of my door. Next time, say hi to me at least.” You complain.

“Yes ma’am.” He give you a once over before letting go of your hand, “take care.” He heads out to make his way to the stables, looking back at you again who gives him a small timid wave. You notice his smile twisted with a smile before he snaps his head away, hiding his blushing face away from you. He walks away with lighter steps as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Surrounded by the books, you are sitting at one of the tables in the library with Emile. There is no sign of other people this morning causing the library to be filled with serene silence. The sunlight from the window, pierce through the gaps of the bookshelves, softly hitting the tables. Emile is rambling about his new read excitedly and you are listening to him intently, interested in where the story is going. It goes on from sharing stories with each other to talking about usual random stuffs until Emile brings up Joel in the conversation.

“How’s it going with Joel?” He asks in a cheery voice.

“What do you mean?” You release a laugh awkwardly.

“You seem livelier for the past few days and I thought Joel could be the reason for that.” His eyes are bright as he keeps the eye contact with you.

“What makes you say that?”

“I overheard that Joel has been cooking for you and that you guys even eat together for the past few days at your house.”

You smack your lips, nodding your head as you look away. You don’t talk to Emile about Joel so it’s kinda embarrassing to admit it to him. Since it’s out in the open, you use this time to tell the truth.

“You are a good friend, Emile. It’s comfortable to have conversations with you. I get to talk to you about anything and you are one of my emotional support in Jackson. I’m happy that we became friends.” You express to him with a sense of guilt, assuming it might hurt him that you put him in the friend zone. Your eyes lowering to your fidgeting hands on the table.

“Is this the part where you say that you don’t have feelings for me?” He questions with a clear voice.

You blink blankly at him, taken aback by his direct question. Your mouth parts slowly, wanting to speak but he continues to talk, sensing your faint hesitation.

“It’s okay. I know you are just being friendly with me without any other intentions, whether it’s good or bad. I see how you react when he’s around you and it’s pretty obvious, making me think that I’m stupid for not noticing it at first.”

“You’re not stupid,” you deny his negative thought.

“But I do enjoy your company and I’m really glad that we became friends as well.” His face beaming with a smile that infects you to mirror his.

You hold out a hand for him to shake on. He takes it and gives a firm handshake.

“We’re officially besties now” You states with a bright smile.

“Isn’t Ellie your bestie?”

“Okay, you’re officially my second bestie now.” You correct yourself.

“Whatever, tell me about you and Joel.” Emile still curious about the two of you, wiggling his eyebrows as he sent a playful smirk towards you.

“Oh shut up.” You pushes his hand away, rolling your eyes, faking the irritation. You know that if you talk about Joel now, you cannot control your expressions. He barks out a laugh seeing your reaction which makes you laugh as well.

Still giggling as Emile teases you, the both of you hear the door open and standing there is the man of the hour himself, Joel Miller. Stunned, you just freeze in your seat, gawking at him. You notice the cloud of breath coming out of his mouth as he exhales. His eyes studying your face and drifts towards Emile who is sitting opposite of you. His eyelids flutters slightly before lowering his gaze towards the floor.

“Sorry for interrupting.” He mutters, rubbing his gloved hands together before turning around to leave the library.

You stand up, eyes still trained on the door that was just shut.

“Go.” Emile looks up at you.

“I’ll see you again.” You take off without looking back.

Joel is dragging his feet back to his house, jaws clenching as the image of you and Emile having a good time laughing is stuck on his mind. In the span of few days of him checking up on you and having meals together, he forgets about Emile who has always been treating you nicely. How can he compete with a man who hasn’t been mean to you and break your heart?

“Joel! Wait up!” Your yelling halts him in his tracks. He looks over his shoulder and see you trying to keep up with him. He is still worried about you moving that fast, anxious that it will trigger dizziness in you again. He waits for you patiently, facing you with his head hanging low as he looks at his boots in the snow.

Another pair of boots comes into his view, opposite of him. He looks up to your face, seeing you panting, trying to catch your breath. How can you still look this cute standing in front of him while you gasp for air? He just wants to hold your face with his hands, warming your face that is growing cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask him.

“Home.” He gives a short reply, glancing towards the street.

“It’s cold. You should get back inside. I didn’t mean to disturb your time together.” His eyes darting over your shoulders at the library.

“You didn’t disturb anything. Were you looking for me?” You dismisses what he just said.

“I brought breakfast for us to eat together but you weren’t there.” He tries to be casual about it but you caught the sad look in his eyes.

“Let’s go then.” You walk ahead, leaving him to follow after you.

Joel picking at his leftover food aimlessly is bothering you. He is more quiet this morning, keeping his eyes on his plate most of the time. You call him out on his behaviour, not standing it anymore.

“What’s with the long face?”

“Nothing,”

“Don’t lie to me.” You firmly said.

He pauses for a moment before answering you, “You still seeing the librarian?” Still not making eye contact.

“I told you that he’s just my friend, Joel.” You reiterate that point again.

He nods his head solemnly, his lips still in a thin line. He leans back, not having the appetite to finish the rest of his food. You don’t believe that he agrees with that statement.

“You jealous?” You can’t help but grin, raising an eyebrow towards him.

“Get that smile off your face.” He rolls his eyes at you. You still don’t get why he is shy to admit it when he literally said that it hurts him to see you and Emile together, back at The Tipsy Bison.

“I sense jealousy.” You said in a singsong voice as you pick up the your plates and his, going to the kitchen sink.

Joel immediately follows and stands beside you as you wash the plates.

“You’re so infuriating, d’you know that. I told you that I will do the dishes.” He grumbles, annoyed that you didn’t listen to him.

“Well, too bad. I took them first.” You shrug your shoulders.

“Give me that. I’ll dry it.” He takes the washed plate from you, wiping it a dry cloth.

The both of you stand there, shoulders and arms touching as you focus on the task at hand. He lightly shoves you with his arm suddenly which makes you look up at him, frowning. He fake innocence as he wipes the utensils. You pushes him back, stronger than he did but he doesn’t budge. Not satisfied, you keep trying to shove him to the side but you fail miserably. You huff, feeling unfair by the significant difference of strength. Giving up, you continue to clean the cups but didn’t expect him to continue his disturbance by nudging you with his hip.

You cup your hands with water and splashes his face with it. His eyes are closely shut, his fringe sticks to his forehead, soaked with water and it’s running down his face. Droplets of water forms at his chin which drips onto the front of his shirt. Your nose flaring as you try to suppress your laughter but you couldn’t resist it anymore when he opens his eyes to look at you. You back away from him slowly before running away, laughing at him.

“Come here.” He chases after you right away and you didn’t get too far before you feel his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You squeal as he lifts you slightly before letting you down and turn you around to face him, his hands clasps on your lower back.

He shakes his head vigorously, like a dog trying to dry itself, water droplets splattering on your face from it. You cover your face while still giggling at him. After he stops, you lower down your hand to his chest. A big grin is plastered on his face as he looks down at you, bewitching you with his dreamy and enchanting expression. You are entranced by him, spotting the dimples that you rarely see.

“Don’t mess with me.” He tries to warn you with a smile tugging on side of his face.

“Oooh, that is so threatening. I’m so scared.” You sarcastically joke which earns you a scoff from him.

You stay in his arms like that for a few more seconds. The both of you are not saying anything as you stare into each other’s eyes. He licks his lips and for a moment, you think that he might lean closer to you but disappointingly, he lets you go.

He clears his throat, “I better get going. Patrol duty again.” Avoiding eye contact.

“How is he by the way?” Curious about your temporary replacement.

“Not bad.” He shrugs.

“Wow. That is a compliment in your books.” You are surprised by his comment.

“Yeah. Better than the girl that keeps annoying me.”

“Get out.” You jokingly says, passing him his jacket that is on the couch and with your hands on his back, you keep pushing him towards the door as he tries to fight back while softly laughing at your antics.

He puts on his jacket and faces you again. Bending lower to meet you on your eye level, he tucks a stray hair on your ear and the graze of his fingers are burning your ears. You blink excessively, your heart stopping for a beat when his eyes meet yours.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He whispers to you, eyes twinkling as if they are the stars. You can’t stop the rapid beating of your heart even after he gets out of your house, leaving you dumbfounded and heated.

The Tipsy Bison is rowdy tonight with the residents of Jackson celebrating the bartender’s birthday. Kyle is the most loved by the people because of his endless kindness to everyone around him. You are seated in a booth with your usual crowd, Tommy, Maria and Joel. Unfortunately, Emile is unable to join as he finishes up his work in the library. Joel’s warm, strong thigh is pressing into yours even though there is more than enough space for the both on you on one side of the booth.

Joel has changed slightly, opening more of himself up to you. You get to see him bantering with Tommy over petty things like little boys which is what they are doing now. Arguing about who will beat whom in a arm wrestling match. You and Maria has seen this behaviour too many times that the both of you just shake your heads, sighing.

Recently, Joel has been brave to steal a couple of touches, not even hiding it anymore. He would tuck your stray hair or pat your head when he compliments you on something that you have done a good job at or placing his hand on your lower back to guide you somewhere and he takes every opportunity that he can to touch you. Like what he is doing now with his thigh, just to feel you there beside him.

A group of drunk, rowdy men walks past the booth before one of them stops to look at you. You sense his gaze and your head turns to look at him. It is the asshole from the other night, Jack. His eyes are heavy as he steps closer to the booth, clearly drunk.

“Oh look who it is!” He exclaims when he recognises you.

You don’t say a word, glaring at him as he drunkenly spews out insults at you again. The Miller brothers stop their argument and snaps their head towards Jack’s voice.

“Aren’t you Emile’s little mommy?” He says in a mocking tone, making you squeeze for fists. Joel scans your scowling face first before he notices your balled up fists on your thighs. His hand hovers your fist before cupping it gently, signalling you that he got your back.

“You threw him to the side after you get your fun and now you’re sucking off Joel Miller. What a slut.” He slurs on without shame.

Luckily for him, you are sitting on the inside so you cannot lunge at him to rip his face off and beat him to death like you wanted. Instead, Joel brings his fist to Jack’s face, rocking his jaw in an instant. Jack stumbles backwards, crashing on the nearby tables and chairs before falling to the ground, making people turn their heads to the commotion. Everybody stills, watching the event that is unfolding in front of their eyes. Joel cages him with his thighs, throwing punches at his face. Tommy gets up from his seat, holding Joel back before it gets worse. Joel stands and presses one foot on Jack’s chest, heaving from the punches that he threw.

“Last time, I told you to fuck off before I break your jaw. It seems like you really need it to break to get it into your fuckin’ head.” He growls at Jack that is looking up at him with eyes that are clouded with terror.

“You talk about my girl like that again, I will not hesitate to end you.” He warns with eyes that could kill Jack right there on the spot. “Now fuck off!” He spits at Jack after removing his foot away. Jack scrambles away with his friends, holding them for support.

Joel stands there, reeling in what he had just done. The crowd slowly gets going again, knowing that Jack had that coming for messing around with Joel. Joel is still pissed off at Jack and if no one had stopped him, he would have already killed that son of a bitch. His hand flinches when he feels a hand touching his. It is you that notices his trembling hand. You bring it up to your face, seeing the blood on his knuckles. You frown, not liking the fact that he got hurt from trying to protect you. You go back to the booth to let Maria and Tommy know that you’re bringing Joel back home to treat the cuts on his hand.

You drag him out of the bar with his other hand, heading back to your house. He follows you obediently, walking hand in hand, even though he is still fuelled with anger. Stomping his feet, he keeps on grumbling insults about Jack and wanting to beat the shit out of him. You glance at him, seeing his fiery eyes and downturned lips as he continues to curse the asshole. A smile appears on your face as you listen to his complaints. You are still replaying the words in your head again and again. He called you his girl. It brings butterflies in your stomach just by thinking about it.

You sat him down on your couch while you get the first aid kit. You pushes the coffee table close to the couch to sit on the edge of it, facing him with your legs in between his. You place his hand on your thighs as you wipe the blood off his hand. After putting the ointment, you bandage his hand with a gauze pad available. The entire time you were focused on treating his wounds, he was studying your face, processing every single detail to memory.

"All done," you let go of his hand.

"Thank you."

"You didn't have to do that, y'know"

"I want to." He says with conviction. "I don't like him talking about you like that."

"But I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not. This was nothing." he tries to minimise the level of his injury.

You narrow your eyes and he shrugs at you trying to say that it is true. You shake your head disapprovingly, tired of his stubbornness. In the quietness of the night, wanting him to calm down, an idea comes to your mind.

"Come, I got something I want to show you." you crosses over his thigh, wanting to go up the stairs.

He quickly grabs your hand, wanting you to guide him upstairs as you hold on to him. You blushes when he does that, still making your heart flutters. Swallowing his spit, nervous that you brought him to your room, he stands at your door just watching you opening your window. You climb out the window to sit at your tiled roof, looking back at him, urging him to join you.

He marches across your room to the window, poking his head out, "It's freezing."

"I know. Just come out for awhile. You won't die," you reassures him. "Or are you just a coward?"

That strikes a nerve in him as he clicks his tongue at you and asks you to move over to give him some space. He folds his body, bones cracking as he struggles to go through the window.

"Damn, you're old." Holding on to him as he goes through the window, teasing him about his bone cracking.

"Ha. Ha. Funny." He replies in a monotonous voice.

The both of you sat next to each other, looking into the darkness of the vast sky. Because it is not snowing heavily, the moon that is not blocked by the clouds, brighten the snow-covered landscapes with a soft glow. The faint twinkle of the stars, reflecting in Joel's glassy eyes as you blatantly stare at him.

"I would sit here especially during the summer nights to stargaze. The enlightenment you get when you let your body immerse within the beauty of the nature is like no other." you explain.

"They're gorgeous." Peering into your eyes as it seems like he's not talking about the stars but you instead.

You are lost in his shining eyes and so is he, in yours. All of a sudden, he blinks the unwavering eyes of his away, remembering something. He takes out something from the inside of his jacket that is small enough to fit in his hands. Opening his palm towards you, you find a horse chess piece sitting on it. You look up at him with questions in your eyes while he portrays a shy smile on his face, suggesting you to take it.

“Stop! This is the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. You made this?” Still surveying the piece in awe.

“Yeah. Look at the bottom.”

You flip it around and notices a small writing on it. You stop breathing for a moment, reminded of the guitar pick that you gave him two months ago. You keep staring at the words directing at you.

“I was contemplating between this and ‘Let me be your knight in shining armour’, y’know. Because of the horse. But it was too long for me to-“ He stammers while trying to elaborate but stops when you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Joel. I love it.” You hold the chess piece in your hand, tightly. His heart jumps with elation, overjoyed by your words.

He whispers your name, enrapturing you to shift your eyes at him, still resting your head on his shoulder.

“I would undo every single thing that I’ve done or said that hurt your feelings, in a heartbeat if I could. I didn’t see you for who you are and it kills me that I wasted so much time being a prick when we could spend more time together instead. You never fail to fill my heart with kindness and love and I want to do the same for you. Will you let me do that for you?” He confesses to you.

“Who said you haven’t done that yet?” You batted your eyelashes at him.

His heart stops for a beat, staring down at your face that is only a few inches away. Your glossy eyes mirror his look of adoration and he can’t help but moves your hair out of your face, caressing your cheeks softly.

“Joel Miller, the grumpiest man to ever lived, is sitting on the roof with me, stargazing. Who would have thought?”

“Only because it’s with you.” His thumb rubbing, warming your cold cheeks as you lean more into his touch.

His face tilts down to yours, eyes roaming over your features and stops at your lips. You hold your breath as he moves closer, heart pounding with anticipation. You have been waiting for this moment, imagining many different ways of exploring his lips. Your body shivering as he pauses when his lips are almost touching yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He mutters, almost inaudible as he shifts his eyes back to yours for confirmation, his tongue poking out slightly to wet his lips at the same time.

“Now you want to be polite? Just kiss me already.” You pull him closer by the neck, gently pressing his lips to yours. His lips are electrifying to touch despite the softness of it. He continues to move and you follow, effortlessly flowing together like water. His arms that are pressing against your side, slides up your back, holding you close to him. You feel him smiling against your mouth as the kiss gets heated. You pull back from him to catch your breath, foreheads still pressed against each other while you keep your eyes closed, heart still racing from the kiss. He is panting for air as well, eyes fixed on your parted lips.

“I’ve been waiting for a year for this,”

“I know, baby.” He cups your face, looking at you with dazed eyes before suggesting that the both of you get inside before it gets colder. You step down into the room first and he follows right after. He pulls you back towards him by your belt loop, wrapping his arms around your waist as he cannot resist the look of need in your eyes.

“I’m not done with you, my love.”

He leans in to kiss you again, this time more desperately. You throw your hands over his shoulders, arching your back to press your front against his. As it gets passionate, you are stumbling backwards as he pushes you towards your bed, lying you down on it. He hovers over you, leaning his weight on his palms that rest on either side of your head.

“I’ll repay the one year worth of kisses tonight so that you can forgive my dumbass.” Sliding down the side of your face, leaving kisses on your neck. You let out a moan, blessing his ears with the sounds that you are making involuntarily. You try to say something but your head is clouded with lust as he lightly runs his tongue along your jawline, raking one of your hands through his curls and another, scratching across his firm back. His soft grunts in your ear makes your spine tingle, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as he slides his hands under your shirt, digging his fingers in your waist.

“You’re forgiven, baby.” You blurt out while you are distracted by his pressing body on yours. He stops, raising his head towards you, not believing what he just heard.

“What did you just say?”

“Huh?” Your eyes heavy lidded as you look at him.

“Let me hear it again.” He smiles adorably.

“You’re forgiven?” Your brows knitted in confusion.

“No. The other one.”

“Baby?”

His face breaks into a grin and he softly giggles into your chest, loving the fact that you called him ‘baby’. Fuck the forgiveness, he just wants you to claim him as yours forever. He peppers you with kisses all over your face, making you scrunch, still smiling at him.The night deepens as the both of you continue exploring each other’s bodies, steaming the room up with grunts and moans throughout the night. The chess piece that fell to the ground while the both of you kiss, lies sidewards, the writing prominent at the bottom of it.

