#his muse a little rusty but i saw this and could not resist

[twcheaded-a]

Noa is conflicted, some cynical part of him wants to agree--and it's true to a large extent. Between overpopulation, pollution, and the aftermath of the one-year war. The planet had gone through much as a result of humanity's violence, to itself and the planet.

"It doesn't have to be that way... Earth, its people, they could have, they could be so much more." He shares because couldn't imagine this view being unpopular amongst members of the AEUG .

"No man's land…"

"Well—I guess that encompasses the entirety of Earth at this point."

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x reader - Part Four (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I think the previous parts have had a female reader, but I left it ambiguous/gender neutral in this one, even in the nsfw bits, mostly out of habit.

It's 8000 words, with a bit of angst, a good dose of fluff, some recognition of unhealthy attitudes, and a slightly messy nsfw scene at the end...

Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Gilvas waited until you’d closed the matching panel at the other end of the secret passage, and then turned away.

While you worked on the catalogue, you couldn’t shake the vulnerable look on his face as he’d told you about his late wife and as you’d stared at her vivacious features in the portrait. In the nine years since her death, he’d become a shadow, haunting this creepy old mansion and drifting from one day to the next, and it broke your heart. Gilvas was clearly a gentle soul, though his fuse was short at times, but you had begun to suspect that it was more of a defence mechanism than a character trait.

As evening billowed around the stone walls of the enormous house at the end of the day, with an awful lot still swirling around your mind, you nearly walked straight into Naril who was loading his last pile of autumn leaves into a wheelbarrow by the back door. He called your name just in time and you sidestepped with a bashful grin.

“So is it true?” he asked almost immediately.

“Is what true?”

His ears waggled and he laughed as he dumped the leaves into the barrow with a little flourish. “You and the master…?”

“Me and the master what?” you snorted, crossing your arms. “You make it sound like we’re school kids caught snogging behind the bike sheds! He showed me the portrait of his wife and told me a bit about her, that’s all.”

Naril shook his head expressively. “We’ve had people here on the estate before, you know? None of them ended up strolling the corridors with him.”

“How’d you know about it anyway?” you asked instead, resisting the urge to flick him in fond reprimand on his large ear.

“Chiara came in and started talking to my dad about it. I couldn’t believe it, and neither could they. The master doesn’t ‘chat’ with anyone…”

You shrugged. “Well, if he’s happy talking to me, I’m happy enough to listen. He seems nice, once you get past the way he likes to bark at you.”

Two days later, while you were stooped over the working version of the catalogue, scribbling something down in the margins of your cataloguing notes, the shadows moved in the recesses of the library, and Gilvas emerged. You looked up and smiled. “Hi,” you offered.

He nodded curtly at you and began to pace.

Setting your pencil down a minute or two later, you asked, “Everything… alright?”

Gilvas turned, apparently on the point of snapping something acerbic and defensive at you, but he caught himself in time and paused, throat working. The dark red birthmark on his neck moved and shifted like ink in water. If asked, you’d have said he was nervous. “I… I was wondering if you would take tea with me on the terrace today.”

You froze. Of all the things you’d been expecting from him, that had not been it. “Uh…” you began artlessly.

“Or not. You don’t have to,” he blurted, turning away. “Stupid idea anyway.”

“Wait,” you laughed, relief washing through you. “Wait. I’d love to. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

If you’d been surprised, it was nothing to the expression on Chiara’s face when he summoned her to the library with a little bell pull that you’d not spotted before.

“You… You want to take tea… You want to take tea outside…?” the harpy repeated, looking unsteady on her clawed feet.

As if he’d just realised how unusual it was, his expression went blank, his four ruby eyes going dull, and he seemed to deflate. Gone was the intimidating, sharp-edged lord of the manor, and in his place you saw a vulnerable, shattered widower, with no one to talk to and rusty social skills.

Reading her master well enough, Chiara schooled her features into something resembling their usual sternness, and she nodded. “Of course. I will have it set up for you and…” she looked at you with her golden eyes and you tried not to shrink away. “For the both of you.”

“Thank you,” you said, and she nodded, departing.

“I think I gave her quite the shock,” he muttered, half smirking.

With a snort, you said, “We’re just going to have to find more ways to surprise them.”

“Them?”

“Your staff,” you said. “It’s clear that they all respect you, and they enjoy working here - well, obviously I can’t speak for all of them, but I have supper with Mr. Ambleside and his son almost every night. I don’t get the impression that they’d object to seeing a bit more of their mysterious master from time to time.”

“It’s been so long,” he croaked. “I… I’ve hidden myself away up here. I… I don’t remember — I mean…” he broke off and you noticed how glassy his eyes were.

Cautiously, you approached him and laid your hand on his foremost right leg. It was smooth like glass, and cold. It felt extremely brittle, though you knew the chitin was pretty tough. Your eyes nearly drifted to the empty stump on his right side though, and you suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t that tough. He shuddered and you nearly retracted your touch. “Sounds like you could use a friend to take tea with every now and again…” you said gently.

“I’d like that,” he said. “If… If you could bear it.”

“Bear it?” you repeated. “Please. I wouldn’t have accepted if it wasn’t something I didn’t already want to do.”

Gilvas fixed you with a piercing red gaze, making the blood-dark streak of his hair and the swirling birthmark stand out in vivid detail. “No,” he mused slowly, his legs and spider body relaxing a little into your touch like a great machine coming to rest. “I don’t suppose you would.”

Tea on the terrace became a daily fixture, weather permitting, and on the first day it was rained off, he asked you into a small drawing room on the ground floor that you’d never been in before.

Four and a half months into your stay, he leaned over the table and poured you another cup with shaking hands. He always shook, you realised, though the tremors worsened when he grew agitated or emotional. If Naril was right, he was about ten years older than you, and while at times he seemed youthful and almost playful when you got him talking about one of his interests - mathematics was a particular favourite of his - there were times when he seemed stiff and tired, and much, much older than you; and older than he truly was. He carried the weight of his grief around with him everywhere, dragging at him like chains, rattling in the quiet corridors of his mind and reminding him of his heartache. He never went too long with a smile on his face, the expression often shattering or sliding off his face to leave a brittle mask behind.

“Gilvas?” you asked as he set the teapot down on the tray with a rattle. “Everything alright?”

“You’re too perceptive by half,” he grumbled. “I wanted to ask you to dine with me tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taken off-guard.

“You sound disappointed,” he said a slight huff to his tone.

Conflicted, you said, “It’s Naril’s birthday. He’s celebrating with the rest of the staff and some of his friends tonight, and he asked me to join him…”

“Then you must go, obviously,” he said. After a pause he added, “Naril is the one who tends to the gardens, is he not?”

“Mmm. He’s a firbolg.”

“My father always hired firbolgs for their way with nature. I’d forgotten that Ambleside has a child. How old is he?”

“About my age, I suppose?”

Whether or not he was aware of it, Gilvas’ face shuttered at that. With a sigh, he shifted his already vague gaze to the huge patio windows beside you and stared out at the gardens beyond. It had been raining earlier, but it had cleared up now to leave broad puddles flashing in the sunlight on the terrace. “I think I will go for a walk through the gardens this evening before sunset…”

“You want some company?” you asked, but he shook his head.

“No. Thank you.”

Naril’s party was just rowdy enough to be fun without straying too far into unruliness, and you stayed up late in the kitchens, laughing and joking with him and his father, who, it turned out, had quite the sense of humour with a few glasses of wine in him. Eloise, the maid, also joined you, and a few friends of Naril’s who lived in Starfall Springs. The laughter continued long into the night, until his friends from town announced that it was time to head back just shy of one in the morning.

Waving them off at the end of the night, still buzzing with the unusually vibrant evening, you and Naril turned from the upper gates and walked back to the house. In the dark, the firbolg could see much better than you, so he let you loop your arm amicably through his to stop yourself stumbling on the uneven driveway.

Just as you stepped back into the kitchen, he cracked a good-natured joke at your expense, recalling a moment from earlier in the evening, and you nearly fell about laughing. “Oh my gods,” you wheezed as you clung to his arm to stop yourself tripping up the step. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the plosive consonant with a chuckle. “You’re far too easy to tease. I —” he cut off suddenly, expression falling. His eyes were wide and he was staring at a point on the far side of the kitchen.

You looked up and found the hulking shape of a drider standing silhouetted in the dark doorway. “Forgive me,” Gilvas said stiffly, jaw working. “I came for a brandy. I thought you’d all turned in for the night.”

You blurted, “Gilvas?” at the same time as Naril whispered, “My lord?”

“Forget it,” he said, turning abruptly in the wide doorway. “I hope you enjoyed your evening together.”

Even after the door slammed behind him - the gesture leaving a sour taste in your mouth - neither you nor Naril spoke.

Finally it was Naril who broke the silence. “I’ve never seen him before…” he murmured, awestruck at the encounter. “He looks dreadful. Perhaps he is sick after all?”

“He doesn’t look as dreadful as he looked three months ago,” Chiara’s unexpected voice said tartly from the pantry to your left where she’d apparently been occupied, stowing away the remnants of the uneaten food.

You swallowed. “Well… I… uh… I guess I’d better head back. Thanks for tonight,” you said, hugging Naril briefly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to give you… It’s not as if I can go into town or anything from here…”

“Couldn’t you ask your friend to pick you up,” he said. “You know, the one you phone every Friday?”

Despite having phoned Damien every week since arriving, you’d never even thought of asking him to drive all the way out here and pick you up for the weekend. He’d probably do it though if you asked. “I guess I could…”

The idea took root in your mind, and as you took your break the next day, you used the house’s landline to call Damien’s shop since he’d be at work too.

“Hey!” he chuckled. “You don’t normally phone today. How’s things at the Spookville Court?”

“Don't call it that,” you scoffed. “It’s fine. Listen, I haven’t got long, but I was wondering if maybe you’d be free this weekend…? I know it’s not exactly a short drive, but I’d kind of like to get out of here for the weekend…”

There was a pause while he checked his calendar. “Sure,” he said. “I can pick you up on Friday night if you like?”

“You don't have plans?”

“I was gonna grab a beer with Sarrigan since he’s in town,” he admitted, “But maybe if you can get away early, we could go together?”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t…” you said. No one was monitoring your hours after all, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t made huge inroads into the project already.

You grinned and practically flung yourself at him when Damien’s truck drew up outside your cottage on the far side of the courtyard. The wide expanse of gravel sat on the side of the house with the servants’ entrance, and was overlooked by the back of the mansion.

“I missed you!” you laughed, letting the colossal orc spin you easily in a circle. “You still smell like chocolate,” you said as his immensely long, black plait caught you in the face.

“Just proves I’m sweet,” he joked, and you groaned, smacking him in the chest with the back of your hand as he set you down.

“That was a bad pun, even for you.”

“You ready?” he asked.

“You don’t want to stretch your legs first? You’ve literally just got here.” He shook his head, but did nip inside your apartment for a drink of water and a bathroom break. While he was gone, you leaned against his truck and looked up at the trees above you. The height of summer was fading to the bronze of autumn now, and a few coppery leaves rained down around you like confetti, spiralling through the air that promised a change of season soon.

“Ready?” he asked, swinging your overnight bag easily into the truck and helping you up the enormous step into the cab.

As you drove away, you glanced up at the house and caught the glint of sun on a window as it closed on one of the upper storeys, but you soon forgot about the house as Damien began to regale you with stories of your friends’ antics.

With Widowsweb Court in the rear view mirror, you sighed and settled into the comfy seat, letting Damien talk as the house dwindled to nothing behind you. It felt good to be away from the limited confines of the estate, but as you looked forward to a weekend in Starfall Springs with your friends, something nagged at the back of your mind, like a caught thread pulling in the sleeve of a favourite sweater…

Your whole weekend in Starfall Springs was like the first breath of fresh garden air after a day spent in the dusty library of Widowsweb Court.

Damien had taken you to the Inglenook Inn that first night, where he, Sarrigan, their respective partners, plus a mothman named Merritt whom you’d met a few times before, and a couple of your other friends were gathered, and the lot of you talked late into the night. There were a lot of questions about Widowsweb Court, but you mostly focused on the work and describing the house and gardens to them. Somehow it felt disrespectful - an invasion of his privacy - to talk about Gilvas much.

As you left the pub to walk back to your modest apartment at the north end of the town, Sarrigan caught up with you. As he scuttled up to you, you were struck suddenly by the difference between him and Gilvas. Sarrigan Silkfoot’s silver-banded fur rippled in the moonlight, ruffled by the night breezes, where Gilvas’ spider body was black, hard, and shiny as black lacquer, and where Gilvas’ legs moved like articulated, curved daggers, Sarrigan’s were chunky and muscular and unbelievably fuzzy, ending in a little hooked and almost dainty talon. Gilvas’ legs ended in wicked points, sharp and slender as paring knives, and his fangs probably carried a deadly venom, where Sarrigan’s smile held only jollity. Gilvas also had no mandibles, where Sarrigan’s hardware clicked and chittered with his emotions.

“Listen,” he said as he fell into a near-silent step beside you. “I know you’ve not got any reception up there at Widowsweb, so I haven’t been able to get in touch by text or whatever, but I just wanted to ask you - away from the others - how it’s going. With my family’s history with theirs, I did some digging into the Widowsweb estate and the family…”

“You did?” You weren’t sure whether to be offended or curious, but in the end, the latter won out. “What did you find?”

“Just tragedy. Lately anyway. Earlier generations seem to have done ok, but… you should look him up.”

“Who, Gilvas?”

He nodded.

“You mean the fire?”