‘I pick you 2’

previous part

Thank you for reading! I have another Joel Miller fic that is coming soon over here. It's a sports romance x childhood friends to enemies to lovers. Do keep a lookout if you're interested. All love <3 - Z

Taglist: @greenwitchfromthewoods @rebeccawinters @cuteanimalmama @rodriguez31 @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @macaroni676 @whirlwindrider29 @vickie5446 @uncassettodiricordi @astralqueenoc

[amimuu]

“Hope”

VTA AU - #1

Word count: 5188 words

Reading time: ~15 mins

[‼️TW!: Implied decapitation, violence, suicidal ideation (?). Discretion is advised‼️]

Fic under the cut

They couldn’t keep their head in place.

And they tried, really hard. To keep it upright. It was stitched to their neck for a reason. But it had never actually depended on those strings to stay there. 

It depended on the crown.

A crown that moments before had gingerly placed itself back on their god’s head, slowly taking away what little sliver of power remained within the Lamb along with it. 

But they couldn’t rest just yet. They had to hold on for just a little longer. They had to listen to what their god had to say. 

But even with how much the Lamb pushed down the ringing, they couldn’t hear a single word. Their god simply stared at them, silently. Clearly, this was what he was expecting would happen.

Clearly, this was what he wanted to happen. What they both knew would happen. What the Lamb so desperately hoped wouldn’t have to happen.

But naturally, they were wrong. Of course.

Slowly, they let their gaze fall back into the ground, pristine white sand now stained crimson, proof of their mortality; slowly slipping away.

Of course, of course.

They squeezed their eyes, slowly taking their hoofs away from their neck. There was nothing left to do. This was the end. 

Of course, of course, of course.

A relief, he had said. They’d be finally fred from the role they were forced into playing. A leader. A prophet. A god-slayer. The last of their kind. The Lamb was no traitor, of course they were willing; how could they be not?

Back then, the Lamb had simply lowered their gaze, deep in thought. 

“Promise?”

“Hmm?”

“That it’ll be the end?” And they looked up to their god, a tiny glimmer in their eyes.

Rest, rest at last.  Their god had simply smiled back at them, a wide grin that exposed his sharp teeth.

“Yes” He replied, “I promise”

Still, the Lamb, unsure of what they truly wanted, had allowed themselves to hope. Entertain their selfish wishes for a while. Some pitiful way of self-comfort, they guessed. Maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d let them stay by his side.

But when had hope ever been of any help to them?.

Hope hadn’t saved their kind. Hope hadn’t avoided their first death. And it certainly would not avoid this one.

Nothing would save them this time. Not hope. Not even their god.

A fool, the Lamb though, a bitter chuckle escaping their lips as they looked up to their god, one last time

 I was a fool.

–

Two thumps on the ground. And then, the sound of chains breaking.

The god of death stared at the little lump in the ground, unmoving, unresponsive. A prophecy fulfilled. Just as he had willed it so. 

His gaze softened, ever so slightly. “Rest now, vessel” He muttered, extending a clawed paw towards the lamb.

“You’ve earned it”

.

.

.

And they had. They truly had.

Still, it seemed like fate had different plans.

A small glimmer, and then another, and another, and another, until everything was filled with light—

And then, nothing.

SLAM!

Almost nothing.

They were supposed to be dead. 

But in the way their body ached, and the way it had definitely slammed into the ground a few moments prior it was clear that was likely not the case. Not anymore at least. Their head spiraled, ears ringing, and they could faintly make out the sound of retching–Oh. It was them. They were quickly pulled out of their thoughts, vision clearing ever so slightly, only to be welcomed by the sight of wood, covered in some dark matter. Ichor. It was ichor. A…resurrection ritual? But who? Why? How? What happened?

A heart offered, a vow made–

No, no that wasn’t right. They weren’t focusing on the most important question. Where were they? The Lamb squinted, struggling to push themselves upright, with trembling arms. Everything felt hazy, yet not like before. No welcoming light, no peaceful silence, no warmth.

Just cold wooden floors. Like in their temple. Their temple…

Their temple?

Their thoughts were interrupted again by yet another wave of ichor up their throat. They coughed, hands curling into fists. They felt a light touch on their shoulder. Great. Now they were choking.

“–to the side, it’ll be easier like that.”

What?

They tried looking in the direction the voice–likely belonging to the one that performed the ritual–came from, yet they were given a soft pat in the back, reminding them they still had something else to worry about. What had the voice said? Side–Turn to the side–? So they tried, yet it only caused them to lose balance, almost falling face first into the ichor-stained floors, if not for the other person holding them upright.

Finally–after roughly 13 seconds–, they were able to compose themselves. The other one present seemed to notice as well, swiftly removing their hands from the Lamb and standing once more. A paw was extended towards them in place, likely to help the lamb on their feet.

Their hoof was halfway towards reaching the paw when their gaze finally cleared enough to make out who was offering it to them.

Four red eyes stared down at the Lamb. Silently. Their god stood before them, the crown–in the form of a snake–curled around his shoulders.

The Lamb froze. No, no, it couldn’t be-

“My–My Lord” They blurted out. Their god tilted his head sideways, as if amused. The Lamb rose to their feet in a quick motion, ignoring the hand held out in front of them.

What. Why. How. Why. How. Why. Why. Why–

Their god was talking. They should listen. They couldn’t listen. Their ears were ringing, their head was spinning. There were too many questions. They felt like they were gonna throw up again. Their breath paced up. They couldn’t think. Their eyes fixed on the ground. On the runes. They were wrong. They–

Oh, that’s it.

Their god seemed to notice their discomfort, taking a step towards them. “Lamb–”

“My Lord, you– you made a mistake”

“Pardon me?”

The Lamb looked up, red eyes meeting their own, already settled on a reasonable explanation to what was going on. “You…tried to do the resurrection ritual, yes?” They continued, ever so calmly

“Not tried, it worked. Now if you–”

“Well surely you must’ve done something wrong- you brought me back, not whatever follower of ou- of yours that you were aiming for”

“Lamb–”

‘This runes here. They are all wrong. But don’t worry, I’ll help you fix it.” Their eyes scanned around the floor, fixing on a little red spot in the corner of the room. Chalk. “There, we just change this a bit and…done! Should work adequately now.” The Lamb made their way to their god, still talking, 

“Now you just turn the crown into a dagger, kill me again, and you should be good to go.” The Lamb smiled, fidgeting with their hoofs. Their god looked down at the now changed runes, and then back at them, unamused.

“So..?”

“I didn’t make a mistake.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t make a mistake, vessel. The ritual worked as it was supposed to.” He continued, brows lifting slightly. “It was meant to resurrect you. Not some other follower. You”

…Them. 

He resurrected them. Meaning to resurrect them. Going all the way to change the base structure of the ritual so he could ensure it was them who was brought back. Them. No one else. Them. Them.

The lamb’s hoofs started to shake, eyes widening, an ever so familiar warmth spreading through their chest.  They shook their head, struggling to find the next words. “But…Why?”

Hope. Tiny, foolish hope.

“Because” Their god closed his eyes, sighing. “I still have need of you.”

Hope–

“ Your duty is not over.”

–Gone. 

Of course.

What else had they ever been, but a tool? Merely to be used, like a pawn upon a chess board. Yet the pawn could feel every stab, every kill,  every time they were taken off the board, only to be pulled back again and again until the players decided they were bored, and had had enough.

A tool, simply to be toyed around with. 

The lamb took a step back. Memories flooding into their head. A conversation. A wide grin, showing sharp teeth. A promise. Rest. Rest at last. Cut short. Hope. Cut short as well. Acceptance. Warmth. Calm. Peace. All gone. 

All gone.

Their gaze widened, mouth opening and closing like a fish before they were able to blurt something out. 

“It’s not–But, but you said–” 

He lied.

“And I misspoke, vessel.”

Of course he did.

“At the gate, you said–”

He went back on his words.

“My word is final.”

He broke his promise.

“What more could you possibly want from me?!” The Lamb snapped, causing Narinder and the snake-crown to flinch ever so slightly. Oh, they were getting themselves killed again for this. Good. “What haven’t I done for you?! I gave you my life, I gave you my death, my everything! I killed, I lied, I bribed, I stole–Everything you asked, I did! No questions asked, never!”

The god’s gaze sharpened. “Exactly. You performed your duties masterfully. Almost flawlessly. So that’s why I expect you to help clean up this…mess we caused.”

“What are you talking about?? What “mess”? Your siblings are dead, you are free, you have a faithful following–Has your greed for power truly made you that blind?!” The Lamb groaned in desperation, a little horrified with the satisfaction they felt when a look of annoyance spread through Narinder’s face.

“That is no way to talk to your god.”

“I am aware” The lamb took a step forward. And another. And another. Until they were standing right in front of Narinder. “So what will you do? Surely you won’t accept such blasphemy, will you?”

“Lamb–”

They chuckled, hysteria seeping through their words ”Go on, kill me again. See how I care.”

“Do not speak such–”

“Do it! Kill me!”

“SILENCE!!!” Narinder’s voice rang out through the entire temple, loud, divine; the crown positioning itself on his head, spikes stretched. His tone clearly not meant for mortal ears to hear. Mortal ears such as the lamb’s, who covered them and bent over in pain, wincing.  This seemed to snap Narinder out of his anger, being replaced with worry as he reached an arm out towards the Lamb, only to pull it back just as fast “Listen. I– This isn’t what I was planning either.” He sighed.

The Lamb looked up, hoofs no longer pressing as hard against their ears. “What?”

The crown on his head returned to its usual form. Narinder looked up for a second before talking. “It’s been eight summers since you laid down your life at my feet. Eight summers that the cult has prospered in your absence. Yet last week I was contacted by a nameless merchant whom I hadn’t seen in more than one millennia. They demanded I…free my siblings from the punishment I bestowed upon them.”

The Lamb scoffed, fully lowering their arms and folding them in front of their chest. “So? Why don’t you? Too much for your ego to handle?”

“I can’t”

“You what?” 

Narinder looked up at the Lamb, eyes fixing on theirs. “After I was freed from my chains I…There was a shift in my power. It’s not as strong as it is before. I can no longer access my realm.”

“As if you had been, what, cut off?”

“Precisely. Yet even after I informed them, the merchant pressed forward, saying it was my responsibility to do so. They told me without access to my realm I’d have to traverse their domains and slay them again.”

“Well? They said it themselves. It's your responsibility. How do I fit into this?” The Lamb’s gaze sharpened.

“I’m getting there.” Narinder straightened his posture, clearing his throat. He looked at the Lamb, mirroring the look he gave them when they first met, after the Lamb’s first death. A crowned deity, and a curse-bearing sacrifice. 

 “Lamb, I bestow upon you the honor of serving your god once again. You shall crusade the lands of the Old Faith a second time, slay the Bishops in my name…and, even if they clearly don’t deserve it, free them from the punishment I gave them, for I have given you life anew and you shall pledge it to me. In the meantime, you shall return to your duties as a cult leader and take care of the flock. Naturally, I’ll be here to assist you if it is needed. Are we clear?” The god smiled placidly, looking down at the Lamb–

–Who stared back at him with such intensity he almost felt their gaze was weighing him down, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Perfect. Narinder thought. Now that his vessel’s initial confusion had been cleared, surely they wouldn’t have a problem moving onwards. They shall crusade together and spread his word far and wide. All shall pledge themselves to the cult. Side by side, just like they wanted.

“Is that it?” The Lamb asked, quietly, unsure.

“Yes.” It is what we want, is it not? “That’s it”

Silence.

The Lamb looked down. Slowly, after what felt like an eternity, they extended a hoof towards Narinder, gently placing it on his cheek, lifting their gaze towards him. Tired eyes looked into his. The god felt goosebumps crawl up his spine, but he let them have their way. 

“...Vessel–”

SLAP!

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground. They were both on the ground. And the Lamb–

“YOU UNGRATEFUL ASSHOLE!!”

–Was punching him, continuously. Narinder tried to grab their fists, yet his paws were held down. The lamb was yelling, but Narinder couldn’t focus on half the words they said. He considered turning the crown–which was nearly knocked off his head–into a weapon, yet as soon as the thought crossed his mind,he decided against it. He didn’t want to hurt the Lamb. 

 “Stop this! Calm down!” He tried instead.

“Calm down? Calm down?!” The Lamb yelled back. Still punching, still speaking nonsense.

Yet with every punch they delivered, it looked as if they were the ones receiving the hit, not Narinder. Ichor stained the ground once anew, as the god and his vessel struggled. Narinder had never seen the Lamb this angry. Not when they were crusading, not when they were facing their siblings, not when dealing with dissenters. They always managed to keep themselves composed, always with a calm expression on their face. Nor happiness, nor sorrow, nor fear, nor anger. 

The god knew his words had caused them to snap. Yet he failed to grasp the why of it. He was giving them what they wanted. Eternity is to be spent in company. Once upon a time the Lamb would’ve been overjoyed hearing this news. Last time he saw them he knew they would’ve been. Last time–

Narinder felt something wet fall into his face. He looked up. Tears were falling from his attacker’s eyes. His own widened slightly. The Lamb’s eyes were filled with pain and desperation. Betrayal. Rage.

Directed at him.

And it clicked.

“You just don’t get it, do you?! What wouldn’t I have done?! How far wouldn’t I have gone?! Where wouldn’t I have followed, had you just said the word?! And yet you threw it away, you– you–!”

And they stopped. 

Narinder wasn’t fighting back anymore. He simply stared up at the Lamb, arms to his sides in defeat. 

“Calm down.” He tried again, softly. It’s alright. He lifted his paw towards the lamb, placing it on their shoulder and giving them a gentle push backwards. The Lamb complied, getting off Narinder and quickly pushing themselves back until they reached a wall, knees against their chest.

Narinder stood up, hesitating before approaching the lamb, slowly, paw outstretched towards them.

“Vessel–”

“Go away.” They interrupted, voice muffled. 

Narinder was not going to argue with that. He stepped away, back towards the entrance of the temple, sparing one final glance at the lamb before he disappeared through the door.

It was cold outside.

The Lamb looked up to the door, confirming that they were alone. Only then did they move away from the wall, opting to sit on the small stairs that led to the platform instead. They recalled the countless times they had given sermons from the lectern, preaching the word of their god, wholeheartedly believing the words they spoke; unaware of the fate which awaited them. 

They sighed, tears pooling at their eyes once anew.

There was no way to avoid it, was there? They could fight it all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change the outcome. No matter what they did they would be shoved back into their role.  A leader. A prophet. A god-slayer. The last of their kind. The devoted vessel of the god of death. Rest was not something possible for them. Maybe it would never be.

 There was a time where they would’ve been happy with it. Where they would’ve gladly taken eternity if it meant to remain by their god’s side. But what was that if not a lie? So they tried something else. Maybe he had skipped some details, but it was okay. They’d see their kin again, they’d know peace. 

But that too, was a lie. 

The silence continued for a while, until the doors of the temple opened once more. The lamb didn’t even bother looking up, they knew who it was. Quiet footsteps approached them, and then stopped. Something warm—a blanket?—was placed on their back.

“...It’s cold” Narinder said, hands lingering on their shoulders for a couple seconds, before he pulled them back.

The lamb looked up at him momentarily, and then back down.

“Get out of my sight” Was all they muttered, waiting for the sound of footsteps exiting once again. But it didn’t come. Instead, the Lamb heard a shuffling noise to their side, black fur visible from the edge of their vision.

“…You don’t want to do it” He acknowledged.

“You won’t let me refuse, will you?”

“...”

“Of course” The lamb scoffed, pulling at the blanket–No, it was a cloak–around their shoulders. They both fell quiet, sitting side by side, only illuminated by the light the crown–and partly, Narinder’s eyes–emitted.

After some minutes, Narinder spoke again. “Listen. There is something else.” 

The Lamb continued to stare at the ground, completely ignoring Narinder. 

The god sighed, and pressed forward. “Before my liberation, I thought you had destroyed the crowns of my siblings after you defeated them, or taken them back to the cult grounds as trophies to mark your victory over—“

“I don’t know how to destroy a crown, my Lord. And taking it back to the cult grounds was too risky. Might’ve gotten some crazy follower that could try to use its powers.” The Lamb interrupted, in a low voice.

“Then what did you do?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the crowns destroyed themselves after I took the hearts of the Bishops. I didn’t see them after the battle.”

Narinder hummed, reaching for the crown in his head and taking it in his hands. “There’s been sightings of miracles and impossible acts outside of the cult grounds. And we both know that couldn’t have been you”

“Who knows, maybe the Red Crown was thrown off balance and now it’s causing all this mess” The Lamb tapped their hoof against the ground, already having a vague idea of where this was going.

“What I’m meaning to say is—“

“You think the crowns fell into the hands of mortals who aren’t worthy of their powers?” The Lamb interrupted.

Narinder frowned slightly “Yes. And I could’ve dealt with that myself hadn’t your following been so stubborn”

“Ha, they don’t like you?”

“Nonsense! They fear and worship me…yet their loyalties remain elsewhere”

“You tried asking my disciples for help, didn’t you.” The Lamb stated, not asking.

“…”

“You knew they’d only listen to me” The Lamb muttered, mostly to themselves. They sighed “You want me to convince them to help you, yes?”

“Lamb, if the crowns were to fall in the wrong hands, hands that do not know how to make use of them, or worse, do know— the results would be catastrophic”

“Hmm…hands like yours?”

“Does the world around you look like destruction and chaos, Lamb?” He was starting to lose his patience. No. He couldn’t. Last time that happened he had accidentally blinded a follower. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could’ve sworn the Lamb was smiling.

“I have a proposal.” Narinder said after a few seconds, calmer. “If you do this, I’ll…consider giving you something in return.”

“Consider?”

“I’ll be indebted to you, Lamb”

 Their hoofs twitched. “You’ll let me ask for something in return?”

“One thing. Whatever you wish for. And then, If it’s still what you want, I shall send you back to my realm. Sounds reasonable?” he looked at them, a patient look in his eyes.

The Lamb looked back at him, ready to deny the offer, yet their gaze quickly fell towards the cloak Narinder was wearing. They hadn’t noticed it before. It was white, with accents in red and yellow that complimented his fur. Soft and warm, perfect for the winter. Woven carefully in the hopes it’d be of their god’s liking and comfort. Even with the dim illumination, they’d recognize it anywhere.

Crafted from their own wool, for their one and only god.