Again, he nodded, shuffling nervously. “The police think he started it, but they could never prove it.”

You scowled, horrified and hurt. “Sarrigan, I’ve met him. He doesn't seem like the type to murder his family - and his unhatched children too?” You shook your head, appalled, stomach roiling. “He’s devastated… rarely talks about them, and when he does… he’s close to tears. I think he lost a leg in the fire too.”

Sarrigan’s handsome face remained harsh and he clicked his mandibles pensively. Finally, he sighed. “Just… be careful, ok? The articles I found all said he had a nasty temper, and that since his wife’s death, he fired all the staff and turned into some kind of recluse…”

“They’ve got the last bit right,” you said, “But not the first.” He did have a short fuse though. “Thanks for looking out for me, Sarrigan, but I’m not worried.”

He nodded once. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

You shook your head and parted from him with a warm hug. “I appreciate it, but trust me… Gilvas isn’t some cruel, violent lunatic. He’s an isolated widower who’s never learned how to move past his grief.”

To your relief, Sarrigan seemed to take you at your word, and left you at your door looking happier for having aired his anxieties, and in turn having had them laid to rest.

The remainder of your weekend passed without incident, but you couldn’t get Sarrigan’s words out of your head. If he’d been painted by the press at the time as some kind of violent monster, it was no wonder that Gilvas had hidden himself away on his estate and never spoke to anyone.

On the Sunday of your weekend away, you met up with a few friends at Damien’s cafe for breakfast, and spent the better part of the day while the sun was out browsing the marketplace. As you passed a carpenter’s stall, your eye was drawn by a number of carved, wooden puzzle boxes. The satyr who had made them was demonstrating how one of them worked to a small crowed of fascinated onlookers, and when he finished, finally sliding the last section of wood free, the lid sprang open to reveal the empty chamber inside, and everyone applauded.

Fascinated, you realised what a tactile thing the boxes were, and suddenly thought of Gilvas. With his reduced sight, he relied a lot on his sense of touch. On a whim, you bought one and had it wrapped neatly in brown paper by the satyr. Thanking him, you headed home and packed up, bringing with you a few new clothes and a few more things to occupy your evenings.

Bouncing back up the driveway in Damien’s truck that evening, you couldn’t miss the looks the orc tossed you sidelong, and as you drew to a halt in the courtyard again, he stayed put in his seat and asked, “Are you really alright here? It’s so remote…”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I love the work, and the people are kind. I promise I’ll ring you the moment I’m unhappy, but for now, I’m honestly loving it. I’ve never had a better or more fulfilling job, Damien. I can’t believe I’ve got so little time left really…” You paused and sighed. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

He bowed his head and backed off, though not without pulling you half into his lap for a bone-crushing hug first. “Take care, OK?” he grunted before releasing you.

“You sure you won’t stay for some supper?” you asked as you slithered out of your side of the cab and landed on the gravel. “I bet you’d love Naril.”

“I can’t,” he said with a regretful grimace. “I need to get back to prep the shop for next week. Another time?”

You nodded. “Drive safely.”

For the entire week following your return to Widowsweb Court, you didn’t see even the slightest glimpse of Gilvas.

There was no trace of his having been in the library at all, and the secret panel at the rear of the room stayed firmly shut. You didn’t think it was your place to go wandering the corridors again, and although you continued to take a mug of tea out onto the terrace every afternoon, it was hardly the spread of High Tea that you had shared with him every day for months. The whole place seemed empty without his presence now, reminding you of your very first week there, when every shadow and doorway had loomed ominously large before you.

Finally, at the end of the week, you ran in to Chiara on your way back down and you paused to let her past with an armful of linen. “Chiara, is… is Gilvas around? Is he alright?”

She narrowed her eyes and tutted softly at you. “None of your concern,” she snipped at you before bustling off.

You stood there, mute and surprised.

It definitely didn’t sound like he was alright, but what were you to him, really? You thought of the box stowed away in your room, waiting for the right time to be brought out and given to him, and suddenly felt foolish. You’d known him for a matter of months. He was a lord, with land and a title; he had a whole household full of things already, and you were just there to reorganise his library. He’d probably already forgotten about you.

You worked solidly through the morning again the next day, but didn’t feel hungry enough to go down to lunch. You continued on through the day, pausing only to sip from your water bottle before heading back up the ladders time and time again with armfuls of books. It was exhausting. There was no trace of the webbing he’d used to catch you, and since there was also no sign of him, you made sure to take extra care going up and down.

With a sigh you finally set down the last of the hagiographies at eight o’clock that night, and put your hands to the small of your back, grunting. Dusty, tired, stiff, and still oddly demoralised, you thought you heard the creak of a door from the back of the library, but you’d barely dared to hope before the main doors opened and Naril stumped in, looking terribly out of place and awkward in his gardening overalls. He had mud on his trousers, but his boots had been scraped clean.

He sighed your name in obvious relief when he spotted you. “You ok?” he asked.

“Fine, why?” you frowned as you turned to face him, still with your palms pressed to the small of your back.

“You didn’t come to lunch, and you missed supper as well. I was worried about you.”

You smiled and dropped your hands to your sides. “I’m fine. I just… haven’t felt like myself lately. Thank you though.”

An awkward silence hung between you, and he scratched the back of his head. “Right. Well, there’s… uh… stuff in the larder and fridge if… if you get hungry. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been crushed by a ton of books or something.”

With a chuckle, you said, “This isn’t The Mummy you know? People do actually secure their bookshelves…”

He laughed briefly and headed for the doors again. “Seriously though… Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked, ears waggling.

“I’ve… I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Ok,” he said, green eyes wide and glassy. “Well, you can always talk to me. What are friends for, right?”

“Right. Thank you, Naril.”

He nodded, and left.

In the silent stillness of the library, you sank with a heavy sigh into one of the nearby chairs and let your palm cradle your chin, with your elbow planted on the wood of the table. When had this place started to feel so sad again? It was as if the gloom was seeping back into the fabric of the place like a sponge soaking up ink.  

About a minute later, a familiar movement caught your attention and you looked up to find Gilvas standing beside a bookshelf. He was tilting his head in that way that meant he couldn’t see you in the dim light, but he knew you were still there.

“I’m here,” you said quietly, hardly daring to move in case he scuttled away.

Locking onto your voice, he moved with expert familiarity round the library and came to a halt near your table. The only light now came from a lamp one shelf over. “I… I overheard…” he began stiffly. His red gaze sailed right over your head, so it was clear that he couldn’t see you, even this close up. “Is… I mean… Are you alright?”

“Could ask the same of you,” you said wryly, eyeing the dark shadows under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” He looked dreadful again, as if he’d hardly eaten anything in the interim.

“Been better, I suppose,” he said. “The firbolg said you haven’t eaten today… is that right?”

“Mmm.”

“Should we raid the kitchen together?”

You smiled. “You haven’t eaten either I take it…”

He shook his head.

Standing, you swayed as a head rush washed over you and you let out a tiny grunt of surprise, grabbing the back of the chair.

With a scowl, he stepped closer. “Alright?” He steadied you, his hand finding your waist and lingering there.

“I missed you,” you breathed unthinkingly as you stared up at him.

Gilvas froze and then let out a rough exhale, withdrawing a few paces. “You did?”

“Mmm. I have something for you too, from Starfall, but it’s back in my room. I… I’d started to think I wasn’t going to see you again…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers curling briefly into fists at his side. “I… I rather let the melancholy take over again.”

“Why?” you asked, stepping closer to him. His ear followed you and he narrowed his eyes. You got the impression that you’d just stepped into his limited field of vision and he could now make out your silhouette in the shadowy library.

The lord of Widowsweb Court gave a bitter, brittle laugh and turned away, legs moving in sequence like a windup toy. “I think I misled myself,” he said eventually.

Your brows knitted and you closed the distance between you, laying your hand boldly on his cool, obsidian foreleg again. As before, he shivered, but he didn't pull away. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose I got carried away - this past month in particular,” he said in his rough baritone.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said, that cut-glass edge returning to his voice. “You don’t know what it was like before you came here; before you —” he stopped himself but then took a breath and continued in barely a whisper, the consonants softly articulated. You had to lean in closer to hear him. “Before you brought the light back to this place.” His voice cracked as he added, “And you took it with you.”

“Gilvas…” you gasped, shocked by his tone.

“I know,” he growled. “It’s inappropriate of me, and melodramatic. You were only gone for two days. But it’s the truth. I got so swept up in spending time with someone again — in… in enjoying myself — that I somehow forgot that you have a whole life outside of our brief interactions here, beyond these walls…”

“Naril's birthday…” you breathed and he nodded. He’d stumbled upon you and Naril sharing a laugh and a close touch at his birthday and had assumed from the physical closeness that there was something more than friendship between you. That had been the last time you’d seen him.

Then he shook his head in disgust and sneered self-deprecatingly, “It’s as though I became a teenager again - spoilt and sour and… everything I loathe about myself.”

He backed away out of your grip until his huge carapace nudged against the shelf behind him and he went still again. Trapped between you and the books, he breathed heavily for a moment through his aquiline nose. Your heart was beating in your throat but you kept quiet.

“I have a nasty, possessive side,” he said, scowling. “I’d almost forgotten about it, but as — I hesitate to call it a friendship… I’m not sure what we had between us — but whatever it was grew, I came to think of you as… mine. And then I saw you laughing with him and… I remembered that you’re not mine at all. I have no right to make those kinds of disgusting demands or claims. You’re not mine — you’re not anyone’s but your own person. I forgot myself, and I hated myself for it.”

He was jealous.

Gilvas was jealous that you’d been laughing with Naril that night. Despite the anguish on his face, you had to smile. When he heard you chuckle softly, he growled at you again, deep and rich and animalistic. Defensive. That was all it was; defensive bluster.

“It’s true that Naril has come to be my friend here,” you said, moving carefully closer to him now that he couldn’t back away any more. “But I thought about you all weekend while I was away. I couldn’t get you out of my head. When my friend Sarrigan —”

“— Silkfoot?” he interrupted with a sneer. “‘Sarrigan’ is an old Silkfoot name…”

“Yes. Sarrigan Silkfoot is a friend of mine,” you said carefully, noting the lingering displeasure in his features. “He’s currently dating a human, and my best friend, Damien, is also very much in love with a human. If you’re worried about what previous generations of Silkfoots thought about relationships between species, you needn’t worry. The current heir to the family - Sarrigan’s older brother - has even recently married a human. Things have moved on since the founding of Widowsweb…”

His chest heaved and he sank lower so that his pendulous spider’s body was only a few inches above the ground, and his torso and head were almost on a level with yours. “I’ve hidden myself away too long,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Taking a final step over to him, you stood in the space between his deadly front legs. It felt suddenly intimate in the extreme, and you reached your palm out and laid it on his chest. He flinched, but let you talk.

“Sarrigan told me a bit more about the papers said… about the circumstances of the fire… about what people believed at the time…” you said carefully, and Gilvas’ face darkened dangerously. “But I got to know you before I’d heard that, and I can’t believe you would have started it. I can’t believe anyone thought that of you.” You placed your left palm to mirror your right and felt the way his chest heaved with emotion as he listened. “You’re a good person, Gilvas. I told my friends that, and they believed me. And I think you’ve suffered alone for long enough.”

Gilvas’ expression shattered and he leaned forwards and drew you into his arms. “I don't want you to leave…” he whispered into your hair as he held you close. He smelled like books and sandalwood, warm and comforting, and you let your arms snake around his waist.

“I don't have anything else lined up for after I finish here,” you said without letting go. He was gently inhaling the scent of you, you realised, and you let him hold you, drawing comfort from the warmth of your body. “And I told you there’s a lifetime’s worth of work to do on this library…”

“I could renew your contract,” he said. “Or… Or you could… No. I don't want you to feel… obliged…” he said, swallowing thickly and drawing sharply back from your embrace as if you’d burned him. “If I’m paying you —” his face buckled into a sour grimace and he lurched slightly further away from you. “I don’t want to pay you to stay here…” he spat as if the idea thoroughly disgusted him.

You laughed. “I own my apartment in Starfall. I could rent it out for some income, and come and live here with you. That way… there’s no imbalance…”

“Yes,” he nodded breathlessly, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “Yes, that’s… that’s good. And if you still have your apartment, you can… I mean… there will be somewhere for you… if… if you decide…”

“Stop,” you said. “Don’t push me away again.”

The drider took a huge inhale and nodded. Then he licked his lips nervously and said, “You know, we were going to raid the kitchen before we went down this path. You shouldn’t make any rash decisions on an empty stomach.”

“An excellent point,” you said with mock seriousness. “Let’s go.”

Over a rather strange and cobbled-together supper of leftovers scrounged from the pantry, eaten at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, Gilvas stayed almost completely silent. At first, you thought he was just concentrating on eating, being particularly careful about his movements since he didn’t see as clearly as you did, but after a while, you discovered the crinkle in his brow and noticed the tremor in his fingers again.

“Wait here,” you said, pushing back from the table and touching the back of his hand briefly. He was always so cold.

“Where are you going?” he barked, tense.

With a giggle, you said, “Trust me. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, you vanished out of the back door and scuttled over the gravel to the little apartment above the old stable block where you’d been staying for the past few months. Minutes later, you returned to find him exactly where you’d left him, scowling at his food.

He looked up sharply as you reentered, and you watched his shoulders drop with relief a split second later when he figured out that it was you.

“Here,” you said, holding out the brown paper parcel to him, touching it to the back of his fingers in case he couldn’t see it.