I guess what I’m trying to say is—

“...It gets pretty cold during winter.” They muttered instead, voice trembling.

Whatever you need, I’ll be there.

“It does.” Narinder replied softly. 

They fell quiet again, caught up in a moment in the past. The last death before fighting Shamura, the Lamb remembered. They had brought the cloak to their god, if only to show it to him, see how he would react.

“But…It’s too small” Their god had said, a little unsure. The Lamb chuckled, their expression not changing

“I don’t see the problem! You can shrink down at will, can you not?”

 Oh, how filled with hope had they been back then. How badly did they want to show their god the wonders of the realm above. How faithful, how foolish.

The Lamb looked back up at Narinder, hoofs trembling. Maybe, just maybe… “Whatever I wish for…you’ll do it? You’ll really do it?”

“You crusade, you convince your disciples, you have my word.” But that means close to nothing now, doesn’t it?

The Lamb fell quiet, considering their options, which weren’t many, they knew this was a deadend. Might as well take the offer before it’s gone. They stood up, looking down at Narinder. “Alright.” They gave in. “I’ll do it”

Narinder smiled, standing up as well. “Then so be it”

“However–”

“However?”

The Lamb tapped their hoof on the ground. “I won’t last a single crusade without at least a weapon. Got one in mind?”

Narinder looked at them, and then started walking towards the lectern. “Better than that, actually” He said, picking up a fancy–looking cup and walking back towards the lamb, placing it in their hoofs. “Here, hold this.”

The Lamb did, a little wary.

“See, back when I was still a Bishop,” Narinder started, willing the crown into a small dagger. “We had a certain problem, in which our disciples would become almost obsolete after just a couple years of service.” He pressed the blade into his palm, slicing a clean cut, ichor coming out and sliding down his hand. “It was pitiful, really. They might have been fully devoted to us, yet at the end of the day, they were only mortal. How could they ever hope to keep up with gods?”. He positioned his paw directly above the cup, letting the ichor fall into it, slowly filling it up.

 “Yet instead of simply accepting this, we came up with a method, a way for them to grow stronger alongside us, that would also allow us to lend them some of our power. This was a honor reserved only for the most faithful of our following, and a new title was bestowed upon those who received that blessing–”

“The witnesses?” The Lamb asked, eyes locked with the cup.

“Indeed.” Narinder said, pulling his paw back away from the cup, not bothering with the cut; he knew it would heal in less than an hour. 

“So” They started toying around with the cup. “I drink this and become a super creepy-looking giant creature that’ll be devoted to you forever?” 

“The beastly form was something achieved through mass sacrifice, Lamb. I thought you’d know that much” Narinder rolled his eyes. “You’ll simply reach a state similar to that of when you wielded the crown. Your devotion should be high enough to not blow up into bits.”

“Huh” The Lamb said, and lifted up the cup above their head, eyes locking with Narinder’s. They chuckled lightly, clearing their throat before talking. “And so the Lamb, twice betrayed, chooses to put their trust in the god that denies them rest once anew! Shame on them.” They exclaimed, pressing the cup to their smiling lips.

“Cheers”

They drank the entire cup in one gulp, coughing lightly before placing it back into Narinder’s paws. They squeezed their eyes, waiting for the stomach-churning pain that would surely overcome them for drinking the blood of a god. And they waited. And waited. But nothing came.

“Let me guess. Waiting for the gut-wrenching pain?”

“...”

“Don’t worry about that. As I said before, your devotion is high enough to safely consume ichor. Mine, at least” Saying that, Narinder’s gaze wandered upwards, towards the Lamb’s head. “Andd….there it is”

“There is…?” But the Lamb didn’t even need to finish their sentence. They could feel its presence. A light colored halo was now gingerly placed atop their head, emanating a very faint glow. “...So that’s the thing that appeared on the kids’ heads”

“Your disciples?” Narinder inquired, yet only received silence in response.

The Lamb poked their halo, seemingly already disinterested in the god standing in front of them. Some seconds later they heard the doors of the temple open and close, glad the god had understood the memo. The temple was filled with silence.

A voice in the Lamb’s head told them they felt a little lonely now.

 “...I like it better like this” They lied.

They sat back down, this time behind the lectern, and closed their eyes, focusing on the new flow of energy inside them. It was nice. They wondered if it would have the same effects as the crown. Would they need to eat? Sleep? They missed doing that. They missed normal meals, at least. Normal meals that weren’t—

The doors of the temple opened once again, and the cat walked in, this time with a candle in hand. He looked outside for a second and then back at the Lamb.

“What is it now?” The Lamb said, rather annoyed, standing up from the spot they had been meditating in.

Narinder’s eyes shifted between the door and the Lamb. He finally stepped away, opening the doors a little, as if to let someone in “I figured you’d like some company aside from me”

The Lamb was about to ask if he had gone mad when they saw three familiar faces walk in through the door. They froze. Halos that mirrored their own upon their heads, looking at the Lamb with wide eyes, almost as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“Kids?” They asked softly, taking a small step towards the figures. 

One of them–A deer–stepped forward, almost hesitantly. “Leader…? Is…is it really you?” The other two followed suit, looking at the Lamb expectantly.

“Yes–” The lamb chuckled “Yes, yes–! And–And you guys…you–Oh, come here–!” They opened their arms, the three disciples running towards them and wrapping their arms–and wings–around them, in a bone crushing hug. The Lamb laughed. The disciples laughed too. The god of death looked at them from the distance, a small smile appearing on his lips as well, which he forced down just as quickly.

“Look at you three! I almost didn’t recognize you!” The Lamb stepped back, their gaze moving from one disciple to another. “Pam–Oh, what happened to your beak?” They focused on one of them, a teal bird, worry appearing in their face. 

The bird–Pam, simply laughed “Got it from a dissenter! He smashed a glass bottle hard into my beak! Certainly didn’t know who they were messing with!” She nudged the lemur, who also laughed. “Sylvie here punched him square in the face right afterwards! Knocked the poor bastard out!”

The lemur, Sylvie, blushed lightly upon the comment “Well–It was still Pam who dealt with him..”

“And then I had to come and fix the mess you were causing.” The deer popped in, a look of playful annoyance in his face. “Fancy me almost single-handedly keeping this cult from burning down for the last few years” He continued. Pam rolled her eyes. 

“Oh yes Dipal, what would we do without you?”

“Paperwork. Loads of it.”

“Yuck, you’re right Syl. Seems like we’ll have to be stuck with him forever”

“HEY!”

The Lamb simply continued to laugh at the comments their disciples made. They sighed and patted their shoulders. “Alright, Alright, how about we take this back to my tent and you tell me all about the last couple years, hm?” The disciples looked back at them. “Unless my tent is already occupied?”

“It is not” Narinder popped in, leaning against a pillar. “It’s been left untouched since…since you last used it. Only the occasional offering left outside of it instead of the statue”

“Statue?” The Lamb muttered, a little confused.

“It was built after The One Who Waits was fred” Sylvie explained “A way to honor you. It is also where you were originally buried..”

“Original– What do you–?”

“Alright!! Let’s take it back to the tent! Oh! Surely, we should have some hot camellia tea left.” Pam interrupted, pushing Sylvie and the Lamb towards the entrance of the temple. Dipal followed along. One by one, they exited the temple, until only the Lamb and Narinder remained. The Lamb stopped for a second, hoof on the door.

They looked at him.

Really, really looked at him. 

Red eyes met their own. Just as tired. The Lamb sighed. “Go get some rest. If not for your sake, then my own” Was all they said, exiting the temple and scooting towards where their disciples were.

“You won’t believe half the things that happened after you were gone. It’s crazy!”

“And the paperwork…Oh the paperwork…I haven’t gotten a day of proper sleep in years”

“Dippy, you’ve been complaining about that even before the Leader…uh…left”

“Because it’s true. You two lazy heads don’t even try to help me–”

“Calm down you three, I’m sure you all had loads of stuff to deal with…” 

“...”

Narinder watched them go, exiting the temple, yet heading in a different direction than the one that led to his hut. 

Maybe he’d pray a little tonight.

–

[Comics offer a different perspective of certain events...]

damn i really wonder who is narrating huh.

Anyways OH BOY. WHAT AN UPDATE. What's to happen next? Will they get along? Will the Lamb attempt to murder Narinder? What's up with the disciples? And the crowns?!? Where are they?

With time, we shall know....And so concludes the second installment of the VTA au! Until next time :3

And then they kiss kiss fall in love

[just-a-bored-writer]

Do You Need Help? — Let's Eat Together (Straw Hat Version)

When the Straw Hats notice that you're having trouble eating, each of them decides to help you, in their own way.

I. Luffy

At first, Luffy tries to eat your food and you let him do it so that no one notices that you're not eating. But in the end, it's Luffy who notices that something is wrong. He pays attention to you, you're his nakama, someone important to him. At the end of the meal, he asks you if you are sick. You tell him no, you just have trouble eating sometimes.

Luffy has an idea. He pulls you back into the kitchen by the hand and searches for leftovers. He finds your favorites and places them on a cool plate, one with dinosaurs on it. Like Makino did with him when he didn't want to eat his vegetables, Luffy takes your fork and imitates an airplane to make you eat. You open your mouth and chew a first bite. Luffy smiles.

II. Zoro

Zoro doesn't understand at first why you're having trouble eating. Eating is a mission, he accomplishes missions. But since he cares about you, he stays with you even after everyone else has left. He divides your plate into portions to give you goals to achieve and rewards you every time you finish a new portion.

He's patient with you, if not a little awkward. If you start crying because you're moved by his gesture, he totally freaks out and thinks he did something wrong. When he realizes they're tears of joy, he blushes and mumbles that it's normal because you're his crewmate and your well-being is important.

III. Nami

When that happens, Nami takes you by the arm and leads you under her tangerine trees. You lie down together under the blue sky, your head on her lap. She gently runs her hand through your hair and plays with your locks for as long as you need it. You don't need to justify yourself, Nami is here for you.

Eventually, she pulls a tangerine from a tree and, after carefully peeling it, offers you half of it. Her tangerines are her treasure, but so are you. If necessary, she feeds you each quarter by hand, without ever forcing you. It's up to you to decide. When you're ready to leave, Nami kisses your forehead, her lips sticky from the sugar.

IV. Usopp

Usopp notices immediately, because silences are sometimes the loudest. He doesn't ask right away, not in front of everyone, because you're a brave warrior of the sea and you deserve to be treated as such. He doesn't accuse you, he asks gently and he understands.

The days after, he sits next to you, because a warrior shouldn't have to fight alone. He tells you beautiful stories, entertains you and amuses you until you finish your plate. Once you're done, he winks at you and you know you're not alone.

V. Sanji

It takes you a while to notice that Sanji has noticed. But your food portions are slightly different from the others, smaller but more filling. Sanji offers you snacks during the day instead of a big meal at lunch and dinner. He takes care of you silently, without expecting anything from you in return.

When you ask him why, (shouldn't he be annoyed by the waste?) Sanji tells you that he knows what it's like to have trouble eating. No matter the reason, whether it's "important" or not, it's just as hard. And you deserve help, no matter if you did anything to "deserve" it. It's his role as a cook, and a friend, that everyone has a comfortable relationship with food.

VI. Chopper

Chopper is worried about you, eating is important. He doesn't want to overwhelm you but he wants to help you. You're his friend. He knows you take care of yourself alone but that doesn't mean you don't deserve a little helping hand (or hoof). Doing things together is easier, and funnier.

He makes shapes on your plate with your food, he puts little paper umbrellas in your glass. Everything to make you smile and appreciate what you're eating. Of course, he offers you food supplements and gives you advice on what kind of food you need, but both are as useful and important as the other.

VII. Robin

Robin makes you a cup of verbena tea with honey, she takes her time to do it properly, without using her devil fruit. She sits next to you on the bench with your thighs touching, and she takes your hand in hers before gently squeezing it. She takes out a book and start reading, not pressuring you but silently supporting you.

Slowly, you start eating and Robin encourages you to drink herbal tea between each bite. She stays with you, from beginning to end, even if it took hours. If you ask her, she reads you a passage from her book out loud to distract you. She never lets go of your hand.

VIII. Franky

Franky comes to you when you've been working too long and forget to come eat. No matter where you are, he finds you. He built the Sunny with the crew that would live on it in mind and he knows all your favorite places. He sets a plate down next to you and takes whatever you were doing out of your hands.

You need to take a break, he tells you amused. It's important for your body, you don't have any spare parts. He reminds you to drink water to avoid any future headaches. And, with surprising gentleness, and your permission, he places his hands on your shoulders and massages the knot of stress between your shoulder blades.

IX. Brook

When you're the last one to finish eating, pushing your food around on your plate and not being able to eat it, Brook stays behind with you. He makes sure that you don't face your difficulties on your own. He doesn't want you to suffer. You're not alone, those who love you are with you.

He pulls out his violin, his bass, or even drags the entire goddamn piano into the kitchen if you ask, and fills the room with music and joy. The melody carries you to new lands, each note telling a different story. And Brook weaves them in a beautiful song just for you. Because you are worth it.

X. Jinbei

Without you having to say anything about your discomfort, Jinbei takes you out onto the deck, the sun warming your skin, the waves hitting the hull, the wind playing with your hair. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with sea air. Here, the smell of food that made you want to throw up is replaced by the salt of the ocean.

You continue your meal on the deck together, in the calm and serenity so rare to your crew. Being outside does you the greatest good. You laugh every time the Sunny hits a wave stronger than the others and sea water splashes across the deck onto you. You think of suggesting that the crew have a picnic while the weather is still nice.

+ 1 Vivi

Vivi suggests that you learn to cook together. She's a princess, no one has ever let her hold a kitchen utensil. You have no excuse. You accept anyway. Getting permission to use the kitchen is easy, Vivi just has to bat her eyelashes, but actually cooking is another story. But you're allowed to make mistakes and Vivi always seems so surprised at your failures that it doesn't bother you.

With your friend, you slowly learn to cook and love the food you prepare. You even pretend not to notice when Vivi "subtly" makes you taste certain foods to take note of what is easier for you to eat. She even has a notebook. You think it's adorable.

+ 2 Yamato

Yamato makes everything around him fun. He has a vision of life so different from yours but more than anything it is his thirst for discovery that fascinates you. Every moment is an adventure and he never forgets to invite you to share them. He wants to spend them with you, have fun with you. Meals are no different.

He challenges you, trying to eat as fast as possible and competing with the biggest eaters in the crew. He keeps asking questions about everything, about the taste of food, about the method of preparation. Despite you, his curiosity gets the better of you, you want to know too. He makes eating fun, even when it's hard.

Fun fact, tonight I didn't want to eat but I told myself that Tony Tony Chopper would be disappointed with me if I didn't. So I ate. That's why fiction is so important, it has such a big impact on our lives. So I decided to write this little something with all the Straw Hats to help you eat if that's what you need one day. If you want me to continue this concept, with other characters, other fandoms or other situations, do not hesitate. I will be very happy to do so. Disclaimer: I did not write this story while envisioning someone with an eating disorder. So it's not an accurate representation because it's not meant to be one. I just tagged it so as not to trigger anyone. Also, I am not a healthcare professional. Take care of yourselves <3

[sturns-mermaid]

GUARDED HEARTS

more of this au here | proofread by me <3 | pt. 2

no warnings - enemies to lovers trope

🌷 wc: 1.5k

The rose garden festival was in full swing. The whole kingdom was preparing for the day ahead, gathering everything needed for the festivities. It was your favorite time of the year, the season where the flowers bloomed and everyone from surrounding kingdoms visited to celebrate the spring ahead. You have always loved this day. It was filled with colorful flowers and a sense of happiness that spread around the kingdom.

While your mother and father were at the castle directing the vendors and such for the food and venue setup, you were stuck in a horse-drawn carriage with one of your father’s guards. You insisted on riding along because you wanted some fresh air away from the crowded castle, and Chris had to retrieve and deliver the flowers for the event. You two would’ve been home already if he didn’t decide to take a last-minute shortcut after picking up the daffodils. “My father is probably wondering why I am,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chris kept his eyes on the path ahead, the soft gallop of the horse’s hoofs being the only thing you could hear as the carriage dragged along the dirt road. “You have no idea where we are, do you?” You roll your eyes, your voice laced with annoyance. Chris finally turns his head to look at you before averting his gaze back to the road. “Calm down, princess,” he said calmly, pulling the map from his small pouch attached to his armor. “Read this map. It should say where there’s a main road,” he said, throwing the map into your lap. You look down, eyebrows furrowed as you scoff, directing the carriage was supposed to be his job. You were simply along for the ride.

“This makes little sense!,” you exclaim, groaning as you hold the map, utter confusion plastered on your face. Letting out a soft chuckle, he grabs the map and turns it over, a smirk tugging on his lips. Being in the castle most of the time left you not knowing much about the outside grounds of the kingdom. Sure, you knew the surrounding area well, but you were now in uncharted territory. You spent most days in the castle reading your romance fairytale books, or trying on new dresses.

The whole kingdom cherished you as you were the only princess within your community, which also brought a lot of expectations. “Did you find a good path yet?” Chris’s voice broke through your thoughts as you looked up, noticing he had stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the forest. “So you admit we’re lost.” You glare at him, handing him the map as he lays it out on his lap, tracing his finger along the small drawn lines. “Why are you scared?,” he teased, glancing up at you with the same smirk still on his face.

Shifting in your seat, you hear a rustling noise from deep in the forest. Chris was immediately alert, putting his hand on his dagger, he was always prepared for anything. His eyes peer, looking around, trying not to make a sound as he tries to find the source of the noise. “What was that?,” you whisper all of a sudden, feeling freighted as you knew these woods weren’t the safe place to be.

“Stay here,” he whispers back, getting off of the carriage and slowly making his way in the direction of the noise, his steps quiet and careful. You on the other hand were stepping on anything and everything that made noise, leaves crunching under your flats and twigs snapping with each step as you followed him. He turns around abruptly, his face turned in a scowl, brunette curls framing his features.

“Do you ever listen?,” he rolls his eyes, continuing to walk further into the woods. “I told you to stay in the carriage,” your footsteps were still loud, if there was any invader, he would know exactly where the two of you were by now. “Since when did I take orders from you,” you snap back, lifting your foot to step over another twig, the hem of your gown getting snagged.

A loud rip echoing through the forest, your jaw dropped as you stumbled forward, certain you would fall face first in the dark soil of the earth. Your limbs dangling from under you as you trip forward, eyes squeezing shut to prepare for the impact. Chris’ hands wrap around your waist, catching you before you fall, your eyes slowly flutter open, seeing his flushed face, his gaze meeting yours. “Told you to stay in the carriage,” he remarks smirking, breaking the silence passing through you both.

Your heart started to flutter suddenly, feeling this pit in your chest you’ve never felt before at his words, you quickly got back up on your feet, brushing off your dress. “We wouldn’t be in this mess, if you didn’t insist on taking this dumb shortcut,” he was quick to let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in dismay as he turned to make his way back to the carriage.

“I thought we were seeing what that noise was?” you question, holding the hem of your dress to prevent further damage. “You’re so loud, if it was a creature of some sort it’s been scared off already. And if it was a person we would’ve been captured by now,” he says, getting back into the carriage, leaving you standing there holding the fabric of your lace pink dress. “Whatever, let’s get back before you get us both killed,” you mutter stepping back onto the carriage. 

“1000 tulips, 1400 sunflowers, 2000 roses,...” The man trails off, crossing each flower off of his paper as Chris stacks the wooden crates in the back of the horse carriage while you stand nearby picking at your nail beds.

“I can’t believe you ripped my dress…” You mutter glancing up at him as he continues his task. “You ripped your dress by yourself,” he replied, dusting his hands off and closing the hatch at the back of the carriage. You groan, glaring at him, watching as he takes the paper from the man and looks over it once more before putting it into his pouch.

“The short cut was your idea, and that’s how my dress ripped. Therefore, it is your fault,” you say matter-of-factly sitting back down in the carriage, watching his jaw clench in annoyance. “I can’t wait to get back and get away from you,” he mumbles under his breath, snapping the reins to get the horses to pull the heavy load back to the kingdom. “You’re saying you didn’t enjoy my company?” you tease a grin plastered on your face.

He stays quiet the rest of the ride back to the castle, you stare ahead, trying not to bore yourself. You and Chris always had a strange sort of relationship, you weren’t friends in fact, you could hardly tolerate each other, always bickering. It all started when your father had hired him, he was a new knight in training, but your father swore he saw something in him. God knows what that was, maybe a headache? That’s all you could think of and that’s all Chris gave you, was a headache.

Of course you two didn’t talk much but when you did, it was always filled with his backhanded comments or teasing words. He had been your father’s guard for a while now, whenever your parents went to another kingdom or to visit some place, he always told Chris to keep an eye on you. As if you weren’t old enough to not have a babysitter, your father had other guards, but he didn’t like them as much as he liked and trusted Chris.

He was one of your father’s younger guards, but he was always on top of his duties, he’s the only one you ever talked to, not like you wanted to talk to him anyways. 

“Thank you, Chris, I knew I could count on you.” Your father chuckled as he looked over the flower order once more while Chris worked on taking the crates out of the carriage. You were standing nearby watching as Chris carried every crate to the entrance of the castle. “You know, you could come to the festival, Chris. If you’d like, the king chuckled as he leaned over and ruffled your hair. “I’m sure Chris has other plans,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, you couldn’t fathom having him at the festival.

He would probably ruin your night by pestering you to no escape. You watched as he staked the last of the crates and dusted his hands before making his way to put away the carriage. “I think I’ll pass, you’ll be needing security tonight, right?” he asks your father, petting the horse’s mane.

The king waved his hand dismissively, he had enough hands on deck, and truly he was sure there would be no need for extreme measures. You open your mouth to say something but your mother’s footsteps stop you, closing your mouth as you give her a small smile.

“It’ll be a pleasure to have you, Chris,” she says, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and hugging you tightly. Holding back an eye roll, you gave him a tight-lipped smile, watching as his smirk crept back up on his face, he started getting back onto the carriage. But not before turning his head to face you and mouthing a quick “See you later princess.”

note: finally i made an intro piece from now on it will be slow updates :)

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns @lezleeferguson-120

🌷: @angelic-sturniolos111 , @ribbonlovergirl

divider: @saradika-graphics

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

Word count: 11.7K

Content warning: Violence, death, descriptions of corpses (including children), war-like scenarios, blood, stressful situations.

Chapter 35 | Chapter 37

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake.”

Exhaling a slow, steadying breath, you shove your letters under the saddle, pressing them firmly into place before swinging yourself up onto Ayana.  

She paws at the soft ground, her head bobbing—eager, almost like she senses what’s coming. And what you’re about to do is either entirely reckless or stubbornly brave. You hope for the latter as you take the reins and steer her toward the main road.  

Before you, the landscape stretches wild in every direction—hills giving way to wide, open plains, with mountains beyond rising like rows of teeth.

You could choose left, ride for the capital, and leave it all behind—bury the truth in convenience, pretend you never saw what lies ahead, turn a blind eye and be with your sister. But under your skin, it prickles, watching as low hanging clouds churn in the distance, hinting at things far worse.  

And you see it.

That slow, continuous thread of dark smoke siphoning into the sky.

That’s your destination.  

East—toward the carnage already unfolding, toward whatever village is unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the force bearing down on Sukuna’s domain. All because of your actions, what you asked of him, and what you did. And you know what lies ahead. Bodies burned beyond recognition, women brutalized, children with their heads bashed in.

Sukuna won’t protect those under his rule.  

But you might.  

Brave or foolish—you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Shifting in the saddle, you grip the muted indigo lining inside your obi and tear the strip of fabric loose. Twisting it, you knot it around your neck and let it hang there.

Taking the reins in one gloved hand, you pat your mare’s neck with the other. She chuffs and stamps a hoof.

“It’s time to go,” you murmur, lifting your chin, eyes fixed on the smudge of orange crouching against the dull horizon. Then you drive Ayana forward.

* * * * *

Riding along the outskirts, beneath the swelling black cloud above, you know the village lies just beyond the hill ahead.

At this distance, it’s quiet. You’re not sure what to think. You’ve come across no one, yet you can feel them—feel the energy shuddering through the air, pressing into you like the throb of an open wound. Others like you—many of them. But one presence rises above all.

Pushing your mare forward, you guide her up the gentle rise. It doesn’t take long to reach the crest, where the world breaks open, and everything comes into view.

You’d like to think devastation and ruin had become a part of your life over time. That being in a union with death itself had exposed you to such things. But looking at what lies before you now, you see how little that truly was in the grand scheme of it all.

The raid must have struck before dawn, tearing the village from its sleep. Body after body, shape upon shape, all resembling people, lie at its edges. Smaller forms that are children. Frail ones that are elderly. It didn’t matter if they ran. They were cut down.

And those still alive flee from the fire that led you here. It burns in scattered pockets, forcing the survivors in every direction—but the assailants don’t let them get far.

You take it all in, the calamity, the loss.

But above all else, there is the sound.

The blaze hisses and crackles, but that’s not what you hear. What you hear are the screams, the wailing, the shouting—all running together like the rush of a storm swallowing everything whole, growing louder, more numerous. Panicked.

Horrible guilt finds its way into your stomach, where it fists and settles.

You take a deep breath.

All the horrors you’ve experienced mean nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

Beneath you, Ayana fidgets, ears pricked. She must sense it too—this violence. But you can't stay here. You need to get down there. Have to.

Reins in hand, you straighten in the saddle and reach for your leather gloves. Some half-buried-alive instinct knocks inside your chest, a warning telling you that this will be brutal. One tug, and the first glove slips free. The second one follows just as quickly, and you push them inside your obi.

No turning back now.

Blood surges, pounding through your veins as you nudge your mare and descend the hill toward the fire.

At first, the ground is easy to traverse—flat and grassy, scorched only where tiny embers have drifted. But as you draw closer, the soil turns uneven, scarred. You guide Ayana through the wreckage of abandoned lives—broken oxcarts, scattered belongings, straw sandals, clothing, things left behind.

Across your path, a gust of wind sweeps through, carrying with it a thick plume of smoke. Cinders float down, soft as snow, tangling in your hair, clinging to your lips, streaking your cheeks. Your eyes burn. You pull the fabric from around your neck, tightening it over your nose, warding off the fetid air and burned flesh.

It stings.

You squint against it.

Just ahead, the first line of bodies rise up from the earth, grey with soot. They lie where they fell, lie with eyes wide, mouths open to circling crows and falling ash. And pressed among them, a child curls in on themselves, arrows sprouting from their tiny frame, small hands outstretched toward the figure beside them, as if reaching for comfort in their final moments.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped there until a blink clears a bit of smoke from your vision.

Numb. You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And yet—disgust, blind rage, hatred—each emotion wedges itself deep in your throat. Sick. Stomach-in-your-throat sick.

You swallow them.

You have to.

There will be time for those later.

In the distance, through the haze, the living flees in every direction. They run, stumble, fall—only to be dragged down by the snare of chaos. You move toward it, urging Ayana into a faster gallop, her hooves tearing into the earth in time with the hammering of your pulse.  

Closer, and the inferno blazes hotter.  

Closer, and more traces of what lies ahead come into view.  

Closer, and down your spine, a searing of energy.  

Sukuna’s presence tightens around you—he’s fighting in this writhing mass of life. But you steer away from where you think he might be, angling toward the north end of the village instead.  

Get in, get out. Usher as many to safety as you can.  

Simple.  

Hopefully.  

But maybe you’ll die here.  

Your hands tighten around the reins.  

But let’s try not to, okay?  

Gaining speed, you tuck in close to Ayana’s neck, her silver mane lashing against your cheek. She’s tense beneath you, muscles coiled, stride steady. Your heartbeat roars inside your ears.  

Closer.  

The screams swell.  

Closer. 

The splintering of wood groans under heat. 

Closer.  

You barrel into another layer of thick smoke, tunnel through and burst out the other side.

The village snaps into view.  

So do the assaulters. Their clothing, their insignias, barely visible through the haze but you see it. 

Heian-kyō and—  

Zen’in.

Bastards.

“Rider!” A voice cuts through the melee.  

Your head jerks to the sound just as a dozen eyes snap toward you.  

For a beat, there’s confusion. Feet scuffle. A clang. The glint of weapons.  

You yank Ayana left, then right, weight shifting, hooves striking, weaving tight arcs around fallen beams and bodies. You drive her toward a narrow break in the wreckage—a clear path to relative safety.

But a man steps out from behind the ribs of a collapsed home, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

He releases.

Whoosh.

You throw yourself low into the saddle, making yourself small as it streaks past your head.

Your breath snags. You twist—just in time to see it quivering in the dirt behind you.

Fuck. Too close.

“Kill her!” A command from somewhere in the fray.

Squeezing your thighs, you yank hard on the reins, wheeling Ayana around the archer. But stance widening, he moves with you, grin sharp, nocking a second time.

Your pulse pounds. His fingers tighten on the string—

He draws.

Aims.

Shit.

At this distance—

Under your fingertips, an ache flickers to life. You know what needs to be done.

“Come on, girl! Stretch your legs!”

Ayana’s breath heaves in the smoky air, but she pushes harder, galloping straight into his path—a smear of snowmelt against dust.

The archer squints into the cloudy morass, arrow set, wavering between you and the swarms of shifting bodies.

Seconds. That’s all you had. Seconds to reach him and end this.

You push harder.

The distance closes.

Tightens.

Collapses.

You make it, fingers shooting out, brushing the grip of his bow hand, right where it steadies the riser.

The arrow flies—

Misses.

Because by then, the decay has already started, crawling up from the point of contact, and his hand falters. Knees slamming into the dirt, he drops, and a satisfying shriek bursts from his chest.

Speeding away, you glance back just as the swelling overtakes him, his body tearing itself apart from within. It starts with the bones. Bursting through the skin, they erupt in a messy spray of blood and innards that uncoil like soggy plants to the ground. 

There’s a scream. Then silence.

For a heartbeat, everything stills. Your eyes search the area as the atmosphere shifts. Some of the surrounding men hesitate, a few peeling away, backing off instead of advancing.

Good.

You take it as your cue to move.

Skin humming with power, you tear down the empty, narrow path at full speed, forging your way to the north end with Ayana thundering beneath you. Anyone in your way—anyone attacking, butchering, skewering civilians—you touch. And it’s quick. An unsuspecting graze, a skim of a finger at the back of a neck as you streak past, so light and gentle you almost wish it wasn’t.

Still, they all die.

As they should.

Hooves drumming faster against the earth, teeth rattling, your body moving with your mare’s powerful gait, you break through the far end of the village. The smoke thins, and near its edges, a cluster of frightened people picks their way through the wreckage, stumbling, confused and disoriented.

“I can help you!” you call, slowing beside them. But they shrink back, wary.

Understandable.

You pull the cloth loose from around your face, letting it hang at your neck as you wipe soot and sweat from your forehead and cheeks.

“Keep heading for the treeline,” you urge, lifting a hand to motion toward the forest. “I’ll hold anyone off.”

At least there, they’ll have cover to escape—instead of running into the open fields or back only to be slaughtered like animals. And if anyone follows them into the forest… then you’ll take it down with you. A last-ditch effort. Decay the area. Be the final pillar standing between them and their pursuers. But that’s if you can control it a second time the way the King of Curses dragged it from you.

“Back there.” An elderly woman steps forward, her face folded in distress, swathes of clothing soaked in blood, though it’s unclear if it’s hers or someone else’s. “Our men are still fighting.” She trails a trembling finger toward the village at your back, her voice tight with urgency. “Help them instead.”

Swallowing, you glance toward the treeline, then back to where she points toward the madness.

You hesitate.

The woman takes another step as if to urge you, her expression pleading despite the exhaustion weighing down her frame.

They’ll make it. They have to.

You exhale sharply, then pull the cloth back over your nose.

“Keep going!” you press, squeezing your thighs into Ayana. “I’ll help the others.” 

Get in. Get out.

Simple.

Nodding once to the staggering group, you urge your mare on, who streams forward, and you’re gone.

Fires still burn down the center of the village, their glow licking at the shifting ground. Bodies move in a tide, crashing and breaking over one another. Mounds of figures. Hills and dips of them. Still, you carve into the onslaught, right into the heart of the struggle, where ruined homes smoulder and the assault continues to bleed.

Under the fabric pressed across your face, the stench seeps in. You gag. Filth, blood, sweat, the shit and urine of frightened people all mingling together with the flames that sting your senses.

But you take it in.

The villagers wield whatever they could cobble together—crude spears, small blades—desperately trying to hold their ground. But it's a fight they're bound to lose.

Scanning the battlefield, you’ve never been in something like this before, never faced this kind of violence, and you’re unsure where to go first. There’s movement everywhere. Too many screams of grief and agony, overlapping with bodies dropping, open bones flashing, limbs mutilated, blood pouring to the earth.

It’s hell—a gaping pit of it. And you’re standing at the precipice.

That recklessness and stubborn bravery you felt earlier evaporate. And all you can do is watch.

Until you hear it.

A louder, broken cry rises, cutting above the crush. A girl’s scream. Visceral and raw, and dripping with terror.

Head snapping toward it, you shove your insecurities down your throat and move.

Veering left, you push Ayana forward. She’s already moving as fast as she can, but she’s starting to lag, her sides heaving, coat slick with sweat and grit. You won’t get there in time, not like this.

Leaning over your mare’s neck, you scan the shifting mass, peering above heads and weapons—then you see her. The girl. She’s young. A man in armour leathers nearly triple her size, drags her close to a half-fallen hut.

You need to get there.  

Now.  

“Oi!”  

Throwing yourself off Ayana, your feet slam into the dirt. Yanking off your covering, you give her a sharp smack to the hind. She whinnies, lurching forward, tearing away toward cover.

You run.

Shoving through the thickest of fighting, into grunting men, slipping between gaps, squeezing past sweaty bodies, you force your way through whatever space you can find.

“Leave her alone!”

The warrior doesn’t stop. His grip tightens. He yanks her close, dragging at her arm, jerking her off balance. Between glimpses of his broad, moving figure, you see her face.

Days later, you’ll still remember this moment, exactly how it felt when you saw her tear-streaked cheeks, her wide, bright, terrified eyes.

Sickness lumps in your belly. You know what’s about to happen and the thought alone drives you faster, legs burning, steps hammering into the earth.

I can make it.

You run for her.

“Stop it!” Your voice rises as you tear free from one cluster, just as two men crash across your path. You dart around them, weaving through the chaos—dodging people, dodging weapons, dodging a spasm of energy that erupts from nowhere.

Still, the man doesn’t stop, he continues. You can hear her sobs now, can see him crash a fist across her face, bloodying it.

“Don’t touch her!” you scream, barely paces away—when his right arm suddenly shoots sideways.  

He lets her go. And she falls.  

The girl crumples. Boneless. 

You freeze, heart stumbling. Take another step.

Too late.  

It’s only when you get close enough that you see the kaiken in his hand. The fine arc he carved through her delicate throat.

Your gaze drops.

There, in the dirt, her body arches violently, mouth agape, opening and closing around air that won’t come—because that slit spills too much red across her skin, choking each attempt.  

Your mouth trembles. And helpless, all you can do is watch.

Watch until finally, she goes still.

I’m sorry. 

So damn still.

I’m so sorry.

The man, his back still facing you, grunts in satisfaction. But you don’t hear him. You don’t acknowledge him. You just stare at the girl—perhaps only just reaching her twelfth year. Probably never seen anything beyond this village. Never to see anything more than this. Be anything more than this.

Fodder.

Something to be used and discarded, buried with the rest of this place.

And didn’t you know how that felt.

A cold, hard rage falls over you, a cleaving storm and sea of emotions.

You raise your eyes to him, and you use it.

Use the same anger that burned through you last night. Use the emotions that twisted inside when you saw the child, arrows jutting from their small body. Use the knowledge, the hate, the bitter understanding that the capital would unleash such cruelty on its own people just to destroy a monster they so desperately want to punish. Use every ounce of self-loathing you’ve let rot within, every lost dream, every life cut short, every sightless stare. Even the memory of that tiny life you took too soon, before it ever had the chance to open its eyes to the world to begin with.

Your hands lift.