In moments, it was obvious to you that he couldn’t, because his fingertips trailed along the edges, looking for a way into the parcel. “What is it?” he asked warily, shifting his head from side to side.

“You’ll find out. I saw them being made in the marketplace, and I think with your sense of touch you’ll probably have an advantage over someone with sharper vision…”

At that, his frown deepened, though not from discomfort. He was openly curious now, and he got to work on the wrappings, abandoning them to one side. “A box?” he murmured when he’d run his fingers all the way around it. Watching him, you suddenly felt a thrum of desire go right through you. You wanted him to do that to your body, to explore you by touch, and you barely bit back a moan as the force of it swept through you.

He paused and turned his face towards you expectantly.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “It’s a puzzle box. It’s all inlaid with different types of wood, and there are a few panels and sections that you have to slide in the right order to open it.”

At that, his face cracked into a gorgeous, open, delighted grin and your heart slipped sideways in your chest at the youthfulness it lent to his features. “I used to love these as a child,” he said. “Thank you.”

He moved then, obviously not having been sitting on a chair like you, and found his way faultlessly around the kitchen to where you were seated opposite him. The little inlaid box lay to one side on the table while he took your hands in his and squeezed your knuckles fondly, earnestly.

“Thank you,” he rasped again.

You raised your chin and he let go of you with his right hand and brought it up to cup your left cheek in his cool palm. His thumb traced an arc across your skin and you shivered, exhaling and breathing hard. “Gilvas…” you whispered, want burning inside you inside you like a flare. You didn’t want to push him or rush him, but if he didn’t kiss you in the next three seconds, you thought you might just wither up and die on the spot.

Mercifully, he leaned down, tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips. His kiss was soft, his lips cool and hesitant, but the moment you let a little moan of pleasure escape you, he deepened the kiss. His long fingers scrunched in your hair and he closed his red eyes with a flutter of long lashes. His two forelegs rose up slightly for balance as his body rocked downwards and he pulled back with a gasp, chest heaving again. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely, looking suddenly shy.

You grinned and stood. “I want you too…”

Gilvas led you through the house, pausing with endearing frequency to kiss you breathless against almost every spare surface that wasn’t covered by paintings or suits of armour or priceless vases on precarious pedestals, and finally he backed you up against the double doors to a bedroom on the fourth floor, and picked you up so that you had to latch your legs around his waist at the point where his humanoid torso met his spider’s body. You ground yourself against him as he kissed you over and over, his long hair falling around your face in a black and red curtain.

With one foreleg, he delicately pushed the handle down and nudged the doors open. Still holding you, he drew your top off over your head, discarding it to one side as he carried you across the room and deposited you onto a massive bed. It bounced and flexed beneath you, and as you looked around you discovered that it was not a bed, but a thick and intricately woven web slung between the two perpendicular walls of the far corner of the room. You leaned back into it, feeling the soft silken strands flex slightly beneath you, and looked up to see Gilvas’ silhouette in the darkness of the room.

The moon shone through an open window to your right, painting fine silver highlights to the gleaming lacquer of his carapace and needle-like legs, and in the moonlight, you saw that he was dripping webbing onto the floor from the gland at the tip of his spider’s abdomen. You knew enough about driders to know that when they got really aroused, they often leaked webbing like this. Male driders did not mate the way many other beings did, but that didn't put you off. You wanted him - his pleasure, his ecstasy, his noises, his joy…

It did make him suddenly nervous though, as if he’d only just realised that you might be expecting him to penetrate you, and with his anatomy, he couldn’t.

“Gilvas?” you asked, reaching up for him where he still loomed hesitantly above you. “Come here… let me take care of you…”

“I…” he began, but he let you draw him down onto the soft, smooth webbing. His legs ended in those dazzlingly sharp points, and he seemed to dance across the webs like a circus performer on a high wire. He lowered himself down atop you and you kissed him again. His hands skated over your hips and he drew the rest of your clothes off to abandon them beside his bed.

Seeking friction, he carefully slid his slick abdomen against your legs and shivered, moaning. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, head bowing forwards as he rested on his elbows, one on either side of your body. “I can’t believe how warm you are… it’s… it…”

“Does it feel good?” you asked, raking your fingers through his long hair and he nodded wordlessly. “Can you roll over?” you asked.

“Oh gods,” he gasped, clearly aroused by the idea, and nodded.

It wasn’t the most elegant manoeuvres, but once he was on his back with his legs curled upwards like a black, clawed hand, you sat in the gap where his one missing leg should have been, and ran your hand over the smoothness of his underbelly. In no time you discovered the slit in his lower body that was leaking slick, pearlescent fluid all over himself.

“Oh!” he yelled, spine curling and legs twitching as you traced your fingertips around the softer inner walls of the slit. Where the rest of his body was cool and hard, there he was almost searingly hot, the inner walls silky and slick. “Oh gods, oh gods… oh gods…” he chanted in time with your motions, his whole body twitching and making the webbing rock beneath him.

The tendons of his neck stood out in glorious contrast beneath the watercolour birthmark as he clenched his jaw and rammed his eyes shut, lost in the sensations. His fingers scrabbled at the web of his bed and he rocked and shivered and arched into your touch as you worked him closer and closer. You knew he was going to make a mess when he came, and you felt your whole body flush hot at the thought of finally getting him to let go of all his tight control and insecurities, to give himself over to the simple, honest pleasure you were offering to give him.

The thought of that was almost enough to make you come yourself, but you focused on him until he growled softly.

“I want…” he began but cut off as you grazed a spot inside him unexpectedly with a fingertip that made him bellow wordlessly. “Fuck…” he hissed when he’d recovered, head lolling back again, and you grinned at the curse on his aristocratic tongue. “Wait…” he panted. “I want… I want to touch you… before I… before you make me…” he growled again in frustration. “I’ll only be able to… to… come once… please… let me…” Hearing him lose control of his words like that in the face of his arousal only made it all the more endearing.

“You can touch me,” you said coyly without changing anything, but when he genuinely snarled, sounding more like a werewolf than a drider, you laughed and leaned closer to him.

His cool fingers dug into your arms as he tugged you tight against his body, pulling you down to lie atop him along the length of his belly and humanoid stomach, and you ground yourself against him for a little relief. His hand slid down your body, down your side, and before you could think, he was pleasuring you. “Let me,” he hissed when you tensed a little, revealing his venomous fangs as a flash of white in the dimness when you tried to pull back to finish him.

“But I wanted to make you come,” you pouted, and he actually laughed at that, four red eyes closing and crinkling softly in the corners with genuine amusement at your disgruntlement.

“Too bad,” he groused. “I want to watch you first.”

“Fair enough,” you grunted as he caught you just so and you rocked against him. “I’m so close…” and you really were. His touch was relentless, demanding your pleasure in return for the sensations you’d just given him.

“I know,” he snarled right in your ear, teeth - the non-venomous ones you hoped - just grazing the shell of your ear. “I can smell it on you.”

And with that, you came unexpectedly hard, crashing into your release and clinging to him. He eased you through it and when you lay panting and spent on his chest, he moved his hand to his mouth and cleaned himself luxuriantly, obviously enjoying the taste of you on his skin.

After that, he seemed softer and more relaxed, and when you’d recovered enough to get your legs back under you and return your attentions to his body, he finally seemed to have allowed himself this connection to another person. His body heaved and rocked rhythmically, his legs knocking nonchalantly against each other as he spasmed and moaned, and as he grew wetter and slicker around your hand, and his inner walls began to clench and shiver in a distinct cadence, you knew he was getting close. He was also giving you the most delicious sounds; gasping and cursing, grunting and even wailing softly at times when you slowed your touches to a barely-there whisper against him.

Eventually though, he began to rock against you in earnest, and you felt his release coming as a rapidly-building wave, gathering momentum until it finally ripped through him like a wildfire. White release gushed from his entrance and covered your hand, rolling down the sleek, shiny carapace to soak into the webbing while his body heaved and convulsed with pleasure. He made no sound, his face contorted in a rictus of pleasure as he gave everything he had to you, his hands gripping the webbing as he released in messy waves all over himself and you.

Finally as the pleasure faded to something gentler and less intense, he lay back, motionless on his bed, muscles completely slack, face soft, breathing quiet.

“Gilvas?”

“Mmm?” he hummed without moving.

“You alright?”

“Mmm.”

Weak and completely spent, he lay there unmoving for a long time while you gently trailed your fingers around his still clenching slit as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through him. Eventually, you wiped your hand clean on the webs beside him and shuffled up to lie beside him. He still looked absolutely exhausted and drained, and you sat there a long time just watching him.

After a very long time, he mustered the energy to open one arm to you and you nuzzled in against his bare shoulder. His breath hissed softly through his slack jaw and he pressed a shy kiss to the top of your head. “See why I wanted… to make you… to make you come first?” he whispered, words heavily slurred and indistinct.

You nodded and shifted to drape your arm across his chest and draw idle patterns over the bare skin of his white torso.

His skin was starkly pale in the moonlight, and as you stared at him, you realised he’d probably relied solely on touch for the whole time you’d been in the room. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his jutting collarbone, making him inhale sharply.

He was still too thin, still obviously not taking care of himself properly, but, you thought, if he’d trusted you and let you in to this extent, perhaps you could both take care of each other now.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispered after another long while of silence and closeness in the dark.

“Just thinking how good this feels,” you said honestly. “And how I could lie like this forever… Or at least… until you’re ready to go again.”

He snorted, taken off-guard. “Won’t be for a very long while,” he said bashfully. “Driders don’t recover quickly. Not the male ones, anyway.”

“I’m in no rush,” you said, laying your cheek back down on his cool skin and shivering as goosebumps rippled up your body.

He fumbled around on his other side and drew a large blanket up and over his body, careful to avoid the mess on his carapace, and let you snuggle up beneath it.

You’d have to wait for the dawn to go again though, because you were asleep in his arms in minutes.

___

Maybe we'll get to see more of them in the future, but for now, this four-part story is over. Thanks for your comments and enthusiasm for the cranky spooder boy!

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[clonemando]

Meeting the Tribe

Din convinces Boba to join him in meeting back up with his Tribe. Boba really doesn't want to but he can't resist his little brother's puppy eyes. AO3 Link

Boba sighed as he and Din entered a rather populated city together. The stares didn't bother him much, no one would be stupid enough to try to take on a pair of Mandalorians together without a full team and even then, he and Din could handle it. Plus if they recognized him and his armor, which by the terror he could feel as they walked slowly towards the market they did, then that was even more incentive to leave them alone. No, he wasn't so much bothered by the place than by the reason they were there.

Din needed to see his people. See who remained of what was once his tribe. Boba understood that. But what he didn't like was that Din insisted he come too.

"Din, I respect your beliefs but I'm not one of them. They won't want me there. I shouldn't know where the covert is located." He had tried to argue but Din had turned big brown puppy dog eyes on him and damn they were even worse when he could actually see them without the helmet in the way.

"You are one of us through me and they will not challenge that. If they do, I'll deal with it. I need to speak with the armorer. There was a lot of Beskar on the cruiser and it should be returned and used for foundlings. Not to mention you could use some repairs. And as part of my clan, you need the signet somewhere on your armor- if that's okay? I know it was your father's. Maybe we can get a new piece made instead…" Din had dissolved into muttering and Boba knew he wouldn't be winning the battle.

So now here they were slowly making their way around twisting and winding roads. Din finally dragged him under an arch and down some stairs and then they were there. Children were running around, all covered with a buy'ce on their heads but none seeming to even notice as they played. Parents watched nearby, eyeing the newcomers warily with the fierce protective streak all Mandalorians shared for children, especially their own. Boba felt like he was intruding and really wanted to leave but Din strode through like he belonged and getting separated seemed like an even worse idea so he kept up.

Even in the dark, in this place Din had never been, it was like he had a map in his mind and they were shortly standing in front of a forge. Din kneeled and Boba hesitated unsurely before following his example while a woman in a gold plated buy'ce made her way around to look at them. Boba knew this must have been the leader of Din's tribe, the armorer he spoke so highly of.

"You have returned. Was your task successful?" She asked Din, completely ignoring Boba's presence and he wanted to feel upset about it but mostly he was grateful.

"It was. The child has been delivered to a Jedi who can train him. He is safe now." He said and Boba wondered if the Armorer could hear the pain in Din's voice as he spoke the way he could.

"Jate. Good. Now tell me why you have brought this dar'manda amongst us?" She said and Boba winced because she said it so calmly. She wasn't even judging him, it was a statement of fact to her. That he existed with no soul. Maybe she was right.

"He is not dar'manda. He was… echoy'la… lost, searching. A foundling of our own kind found by others. Now he has been returned to us. He has been reborn and should be offered cin vhetin." Din said voice sharp as a knife and Boba could admit he didn't recognize all words. His Mando'a was rusty. But he knew Din was defending him.

"I told you I don't belong here, Din. It's fine. Let them call me what they wish. I'm not a child who needs to be coddled." He hissed at him, not sure how to handle being defended. It felt wrong.

The Armor's gaze shifted. "You brought Beskar." She said ignoring their staring contest to look at the container Din had brought with them.

"Yes. The imperials that we fought to get the child to his people had a large amount. It belongs back with our people." Din said setting the container in front of himself and opening it.

The Armorer examined a bar before looking over Din. "Your beskar'gam is still in repair. What do you wish me to make for you? Or shall it all be used for the foundlings?" She asked and Din met her gaze and held it even through their helmets.

"He is part of my clan and requires a signet. His armor is in disrepair and to let my Aliit suffer injury when I have means to protect him would be to break the creed." He said and Boba wanted to growl that he wasn't part of the damn creed or stomp out and leave Din there despite, or maybe because of, how generous he was being.