That discolouration shudders down your forearms, spreading like fine cracks through fragile, broken glass. Energy throbs within—you try to wrangle it, breathe through it, control it. But even the small pieces of advice Sukuna gave you, to focus on breath, drains the moment the man turns, lifting the small scales of his leathers to inspect them briefly before wiping the blood-slicked dagger across his uwa-obi. Then, he looks at you with greedy eyes and smiles.

Smiles.

He even spits out a laugh as if the thought of you fighting him is some tremendous joke. As if you are nothing more than a farce.

But being underestimated has its advantages. And if you die, you’ll die dragging him down with you.

“Stupid thing,” he huffs around his teeth, nudging his head toward the girl, and your eyes shoot down to her lifeless body. “You want to end up like that, do you?” 

At his words, your throat closes—your failure staring right back at you.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a seed grows, and a wicked flower takes root.

A pause.

You lift your head.

An animal, when cornered, will not hesitate to attack.

You don’t feel your body as your mind is lost to outrage, and you lunge. Screaming.

In seconds, you're on him, fingers darting for his weapon hand, the only part of him not covered.

“Ugly little scab,” he hisses, barreling forward, an enormous, living wall of muscle and cloth. “I’ll put you in your fucking place!”

His elbow slams into your jaw.

The ground tips beneath you.

Your ears ring, head snapping sideways, the impact setting off a pulse that throbs like a second heartbeat.

Groaning, you stumble back, the taste of iron pooling in your mouth. Blinking against the pain, you lift your head, expressionless. He makes no move for his weapon. Instead, his fingers curl inward as if enjoying the thought of breaking you apart with his bare hands.

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

When you move again, you’re faster—unhindered by armour. Light on your feet, you reach him, your grip hooking around his wrist before sliding lower, tracing over his exposed fingers.

An intimate touch. Like holding hands.

His eyes snap downward, sneering at the gesture—then, confusion flickers across his face. Before he can react, he collapses into the dirt where he belongs.

You step back, watching him crumple, writhing pathetically in on himself.

Bending, you peel open his hand before his body deteriorates and the weapon is lost to his flesh.

“Thank you,” you say flatly, savouring his heaving breaths and wide eyes, watching as putrefaction spreads, splitting his skin like dry, cracked earth.

“I admire when big men like you make mistakes.”

Reaching into his spasming palm, you pluck the dagger free.

“And besides—” You straighten, giving him a humourless smile just as the pressure in his stomach swells, bloating like a pustule.

“Guess even a stupid thing like me can handle a small blade.”

Stepping away, you ignore the putrid implosion, revelling in his demise for a single heartbeat and turn, ready to launch yourself at the next assailant when—

Your entire world flips sideways.

The battlefield tilts. Sounds dim.

You topple weightless to the ground, the impact crashing into your chest.

You gasp, unable to breathe.

Looking up, you reorient yourself only to realize someone has tackled you from behind, the blood-slick terrain lying parallel to your eyes.

Rolling over, you peer up just as the assailant's foot slams into your ribs.

Agony screams its way through your torso. Breath punches past your lungs. You cough violently, clutching the retrieved blade tightly in your palm.

He attacks again, this time with a wakizashi raised.

Shit.

Move!

You fling yourself across slick, slipping through filth, heat, and corpses.

Clang!

Barely dodging the downward swing and low whine of the weapon, you scramble back, a rush of air hissing past your ear.

“Don’t kill her!”

What?

Your head snaps to the voice issuing the command. The order throws you off guard, but through the crowds you can’t find the source.

Head whipping back, and before the attacker advances, you dive forward on your stomach, stabbing blindly. The blade sinks into his shin, scraping bone. He shrieks. You push quickly to your knees, then feet, balancing on your toes to lay your fingertips on his exposed neck.

It’s enough.

On contact, you’re moving to the next opponent rapidly closing the distance and ducking under the blunt end of a polearm swinging for your chest.

He misses. You peel away.

But it doesn’t matter who comes at you after. Whether you’re bashed across the face, your movements turn slow and sluggish, whether you’re overpowered by someone larger than you, if you’re kneed in the stomach, screamed at, spat on, cut, stabbed, bludgeoned.

That’s fine.

You keep fighting.

Sinking low, you dodge the rebounding weapon. It slices past, wind brushing your cheek as you drop, diving for an ankle.

Touch—

Then you’re up again, and exhausted, you keep going.

Dodge.

Your hands grasp for any bit of skin.

Stab.

Stabbing to incapacitate.

Then touch—they die.

Over and over, again and again.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Across the center of the village, clambering over bodies and shallow pits of fire you move. It’s not elegant nor is it graceful, but the mindless rhythm is carving its way into you.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

At this point, you don’t even know your own name, let alone what you’re doing. All you’re dimly aware of is the next fucking bastard hurtling at you then—

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Often not in that order. Sometimes, you’re beaten to the upper hand, and some part of your body pays the price.

Still.

Bruised, broken, reshaped. Madness takes over.

Now, you’re screaming, eyes glazed, barely registering your surroundings—the dwindling attackers, the villagers fighting beside you. But then, you’re panting, and it doesn’t take long to notice a group of men breaking away, surrounding you in a tight barricade.

Six. Seven. Ten. Fifteen of them.

Tension winds into your belly in thick, pulsing waves.

A snake pit.

Breaths heaving, you cock your head, surveying the circle closing in. They know, and you know that you’re cornered. So, there’s only one way out of this.

Gaze flicking downward, you search across the ground until you spot a little patch of green. Your eyes snap back up, meeting the faces encircling you. The men are quiet, and silence deepens—then shatters all at once.

“Take her!”

The shout is nearly swallowed by the flames eating the morning air. But you hear it. Again, not kill her. Not end her. Take her.  

As in, capture?

When they advance, they move as one, surging forward, eyes alight with a wild intensity to bring you down. 

But you don’t move. You wait. And you count. 

Three.  

Let them come.

Two.  

Let them get closer. 

One.  

Only when they’re just out of reach do you toss the blade aside and drop, graceless, to the ground—one knee slamming hard. Someone shouts a warning, but your palms are already hitting the grass, fingers pressing into sharp, tiny blades, massaging in deep.

You breathe, hoping this will work a second time.

Please let this work a second time.

Then release.  

The rot spreads.  

Snaking out in choppy directions, it clambers away from you, the stain spreading and reaching onto feet and up legs, eating its way through to touch skin.  

The first few fall, the decay crawling over them, hungry, expanding in messy tendrils. Flesh blackens, stiffens, and flakes apart in fatty layers. Some collapse instantly, their legs rotting to brittle husks. Others stagger, bodies twisting as the sickness chews through them piece by raw piece.

But it’s inconsistent.

Sluggish in places. Fast in others.

It leaps between targets, missing some entirely, leaving patches of untouched ground even as others dissolve into the dirt. Your breath turns shallow. Last night, it felt controlled, this time, it writhes as something undisciplined.

Then it slows, and it stops.

And one of them slips through.

Shit.

A man on the outer edge barely escapes the rot, his leg dangling—half-consumed, eaten up to the thigh—yet he’s still moving. His face tightens with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he staggers toward you, dragging the ruined limb behind.

His blade swings up.

You lurch back, scrambling to stand, but somehow he’s faster. He swings—not to cut, but to strike.

Take her.

The flat of his katana whips against your collarbone, the shock rattling through to the marrow and roots of your teeth.

Pain erupts as he steps in, aiming to wrestle you down as his hand snatches at your wrist, grip tight and bruising. He wrenches you toward him. Too tired, you reel, sucking in a breath, but before he can force you to the ground, a polearm ruptures through his abdomen, making him choke on a wet scream.

You freeze, peering up just as one of the surviving villagers steps into view, gripping the weapon. With a sharp thrust of his leg, he kicks the body free, letting it slump to the ground.

Right.

You push to your feet, legs wobbly, body awash in sweat. 

You’d forgotten about the others—too caught in what seemed like crazed bloodlust, teetering on the pinnacle of something you’d never quite felt before.

Swallowing, you scan them. A handful remain, panting, recovering, their garments stiff with gore, the ground at your feet crowded with Heian-kyō and Zen’in corpses.

“Thank you,” you rasp to the spearman. He steps back with a gentle nod, the staff of his weapon resting on the ground.

“There’s more.” You gesture over your shoulder before turning. “Others. They’re all converging at—” Ragged breaths seize your lungs. “At the edge of the forest. I’ll take you there.”

You hesitate just long enough to ensure they follow, then step away.

But you barely take another step before the low thunk of wet flesh hits your ears, followed by a gurgling cry.

You turn.

“No, no, no.” You catch the man who had just protected you by the edges of his garment. He was only walking paces behind; now an arrow sits lodged in his throat, the trembling shaft and tip sticking out the back of his neck.

With his strength falling away, he staggers closer, mouth opening and closing as blood streams across his chin. Your brow furrows, he goes limp, head lolling onto your shoulder.

As your knees bend, dipping with his weight, you try to ease him off gently, but there’s a loud cry. Somebody shouts.

A sound follows. Whistling, from above.

You look up.

The sky shudders, as if a thousand, tiny wings are beating at once.

Feathers. Bamboo shafts.

Arrows.

A wall of them.

They arc overhead, blotting out the smoke—falling faster than air should be able to carry them. And they’re all aimed at the remaining survivors.

At that moment, you can’t breathe.

Or move.

For long, foolish seconds, you can only stare.

Panic in every corner of your being.

And that’s when everyone around you starts to run.

Someone crashes into you, sending you and the dying man sprawling forward. The ground rushes up, and you slam into it, the body following.

Left and right. Feet suddenly pound, running while the earth trembles and clatters with the hail of arrows. Panicked villagers surge to outrun the onslaught, and that’s when the first body topples onto you.

It starts small.

And it only gets worse.

Muscles burning, you fight to your stomach and try to drag yourself free, but more weight collapses on top. A glance over your shoulder reveals someone struck down, lying across your back. Dead weight.

Then, another one joins.

And another.

And another.

That’s when you realize—

They’re being picked off, one by one, and falling into a growing pile that is slowly burying you.

Urgency crashes over you.

Get up, get up, get up!

You struggle forward, but the crush of them, the panic of those still running, only fuels the desperate need to get away.

And you can’t blame them. They’re so close to surviving this.

Were.

A groan tears from your chest, the weight, the sheer mass of limbs and torsos pressing in. It thickens and suffocates until you are no longer just yourself but a mound of dead flesh, an organism swallowing the earth.

You curl in, shielding your face.

Crack, as more weight slams into the heap. The light begins to dim, like the sun is setting.

Cold understanding climbs through you.

This is it. Buried alive.

You consider screaming for help. But who would hear you under here? Anyone?

Inside your head, a voice laughs. Laughs at the woman who caused this. Allowed this. Helped put these people in the line of fire, turning this place into what it is. And now, she’s trapped beneath it.

Funny.

Crack!

Eyes squeezed shut, you listen as the sound of arrows striking flesh pulls down more bodies. Cries surround you. Then go silent. Somewhere at the top of the pile, someone is begging. For what, you’re not sure, only that it’s a faint, trembling please.

Fingers raw and digging into the dirt, you claw toward the last, faint sliver of light threading through the tangled mess of cloth and cooling skin.

But another corpse drops, sealing it shut.

You still.

Gone is the flicker of fire on the other side. Gone are your stilted movements. Your escape.

It’s all gone.

So dark. 

* * * * *

Silk and light and warmth. Open air and softly pressing bodies. Shifting robes and summer on the wind.

Comfort.

You stand in the middle of the market, your mother holding your smaller hand in one and Yuna’s in the other.

Around you, the world is a riot of different senses—stalls lined with bolts of dyed fabric, hues bright in the hot sun; baskets of fat persimmons and plums piled high beside earthenware jars of thick pickled roots. Your tongue coats itself with saliva at the thought of their stickiness.

From somewhere deeper within the market, an instrument twangs, the rich sound met by the brighter clatter of a drum. Above it all, a singer’s voice floats, laughter peeling away from a gathered crowd watching a performer twirl a fan between skillful fingers.

Your eyes sit wide open, taking it all in, and eagerly you move through it.

“Whose turn is it to decide what we bring home?” your mother asks, squeezing your hand gently in hers.

At five years old, you’ve come to treasure these monthly outings—a simple ritual where you or Yuna get to pick a small delight to bring back to the Kasai compound. This time, it’s your turn. And your sights are set on sticky rice cakes wrapped in fragrant leaves or thin wafers dipped in sweet syrup.

“Me,” you announce proudly, flashing her a beaming smile. “It’s my turn.”

Above, your mother’s lip curves, and she winks, making your cheeks puff up before laughter breaks free.

“To the vendor with the sweets, then!” she declares, swinging you forward—then repeating the motion with Yuna, who lands with a giggle.

Back and forth you go, propelled by her hands, making a spectacle when really the three of you should be practicing the artistry of decorum.

But your father isn’t here.

So what use are manners and politeness when it’s just the three of you? No commands to follow today. No strict rules. No yelling.

Weaving your way through the narrow stalls, their vibrant colours blur past until your mother gently guides you both toward a section where the air is soaked with the scent of sweetness. Too short to see above the crowd and over the cloth-draped stall in front, you glance at your mother instead.

“Are we here?” you whisper, voice quiet as you look up. “I’m pretty sure I smell it.”

“Me too,” Yuna nods in agreement.

Your mother slips her hands from yours, crouching low, her elegant kimono rippling at her sides as she meets your gaze.

You always believed she was some kind of goddess. That feeling never went away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” she says, tapping a finger lightly to the top of your nose. You scrunch it up immediately, earning another small smile. “We’ve arrived.”

“We’ve arrived!” you and your sister chime together.

Grinning, your mother rises to her full height.

“I’ll be a moment.” She nods toward the vendor. “Why don’t the two of you look around and see if there’s anything new.”

Turning, she considers the selection above, head tilting thoughtfully as she studies the offerings. 

Yuna shifts beside you, and you feel her lean in.

“So,” she says, eyes bright. “Are you going to eat yours right away like last time?”

You look at her, thinking—but deep down, you already know the answer.

“It’s too good not to have right away. All that tasty, yummy stuff.” You end your declaration with a confident nod.

Yuna smiles.

Eyes wandering past her, they land on a basket filled with trinkets. Among them rests a small glass bead—like a seed, the kind kept hidden away in a pouch.

“You know what that says about you, right?” she comments, and your eyes pull back as she steps closer.

“That I enjoy eating sweets?”

“No.” She shakes her head, eyes falling to where your gaze was. “That you’re impulsive.”

Impulsive.

The word feels too big, something far beyond just sweets.

“What does that mean?” you ask quietly.

Yuna huffs, but it’s not out of exasperation.

“You always eat it right away. Like you’re afraid it’ll disappear.”

You blink at her.

“Is that bad?”

She tilts her head, staring at you like she’s discovering something new.

“Not always.” There’s a pause, a consideration. “But sometimes, it means you don’t stop to think. You just… take.”

Your gaze dances back to the bead.

“And that’s… bad?”

From the corner of your eye, her smile widens.

“Not if you take the right thing.”

She sidles closer, the tips of her toes peeking out from beneath her kimono to brush against the stall.

“I dare you to take it,” she whispers, raising a finger to point at the delicate gem you’ve been eyeing. Light catches in it—soft, smooth surface refracting into a thousand shifting colours.

You frown down at Yuna’s hand.

“I’m not so sure,” you mutter.

Her smile rises, and her cheeks swell.

“It’s not stealing if no one notices,” she offers with a shrug.  

Your gaze flickers caught between—bead, finger, face.

“But what if I get caught?” 

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand moves, reaching out, fingers circling lightly around yours, warm and steady. She leans in, eyes shining.

“Don’t worry.” Her voice is soft but certain, like she’s declaring a truth you should already know. “I won’t let anything happen to you.

And then, right here, inside your head, you believe her.

Gods, do you.

Yuna has never been afraid of anything. Not the dark, not the stories of cursed spirits waiting in the woods, not even the screaming voice of your father when he was displeased. You’ve always admired that about her—the way she moves through the world like she already owns it.

And right now, she’s sure of this.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a traitorous itch you’ve felt lately. 

Tossing a quick glance at your mother, you see she’s still speaking with the vendor.

“Okay…”

Yuna exhales beside you, releasing her gentle grip.

Your eyes dart back to the bead glimmering under the market sun. It’s delicate, harmless.

I can do this.

Tapping a step forward, compelled, and the noise of the market dulls. Quiets. Only the soft vibrations of the bodies around you remain.

Tingles prickle into your face as your hand lifts.

Above the stall, a shadow moves.

You freeze and hesitate.

“It’s simple,” Yuna urges in a whisper.

The vendor shifts, reaching for something just behind the counter.

Pulse hammering at your ears, you push forward, eyes locked on the little, glinting gem.

She won’t let anything happen to me.

You smile.

Up, and your hand opens, fingers curving, brushing against the cool surface.

“There you go,” Yuna breathes. “Simple.”

You lift it free.

And it’s yours.

* * * * *

Sudden weight is dragged off you.

Light spills through.

You can breathe—suck in a breath. Deep, ragged, gasping. Smoke clogs your throat, burning on the way down. Dirty lungfuls, but still—air. Fucking air.

Squinting against the sudden glare through the gap in the pile of bodies, you look up. From where you lie, curled inward, a face looks down at you. A face with a smirk attached to it. A man’s face. Black hair. Dark grey eyes.

No.

“Look what I’ve found.”

Kaito Zen’in’s smile widens before his hands plunge into the tangle of corpses and wrench you free.

Body aching, you’re dragged out by the forearms, your feet stumbling over the villagers you tried—and failed—to save. Your gaze lingers on their faces until you’re steered away, pulled forward through the village, where the ground stretches ahead, muddy and exposed. No grass, nothing alive.

Kaito doesn’t release you until a ring of men closes in, encasing you. There are too many—more coming, more than before. A mix of Heian-kyō and Zen’in, all watching you like you’re missing something.

And something does feel wrong.

To your left, at the edge of the crowd, a horse’s loud whine hits your ears. Ayana. Through the bodies, you can see her light coat, the way she jerks and pulls against the reins, wild-eyed and skittish, fighting against a man’s grip.

Your lip twitches.

Resisting the urge to push through the group to get to her, you force your attention back to Kaito.

“What is this?” Meeting his stare, you roll your shoulders, trying to force life back into them after being crushed. “Need this many men to kill one woman and a village of innocents?”

That smirk of his stretches into an indulgent grin.

“No,” he says with a careless shrug. “We have no intention of killing you.”

So you say.

Eyes sweeping to the katana at his side, you notice his fingers hovering near the handle and the strange hum of energy rolling off it, something you hadn’t picked up on in your previous encounters.

“Then why are you here?” Your focus turns back to him. “If not for that?”

Zen’in doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a few steps forward, stares, then circles once before stopping in front of you. Tall. Muscular. Strong. Flawless. He’s built like a man you’d dearly love to punch in the face.

“You made quite the mess today,” he says, lifting a brow, ignoring your question as he gestures past the wall of onlookers—toward what can only be the rot and decay, the bodies you mutilated to get here. “Can’t say the men were thrilled about it. Like a little storm all on your own, one of pestilence and disease .”

He spits the last words out like they’re poison, and you fight back the dry laugh climbing up your throat.

“It was impressive,” he adds, idly tracing a fingertip along the weapon’s tsuba, caressing it like a lover. “A little sloppy, but still—impressive. Though—” He pauses, tilting his head. “I’d expect nothing less from the woman who stands at Ryomen Sukuna’s side.”

Teeth finding their way to the inside of your cheek, you bite down. It’s barely been hours since you separated, and already you feel pathetic. Just hearing his name presses a fresh wave of emotions through you. Raw ones. Painful ones. Yearning ones… Ones you wouldn’t mind letting go of. 

“I don’t stand at anyone’s side,” you mutter.

“Oh?” Zen’in lifts his head, giving you a haughty look. “What’s it been—two months? And already, there are marital issues? Did he not satisfy you enough? Or—” his gaze drags over you, slow and lecherous, “—was it the other way around?”

Scattered laughter breaks from the line of men, blasting past their throats.

Your lip curls. His grin grows.

“Are you speaking from experience?” you muse flatly.

“No,” he quips, “I have a son.”

As if that alone proves his worth. As if that alone proves anything.

“I wasn’t looking for you, you know,” Kaito continues, exhaling sharply as he smooths the front panels of his dark blue kimono, like this entire interaction has suddenly become an inconvenience. 

“Thought you���d be south, tucked away at his shrine. Yet here you stand—at the heart of all this.” He gestures lazily, hands spreading wide, presenting the carnage around you.

Behind, the fire crackles, its heat pressing in close. Sweat beads at your nape, sliding down to soak into your already-drenched garments, while a gritty breeze slouches through, stirring the smoke and pushing it into your lungs.

“Seems you have a way of finding trouble,” Zen’in smirks, but his eyes have changed, hardening above the curve of his mouth.

“And yet, it was you who came looking for me.”

At least, you assume they’re looking for you—or, at the very least, they want you for something. You’ve torn through both Heian-kyō and Zen’in forces, yet neither side has made any real effort to take you down.

“Ah, well.” Zen’in pauses. “Orders, you understand.”

And there it is. Orders.

“Whose orders?” You try to smile, try to defuse the growing unease making space in your gut. “I refuse to believe anyone would want me for anything.”

Stepping closer, his expression shifts, draining of all feeling.

You tense.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“The new head of the Kasai clan,” he says.

Few things could unsettle you after today's horrors, yet that—that gives you pause.

Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself.

Your father’s written words stumble through your head.

Eyes flicking discreetly over the crowd, your foot shifts back.

“You're lying.” You step away from Zen'in. “My clan is gone.”

“You think so, do you?” he drawls, before he turns, murmuring something to the nearby men, words you can’t hear, ones not meant for you.

He’s wrong. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

“No.” He prowls back. “The Kasai clan’s new leader was very particular about this request.”

Trust no one.

You don’t want to ask.

Trust yourself.

You shouldn’t ask.

Remember.

But your mouth forms the word anyway.

Remember your mother.

“Who?”

He merely smiles—a twitching, almost sad, belittling one.

“Your sister,” he says. “And now, you are wanted for crimes against the Kasai clan.”

World gone quiet. The bodies around you spinning. The only thing you hear in that sentence is sister.

Your sister.

My sister.

Yuna. The one constant in your life.

“That’s not possible.”

Not probable.

“Hm, I think it is.” 

“Then… this is a mistake.” You need to move. Pace. Your foot creeps back again.

Kaito’s grey eyes dart away, landing on the men who stand all too eager and poised. Every muscle in your body tightens at that look.

“You lazy bastards can move now.”

He glances back at you. Another smirk, a delighted one. His fingers wander to his katana, grip there he nudges his chin.

Your heart kicks faster.

“Take her,” he says flatly, then steps away.

Your heart drops. The horde moves.

All of them.

Loud and quick and arriving within seconds, they come with their hands.

Hands on you. Hands everywhere. Hands all over you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you snarl just as someone jostles, then barrels into you from behind, sending you sprawling forward.

You thrash, but down here—on your knees, where the crowd towers over you—they’re too tall to see past, just like that day at the market. And for the briefest moment, you wonder what ever happened to that little glass bead? That harmless dare? But the thought crawls away as the swarm presses in, shoving you lower.

Your chest hits the mud. Your hands slam into the ground, fingernails scraping against cracked dirt as your lungs heave with the force. Someone wrenches your arms back until your shoulders strain, fire searing in their sockets.

“This is a mistake!” you rasp, cheek pressed against the cold. “My sister wouldn’t want this!”

She wouldn’t want this.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She—

The ground shifts as someone plants their feet on either side of you, they straddle your back, all their weight pressing down.

Ayana screams. You can’t see her, but you can hear her.

“Please!” You don’t mean to fucking beg, but it’s all you can think to say as more pressure crowds in, pinning you.

“Daughter of Lord Kasai.” A man from the capital steps forward. "You stand accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup."

“What?” Your brow creases, crumpling down, eyes stinging with a sense of betrayal.

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.

You go to open your mouth to protest, but a piece of fabric, sweat-stained and salt-bitten, is pushed into your teeth. It’s tied there, the grip adjusted, and then there’s a pull. Your spine comes up into a painful arch. You try to scream, but the cloth strangles the cry. You try to crawl away, to twist, to fight—but your body shudders under the heavy weight.

And then something hums through the air. Sings like molten metal.

You still. Nostrils flaring, breaths hot and shallow around the gag. 

The men part, shifting back—as if whatever is coming, they don’t want to touch.

“Thus,” the man continues, “you shall be condemned as such.”

Lifting your head, you catch his gaze sliding right—to another figure stepping forward, hands gripping a long, narrow piece of metal that warps the air around it, heat curling in its wake.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

Your lungs won’t open. You can’t breathe. Terror, icy-toothed and razor sharp, it bleeds into every sense as the branding iron swims into view—its tip swollen and breathing fire.

A tear slides down your nose.

“Don’t do this!” Around the cloth comes the muffled demand. At the corners of your eyes, they sting.

“Open her palm.”

The suggestion comes from somewhere, and your right arm is wrenched back, fingers pried open, forced apart.

And you feel it. The heat of the blistering metal drawing closer and closer.

Panic ignites through the dark place you sink into. Toes digging into the dirt, you thrash. Push. Fight.

Useless.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She can’t.

Unseen prodding fingers. Energy moving around your neck. You barely notice the heavy disturbance in pressure brushing against you, until every hair along your spine lifts. And it’s gentle. Soothing. Behind the gag, your breath catches, eyes snapping to the left.

But you’re not ready for gentleness.

Some shameful part of you wants to look away, wanting to flinch at being handled like this, at being put in such a vulnerable position. So similar to last night. And yet, not.

Because a sick, twisted part of you knows—

He wouldn’t do this to you.

But that shame moves away, drowned out by the veritable fury pouring off the King of Curses in mouthfuls.

Before you, everything narrows. Somehow, the crowd has moved—legs have shifted, bodies have parted. He approaches like a fallen deity of death. Dark kimono slung low at his hips, blood drooling off him, that great trishula clinging to his back like a fifth limb. The iron still hovers, blistering hot at your back, and you fight against it, but your eyes stay locked on Sukuna, his on yours. His, nowhere else.

But behind him, a streak of something.

A smear of midnight blue tears through the smoke.

Your eyes strain.

Zen’in Kaito.

Unmistakable, even from here.

And he’s fast. Unnaturally so. Despite his katana being drawn and every line of his body swollen with motion, he doesn’t slow—not even when aiming straight for Sukuna’s head.

“Sukuna!” Your scream buries itself in the gag.

Zen’in’s weapon comes up.

The four-armed demon stops. Studies you. Moves.

Upper left hand shooting behind his back, fingers gripping the spear, he rips it free from his obi and turns. Fast.

Metal clashes. The impact thunders.

A burst of air throws back your hair as the shockwave washes over everything, extinguishing fires, tossing debris, rumbling the earth.

The two men break apart.

They surge together.

There’s a second violent sting when their weapons collide, recoil, then grind in a bone-rattling scrape.

Snarling, Sukuna’s massive body lurches. Zen’in is forced back, startled, off-balance, his feet skidding across the ground. His head swivels toward the men.

“Get her the fuck out of here!” he barks, levelling his katana to attack.

Useless on the ground, you can only look up. Around you, chaos erupts. Feet slam into the ground, orders fly. The seam that split the crowd earlier is stitched back up, blocking your view of Sukuna, but you can hear him fighting.

Tangled in combat with Kaito, the King of Curses snaps his head over his shoulder, his lower right hand swinging toward you.

Flick, and a rush sweeps over your head.

There’s a slash.

Hot liquid bursts across your spine, thick splatters spilling as the weight pinning you down disappears.

You move. Lifting yourself, you push to your knees, eyes locking on the freshly severed head and body beside you.

Another ripple distorts the air. You can’t see past the dirt and movement, but you hear Ayana rear back—then bolt.

Turning, you eye the man holding the branding iron straightening before you.

Gripping the gag in your mouth, you rip it free, drop it to the ground and spit.

You glare at him.

“I suppose you’re first,” you mutter.

You don’t give him time to prepare. You lunge for him.

But he’s not standing still, either.

Eyes following his movements, you avoid the burning metal as it’s swung toward you. Heat hissing, it hurtles downward.

The edge of your kimono sizzles as the iron catches it.

Shit.

Jerking back, you reset your stance, stepping away, and he comes with you.

The metal arcs.

This time the air around it hums loudly with the force.

Feinting, your feet take you left and right before rushing in. His arm lifts to block, but your fingers find his wrist.

It’s over.

With a single touch, you sever yourself from him.

The iron slips from his grasp and he collapses, knees buckling, folding inward.

Heart in your ears, you watch the way he crumples, scratching at his garment as if he could peel away his skin and scrape out the decay eating him alive. But this… this isn’t nearly as satisfying as watching the death of the brute who killed that young girl.

That had felt like something else entirely. Hunger. Hungry.

Hungry—to see him rot, to watch him wither and die. Hungry in your brain to witness more and—

“Are you injured?” A deep voice grinds out from behind.

Sukuna.

Tipping your head back, you catch his profile—his broad back to you, two left eyes peeking over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed when he got so close.

“No. Just some bruising,” you mumble, peering past those red slits, noting that Zen’in is gone—but the others remain. “Surprisingly.”

You turn back to the man at your feet, now only a smearing pulp laced with bits of fabric. The branding iron meant for you lies nestled within the rotten entrails, its heat bubbling and sizzling the nearby flesh.

Behind you, the King of Curses massive frame expands, shoulders rolling as he takes a breath.

“Good,” he rumbles.

There’s a pause.

Slowly, though still encircled by twenty or thirty men, your heart begins to steady. And there’s only one reason for that.

You calm.

Inhale.

You can breathe again.

“Lord Sukuna.” Exhale. “Thank y—”

A sharp yank on your shoulder and Sukuna forces you to turn.

“Why the fuck are you here?” he growls, prowling close to hover over you. “I told you to leave. Not travel east.”

Lifting your chin, your eye twitches. You lack both the strength and the will to argue. Yet…

“You say that as if I ever listened to you,” you hiss, rising onto your toes.

“Tch.” His noise of disgust has you cocking your head. “Stubborn, vexing woman. I should have tied you to that damn beast of yours.” Then his lower eyes slide, falling to your lips. Staring. His upper pair follows. “Or put that mouth to better use, anything to shut it up.”

Your eyes trail away, scanning the men, seeking a distraction. Because the longer you look at him, the more distant important things become, like lies, betrayal, hurt or the fact that he sought to fucking kill you not too long ago.

Fortunately, the movement around you pulls your heads apart.

“Well,” you mumble as you both stand back to back. “You didn’t.”

Pressed against Sukuna’s wall of a body, warmth bleeds through your kimono. Slowly, you both move in sync, stepping in a slow circle, sizing up the assailants closing in.

“They intend to take me,” you observe, meeting the gaze of every gawking eye.

They wait.

You keep moving.

“I know,” Sukuna growls angrily.

You lift your hands. The discolouration at your fingertips shudders only slightly, barely hanging on to your energy. It feels exhausted.

“What about Zen’in?” Your arms drop. “Did you kill him?”

A pause at your back.

“He’s slinking around somewhere,” Sukuna mutters. “There’s stronger ones waiting nearby. These are just mindless pests here to bleed and waste my time.”

Mindless? Your eyes flicker to them as they close in, and your feet pull apart, stance widening.

“I know you. You could end this in a breath. So why are you holding back?”

Sukuna says nothing, but a prickle at your neck tells you he’s looking at you. You tip your head.

“Taking something immediately?” He flashes a grin and then turns away. “Tell me, where’s the enjoyment in that?”

Head moving back, you’re drained—so much so that you barely register the first attacker rushing in before he’s even on you, dragging up his weapon, purposeful in the way he holds it. Sneering, you lunge for the exposed skin of his neck, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—half praying, half hoping you’ll make it out of here or at least live long enough to witness the death of every last one of these fucking bastards.

Pulling yourself into striking distance, you’re almost—

Flick!

A tattooed wrist swings past your face.

Blood sprays, misting the air a ruddy pink. The man’s body cleaves into two wet pieces and collapses, lifeless. Dark red eats into the dirt. The first body of what you know will be many.

Sauntering next to you, Sukuna rolls his four shoulders loose, a cocky grin on his face.

“Do try to keep up,” he purrs, stabbing the trishula into the ground before diving in—grabbing bodies, dragging them toward him. Four arms make quick work of slaughter, snapping bones while slicing through flesh with a single swipe.

You exhale. Force yourself to move before hesitation becomes a mistake.

Then, suddenly—you’re in it, flinging yourself into the fray.

Sweeping over, under, and through the assailants—sidestepping, pivoting—circling Sukuna’s warpath, keeping your distance, unsure when or if you’ll be caught in his unseen slashes.

You hope not. He seems lost in the throes of war, moving fluidly, almost like a dance. But with his sheer bulk and extra limbs, it’s less a dance and more the embodiment of a storm gathering. Violent. Yet steady. Always steady.

Step—his arms tense, pinning wide open and reaching for his prey, muscles straining, shoulders bunching. Release.

Step.

Release. 

Distracted by the force that seems to draw everything toward him, you almost miss the sharp end of a spear thrust. But you dodge—in, then out—sinking to one knee. Though, more distracting is the exhaustion of your energy.

Sukuna slips past the wielder’s guard, flicks his wrist, and their weapon hand punches cleanly from their arm, leaving an opening.

You take it, and they collapse.

Gliding back mid-motion, your kimono shuddering around you, and passing another man you take him down.

Sukuna turns toward you, arching his slitted brow.

“What?”

You blink at him.

“Nothing,” he drawls lazily, smirking as he steps past another attacker. His fingers twitch—their body follows, separating the folds of their skin. He looks back at you. “Didn’t take you for the killing type. Interesting to finally see you move.”

Another rushes into your path, and you spin away, hand grazing their exposed wrist. A breath later, they’re on the ground, trying to scratch away the decay festering inside them.

Sukuna hums, watching.  

“Then again.” He steps over a fresh corpse, “maybe I was wrong.”  

A notch pulls at your brow, but there’s no time to argue. More bodies press in. You reach, touch, and they fall.

When you glance back, Sukuna’s still looking.  

“Stop staring at me,” you snap, shaking debris from your hand.  

His grin widens. And you know he’s enjoying this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Another flick—another body halves before hitting the dirt.  

Teeth gritting, you pivot, stepping into deeper carnage.  

Bodies crash around you, one after another, but your lungs burn. Your limbs drag. Overexertion has its limits, and it’s pulling you in fast.

Keep going...

Keep—

You stumble, take a step. But a beat later, you end up on your hands and knees, panting, holding your hands in front of you. The tips of your fingers now appear bare, that bruising colour gone.

Damn it. Sometimes, you hated not knowing how to wield this.

Tabi sandals squelch into the damp, blood-soaked earth as they enter your vision.

“Hmph.”

Sukuna’s disapproving stare burns into you, but you don’t look up, keep your eyes downcast, refusing to meet it. He lingers for a moment before sinking to his haunches.

“Here,” he grumbles, pushing a hand to your abdomen. “Breathe from here. Move the energy—” his fingers glide up your torso, over your neck, to your throat, then brush along your chin before pulling away, “—through your body.”

For so long, you’ve despised what lies dormant, so the thought of willingly bringing it out makes you hesitate.

“Observe it.” His voice turns calm as you inhale, feeling the air slip through your nose and exhaling to follow its path outward. Your awareness settles. You center yourself on the faint, skittering energy shivering at your core.

Resonance hums at your fingertips, a heady vibration crawling over your skin. When the vein-like tendrils return, snaking outward, you don’t shy away.

You touch it—grasp and pull.

It belongs to you anyway.

Swallowing, you dip your chin as your eyes trace his face. Sukuna’s mouth twitches. Centering a lower hand on your back, his others guide you up and under his arms. You move seamlessly—behind him, beside him—finishing off the attackers on the other side.

And just for a moment, a tiny fraction of a second, the two of you move in perfect balance.

Sukuna strikes, stuns, and severs while you weave between opponents, gliding through the path he carves, brushing fingertips against flesh.

And so quickly, so disconcertingly easy, you catch yourself enjoying this.

And you know he’s giving you these kills—that he can end it all in seconds. But he seems to be revelling in it, too. Watching from a distance as you slip in and out, winding through the carnage like a snake. Slower, likely than what he was probably used to, but still. You catch the corner of his mouth refusing to fall, and feel his gaze, like it was last night all over again.