The Armorer looked between them again and sighed. "You have always had the most stubborn of hearts Djarin. Very well. What will you have me do for your vod?" She asked and Din looked at Boba who was trying to find a way out of this mess that wouldn't offend Din or shit all over how hard he was fighting for him.

"This armor was my father's I don't-" He started his voice coming out less firm that he wanted it to and more pleading. The Armorer seemed to accept that and she backed away, taking the Beskar and starting to work. Boba didn't know what she was doing but he flinched at the loud sound of the hammer feeling confined and on edge. He didn't belong here. He should have told Din no and stayed on the ship.

"Din, go out now. Paz was hoping to speak to you. When you return I will be finished." She ordered and he saw Din hesitate before nodding and leaving. The Armorer finally directed her gaze to Boba and he resisted the urge to squirm like a child. She wasn't Jango about to give him a scolding for sneaking out to play with the other clones. But she definitely had a similar energy to her.

"Boba Fett. Son of Jango Fett. Son of Jaster Mareel who was once Mand'alor. Din Djarin has claimed you as part of his clan and house. Do you know what that means?" She asked and Boba sighed shoulder's slumping despite himself. So he was getting a scolding. Mandalorians had to drag your whole family line into it too.

"We're just brothers. It's not like we're getting married." He grumbled.

"Family is family, no matter position. Love is love no matter the type. Your houses shall be one and the same. Your past will be his past and his your own. That is our way. Cin vhetin… He wishes for you to be given a clear start. Free of what you were before you were Mandalorian. He is offering a soulless being like you a piece of his own so you might join the Manda when you die. That is what it means. If you tarnish and ruin him, I will find you, and nothing you have ever done will compare to the wrath I will let fall upon you. Do you understand?" She said voice still level and calm, but that only made it worse.

"Yes. You are his mother." He said meaning to ask but it came out like a statement. The Armorer looked towards the door.

"They are all my children but the Mandalorian who found Din and raised him here died when Din was still young. To lose his birth family, and then the one who found him, he needed someone who would not fail him again. I claimed him. And now that means I must accept you. Do not let that make you think I like you, however." She said and returned to her work and Boba's head bowed as silence filled the space now, besides the hammering and sounds of her tools.

Boba wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate her for judging him on a life she knew nothing about. He wanted to tell her to stuff it and that this was all a mistake. But mostly he was tired. He found himself wondering instead how his father would like Din. Jango would probably remind Boba that trusting led to betrayal but he wouldn't dislike Din. He might even eventually come around when he saw how good Din was. His lips twitched slightly at the thought of his father arguing with this woman for the right to take Din as his son the way he had heard him argue with the Kaminoans. It would have certainly been a fierce fight.

"Stand." She interrupted his musing and Boba stood looking at what she held out for him trying to identify what the strip of metal would be used for but she didn't wait for him to ask.

"A neck guard." She murmured and fitted it between his helmet and armor and he felt his mouth go dry.

"Oh" Was all he could say and she met his eyes through their helmets.

"Stay still while I place your signet," She asked instead, and Boba was glad she didn't expect him to say anything. When Din returned followed by a hulk of a Mandalorian in blue painted armor, she had finished adding the mudhorn signet to the pauldron that didn't have his mythosaur.

"Boba, Paz will be coming with us when we return to Tatooine. He has some business there." Din said and Boba turned to pierce his gaze right to where he knew Din's eyes were.

"Are you suddenly the one who decides who can come onto my ship to my planet?" He asked in a low growl. Din didn't even flinch though at least Boba knew he wasn't losing his touch because the big guy that must have been Paz tensed. Din could just read him too well.

"I forgot. Oh great and powerful Boba Fett, who rules over Tatooine with a fist of Beskar, I beg of you to humbly allow my pathetic brother Paz to accompany us back to your home." Din said dryly and Boba grinned at the offended. "Hey!" From Paz.

"Hmmm… I suppose, when you ask so nicely, we can arrange to have him loaded in with the rest of the supplies." He said and he could feel the heat of Paz's glare which made him grin. This was more comfortable.

"I always wanted to stuff Paz in a box. Let's go then." Din said leading the way out with Boba and Paz following him. Maybe Boba didn't belong with the tribe, but he definitely knew he belonged with Din. So he'd accept this too.

[eorzeanharmony]

Fallout

After the events of a terribly off-track recon mission at a remote Garlean castrum, the infiltrators ended up leaving with one more person than they came with... a near-mortally wounded young soldier kidnapped rescued by Deccan Aurelius. 

With the youth near death from his injuries, the rogue tesserarius had to find someone to help... 

(forgive the back-and-forth tenses; this is a transcript of RP rather than short fiction.)

Adelle hurried out through the door to a hallway in the rear of the house, dressed in her usual brown cloak and skirt. One sleeve looked s bit charred, but otherwise there wasn't so much as a thread out of place. The small raen woman who had greeted Deccan, Naino, bowed at the waist and slipped downstairs to put together a tray of tea and cakes. From the hall was the busy chatter of people, the guffawing laugh of someone amused and a hammer as another person did their best to repair a ceiling. A small green Au Ra glanced their way and vanished out the door trailing pipe smoke, and a raven haired Roegadyn excused herself as she dragged in several planks of dry wood. "Lovely to see you again, Deccan. Come, I have a private office where we can speak. Do you have a preference for tea or coffee?"

The big blond man nods.. he looks a bit different than the last time she saw him; short leather jacket, tank top, denim pants, practical boots but all in shades of dull tan and brown. Instead of the gunner's goggles he'd been sporting the night before, he wears a simple pair of frameless glasses on his aquiline nose. They don't seem very strong, though... the lenses don't distort his pale green eyes much, if at all. Odd. "Ah.... thank you for seeing me...." Dec glances at the few people in the area, "Actually... I think your office is probably advisable, given the circumstances."(edited)

"Certainly," she smiled, and gestured for him to follow down the winding corridors and a flight of stairs. Adelle opened the door and peered in, then urged him to make himself comfortable. The room was quiet, save for the heavy tick-tock of the chronometer, and smelled faintly of citrus and dried roses. A second desk faced them on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by bounty posters, armor polish and hunting gear. "Mist's desk," she explained as she claimed her usual high back chair. "Now please, speak freely. I keep the same privacy and discretion here that I do in my infirmary. Whatever you can tell me about my possible patient would be welcome."

Deccan's pale gaze seems to track around the room with an inordinate amount of care and practiced method, even as he eases himself into the proffered chair. It's like he's looking for.... something. Guards? Wards? Cameras? ...All three, likely. Eventually though, it returns to Adelle. "He was... ah. Rescued from the site of a conflict between Eorzean and Garlean forces. Though..." The man fidgets quietly. "his wounds predate the incident. I've been doing what I can to care for him, but he's got internal injuries and I think he's going septic. He's young, he has his whole life ahead of him... I don't want him to die...."

Adelle leaned forward. With her gloved fingers laced on the desk she frowned, and the branch-like scarring that curled up the side of her face tugged awkwardly at the corner of her mouth. "Which side was this man on? I assure you now, it makes no difference to me other than knowing how to help him." Her brows furrowed. "Well, if he will accept my help. That is a factor as well "(edited)

Deccan sighs, frowning vaguely, and tangles his fingers together. It's this behavior that may well indicate his 'fidgeting' is less displacement activity and more the fact that the scruffy blond man's hands shake nigh constantly. "He's... Garlean," the blond admits quietly. "That's why I was resistant to bringing him to more, eh..." He fishes for a good word, "... commonly accessible clinics, or the Conjurer's Guild. As for accepting your aid, he doesn't want to die either. Like I said, I'm no medicus... but I...remember that the one that had been seeing him indicated his chance of survival was low..." He scowls distantly at his hands. "I don't know, maybe it is too late, but I have to at least try."

"Does he receive aetheric healing without issue, or should I plan for other means?" She reached for a mosaic, gem-encrusted fountain pen and began scribbling on a sheet of loose parchment. "I could always use aetheric means and stabilize him after the fact..." She mused, tapping the pen against the desk's surface. "What are the extent of his injuries as you know them? And does he speak Eorzean?"

"I don't know," he admits, honestly enough. "I haven't really had a problem with it, but I know some people are really prone to aethersickness just from the exposure. As for his wounds... I'm pretty sure they're from arrows, or some other piercing weapon. But either he wasn't recovered quickly enough, or they were poisoned with something... or I don't know, that part of La Noscea is a jungle and who knows what could have gotten to him..." He wrings his hands a little more, "I'm sorry, I don't know more..." As for speaking Eorzean, he nods, though the question surprises him. "He does, yes..."

"Easier for me, then. I can explain things to him. I am unfortunately a bit rusty..." She continues to write, scribbling various tools and medicines and potions. The Elezen lifted a hand to her linkpearl. "Naino? Forgo the tea. Can you see if Silas is available? No, not Cassius. The first Silas. Thank you." She smiled. "You have told me plenty. Who is he currently with? Do you leave him alone?"

Deccan nods slightly. "He's... at my place. He's safe; it's quiet there and I know no one will find him. I don't really have a choice but to leave him alone... but I did set up a bit monitoring system that alerts me if something happens. I don't leave him alone for very long, though." He pulls out a battered Garlean-made tomestone and shows it to her.

She nodded, although the tomestone gave her reason to pause. Adelle seemed to stiffen some in her comfortable chair, and drew in a deep breath as though to steady herself. "We will need to go swiftly then. Naino will let me know if Silas is available, although I am beginning to see that you are...quite desperate. What would you have done if I had reported you to the authorities for harboring what amounts to a criminal?" Adelle capped the pen and slipped it into her desk. "How long has he been ill?"

Deccan fidgets with the 'stone quietly. "I... don't know," he admits, frowning a little. "Milloux knows about my background; I figured if she vouched for you, you would at least be inclined to hear me out instead of just... following the party line." His pale eyes lift, "I'd like to think that was a point of common ground, actually," he continues. "I've been talking to him. Explaining things. He's no criminal, I know that much... just a soldier in a war that was set in motion by forces none of us can stop. All anyone can do is try to stem the bleeding..." He sighs, pushing himself to his feet, "I can't answer that either. I don't have any of his paperwork... but I know he's not doing well. Maybe... about a week?"

"So long?" Her sapphire eyes widened. "Twelve, then perhaps we have even less time to discuss this than I thought." Adelle stood and rounded the desk, hurrying to the door. She left it open as she nearly ran down the hallway and passed off the note she'd scribbled to someone else, then made her way back to the office. On her return she had a weathered, walnut cane in hand. Expertly she clipped it to the mount sewn into the back of her cloak, and beckoned for him to follow. "My apologies. I had no idea it had been so long. I would have suggested I come your way at once. I have my staff preparing my things for me. Is there anything else I should know?"

Deccan jogs after her, now looking more concerned than he did at the start. "Ah... not that I know of. I live... um. You know where the Sultana's Breath is, yes? In the Goblet. I can meet you there..." At least it's not anywhere strange or unfamiliar.

"I do. Which ward?" She glanced briefly back over her shoulder at him and paused briefly at the infirmary door. Her leather medical satchel was already within easy reach, and clinked tellingly as she snatched it up. Dozer perked his head at the sight of her and wagged his tail. After a moment of hesitation she whistled, and the little terrier bolted to her side. A few commands had him sticking close, his attention fully on her. He didn't even go for a sniff of Deccan's boots.

"Twelfth ward," the big man says, stuffing his tomestone back into his pocket. "We can take my airship if you don't mind close quarters. It's not really intended to carry more than one but I'm sure it'd be fine since I didn't exactly arrive with cargo onboard." That said, he goes to head back outside, presumably toward his transportation.

She shook her head. "I will meet you there. I can take aethertyes without complication."

He doesn't seem all that surprised. "Well... all right. Don't go to the front door, go around back. I'll be there as soon as possible." The airship -is- there... small, single-man, and obviously an Ironworks manacutter, although it looks kind of banged up and secondhand. The big blond vaults into the cockpit, straps in, and starts it up, hovering just for a moment before wheeling to one side and lifting off, accelerating into the southern skies.

—————————————

Adelle was quick to bid farewell and, after Naino explained where Silas could be found in the house, hurried to find him herself. Peering in through the doorway, the elezen waved toward him. "Silas! I have a patient I would appreciate your help with. A Garlean man, and it sounds like he has been through more than I would like for a patient. I offered my help before I had the full story, and now I think it might be helpful to have you along. We will be at the Sultana's Breath apartments in Ward twelve. I have to hurry there, but please meet me if you can."

It would take awhile before Deccan manages to catch up.... airships, however fast, aren't instantaneous and can't compete with simply teleporting from place to place. If they go around the back, as instructed, they'll find... well... a small cactus garden, and one of the maintenance entrances. It lacks the ornamentation of the front portal, has a 'NO ENTRY' sign on it, and is, of course, locked.

"seventy and seven hells, Adelle." He sat bolt upright, turning to flash a hint of a panicked glare "what does he know?" Silas stood, closing the notes he had been working on, and began putting together his field kit. "And what do you know of the patient? How old? Is he military? Do you have a name?" He sighed, shaking his head and waving her off. "Never mind, hurry, I get it. I'll see you there, go."

She'd rushed out the door the moment he agreed, Dozer racing at her side. Thankfully getting to the Goblet was a mere blink, and another still to get to the apartments. Even better, she was a familiar enough face to ignore. Most people knew the blue duskwight with her little terrier who went from clinic to clinic, or chased him around the pool. So it meant nothing to simply wave as she meandered with the little alibi to the rear of the building. She lingered there while Dozer sniffed at the sand, ushering him away from the threatening cactus thorns. Now and again she lifted her head to shade her eyes against the sun.