But after so much time in this place, you come back to yourself, nearly forgetting the revelations.

Once everything quiets and standing amongst the packed bodies at your feet—all the gurgling flesh and sinew—you lift your gaze to the forest’s edge. Under the rough autumn canopy, a retinue of warriors linger, sitting in wait. Zen’in Kaito is among them, his fingers captured around the hilt of his katana.

This is your chance to slip away.

Not far, yet safely distanced, Ayana’s snowmelt coat gleams, untouched. Huffing in relief, you glance toward the King of Curses. His eyes find yours from where he stands across the battlefield, and for the second time, you turn away from him and leave.

There’s only one place you need to go—where your sister is. Because right now, you want answers. Was she in Heian-kyō? Or elsewhere? An uneasy feeling flutters in your stomach. Fear stealing its place in the spaces of uncertainty and unanswered questions.

The most glaring—why? Why do this?

Yuna never once expressed interest in leading your clan. Never. Her intentions were always to be free of it.

Freedom. Choices.

A mirroring of your own.

Passing through the burning remains of a hut, you’ve only just stepped beyond its flickering shadow when a surge of heat rushes up behind you.

Heavy feet. Agile body.  

You pivot, but there’s no time.

Hands push into you, driving you back until you stumble, your shoulders sinking into rough wood and your exhausted body pinned.  

The breath folds in your lungs. Red eyes catch yours.

Instinct bounds up your spine, your right hand shooting up—only for Sukuna to catch your wrist with his upper left hand, fingers clamping tight. His lower arms brace against your hips, holding you flush under the weight of him. At the line of your throat, his upper right hand hovers, two fingers nudging gently into your pulse.

A standoff. Sort of. You’re too drained to even think about fighting—least of all him.

Lifting your chin, you arch an eyebrow.

“This feels familiar,” you say softly, fingers flicking, just close enough to hover above his skin. “I thought we’d be done with this.”

Saying nothing, a muscle pulses in his jaw. For a long moment, neither of you move. The firelight shifts against his disfigured mask, catching on the grooves and ruts filled with soot and blood. His fingers remain at your throat, but there’s no killing intent behind them.

Because he won’t.

You know he can’t.

Because—

Exhaling sharply through his nose, his two fingers pull back, before his upper right arm falls away. Your hand relaxes in his grasp a heartbeat later.

“Going somewhere?” He holds your wrist, releasing his upper left hand but keeping the lower pair banded around your hips.

Your eyes trail downward, following the planes of his naked torso to the hold, the way his arms brace you against the burning structure at your back.

He’s covered in blood—and who knows what else—but as you stare, a rush of selfish needs stack one on top of the other. A need to unburden yourself after everything witnessed here today. The death under your hands; the death by your hands; the death by others. There’s a small, insignificant part of you that wants to step closer, slot yourself between the cage of his four arms, and rest your forehead there for comfort. Because somehow, he has become both your solace and your greatest anguish.

Stupid.

Grieving your failures is something you can do alone. And alone is how you feel right now.

You pull your eyes away from Sukuna. Then—he lets you go, stepping back so the cold takes the empty space of his body. Folding his upper pair of arms across his chest, he waits.

“I want answers,” you state, moving around him and walking toward Ayana, who has since trotted closer.

Mud, dirt, and char slide past your vision as you leave Ryomen Sukuna for the third time, his stare boring into your back. You swallow against it.

“If you’re running to your sister, you’re wholly unprepared for what’s coming.”

Your feet stop on their own. Down at the blood and dirt streaked hem of your hakama, you blink. For a moment, it’s as if the ground isn’t there at all.

“You know something.” You turn sharply, brow furrowing as you stalk back to him. “If you do, say it. Tell me. Because from my understanding my sister, the newly appointed head of the Kasai clan, has implicated me.”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. He only stares, contemplative.

Frustrated with his lack of response, you clench your teeth and turn away.

“Head back south.”

The words slam into your back. You whirl around.

“What?”

“Ride to the shrine.” His voice is eerily calm, as if this is a perfectly reasonable request after everything that happened in the dark, late hours of dawn.

You step toward him, mouth parting, a barb resting on the tip of your tongue ready to be hurled at him.

“I’ll prepare you for what’s coming. And in time, I’ll offer you the truth. If you're willing to hear it.”

Your mouth presses shut.

Truth? What truth? It’s so far gone from your sight—and his—you’re skeptical of anything he says.

The scoff that punches past your lips makes his mouth curve into a sneer.

“You’ve kept secrets from me this whole time, torn apart the north, shattered everything in your path just to claim what you want.” Among other atrocities. “I’m exhausted, Sukuna. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you have any idea what just happened back there?” You stab a finger toward the village. “All I want is to sleep—for hours, days, months, years. To shut my eyes and think of nothing. Not you. Not anything. Nothing else. Ever.”

For whatever reason, his mouth parts from a sneer to a grin.

Hell.

Again, you turn. And again, you walk.

“You’re not safe.”

“And you think I’m any safer when I’m with you?”

Somehow, you’re back in his reach, snarling up at him. And you’re not even sure what kind of safety you mean—safety from danger or from that hollow space inside your chest.

“I won’t say it again.” Sukuna forces the words out as if it pains him. “You either take my offer, or you don—”  

“You fight me. Then fuck me,” you hiss, taking a step closer, your voice turning venomous. “Then—” He lifts his chin and looks down at you. “—you tell me to leave before sunrise. And I do.”  

His nostrils flare as you take another step so the fabric of his kimono, slung low at his hips, brushes against yours.  

“You save me, then fight with me. And now, all of a sudden, you want me to come back?”  

Heat gathers along your spine with the anger.  

“Do you even hear how pathetic you sound right no—”  

“You asked to be released from our union,” he snarls, grabbing the front panel of your kimono and bending until his face is level with yours.  

“I gave you what you wanted. So, don’t start whining about feeling rejected or confused when I’m not talking about human emotions.”

A sharp breath pushes through your nose as his four intimidating eyes sweep your face.

“What’s pulling us together now goes far beyond that.” He releases you abruptly, letting you stumble back on your heels.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spit, gathering yourself.

“If being an asshole keeps you from making another stupid mistake, then so be it.”

Silence settles between you.

You both stand there, quiet, but the fire crackles loudly.

Slowly, your anger drains into a simmer, and you huff, dragging a hand across your face, smearing soot and the sharp scent of copper.

“If this were to happen,” you mutter, disbelieving you’re even considering this. “I wouldn’t be returning as your wife.”

He blinks once.

“You never were,” he says, tilting his head. “It was only ever a title.”

There's a pause.

“Lies. Fabrications. Deceit. Names for things that never existed,” he adds lowly. “You were my property. That’s all it ever was.”

The unexpected amount of sharp emotions that moves through you forces your gaze away.

“I see...”

Property.

Sukuna steps closer, pushing two fingers under your chin and lifting it.

“But now…” he begins, jaw solid. “You can return… and leave and live as something else entirely. ”

Looking at him, you try to discern what he gains from this.

Anything? Everything? Nothing at all?

Quietly, you inhale.

“Prepare me?”

The King of Curses’ four eyes wander to your hands.

Ah. You flex them, curving them inward.

Do you need to be made stronger?

The thought seems foolish, a little arrogant. Because deep down, you’ve already decided—Yuna will listen to me. She’s your sister. If she did this, if she really did this, there has to be a reason. And when you find her, all of this will unravel. It will make sense.

Won’t it?

But another voice begs, What if you’re wrong?

Another one reminds you, You just had a branding iron held against you.

And the last screams, Today, you should have been stronger. You should have saved that girl.

You exhale sharply, shoving the guilt deep, burying it with the rest.

“It won’t take long.” Sukuna taps an impatient finger at the curve of your jaw. 

A decision waits, a choice. One you can only hope won’t curse you forever. 

“How long?”

“That depends on you, little snake,” he smirks, brushing his fingers away from your chin.

Grow stronger. Find Yuna. Uncover the truth.

Because surely, this is all just a misunderstanding.

Staring up at him, this beast before you, you give only a single nod.

“Good,” he hums, letting his gaze linger, as if marking a point of your decision. “I’ll remain here. Go.”

“Fine.” You pull away, striding toward Ayana and swinging into the saddle. Settled, you take the reins and ride alongside him.

“But just so you’re aware, this decision, my decision, erases nothing about what you’ve done to me.”

Above the King of Curses’ broad nose, a crease forms.

“That will never change.”

Nudging your mare, you turn her in a slow arc, pointing in a single direction.

Moving along the line of the first burning houses, you catch Sukuna from the edge of your vision. He follows at a distance, tracking you, keeping watch. Anyone who peels away advancing in your vicinity is instantly cut down.

Your chest gives a pull.

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake,” you murmur, picking up speed into a weightless gallop.

With your eyes on the King of Curses, you watch as he reaches for the spear at his back, his upper hands retrieving the formidable weapon before turning to face the broken village. Dragging yourself from his massive figure, you shift in the saddle, every part of your body aching as you begin the ride back the way you came.

Back south. Back to the shrine. And you tell yourself, it isn’t back to him.

🔗 Chapter 37

[penkura]

last forever [12/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Romance, Fluff, Confessions, Implied Sex

Note: The next to last chapter!! This was originally going to be the ending, but I changed it a little bit. The next chapter is the official ending with a small epilogue at the end!

Taglist:

@misfits1a | @alucardsdaddyissues | @louweasleymalfoy | @fluffybunnyu | @yerrimm09 | @eyes-ofhell | @emmaiscool22 | @xenop0p | @hank88999

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7] ● [Ch. 8] ● [Ch. 9] ● [Ch. 10] ● [Ch. 11]

When you finally hear that Zoro and Luffy have woken up, you're still on the other side of the building with Sanji. Chopper comes running in to tell you both, and your eyes light up so quickly that when you look at Sanji, he's already smiling at you as you grin.

“Better go hug that husband of yours.”

You don't have to be told twice and you're running down the hall with Chopper, him holding one of your hands in his hoof while you use your other to keep the skirt of your kimono up so you don't trip. No need to see Zoro with a bloody nose, he'll think you're spending too much time with Sanji.

When you get to the room and Chopper throws the door open, he lets go of your hand and hurries to Luffy, while you catch your breath and watch the two, making up for lost time on their eating and drinking, of course. If you hadn't been so stressed and worried the last few days, you'd be laughing at them. When Luffy notices you, he says your name with a grin that makes you smile back at him, before you look over to Zoro and feel like you're about to start crying.

He's alive. Once again, he's pulled himself from the edge of death and come back to you. When he finally sees you, Zoro nods you over to him, pulling you to his side with an arm around your shoulders once you do reach him. You return the hug and bury your face in his chest, forcing yourself not to cry out of the happiness you feel right now.

You're alive. Thank God, I was so scared.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Zoro leans his head down towards yours, briefly brushing his lips against your head before whispering, “Everything's fine. We're okay.”

You nod a bit, pulling away to look up at him with a smile. You're just so glad he's all right, that he made it out of his fight against King mostly unscathed. Zoro moves his hand to your forehead, tapping the bandage for a second, before placing his hand on your back.

“What's this bandage about?”

“Oh,” you barely touch the bandage on your forehead, having forgotten all about it in your hurry to see Zoro, “A stray knife grazed me. Chopper says I'll be fine, no scarring.”

“Hope you cut the guy down.”

You nod, giving him a slight smirk. “Of course I did.”

“Yeah?” Zoro returns your smirk, pulling you closer to him, “Atta girl.”

That's my wife, I'm proud of you.

Zoro wants to say that aloud to you, but there's too many people around, and he hasn't been able to take you aside to tell you to get rid of those divorce papers,  to forget about your parents and how your marriage came about, to just stay with him.

He's back to drinking sake a moment later, but keeps you right next to him, even as Hiyori speaks up about how she'd help keep him (and Luffy of course) clean while they recovered. It makes your heart ache a bit, despite Sanji's reassuring you earlier, but Zoro doesn't say anything about it and keeps his arm around your shoulders, wanting you to stay there. Hiyori wasn't trying to upset you, you both knew that since she didn't know your relationship, but it stung a bit to know she was here when Zoro woke up while you'd been elsewhere.

He doesn't care, he cares that you're here now, safe and alive in his arms. Honestly, a few times he was worried for you during the raid, during the battles. Not knowing exactly where you were or how you were faring, until he started his battle against King, you were in the back of his mind. Even when that battle started, his mind would drift to you and silent hopes that you were safe.

Thankfully you were, and he knows you're more worried about him, just from how you hold onto him and don't look at anyone else, not even when Luffy and Chopper try talking to you.

“Hey, I need some help if anyone's free!”

Sanji interrupts a bit later, mostly expecting some of the guys to help, but you gently push yourself from Zoro and give him a smile when he looks at you.

“I'm going to go help Sanji.”

Zoro scowls for a second, making you laugh at his face.

“Curly brow can handle whatever it is,” Zoro pulls you back to him, kissing your temple briefly before letting you go, “but if you want to help him you can go.”

Smiling again, you nod before leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Thank you, husband.”

You don't miss the slightest blush on his face while you stand up, Zoro holding your wrist for a moment longer before speaking again.

“When we set sail…I want to talk to you alone, all right?”

Worry starts to take over your heart and head, but you do your best to hide it with a nod, going to follow Sanji and whoever else volunteered to help him. You fear Zoro is going to push you to sign the divorce papers, that despite how sweet he's been lately, it's all an act and he's going to end your sham marriage. It's what you've worried about ever since your crew's reunion in Sabaody. Even after the night you spent together recently, it still was in the back of your mind that he could choose to end your marriage.

While helping Sanji does distract you from your worry, there's still a small voice in the back of your head telling you that he doesn't love you, he must love Hiyori, that's all it is. He's going to end it there and that will be it.

You shake your head, forcing that voice to go away so you could continue helping.

Nothing you could do now except wait until you all board Sunny to leave again, and have your talk with Zoro.

Please don't end this….

+!+

“So, do you have feelings for her?”

Hiyori's question almost comes out of left field for Zoro, who simply finishes his drink and sets the bottle down, not making eye contact. You've gone off somewhere with Nami and some of the children to play games, which is probably why Hiyori chose to speak to him now, while you weren't around. It might make things easier for her to get some answers from him.

He has one, an answer, of course. He's known for a while now his feelings for you, how far they went and what he wants. It feels weird to think about telling Hiyori this, he can tell she has feelings for him too, but, he's pretty sure she already knows, even without having to ask.

“Your crewmate…the girl always hanging around you, um, [Y/N]?”

“Yeah, I know who you're talking about.”

“Is she truly your wife?”

Zoro nods, making Hiyori's shoulders slump a bit. She's heard Sanji call you “moss head's wife” once or twice or maybe several times to a few of the other Samurai, she believes on purpose whenever she was within earshot. Despite seeing you slap his arm and smile, saying you and Zoro were just really close, Hiyori could always see something like sadness behind your eyes and smile.

Truthfully, she wondered if it was unrequited love, that you loved him but Zoro didn't love you back. That's why she felt the need to ask before you all take off in the next couple of days.

“We didn't get married cause we were in love, if you're wondering.”

“Oh?” For a second she perks up, hearing that she now wonders if it was an arranged marriage, and that you two didn't have any feelings for each other. That would make sense, Hiyori thinks, until Zoro speaks again.

“I was keeping her from being sent home to an arranged marriage. Well…forced home, I guess,” Zoro doesn't even question where Hiyori got the bottle of sake she gave him, but he does thank her for it, “Thought after a few months we'd annul and move on with our lives. Didn't actually think we'd fall for each other.”

Her shoulders drop again, but Hiyori smiles anyway. There's something in the way Zoro speaks about you, as he tells her your story of how you two came to know each other, when you said you love him, and how he's come to feel the same way, after believing it would never happen to someone like him. It sounds like happiness, she realizes, recognizing it from what she remembers of her mother speaking about her father. Happiness and true love, it sounds like.

After a bit, Hiyori nods, still smiling.

“You love her.”

Zoro's quiet for a moment, before he simply nods. He's known this for a long time now, it's just been difficult to get alone time with you to tell you his feelings for you, despite how that sounded lame to him and something Sanji would say, despite your night together. He does hate that he never told you before that happened.

It's interesting how it feels to admit that, though, even with just a nod. To admit he loves you, when he was so sure love wasn't for him, that it would never find him and if it did, at one point he wanted to wipe his hands of it.

But you.

Of course, it would be you.

How you have changed things. You've convinced him that love isn't that bad, that yes, it's even for him, the self proclaimed king of hell. The once Pirate Hunter turned pirate himself, future greatest swordsman in the world. You've got him wrapped around your finger, got him thinking about what life after becoming the world's greatest swordsman and helping Luffy become King of the Pirates would be like. He's had thoughts more recently of you two settling down in his home village perhaps, maybe having a few brats of your own and living your life together.

It was crazy to him, to think about it, and know where he's come from with not knowing a real family or that kind of love, to wanting it with you. If he told his 8-year-old self about this, the brat he was would cringe and turn his nose up at the thought of marriage, current age Zoro would have to laugh at his younger self.

“It's not so bad. Yeah you have someone else to worry about, but, for some reason, knowing they worry about you too…it's comforting, really “

Taking another drink of sake, Zoro knows that later, once you've all set sail again, he's going to make things right with you. No more of you wondering what he was thinking about you and your marriage. No more beating around the bush, making excuses to be with or to avoid each other.

“Yeah. I love her.”

He's going to make sure you know that soon.

+!+

"Do you still have those divorce papers?"

Freezing up, you nod a bit before grabbing your bag, pulling out the crumpled papers you'd had for the last two and a half years, handing them to Zoro. The argument you two had gotten into when Robin first joined, where Zoro called you stupid for blindly trusting her and you called him an idiot for being so untrusting, had caused you both to seriously consider ending your sham marriage then, but you never ended up signing the annulment papers in time. If you wanted to end it now, divorce was your only option. You didn't think Zoro would ever actually ask for them, and you didn't want to give them to him, but he had asked and you did still have them.

He must've decided he didn't want to be your husband, sham or real. You'd seen how close he'd gotten with Hiyori during your time in Wano, especially after she gave him the sword Enma. Maybe he wanted to be with her, though it would be a long distance relationship you were sure they'd make it work. They'd be cute together, and–

Why do you hear papers being torn?