It takes... an unfortunate while for Deccan to get there, around half a bell... though that in itself speaks to how fast he was moving. The battered manacutter has to take a sweeping arc around the apartments before he can bring it down behind the building... there's actually a cleared spot of desert where he's plainly been parking it, and he does so now. He vaults out of the cockpit and jogs over to the maintenance door. Dec pauses, glancing at the unfamiliar face but... he's with Adelle, and she did say she was bringing someone, so he doesn't object, instead moving to unlock the door. "This way. Watch your step..." He waves them both in, checks the exterior, then locks it again, before moving off down the hall. After passing through what's obviously the gardeners' workshop, he moves off down a bare hallway... then another, then past some storage rooms... a low rumble almost more felt than heard indicates their proximity to the great furnaces that heat the building during the icy Thanalan nights. He comes to what looks like the door to yet another storeroom... though this one has a rather more modern looking lock on it, for all that it's nondescript, blends into the wall, and only has a single red light on it. He produces a cermet key and swipes it.(edited)

Adelle followed with some small degree of worry, and let out some of the tension in her shoulders with a breath. The air still moved around her, caressed and whispered against her skin. She could feel earth and stone surrounding them, and water bubbled through pipes and faucets. She kept her attention on her surroundings, listened as much as she was able and then... She stared at the small device in undisguised shock, and at her side Dozer scratched behind one ear. Seemingly no threat, then. "Who knows you are down here, Deccan?"

He shrugs, "The gardeners. The maintenance men. That's all. It's... well... They aren't paid that well by the building supervisor, and I offered to help them out in exchange for a corner no one was using. Everyone's happy..." And the building officials have no record of his presence. He pushes the door open into a narrow cement corridor, unpainted, lined with pipes and slowly-rusting grilles. There -is- light here, filtering through dirty, somewhat cracked windows, but it's still dim, and the rumbling from the furnace is clearly audible. It's also warm and somewhat damp.

Deccan waves the two of them in, and once again ensures the door clicks shut behind them, the light turning back to red from its brief-lived green state. "He's right around the corner here."

Adelle swept her hand forward, and at once the air began to stir. A gentle breeze lifted in the enclosed room, ushering away the promise of mildew and rot. She'd seen what a nasty bit of lingering, damp air could do in the dark: she did grow fungus as a hobby. "Hello?" She called and, after a moment - "[Hello?]"

There might have been the hint of rustling, though it stops at the sounds of voices. Deccan speaks quickly after her, "It's me, I brought help...." The voice that responds is weak, and slightly slurred. [... pyr Aurelius? Did you... find a medicus...?] Dec winces visibly when the speaker uses his title, but just makes his way around the chain link gate to where, yes, a small living area has been set up. As long as one isn't claustrophobic, it's actually fairly comfortable, with a rug, a large cot, a low table with some few personal things on it. It's also occupied by the slight figure of a young man, his blue hair damp with sweat and his color... somewhat hard to determine, actually, in the dim light. It's not enough to conceal his bruise-darkened eyes though, or the unpleasant scent of someone with grave issues. To his credit, Deccan does seem to have propped the windows open here to let in the dry desert breeze, but it hasn't done much for the temperature, only the humidity. The air movement brought by his visitor does seem to help. [Leth, this is Adelle. You're going to have to trust her, even if her methods are unfamiliar. All right?]

"Sea and skies..." She muttered, and all doubt and unease was gone. She hurried forward and bowed as quickly as she could while still being polite. Her Garlean was out of practice and oddly accented to even her own ears. "[I am Adellenne. A Conjurer, but I know healing methods you will be comfortable with. This is my Second,]" she gestured to Silas. "[What happened? I need to know details so I use as little magick as possible.]" Her gaze drifted to Deccan. "Fresh water, boiled, and a lantern with an exposed flame." Adelle spun her hand in a lazy circle and drew in more fresh air through the window. The breeze smelled of spices and heat and sand and - distantly - the promise of a rain shower. "And clean bedding."

"I just changed it this morning," he protests, a little defensively. He -has- been doing his best to care for the youth, and there's a basket of soiled linens shoved up next to a stack of crates to back up his protests. "But... uh. I can probably scrounge up another set, just a moment..." Dec sidles around Silas and goes in search of sheets and the other items. The young man on the cot is obviously beyond the point of really caring who's asking him questions, and is probably just doing his best to stay awake and coherent. [We were ambushed on patrol... I couldn't really even see where they were coming from, it all happened so fast. I took a few arrows in the fight, but... I didn't think it was that bad... at first... they were only arrows...] He sort of trails off into a mumble, then forces himself awake again. [I was in the medical bay... when, um.] He stares at the ceiling for a bit. [... pyr Aurelius sort of, um. There was some kind of attack or something, haywire magitek armor units... I don't know what happened, but the next thing I knew, pyr Aurelius was running out of the Castrum with me. I... he said he was rescuing me...] Leth may or may not be sure this is what happened.(edited)

Adelle explained each step as she did it. She checked for fever, checked his pupils for a basic response, quickly unbound the bandages and even just how much give his skin had to it. "My first thought is cellulitis. This is not poison, it would show in his eyes and gums more than this. Likely just an infection, but very deep." She murmured to Silas, and half to herself. "[Breathe deeply for me, please.]" Adelle was already rummaging through her bag for what appeared to be a simple wooden tube. The elezen worked smoothly but quickly, and all the while slipped back into cooling the room and freshening the air.

Leth seems a bit happier just with the gentle drop in temperature, but it's small improvement. Unbinding his wounds at least proves that Deccan is at least well-skilled in field medicine; they're all packed well with gauze and while they could stand changing at this point, the dressing is probably only a couple of hours old. Still, the wounds are ugly; bloodless in the center, surrounded by halos of bruise-black and scarlet. It's the beginnings of tissue necrosis, although it seems his caretaker's efforts have held off the worst of it. The young soldier makes a few quietly distressed noises as she examines him, but he's too strung out at this point even to complain loudly. Deccan returns some time later, with a couple of (mismatched) sheets and one of the gardeners' lanterns. He hands these to Silas, who is a pair of apparently unoccupied hands, then goes to boil some water. Fortunately... that's not a big deal; Dec is a severe coffee addict, and there's a giant magitek pot in the other... well... 'room' is probably inaccurate, but. 'Space' will do.

Silas sets the lantern within Adelle's reach, but not so close as to be in her way. His grim silence breaks as he sighs, shaking his head at the sight of the wounds. "What in the hells are they teaching nowadays" he mutters to himself, low under his breath as he opens his own supply case, taking out what appears to be a heavily modified imperial shadow's visor, putting it on and playing with several dials on the side, the lenses on the front beginning to glow. " I hope you've something in mind Adelle. I've not got much in my arsenal for shite like this what ain't basically a knife."

Adelle looked at her gloves and stripped then from her hands, then pushed up her sleeves. The roping network of burn scars was on full display now. "Break a window, I need as much air and access to...to everything as I can possibly get. Silas, we need to cut away the dead tissue before I do anything with Conjury. If Garlean medicine could not save this man, then it means traditional means will not work." She reached into her bag and withdrew a vial of swirling purple liquid flecked with unfortunately recognizable pieces of morbol vine. "[I am going to do what I can, but it will hurt. Without my help you are more likely to die than not. Am I being clear?]" She held the vial out to him. "[This will make you sleep without dreams while we work.]"

Deccan returns with what's obviously a paint can, albeit one that's been thoroughly cleaned. Steam curls from the top as he sets it down on the low table by the head of the cot, next to the lantern. That done, he moves back to sit on a crate near the boilers out of the way, watching them. He does seem to be watching Silas more than Adelle... probably because he's got that visor on. For his part, Leth just nods vaguely; he's plainly having visible difficulty staying conscious, his violet eyes drifting closed despite obvious effort to the contrary. He -does- shoot a glance toward Deccan, as if confirming that this is all right, but eventually disengages a hand from under the sheet to take the vial and down it. Apparently he's not too sick to make a really disgusted face, though. "....ugh!" [What was in that st...mmngh...] Well, so much for 'barely conscious'.

Adelle reached out the moment he began to slump, familiar with the potency of her sedatives. The next moment she was laying him back and set Silas with the task of cutting away what was left of his clothes. "We need to cut away the necrotic tissue. It is already setting in, and combined with the fever he has very little time left. I can feel it, even without reaching out. I will be using Conjury on him but...as little as possible." Vials and bottles were withdrawn from her bag as she cleaned the wounds as well as her hands, and a sharply sterile smell filled the small space. "We cut away the tissue here, here and here. There, as well. Surgical debridment. Once the diseased flesh is removed I mean to use Conjury to..." She heaved a sigh and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I mean to use Conjury for his fever and the infection in his blood. The moment I pull out my cane there is a vial of amber colored liquid with a pink label that you need to force down his throat. I used it to treat aether sickness in the past. It should keep him from going into shock." The elezen looked to Deccan. "After that, I have other treatments I can provde you that will help him recover. We get him through the surgery, keep him from slipping into shock, and we should be in the clear. I think he would prefer aether sickness to a coma or losing any limbs."

Silas cut away the youth's clothes, and turned back to his supplies. He pulled out what once was the core of a magitek bit, rotating it in his hands until he found the right side, activating a thin line of light which he passed around his hands and, rolling up his sleeves, his forearms. "How steady is your scalpel, Adelle?" He lifted the bit into the air, setting it floating, the light still beaming downwards. "If you want to save your energy for the fixing, I can do the cleanup. I've got an extra vial in my bag for y' as well, in case it's more'n you're expecting."

Deccan just shakes his head. "Do what you have to do," he rasps quietly. "Honestly... aether sickness passes, and I at least know how to deal with it. Better some fugitive malaise than... dying slowly on a cot in a warzone because your medicus has better things to do with his time..." His tone remains soft, but tinged with bitterness. A glance to the man standing nearby, then back down to the wounded soldier. Distractedly, he fumbles at a pocket in his coat with shaking fingers, then seems to clamp down on the habitual behavior and lowers his hand. Not that it stops twitching. "I just wish I could've done more for him," he mutters.

"Steady. This sun is fine so far, but I would appreciate having my strength reserved for the finer sealing of blood and organs. I have some concern that the infection is heading towards his heart." She glanced briefly at the bit and offered a wry smile before her gaze lingered on Deccan. "Take a few steps back, please. Once we start working I will need to be monitoring him fully and cannot worry about where you might be standing." She commanded Dozer to lay down toward the entryway, well out of sight and reach, then returned to Silas. "Ready when you are."

Deccan grunts softly. He'd thought he was out of the splash radius, but... he drops off his crate and moves back past the chain link gate before finding another crate to park on. It seems he still wants to watch... probably unsurprisingly.

"He should be fine," Adelle urged Deccan as she looked once more over the wounds. "Silas and I work well together, and I have yet to lose a patient. I even managed to sew the entirety of a man's fingers back to his hand. They even work." Hopefully the words were a comfort. The elezen sterilized the surgical tools she'd brought along, and laid them carefully on the nearest surface. At least she knew what she was doing.

Deccan nods a little, his gaze once more flicking over to Silas. HIs expression drifts thoughtful for a moment, brows furrowing, but then he seems to just shrug whatever it was off and move on. Not for the first time (or likely the last), he goes for his coat pocket... only to once more stop himself. Instead, he just stuffs his hands under his arms. A slight nod, "I figured," he says quietly. "Milloux wouldn't have suggested I speak with you if she didn't think you were good...." He glances out the dirty, slightly cracked window at the desert beyond. After awhile, he adds softly. "....Thank you for agreeing to help."

It was easy for Adelle and Silas to fall into the usual rhythm of surgery. The air continued its steady whirl around the room as it kept fresh air moving in the small space, and the light from Silas' bit cast a bright enough glow to work without difficulty. They worked in tandem with one another - passing tools, cleaning skin, adjusting position - like a well oiled machine. The lack of humidity in Ul'dah barely left enough sweat for her to bead on her brow. She could almost feel the infected pockets of flesh be removed, felt the grip of the fever loosen...Adelle kept her eye on the wounds and the moment she felt they were clear, she thrust her cane over the man's body and stretched out her hand. A new ethereal light flooded the narrow chamber. She could see it even with her eyes closed. There! There was the worst of it! If she could just... Adelle clenched her hand as though she'd crushed something in it. "I-I think...I think that should do it."

If nothing else, the young soldier is... above all... young. And with youth comes a certain degree of resilience and vibrance of life. It was still bad... another day or two without direct care and the likelihood of sepsis and organ failure would have been nearly unavoidable. But care he received, and his body... his aether, still present even if displaying that curious stubborn inertia that his people's do... actually seems to respond without unexpected resistance as she draws out the poisoned aether that remains after the poisoned tissue has been excised. He's going to have some nasty scars, but at least their area is comparatively small. All this while he hasn't stirred, still sleeping the dreamless sleep of the excessively drugged, but his fever-sweat is already starting to dry rather than being replenished. Deccan, for his part.... just watches. He notes the bit, notes the procedure... but says nothing; barely even moving. In truth, he seems a man to whom watching in stillness is... if not natural, then carefully trained. There's not even any sound from him until she speaks. "He'll... recover?"

She staggered back with a nod and the foul taste of rot at the back of her throat. "I have two bottles of a tonic you can give him over the next few suns. No more than one spoonful every four bells, but the fever will break and he should be back to his usual self in no time," Dozer finally approached - the little dog left his commanded place to set a paw on her foot. She looked down at him and sighed, then withdrew a bottle of white pills from her pocket. The Elezen swallowed one dry. "I should be going. If he does not wake by noon tomorrow, get an ammonia capsule and break it under his nose. That should work."

The big blond Garlean nods a little, looking between the two, then rummages a card out of his pocket and a pencil. He scrawls a pearl number on the back, then slides off his crate to offer it to the healer. "I don't have much," he says quietly, looking between her and her associate, "But... I owe both of you. If you ever need anything... information, contacts, even my rifle, for all that I'm not what I was anymore... don't hesitate to call me. Okay?" The card is for the Shroudrose Teahouse... a cream colored rectangle with awfully floral and feminine lacework printed all over it. The pencil marks on the back are rough and dark, as if he had trouble controlling the pencil, but they're legible.

She reached out to take the card, and offered him a small smile. "Information and contacts might be helpful, actually. We will be in touch. I would like to come check your ward within the next few suns, if that is permissible. Unless you have another healer you work with at the Teahouse?" Adelle pocketed the card without a second glance. "If not, just watch for the brightening of his eyes or a return of a fever. You did a fine job keeping him alive. If not for your help, he likely would have died well before we arrived. It is more likely than not that you saved his life."

Deccan nods again. "...Of course. Just ping me and I'll let you in. The...ah. maintenance guys won't let you in otherwise...." A pause, then he looks a little wry, "Well, unless you pay them to. Anyhow..." He trails off, looking at the pale figure on the cot, "... I'll be sure to keep a close eye on him. And give him the tonics when he comes to. "Ah... there is one healer," he admits, "But she's been very busy lately and I haven't seen her in some time. Family business, I think." He ventures a slight smile, "Oh and... if you come by sometime, order whatever you like and tell whoever's on the counter that it's on me. I still haven't gotten them to add bagels to the menu, but they keep telling me it's not -that- far off..."

"I will certainly take you up on that. As soon as he wakes enough to move, have him sit up for a bit and change the sheets. Conjury can make things heal almost too quickly, and we do not want him forming anything that will not flex with his movements." She gave him one last smile. "You did well, Deccan. Get some rest." Adelle scooped Dozer into her arms. "We will go without being noticed. I promise."

Deccan offers her a slightly wry smile, "I will. It... won't be the first time I've dealt with physical therapy to counteract keloid contraction." He sighs, moving aside so they can go. "Thank you again...." A glance back to the figure on the bed, "... though we've both got a long road ahead."

[lost-your-memory]

Supercat prompt: stuck in an elevator together. Bonus if Kara starts to feel a bit claustrophobic at some point and Cat , in her own unique way, helps her through it.

It’s not exactly as short as I thought it’d be and it’s a little … out of characters, maybe, I’m a little rusty, but it’s something! Thank you for the prompt darling!TW : panic attack —

“Kara! Finally! Where are you? Andrea’s looking for you and she’s like hell on heels, even more so than usual!”

“Crap …” Kara swore, dodging a few people on the street as she ran. “I blew my powers, I’m running at a desperately human pace … I’m on my way though, try to stall for just a little longer, please?” 

“You blew your powers? Oh god, this is not good …” Nia was whispering but, despite not having her super-hearing right now, Kara could hear the panic and the worry in her voice.

“I’m okay, don’t worry,” Kara retorted, taking a turn and crossing a road. A few horns went off as she ran in the middle of a busy avenue. 

“Kara!” Nia exclaimed on the line. “You’re human now, don’t forget to look both ways before crossing a road … or you know, just wait for the light to be green! I’m pretty sure your boss won’t like it if you die on the way or worse, if you end up in the hospital …”

Kara chuckled and sped up on the sidewalk, making her way toward the CatCo building. She was out of breath already but as she crossed the lobby, she let out a relieved sigh. 

“What’s so funny?”

Kara waved the receptionist hello as she moved to the elevators hall. “You make her sound like some kind of Miranda Priestly …”

“You’re no Andy though, that would be me” Nia laughed and then paused. “Isn’t she though, in some ways?” 

All of the lifts were busy in the higher floors and she was running out of time. After some seconds of hesitation, she decided that, for once, she’ll take the private elevator. She ran to it and pressed the button, the doors opening almost right away. Looking at her watch to check the time, Kara entered the elevator and turned around to be ready to exit it as quickly as possible. 

“Oh no she’s not. You never worked for Cat Grant but I can assure you, Andrea Roja is just a tiny purring and clawless kitten next to the former queen of all medias … If someone should be compared to Miranda, it would be Cat.” 

“Why, thank you, I’ll take the compliment.”

Kara jumped a good five inches in the air and dropped her phone, already turning around.

Cat Grant, in all her glory, was standing in the back of the elevator. 

Wrapped in a daring blue power pantsuit, she was perched atop a pair of vertiginous black heels that matched the leather vest thrown across her shoulder, held on by only one finger. A black purse was hanging by her elbow at her other arms and she was toying with one branch of her huge sunglasses with her free hand. Her hair was a little shorter now, of a lighter shade of blond that highlighted the sun-tan of her skin. 

Her trademark smirk was floating on her lips, her piercing green eyes solely focused on Kara.

“Which made you my Andrea Sach, I suppose, for quite some time … Although I never got to witness the wardrobe update, until today …”

Cat’s gaze traveled from Kara’s face to her figure and all the way down to the shoes, before coming back up, ever so slowly. 

“Kara? Kara is everything alright? Did you fell? Do you need any help?” 

Nia’s voice came through the phone on the floor, distant and muffled, but Kara was too shocked to move. 

“Are you going to answer your friend?” Cat asked, arching an expectant brow. “She sounds worried, whoever she is …”

Kara eventually bent over to pick up her phone and brought it to her ear. She felt out of her own skin, as if she was some kind of gosht looking at the scene from another angle of the elevator. 

“I … gotta go. Bye,” Kara mechanically said to her friend and she instantly hung up, without listening to the protests on the other end of the line. 

“What … what are you doing here?” Kara managed to ask without stuttering too much. 

She still couldn’t believe Cat Grant was here, in National City, in the CatCo building and moreover, in her former private elevator. Today, of all days. 

A migraine started to pound behind her eyes and she could feel her heartbeat, erratic and frantic, drum against her temples. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Supergirl?” Cat smirked again, before a frown appeared above her eyes. “Although I’m guessing you’re not so Super today …” 

Kara didn’t even try to deny it. 

She’d figured Cat already knew about her alter-ego, probably has known for quite some time already. She had even suspected it was one of the reasons behind Cat’s sudden leave of absence but Alex had told her, in not so gentle terms, that it was probably just wishful thinking.

“I’m powerless these days, yes,” Kara nodded, still struggling to come to terms with what was happening. 

She was mostly answering out of habit because Cat Grant still had that commanding aura of authority surrounding her and she’d never been able to resist it. Not that she’d tried very hard, in the first place, Kara absentmindedly thought.

“A regretful aftermath of this … crisis on infinite earths, or whatever name you superheros gave to this ridiculous crossover that put all of you on the same planet, I assume?” Cat mused, casually making her glasses swirl around her hand.

Kara gritted her teeth and looked away, forcing herself to suck in a deep breath. 

She mentally counted to five before opening her mouth to answer but at the exact same moment, the elevator abruptly stopped.

The brutal move made her lose her balance and she instinctively reached for the handlebar, preventing herself from ending on the floor. The lights went off and for a few seconds, total darkness reigned in the elevator. Then, a generator kicked in and the emergency lighting in the ceiling took over, brightening the space with a dim blue aura. 

“That’s certainly new,” Cat’s voice echoed in the lift. “I’m guessing no one ever bothered with maintenance, after my departure …”

Kara glanced at the former queen of all medias. 

Cat was still standing against the back of the lift but her leather jacket, her purse and her sunglasses were on the floor. She’d wrapped both her hand around the handlebar, on either side of her silhouette. She didn’t look scared though, merely annoyed. 

Cat’s seemingly anodin words suddenly hit Kara. As far as she knew, no one ever rode the private lift anymore. She wasn’t even sure it had been used since Cat left, which meant their current situation could very well be a serious and dangerous issue. 

Her heart skipped a beat and then raced again and she felt it pulsing in her head, in her fingertips and against her ribcage. The migraine behind her eyes migrated to her forehead and then spread everywhere as sweat started to form at the base of her hairline, above her lips and in between her shoulder-blades. 

“Kara? Are you alright?” Cat’s voice echoed again, worried this time. 

They were standing next to each other but to Kara, the words sounded distant, as if coming from very far away. She shook her head and tried to focus, but white stars were starting to cloud her vision. A heavy numbness was taking over her body, making her feel like she was floating and sinking at the same time.

“No one … the lift … it hasn’t been … used …” Kara tried, forcing the words out of her mouth and focusing on what she wanted to say. “You left.”

“I did, yes,” Cat replied, sounding entirely too casual for Kara’s liking. “Almost three years ago, but who’s counting …”

Her legs were starting to shake and Kara slowly let herself slide against the side of the lift,  until she was sat on the ground. 

She knew she was having a panic attack, it wasn’t the first time but this one seemed like it was going to be a really strong, intense one. Usually, some breathing exercises and a few Kryptonian litanies would do the trick and calm her down but she could tell it wasn’t going to work this time.

“I am,” Kara eventually replied, slowly turning her head to focus on Cat. 

Since the former queen of all media was still standing up, Kara had to look up and the move made the white stars in her eyes grow. The migraine in her head drum rolled against her temples and so Kara closed her eyes and looked back down, bringing her knees to her chest and circling them with her arms. She rested her forehead against her knees and started to count. 

“I know you are. You’ve been sending emails and letters, almost every months since I left,” Cat said, her words sounding even more distant now. “Carter was always so happy to hear back from you …”

The mention of Carter made Kara feel a little better, warmer. They’ve been corresponding pretty regularly over the years and they even talked to each other on the phone a few times. 

Kara remembered Carter used to have panic attack too. She’d been the one to reassure him, to help him out and to tell him panic attacks were nothing to be ashamed off, that she had them too. They found out together, during one of his most intense attacks, that reciting the various dinosaurs species was his personal trick to calm down. 

Cat’s voice echoed again around the lift but Kara was too unfocused to understand. 

She still caught the words “situation”, “hurry”, “unemployment” and “waiting” and her brain connected the dots. She figured Cat had called for help, using the emergency button of the elevator’s board, and threatened whoever had answered if they didn’t hurry to get them out. 

Glancing up to feel her surrounding, she saw that Cat had sat down in front of her, against the other side of the life. Somewhere in a corner of her mind, a voice told her she must be dreaming because there was no reality in which Cat Grant would ever sit on the floor. It almost made her smile, but the migraine took over and it made her wince instead. 

“I know my son recites the dinosaur’s species to calm down. What do you recite?” Cat asked as she caught Kara’s glance. She was speaking slowly and articulating every word. 

Kara anchored herself into Cat’s green eyes and took some time to gather the words she needed to answer. Her brain was all muddy and slow, she was struggling to just breathe but she knew she has to focus.

“The planets in Rao’s system,” she eventually replied. She’d been repeating them over and over and over in her mind but it wasn’t working. “It’s not … working.”

“You need to say it out loud,” Cat replied, gently. ”I think I now know about 25 kind of dinosaurs, just by listening to Carter recite them …”

Kara sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled. 

She couldn’t discern the color of Cat’s eyes in the relative darkness of the elevator but her memories were still intact and it was as she could see the golden specks swirl into the hazel irises. 

“Out of … thousands, it’s not … much …” Kara breathed, her voice coming out laboured and short.

Cat arched a surprise brow and it took some time before she muttered “I don’t know if I should be offended or impressed that you are able to be sassy in such a situation …” 

Kara wanted to smirk but her body wasn’t answering to her anymore. Her head was throbbing like hell, her limbs were numb and heavy, almost paralyzed, and there were still some white stars in her eyes. 

“Tell me about Rao’s system?” 

Cat tilted her head to the side, like she did when she expected Kara to hand over whatever she’d previously asked for. 

Kara suddenly remembered giving away one of her own latte because of this look. She also remembered that Cat had drank the cinnamon flavored drink, even if it was nothing like her regular order, without making any comment whatsoever. 

Kara shook her head, very slowly because she didn’t want to worsen her migraine, and said “You … first. What are you … doing … here?” 

Cat’s lips twitched and then a smirk made it appearance. 

“The last time you were this brazen, you were under the influence of some kind of weird substance …” Cat reminisced. “Seeing that you can pull it off in the middle of a panic attack … I’m definitely impressed now.”

Kara still couldn’t smirk but she wanted to. Instead, she mimicked Cat’s posture and tilted her head.  

“Fine, I suppose I can tell you …” Cat heavily sighed, making it clear that she was admitting her defeat. She didn’t look too bothered though, Kara distractingly noticed through her migraine and the sweat that rolled down her face and clouded her eyes.

“I’m here to buy CatCo back,” Cat announced, her voice clear and lined with steel. “This company has became a running joke ever since I left and it’s about time I take over, before this clawless, purring little kitten run it into the ground.” 

Kara didn’t move but her skepticism must have showed somehow because Cat chuckled.

“I’m late, I’m aware, yes. James, Lena, Andrea … I probably should have come back a long time ago, but I didn’t. I don’t have any excuse really, I’ve enjoyed my life in the meantime but now I’m ready to claim my throne back.”

Kara was breathing a little easier but a fanfare was still marching in her head, sweat was soaking her hair and her shirt and she still couldn’t move a finger. She mulled over Cat’s words. Something suddenly came back to her.