Zoro didn't say anything after you handed him the papers, but he ends up tearing them into pieces while you were running a million thoughts in your head, your eyes widening when you finally notice what he's done.

"What are you doing?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Ripping up these useless papers."

You can't get any words out, stuck stammering in confusion even as Zoro sits in front of you on your bed.

"Why did you do that? We can't get divorced without those!"

"Who says I want to?" The look on your face, one of pure shock and a bright red blush, makes Zoro smile a bit, mostly to himself. You two had such little alone time in Wano he never had a chance to tell you to rip up or burn the papers, that he didn't want to divorce you. Finally though, as your ship heads towards your next destination, he gets to tell you. "I don't want to divorce you. I've decided we're staying married and you're taking my last name."

You're still so in shock you don't know what to say or how to say it. Hearing Zoro say such a thing, and that he wants you to take his last name makes your face even redder. "W-what?!"

You end up slapping your hands over your cheeks out of embarrassment and to make sure you aren't dreaming while Zoro nods and places a hand on his chin like he was thinking

"Roronoa [Y/N]. Sounds pretty good to me."

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Slow down. I…I'm getting dizzy." Leaning against the wall, you hold your head in your hands and try to calm your pounding heart. This was all so much at once, he can't just tell you he's decided you two were staying married and you were going to be a Roronoa now!

Granted yes, it's what you've wanted the last two and a half years, but still. He could at least ask if you were all right with this!

"Are you…are you saying you…"

"Want to stay your husband? Yeah, that's what I'm saying." Zoro moves closer to you, putting his arm around your shoulders and leaning you into him, maybe that would help clear your head. "I won't divorce you or let anyone else marry you."

"But…what about Hiyori…?"

"What about her? She's nice enough and gave me her father's sword but…I don't…feel that way for her."

So you were wrong. Zoro didn't have any romantic feelings for Hiyori. You were never so glad to be so wrong before now. You can feel tears starting, but try to blink them away, sitting up and taking his hand in your own.

“When did you decide this?”

“A while ago, honestly,” Zoro draws you closer to him, the softest look you've ever seen from him as he places his forehead against yours, “I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you, I had to make sure it was right first. That this is what I wanted too.”

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear that," biting your lip, you look away with a slight blush, "but…are you sure you want me? I feel like you don't have a real choice here…"

"I made my choice when I offered to marry you to keep you out of that arranged marriage. You were my choice from the beginning."

You don't say anything else or give Zoro the chance to say more before you kiss him, no hesitation from him in returning it, pulling you as close as possible, into his lap just like your first kiss in Water 7 two years. It's been a long time coming, and you're just glad your feelings were finally returned, you don't have to worry about a possible divorce and the heartbreak that would follow.

No, you and Zoro are desperately in love with each other. It took you some time to get to this point, but you were here now. No need for an annulment or divorce, not even a need for you to find a place to get married, you're already several steps ahead.

"I love you, husband."

"I love you too, wife."

And you don't think you can be any happier.

+!+

Zoro wakes up the next morning to you digging through a drawer in your nightstand, muttering something like "where did it go" and "what did I do with it". He figures you're trying to be quiet, but you failed at that and woke him, though he isn't really upset about it.

It seems like Robin and Nami never came back to the women's bunks, something he's sure you're grateful for so they didn't walk in on anything they wouldn't want to see. Zoro won't ever tell you that he specifically asked them not to come by if they could, since he wasn't sure at the time how things were going to play out.

He lays there and watches you for a moment, until you seem to find what you had been looking for, happily pulling the item out of the drawer and checking whatever it was to make sure it was all right.

"Hey."

You scream a bit, not expecting Zoro to be awake and almost dropping the item in your hands. He just laughs at you so hard, you have half a mind to shove him off your small bed, he was near the edge anyway. Instead your face goes bright red and you punch his shoulder, making him laugh even more.

"You jerk, you scared me! When did you wake up?!"

"A couple minutes ago, while you were digging in your drawer."

You pout while Zoro sits up and tries to see what you have in your hands, you trying to keep it hidden and focus more on how he scared you. Of course you knew he didn't mean to, he'd never do that on purpose, but you were trying to keep something a surprise.

"What you got there, wife?"

"It's…it's nothing, husband."

The inflection you put on the word husband doesn't convince Zoro that it really is nothing. He knows you were hiding something you don't want him to see yet, to the point he pulls you into a kiss, keeping you in place by holding the back of your head while he reaches around you to take whatever is in your hands.

"Hey!" You push him back when you realize he took the item from you, and give him a glare. "You can't just kiss me and steal my stuff!"

"Thought husbands and wives weren't supposed to keep secrets."

"Surprises aren't technically secrets."

Zoro rolls his eye at you, ignoring the slight blush you have as you don't fight to get the small box back while he opens it. He's a bit surprised after all, looking from the box to you, who is trying not to look him in the eye.

Your secret item was a set of wedding rings it looked like, maybe just regular rings but they matched too well to just be random rings put in a box together. A plain, thick silver band and a smaller, thin silver band with a small jewel on it. Obviously, one for a man and one for a woman, definitely wedding bands.

When did you have time to get these though? Neither of you had acted on your feelings until after you'd all come together again, and even after that, no real confessions or anything had happened until the night before. Did you get these in Wano before your ship left, or had you gotten them a while ago? Zoro knew you would start talking the longer he looked at you.

"I," you bite your lip and keep looking away, your cheeks red out of embarrassment as you try to explain, "I found them in Loguetown…I know we weren't really together then but…I don't know, I couldn't help it…"

"You want me to put your ring on you then?"

"Huh?"

You didn't think Zoro would be willing to do something so romantic, but it is traditional and he leans more to that than you had originally expected.

Your marriage isn't traditional though, having gotten married at a backwater court house almost three years prior, only to save you from an arranged marriage. You'd nearly annulled your marriage, thought he was going to divorce you the night before, and spent two years apart.

The fact that Zoro, of all people, is willing to stay married to you and make it work, to actually make a life with you, it makes you happy.

"Then," you nod, smiling while Zoro turns to face you better, "I'll put yours on you."

You two are quiet for a bit, you looking at the rings you'd bought forever ago, honestly kind of amazed you'd reached this point. There was a time you thought they'd never be used, but now, as you watch Zoro take your ring from the box to put on your hand, you can't help but smile and laugh a bit.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just…weird to think we're doing this," a thought hits you, and you give Zoro a slight grin, "You know, you're supposed to say something when you put the ring on me."

He raises an eyebrow, while you blush a bit. Zoro had never been to a wedding, why would he know all the words said at those things? He always thought weddings were stupid when he was a kid, but now as an adult, he almost felt bad that you two didn't have a proper wedding, despite your insistence that it was perfectly fine and would be a fun story to tell your kids, if you had any.

"What do you mean? Don't I just put it on your finger and that's it?"

Giggling, you shake your head and take his ring in your hand to place on his finger. "So…what you'd do, if we'd had a real ceremony, is take the ring, and say, 'with this ring I thee wed.'"

Zoro looks at the ring now on his left hand, before looking back to you.

"That's dumb."

It makes you burst out laughing to hear that. Of course he thinks it's dumb, but you don't expect anything less from him. It does make you happy though, to give Zoro his ring and watch him look it over, getting used to it being there, before he takes your ring and your left hand in his. His face is red, and he looks like he's thinking about what you said, which makes you smile a bit.

"With…this ring…I thee wed."

Zoro barely speaks above a whisper, but you hear him. It's a vow, not something flowery or long winded, but still a vow that he's yours and you're his. The way he holds your hand, running his thumb across your fingers while staring at your ring. You giggle a bit at how shy he acted, repeating those words to you, giving him a kiss and a smile.

"I love you, husband."

"I love you too, wife."

"...you did put my ring on the wrong finger though."

"Damn it, [Y/N]."

[onskepa]

Stxeli: Silly demon

Here is another chapter to keep you guys occupied while I type the next request! Enjoy!

Stxeli series

-------------------

“Hhhmmmhhmm~” Stxeli hums in content as she returns home from her little yovo adventure. Harvesting a good amount, many will eat well tonight. As she passes by, many greet her, some gifting her little trinkets or snacks. All that stxeli happily accepts and gives them yovo in gratitude. 

Arriving at her home, making sure the fruits are away from direct sunlight and in a cool nook, stxeli snacks on one of her gifts. There is still plenty of daylight left, her mother doesn't need her assistance and her father is important with his duties. Neytiri, her poor big sister, left to teach the ugly demon. 

So what can she do now?

“What to do, what to do…” stxeli wonders as she walks around the village. Doing bits here and there, helping young mothers or playing with children around her age. Even helped one of the girls to braid her long hair. A skill stxeli is coming to be an expert at. Her family can proudly tell. 

“Stxeli!” 

She turns around to see Tsu'tey running up to her. Greeting each other, she smiles. 

“Hi tsu’tey! Aren't you going to train the others?” stxeli asks. 

Tsu’tey nods but grins a bit mischievous, “yes, we are going to ride the pali’s, would you like to come?” he offers. 

Stxeli loves pali riding, but the logical side of her speaks, “I love to, but I don't want to get in the way of your training” 

“You won't, your sister is already there with the demon” 

That instantly clicked in her mind, understanding tsu’tey now. Her grin matching his own, stxeli raises her arms up. 

“Up please!” 

“Again!” Neytiri demands, her patience running thin. 

Jake sighs tiredly, getting up from the ground groaning in pain and exhaustion. To think riding a pali would be easy. Not everything is easy in Pandora, Jake guesses. If this is the easier part, he fears the future challenges he has to face. 

“Get up!” Neytiri looks down at him, showing her very obvious disapproving look. 

“I'm up, I'm up” Jake says. 

Getting back onto his feet, dusting himself off, “I know you are making this difficult for me, isn't there a better way?” he asks. 

“No, now try again” short and straightforward, something jake is taking notes about neytiri. 

He does again, this time he succeeds on getting on top of his pali, calming down the creature, he bonds with her. It felt odd yet amazing,  he can feel what the pali is feeling, feeling her heartbeat. Gathering the courage to go further, “HYAH!” he yelps, only for the thrust of the pali to be too quick. 

He falls once more, his face meeting mud. 

It took a lot of strength from neytiri to not laugh at his failure. 

Groaning in pain again, jake suddenly hears the sound of multiple hoof sounds. All coming to his direction.  So getting up and turning he sees none other than Tsu'tey and his students. Along with a tiny someone. 

“You should go away!” Tsu'tey sneers at jake. Speaking in clear english. 

“No, you’d miss me” jake talks back, a bit in a joking manner as he gets closer to tsu’tey. By instinct, tsu’tey turns his pali to cover stxeli from jake’s eyes. 

Ignoring what the warrior is doing, jake points at him, “I knew you speak english” 

Neytiri walks to jake, gently guiding the pali back. Tsu’tey speaks something to neytiri, something jake doesn't understand but chuckles it off.

“He will not learn. A stone can see better. Look at him” tsu’tey tells neytiri, who just smiles. Shaking her head, she gives jake a little break to clean himself off. Jake happily does. 

“What are you doing here? I told you I don't want you to be anywhere near him” neytiri asks as she sees stxeli sitting comfortably in front of tsu’tey, while munching on some yovo fruit. 

“He offered!” stxeli was quick to point at tsu’tey. 

Neytiri glares at tsu’tey, grunting disapprovingly. 

“Are you two just here to watch Jake fail and laugh at him?” 

“Yes” her sister and friend both answer quickly and honestly. 

Sighing, neytiri places a hand on stxlie’s leg, “sister, please be careful, you as well tsu’tey. If she is joining you, then you will be fully responsible of her while I am busy”. 

Tsu’tey nods, “she is always safe with me,” he reminds.

While keeping a safe distance, stxeli was enjoying her time. Seeing the dream walker fail time and time again was very amusing. And the silly faces he makes! He may be ugly but his goofy falls make up for it. 

However, because of the constant failures, it is getting on Neytiri's nerves. Clearly the dream walker is not improving at all. 

“Bah! You are pathetic! You will never learn like this!” Neytiri shouts in frustration. Up on one of the branches, stxeli was observing the whole ordinal. Neytiri is looking a lot like their father when angry. Down to furrowing their eyes. 

Jake was huffing and puffing, exhausted beyond his capability. 

“Done, we are done for today. Bathe yourself! You reek!” Neytiri shouts as she walks away. 

“Stupid dreamwalker, stupid ugh!” Neytiri mutters in frustration as she chops the vegetables. The other na’vi kept their distance so as to not tip her anger even more. Mo’at took notice of neytiri’s emitting anger, and how it is frightening the others. Before she can ask, stxeli appear beside her. 

“Tsmuke is mad because the alien constantly fails. He is not improving sa’nu” mo’at’s youngest tells. Now finally understanding the situation. 

“You go on ahead, do what you like until dinner” mo’at says, nodding happily, stxeli leaves. 

Taking a deep breath, the tsahik gets up from her position to go speak with her eldest child. Knowing how much she takes after her father, mo’at prepares for a long talk

“DAMN IT!” Jake curses out in anger. 

Once again Jake falls on his ass from trying to ride a pali. Groaning out in anger, he slams his fist against the ground. 

“The hell am I doing wrong?” He asks out. Letting his voice echo throughout the forest. 

“Theenk tu demon!” a voice was heard. 

Jake turned around, his ears twitching, trying to search for the voice. It sounded like a little child speaking, with a very heavy accent. 

“Hello….?” he calls out. 

“Theenk na’vi!” the voice speaks out again. 

Jake gets up, trying to find the source, “where the hell are you?” 

“STAY AWAY!” the voice screeches. 

Jake does so, feeling very confused. “Ok, ok I won't move” 

“Theenk na’vi!” the voice repeats. 

Aaaah, Jake now understands. Grinning a bit, he asks, “are you helping me?” 

“Halp tsumke” the voice replies. 

The voice no doubt belongs to neytiri’s “little sister”. The child, Jake suspects, is a human. Neytiri and the other na’vi would do their best to hide her from his view. Seems the child is doing the same. 

“Halp you, halp tsmuke” the child’s English was very broken, can barely understand her words. Her na’vi accent is very thick. 

“Ok…think na’vi you say..” Jake understood more. How the hell does that work? 

Stxeli wanted to slam her whole head against the tree. Why did she think it was a good idea? Any of this? Maybe she was better off with tsu’tey. But seeing neytiri upset didn't sit well with her. No doubt she will be in big trouble for being this close to the demon, and alone non the less. Stxeli would do anything to ease her family’s tension. 

Too bad she didn't think it through that she had to speak in english to the demon. 

English is so hard! 

Stxeli only knows a few words from trying to repeat what her family says. Half the time she doesn't even know what it means. 

That demon better learn the peoples language soon because right now she sounds like a baby. 

“Theenk na’vi! Pali theenk!” the child continues to say. 

Jake tilts his head, trying to code what she meant. 

“Thump…!! To thump! Beating!” 

“Are you talking about heartbeat?” Jake asks. Remembering what neytiri said. Feel the pali’s heartbeat. 

“Theenk na’vi! Pali theenk!” the child continues to say. 

Jake tilts his head, trying to code what she meant. 

“Thump…!! To thump! Beating!” 

“Are you talking about heartbeat?” Jake asks. Remembering what neytiri said. Feel the pali’s heartbeat. 

Looking at the pali, Jake takes a deep breath. Heading over, slowly raising his arms, displaying no threat. The pali takes notice, hesitant at first. 

“Easy…easy girl…” Jake soothes. The pali snorts out, letting jake get closer. 

“Bond! Kuru! Thump!” the child instructs. 

Rolling his eyes, jake carefully gets on the pali, being steady to not scare her. Feeling how calm she is, jake connects his kuru with the pali. Feeling what she is feeling, the thump of her heartbeat, the dirt from her hooves, the air in her nostrils. He can feel it all. 

“Theenk! One! Move!” 

“Ok…” taking it slow, jake thinks of what he wants to do. The pali starts to walk slowly around the area. Even taking a bit of jumps in glee. 

“Woa..!” he smiles, seeing as he has not fallen off to the ground again. 

“Ok let's try it” he mutters, his smile growing. The pali walks a bit faster, then faster, to the point where she begins to run around the area. Feeling her strong legs, her lungs taking deep breaths. It felt great, it was as though it was Jake who was running. 

“Woohoo!!” he cheers. 

“You what?!” mo’at couldn't believe what she just heard. 

Stxeli looked down, feeling guilty. 

“I'm sorry sa’nu! I just didn't want tsmuke to be angry any longer” she tried to excuse. Mo’at wasn't hearing it. When her sweet child told her of how close she was in Jake's proximity, how it was so easy for him to see her. Mo’at was shaking in fear. 

One wrong move, that is all it can take, one wrong move and stxeli would be taken-

“Sa’nu?” 

Stxeli grabs her mothers hands, letting her smaller ones reach her warmth. 

By instinct mo’at pulled stxeli close to her chest, feeling her tiny heartbeat. Quickly it soothes mo’ats anxiety. 

“Ma’ite, that was very reckless of you. If neytiri told you to stay away from him, you do so. He is still considered dangerous ma’ite. I dont want anything terrible happen to you” mo’at says. 

Stxeli huffs a bit, “as if that demon can hurt me. He fell off of the poor pali multiple times” 

“I dont care. From now on you will be either with me, or your sempu. Do you hear me? If jakesully is close, you hide. I am serious ma’ite. Not until he is deemed trustworthy” 

Stxeli nods. However, seeing her mother behave like this is new to her. Not one did her mother display such uneasiness. It worried stxeli very much. 

“Sa’nu? Why are you and everyone so worried that the demon seeing me? Is something wrong with me?” stxeli couldn't help but ask. Mo’at was quick to shake her head, sharing a light kiss on her little head. 

“No, there is nothing wrong with you, my child. There are just things outsiders have no reason to lay their eyes on things that don't concern them”. 

Mo’at holds her child tightly, her golden eyes staring out into the world. Sharp and steady. She may allow Jake to stay in her village, but she will not hesitate to take him out if he ever dares to get close to her little one. 

Aaaaaaaaaand that is it! Hope you all enjoyed this new chapter! Until next time! See ya!

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