“You … promised… you’d be … back,” Kara breathed, still managing to sound accusatory.

“Yes, and here I am. Better late than never, as the saying goes …” Cat instantly replied, without any hint of guilt or regret in her voice.  

Kara wanted to protest but she knew it’d be wasting energy she didn’t even have. 

Three years or so might have gone by but Cat Grant was still the stubborn piece of work she’d been when Kara was her assistant. 

“Rao … it’s … it was … the sun,” Kara started, only realizing how much of a bad idea it was.

It was her first panic attack since the crisis happened and it suddenly felt like she was losing her world all over again. She knew that it wasn’t exactly the same but to realize that, across every universe in the multiverse, Krypton had disappeared everytime made her anxiety spike up, drastically so.

Cat seemed to understand.

“Alright, so maybe not this litany. Do you have something else?” Cat asked, gesturing with her hand for Kara to focus on her. “I mean, I can’t imagine Kara Danvers having a panic attack in public and reciting some planet names no one ever heard of … It would have attracted some attention, back in the old days when aliens weren’t public knowledge …”

Kara wanted to let out the hollow laugh that resonated in her head, through the pain of her migraine. She couldn’t, though. Talking was requiring a lot of effort and she had to save her energy to stay conscious, at the very least.

“Alex … the cars. We … we used to … fix … cars,” Kara answered, hoping Cat would be able to make out what she meant. 

“Really? That’s … unexpected,” Cat smiled, sounding intrigued. “Although I met your sister once or twice, I can totally see it but you?”

“I liked … mechanics. It was … something … to focus … on,” Kara explained. “We fixed … a Chevy Impala, once.” 

Cat let out a slight whistle and the sound made Kara wince. 

“Sorry,” Cat instantly apologised. “What year, the car?”

Kara looked at her former boss with surprise and again, it must have showed because Cat smirked and then shrugged. “I like cars, yes. So what year?”

“‘67, I remember … Of a deep … bottle green … color. Took us … almost … two years … to get it … to work,” Kara retorted, trying to focus on the memories. “Alex took it for … a road trip afterward and … she brought me … along. Lasted two … months.” 

Cat nodded “Sounds like a good memory. Where did you go?”

This time, Kara managed to offer half a smile. She felt her lips twitch upward and stretch, which meant progress. 

“Arizona. Utah. Colorados. New Mexico. Texas …” Kara took a deep breath and focused. “Oklahomas. Kansas …”

That made Cat snicker but she didn’t comment. 

“Nebraska. Both Dakota. Montana. Wyoming …” Kara trailed off and frowned. Her body was starting to obey her again, she noticed. She kept going. “Idaho. Oregon. Nevada … and all along the California coast, back to Midvale.” 

“Sounds like a very long trip,” Cat commented. “You visited quite a few states … where was your favorite spot then?”

Kara thought back on the road trips and the many landscapes she discovered during this summer. She’d liked everything back then, every big city they drive through, the Grand Canyon, Wyoming’s plains and Kansas regular fields, Oregon’s dunes and so on but in the end, there was only one place that topped them all. 

“I don’t have … one. My favorite spot was … riding shotgun in … Alex’s car.” 

Cat didn’t reply right away but Kara saw the gentle smile that floated on her lips for a few seconds. It disappeared rather quickly though and, despite her particular state, Kara still felt a little disappointed.

“You mentioned the cars, plural … what other car did you fix with your sister?” Cat eventually questioned, showing that she was still a journalist at heart. It made Kara want to chuckle because no matter what, Cat never got sidetracked. 

“A Cadillac, serie ‘62, convertible,” Kara replied and this time, she didn’t wince when Cat whistled. The former queen of all media looked impressed and slightly envious. “Alex’s masterpiece but… the color… sucked.”

“Oh really? Well, it couldn’t have been so bad … It’s such a fine car! A little … has been, nowadays, but such a classic …”

“It was … Barbie pink.”

Cat made a face Kara could only describe as outraged. Kara had only saw this expression on Cat a handful of time and one of them had been because someone had compared her to Lois Lane. 

“You can’t be serious!” Cat protested, as if the mere idea of such a color was a personal affront. “That’s not even …”

Kara tried to move her head and when she noticed she could, she slowly nodded. 

“It’s not a color, I agree … yet, the car was … as pink as  … one of Buffy’s lipstick.”

“Such a fine car … It’s criminal. Although, Sarah Michelle Gellar could certainly pull it off just fine, back then. Not so much today though and someone should let her know …” Cat shook her head and pursed her lips, like she always did when someone committed a fashion faux-pas. 

“You know … the actress?” Kara asked, clearly sounding a little dumbstruck. 

Of course she knew Cat was extremely famous and that she evolved in a lot of different circles and yet somehow, she always managed to forget about it. It took weird occurrences like these to get a reminded. 

“Oh yes, we have drinks once or twice a year. Aside from her tendency to live in the past when it comes to fashion, she’s a sweetheart,” Cat waved her hand in the air, a dismissal gesture that told Kara the topic was closed. “What other cars did you and your sister managed to get your hands on?” 

“We fixed a Mustang Fastback, 1967. Maybe my favorite,” Kara said with a small smile. “A red one, it was a wreck when Alex brought it in … Took us a little less than a year to put it back together.” 

“How comes your sister managed to have such fancy, expensive cars to fix?” Cat asked with a frown.

“In Midvale, we have a garage that specialises in this kind of automobiles … Alex used to work there every summer … Started when she was 14 years old and still today … she helps around whenever we go for … vacations of just for a few days.” Kara explained, instantly noticing she could form longer sentences now, despite her still laboured breath. 

“Makes sense, I suppose …” Cat nodded. She seemed about to say something else when a voice came through the elevator’s line, asking if they were still there.

“Actually no, we went out for a drink, we’ll be back a little later … Why do you think!” Cat sassed, her voice sharp and cutting as she stood up to get closer to the board. 

The man on the other side of the line coughed a little and then apologized, before explaining that help was on the way and should arrive in ten to fifteen minutes. 

“About damn time,” Cat growled and Kara, force of habit, felt a little bad for their interlocutor. 

The emergency lighting suddenly flickered. It lasted a few seconds, before it disappeared altogether.

It’s all it took to make Kara’s anxiety ten times worse. 

The numbness in her limbs, which had been slowly reducing during her exchange with Cat, started again and spread even faster this time. She couldn’t feel her legs, her hands nor her face anymore. She could still hear her breathing though, extremely fast and laboured. She knew she was on the verge of wheezing.

“I have a confession to make,” Cat’s voice echoed through the closed space. Kara couldn’t see her but she had this strange feeling she was close. Closer than she’d been before. “When I told you I needed to leave in order to dive, I didn’t tell you the truth.”

Kara wanted to retort with a sassy reply, something along the lines of ‘no kidding’ but she was unable to speak. She was focusing on her breathing, going over and over and over the cars she’d just talked about, in her head. 

Still, when Cat spoke again, she listened.

“I mean, it was part of the truth, I needed to do something else, something new but in the end …” Cat paused and Kara felt something move next to her. “I was … running away.”

Kara was grateful for the fact Cat wasn’t touching her. In her current state, it would only make things worse. They were sat down side by side on the elevator’s floor, in total darkness, but there was still some space left in between them.

The sound of Cat’s voice, piercing the obscurity of the space, was somehow soothing. Kara choose to focus on it instead of trying to reign over her panic, which was only making it worse.

“I have to admit,” Cat let out with a dry chuckle “This wasn’t exactly how I planned to tell you about this particular topic but since there’s not time like the present and you clearly need a distraction …” 

Again, Kara wanted to snap back but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“I promoted you to this journalist position you were destined to occupy. I gave you an office, put you in Snapper’s team and then watched you rise to the opportunity … In the middle of it, I realized that … I was missing you.”

That got Kara’s attention, efficiently distracting her from her anxiety just long enough for her to croak a disbelieving “What?” 

“Oh, you speak now!” Cat said, somehow managing to make it sound like a cutting criticism. “You heard me. I was missing you but what’s striking about it is that I wasn’t missing my assistant, however competent and efficient you were in this role.” 

Kara blinked. 

She thought maybe her anxiety has gotten so bad at this point that she was hallucinating, imagining Cat saying all those things she’d once wanted to hear so badly. 

Wishful thinking, Alex had said, dismissively. 

“I was missing you, Kara Danvers,” Cat breathed, her voice a little lower this time. It sounded like an admission, a little shy but there nonetheless. “The constant questions you used to ask that pushed me to be a better version of myself. The subtle soothing smile you did when someone would get on my nerves and that prevented me from going ballistic. The reprobative eyebrow when I was too sharp, too blunt or just too mean to someone who didn’t deserve it. The way you listened, truly listened, when I talked, especially when it was about Carter. Your ridiculous rambling about one thing or another, the pure wonder in your eyes when you learned something and for God’s sake I was even missing those awfully colorful cardigans of yours.”

Kara’s mind was spinning but this time, she was pretty sure her anxiety has nothing to do with it. Cat’s words echoed in her mind, beating a rhythm along with her receding migraine. 

“That’s when I realized something. I had … developed feelings, for you,” Cat said with just a hint of annoyance in her voice, something that proved Kara wasn’t imagining things. 

“Inappropriate, unwanted, unrequited feelings. I’m not proud to admit it but I got scared.” Cat was whispering now but the darkness in the lift amplified her voice. “I had been pondering about my future for quite some time already but then the timing was right and I took to opportunity when it presented itself. I left CatCo, and you with it.” 

Kara didn’t say anything. She didn’t even know what to say. 

She’d been hoping for something like this for well over three years now, despite her best efforts to try to move on. 

She’d tried, with Mon-El, but then Cat came back for a few days. She didn’t even stay a whole week, but it had been enough for Kara to realize she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with the Daxamite prince. 

“I know you can’t talk now and I realize it’s very unfair of me to drop this on you while you’re having a panic attack, but I do wonder …” Cat trailed off, suddenly sounding unsure and small.  

Kara didn’t think. She willed her hand to move and when it did, she reached out through the obscurity and found Cat’s hand. 

The skin was soft and warm underneath hers, real. 

She brushed her thumb across Cat’s knuckles and heard a soft gasp, it made her smile. 

She could get used to this. 

She was still struggling to breath but it was somehow getting better and the paralisis in her limbs had disappeared. She slowly moved her legs, to extend them in front of her, and sat up a little straighter. 

“We need to talk about this,” Kara managed to say, pleasantly surprised that she didn’t choke on the words. “Preferably in broad daylight and in a big, vast, open space.”

Soft fingers squeezed hers and it sent a flutter down her stomach.

“How about my penthouse then, big enough for your taste?” It was still pitch black in the lift but Kara would bet her weight in potstickers that Cat was smiling. “Dinner tonight? Carter would be thrilled to have you and then we’ll talk.”

“I would love to,” Kara replied with a smile of her own. “Tell me something, though …”

The hand in hers stilled but she didn’t let go. 

“Why now?”

Cat let out a sigh Kara didn’t know how to decipher. It sounded like relief but she wasn’t sure. 

“Again, I’d like to point out this wasn’t how I had planned to tell you about all of this but as for the timing …” Cat explained. Kara rolled her eyes before she remembered Cat couldn’t see her. “I grew tired of running away. It’s as simple as that. I told you once to pull on your big girl’s pants and to own it … It was about time I followed my own advice. I’m incredibly late, by over three years, but then again ….”

“Better late than never, you’ve said it already,” Kara supplied with a chuckle. 

She was not surprised by Cat’s answer, not in the least. She knew that her former boss had a lot of emotional baggages and aside from when it concerned her son, Cat was easily skittish when it came to feelings. Paired with her stubborn, independent and perfectionist temperament, Kara thought it was some kind of exploit that it didn’t take any longer. 

“Am I too late?” 

The question floated around in the elevator, thick and heavy with meaning. 

It was a good one, a legitimate one even, Kara realized as she closed her mouth to hold back the “no” she’d been about to reply. The word, so small and yet so important, sat heavy on the tip of her tongue. A lot had happened over the years and despite Kara wanting nothing more than to act as if it didn’t, she knew it wouldn’t be fair. 

She opened her mouth to say something when a man’s voice on the other side of the doors made them both startle.

“Hello in there! I’m going to try to pry the door open, should take a few minutes …”

A rumble indicated he was rummaging around to find some tool. Eventually, grunts and metal bending replaced the previous noise.

Kara squeezed Cat’s hand and leant over to whisper her answer.

“A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early …” 

It earned her a laugh, a surprised but genuinely affectionate laugh. Cat intertwined her fingers with Kara’s and held on for a few seconds before letting it go. 

The doors opened, slowly, liberating the way to the tenth floor. Light finally spilled into the elevator. 

Cat and Kara stood up and gathered their belongings, in silence. 

The man in deep blue work overalls that stood in front of the lift looked very apologetic and he helped them out while expressing how sorry he was.“I’m sorry it took me so long, there was some traffic downtown … I know it must have been hard to be trapped in there, I’m sorry for being late …”

Cat glared him at her, towering on her heels and for a few seconds, Kara thought she was about to lash out. She arched a reprobate eyebrow and caught Cat’s eyes. Whatever Cat had been about to say, she swallowed it back and then did her typical dismissive gesture with her hand.

“It’s alright. I suppose it’s better late than never, after all …” 

After what Cat strolled away toward the end of the elevator hall and toward the stairs. Before she disappeared into the stairways, she threw one last glance at Kara and smiled.

“Dinner is at 8. Oh and Kara …” Cat smirked, in such a predatory way Kara’s knees wobbled a little. 

“Yes?” Kara replied, trying not to sound too affected. 

“Don’t be late.” 

[strangerthingsharrington]

Can’t Fight This Feeling

-4-

I had been walking through Starcourt for as long as I possibly could. I was trying to give Dustin his space like he had asked me. But it was getting later into the afternoon and I needed to know what was going on, so I headed back to Scoops Ahoy to find my brother.

I walked in and saw it completely empty. Robin and Steve weren't behind the counter. And Dustin wasn't anywhere.

Warmth instantly flooded my body. Where was Dustin?

I walked near all the tables and booths and peered into each one, but there was nobody.

"Shit," I muttered.

I dropped my bags next to the counter and ran a hand over my face.

I was going to have to find someone in security and have them barricade the mall or something to find him.

Why couldn't he just listen to me and stay put? Robin was supposed to watch him. Hell. Steve said he would watch him too. But then again...the two of them were no where to be found.

Then I heard the voices. They weren't even attempting to be discreet. 

I snuck behind the counter and went to the little door, avoiding the circular window. I put my ear against it and heard some chattering along with a recording playing.

"The week is long doesn't make any sense," I heard Dustin saying.

What? I thought. What week is long? What the hell was he talking about?

"Listen mini dingus, my free translation of Russian is correct," I heard a female voice tell him.

Robin? One of my best friends was involved with this too? The girl that I met during band that always had my back was involved in this? If Steve was back there too I was going to lose my mind.

"Yeah but what week are they talking about? They could be talking about the week was long because they were busy at work," I heard Steve add.

My eyes went wide and anger was starting to take over. Robin and Steve were involved in something that my own brother wouldn't fill me in on? Robin hated Steve, not only because of how he treated so many of us, but because Tammy Thompson was interested in him and Robin was interested in her.

I heard the click of the recorder and someone else was speaking in the same language I heard coming from the radio tower the night before.

I placed my open palm against the door and pushed it open forcefully, letting it slam against the wall, I walked into the back room and put my hands on my hips and looked at the three wide eyed teenagers in front of me.

"Yeah, Dustin. What week is long?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

His eyes were huge, he wasn't blinking but I saw him look out of the corner of his eye at Steve, who had gone pale.

I looked to Robin who had gone red, I raised my eyebrows at her and she lifted her hands in mock surrender.

"I only got involved with this today," she said, putting her hands down slowly.

I nodded once, and looked back to my little brother who was looking down at the table.

"Dustin? I'm waiting?" I said to him impatiently.

His eyes shot back up to me, "Lou, just walk away. Trust me. You don't want to be involved in this."

I raised my eyebrows, "I'm sorry, but Robin and him do want to be involved in listening to the Russians speak?"

"Listen," he started, "this is extremely serious. I intercepted a Russian communication last night from Cerebro...I just...needed some help with translating it."

My face softened, "And you couldn't ask me for help?"

He shrugged lightly and his face reddened a bit, "I just...didn't want to get you involved...I dont want you hurt or anything...if there's something I can do to keep you safe then I'll do it."

Tears welled up in my eyes, "Telling me is how you could've kept me safe, Dust. I will do anything to keep you safe, Dustin. Absolutely anything in this world. Including getting involved in figuring out some Russian translations," I explained before offering him a small smile.

A tiny smile took over his face, "Well...you and Robin are probably the two smartest people I know...besides me but," he added in with a small laugh that made me smile, "we've got the first line translated but...can't figure out the rest yet."

I walked over to the table where the recorded was, along with a notebook with lots of scribbling.

"Do you have the Russian alphabet?" I asked, running a finger over the note page.

Steve cleared his throat, "Yeah, it's on the board behind you."

I turned to look and saw it hanging on the wall, before turning back to face them all.

"Okay...got another chair?"

——

It was Robin's turn to serve up some ice cream to Lucas' little sister Erica and some of her friends and Dustin had just left to go use a pay phone to call mom to tell her we'd be home later on, leaving just me and Steve alone in the back room.

"This is impossible," Steve said, dropping the pencil he was holding on the notebook. He ran a hand through his hair and slouched forward in his chair.

I looked up from the notebook paper in front of me that I had copied the alphabet into. I had some notes littered across the page trying to figure out the second line of the message.

"No one said it would be easy," I muttered absentmindedly as I reached to replay the recording.

He left out a small breathy laugh, "Yeah that's true I guess," he stated.

I hummed, "We've already got one line," I reminded him, "we just need to...focus."

"I wish that Dustin had just reached his girlfriend last night and not picked up some crazy message that we need to translate."

I smiled and looked over at him, he was facing the ceiling, "Trust me, I do too."

He turned his head to look at me with a smile, "Well I'm sure that cracking a Russian code will make for a killer what I did this summer essay."

I actually laughed at that, as did Steve, "I'm sure."

He sat up straighter in his chair and hit the play button again, "Yeah, forget being hero's I'm just looking for a good story to tell."

I shook my head, as I listened to the transmission again.

I looked at the alphabet and began making some light lines on the paper trying to map out what I thought the second line was.

"That sounds so familiar," Steve mused leaning in closer to the speaker.

"What?" I questioned.

"The sounds," he said closing his eyes, "I've heard it before but I cant figure out from where."

"You listen to Russian music in your spare time?" I asked. I was trying to listen to hear for the same words in Russian that we had already decoded.

"It's my guilty pleasure," Steve told me.

I grinned and looked over at him, only to see him with a small smile gracing his face looking back at me.

"Then this should all be easy peasy for you," I told him.

He chuckled and shrugged, "I'm a bit rusty."

I hummed and began tapping my pencil on my page, trying to focus more on the task at hand.

Steve cleared his throat, "So, Louise...were you in the same classes as me?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, of course he didn't even remember if I was in any of his classes or anything. I was just another faceless blip on the radar of Hawkins High to him.

"No," I stated quickly, "I'm going into my senior year this year...you and Robin had some classes together I think."

I looked over at his only to see him looking back at me, "Dustin said you and Robin are best friends?"

I nodded awkwardly, "Yeah? We have been for years now...Why?"

His face turned red instantly and he ran a hand through his hair before nodding, "No actual reason, just wondering. Dustin mentioned it and I didn't know before is all."

I looked over at him quickly before looking back down to my notebook, "Yeah...I mean, I don't go around with a secret handshake with her or anything," I told him with a small smirk on my face.

I looked back over at him and saw him trying to hide the smile that was trying to take over his face, "Well I'm sorry that Dustin and I are better friends than you and Robin and have a secret handshake. Dustin is honestly, probably, my best friend."

He looked away from me as he said those words and I felt some tingling in my stomach. That was actually...almost sweet.

"Robin and I have been friends for years...we met in band in middle school. She sat next to me during band practice like...twelve years ago and the rest is history," I explained looking at him. His attention came back to me as soon as I started talking.

He nodded and smiled. An actual genuine smile that I don't remember seeing from Steve. Well ever.

"That's pretty cool. I huh, didn't, you know...realize that Robin was in a couple classes with me over the years, wanted to make sure I didn't...forget that we were in the same classes or something too," he stumbled through his little explanation. But at least he was trying his best to be genuine and honest.

But...that didn't stop me from wanting to scream at the top of my lungs that he had a hand in making some of my high school memories terrible. He never tried to stop any of the things that Carol and Tommy did. Carol would always say things about me, and say things to me that were so mean, and Steve never tried to stop it.

After Tommy told me that Steve had a crush on me, that became the thing that everyone in school talked about for a long time. I became the girl that actually believed for a moment that Steve Harrington had a crush on her. It was just...awful, I mean...the absolute worst.

"Lou?"

I was brought back by Steve saying my name gently.

I looked away from the whiteboard with the Russian alphabet and faced him.

"Sorry?"

"You okay?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah," I told him, "just spaced for a minute."

He opened his mouth to say something else before the backdoor swung open, revealing Robin looking irritated with her ice cream scoop in her hand.

"It's your turn!" Robin whined, walking over to Steve and forcing the scooper in his hand.

Steve looked at me wide eyed and I grinned and shrugged my shoulders before looking up at Robin.

"But Lou and I were working...we almost cracked the second line!"

"Hmm...were we actually close?" I mused.

Robin laughed as Steve shook his head. He begrudgingly got up and walked over to the swinging door.

He looked back quickly, "Let me know if you need me," he said before disappearing to the front.

I smiled over at Robin, "Why is this the weirdest day of my life?"

She smiled back at me and patted my head, "I've been worndering that myself."

She hit play on the recorder and flipped open her own little notebook and began listening intently.

My mind kept thinking back to what Steve had said about Dustin, and how he considered him to be his best friend. I don't know why that affected me so much. I was actually really touched by that, because it seemed really heartfelt and genuine. Not like the original King of Hawkins High.

"When did Steve become nice?" I asked suddenly.

I saw out of the corner of my eye Robin stopping her writing of her paper, "What?" she asked.

I looked fully at her, "Nothing...he just seems different?"

She smirked at me, "I've gotten to know him lately, and I can confirm that yes...he's not as big of a douchbag as he was in school. Still trying to hit on every girl that he sees but that's guys I guess."

"Has he had any luck?"

"He sucks," she said bluntly.

I smirked and closed my eyes, "So he's still the guy that will flirt with anyone then."

She laughed a bit, "If you can call what he's been doing flirting...I think he's just bored and lonely."

I nodded and fiddled with my pencil, twirling it between my fingers.

"I can see why him and Dustin are friends though. I mean, Steve had been talking about Dust coming back for weeks. He seems to really enjoy being around him," Robin mentioned.

"Yeah, I mean, Steve said that he considered Dusty to be his best friend basically and...yeah I thought that was pretty nice," I stated quietly.

"Hey," Robin said gently, I turned my head to look at her, "you don't have to have such a thick wall up now. Especially with me here and especially with Dustin here when it comes to Steve. He was the biggest asshole in school. But he doesn't seem to be the same guy...maybe Nancy breaking up with him like...shaped him up, you know?

"He's still a bit snarky and says dumb shit sometimes...but I'd take that over his King Steve bullshit any day," she concluded quietly with a small smile.

I grinend and nudged her knee with mine, "Let's crack a secret Russian code first, then we'll come back to the new Steve Harrington," I joked.

She laughed and nodded just as the door swung open to reveal Dustin holding a drink from the Orange Julius a few store fronts over.

"Mom said fine and to let her know if we wanted a ride home," he said distractedly as he sat in the chair on the other side of me heavily.

I furrowed my brows, "Couldn't ask if we might have wanted a drink?" I questioned.

"Did you ask if I wanted grapes this morning?" he wondered without looking at me.

I flicked his arm which made him yelp and look at me.

"You were sleeping, ya goof!"

"And? You were here in the back room."

I quirked an eyebrow, "So does that mean you asked Steve if he wanted one?" I asked sarcastically.

Dustin seemed to have a glint in his eyes, "Steve!" he called loudly before bringing the straw to his mouth.

My mouth popped open, "You little shit head..."

The swinging door opened and Steve popped his head in, "What?" he asked before bringing his own Orange Julius straw to his mouth for a drink.

At the exact same time Robin and I picked up our notebooks and smacked Dustin's leg, which only made him laugh.

"I'm your sister!" I exclaimed but couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"Go get your own!" Dustin grinned.

"Do you want mine?"

I looked over at Steve who had an unreadable expression on his face. He was holding the door open with one hand and holding out his cup in front of him with the other.

"What?" I asked confused.

His face flushed but he continued, "Dustin should've asked you...you can have mine if you want? I've barely had any. I, I , I  mean...if you want?" he spluttered.

I felt the corners of my lips twitch as I tried to hold back the smile, "No, I'm...I'm good, Steve thanks."

He brought back the outstretched arm that was holding the drink back into his side, "Yeah, I mean, no problem," he said hastily before taking a step away from the door, disappearing from view.

I bit the inside of my cheek and rolled my eyes as I let the little smile take over for just a moment, before I looked to Dustin.

"Well that was weird," he cringed.

I, again, flicked his arm, "Let's keep working on this stuff, okay?"

——

It had been another hour and Robin managed to decode another line.

"The silver cat feeds," she confirmed with a nod.

"The week is long. The silver cat feeds...this is gibberish," I stated.

"It's a code, it's not supposed to make sense," Dustin retorted.

"So we have to finish cracking the code and then crack the actual meaning," I stated with a small nod, "we can do it."

The piercing sound of the bell rang out from the front of the store.

"Steve should be there," Robin muttered before getting off the chair and going to the partition window and sliding it open forcefully.

She looked around before turning to face me and my brother, "The dingus isn't there," she declared before closing the partition window and walking out to the front quickly.

"Where did he go?" Dustin asked standing up.

"Maybe he's fixing his hair," I quipped.

He looked down at me with narrowed eyes, "Oh calm down," I told him, "he's a big boy, he's fine."

Dustin was just about to take a step towards the door when Robin swung it open with wide eyes and a small smile, looking pointedly at me, she walked in quickly and leaned against the wall.

Steve walked in a few seconds later holding a cup from Orange Julius. He walked up to the table and placed the drink in front of me, setting the straw next to it.

"I wasn't sure which one you'd like, huh...so I just got an Orange Berry. Yeah, it's my favourite so I just you know...figured...you might...like it..." he confessed a bit awkwardly, as he rubbed the back of his neck continuously.

My mouth fell open, "I ...wow, thanks, Steve. That's really...unexpected. But I'm...yeah thank you. How much do I owe you?" I asked.

He looked at me questioningly before he let a small smile take over his face, "No, what? Nothing. My treat, Louise."

"Thanks, Steve," I repeated, feeling the warm feeling on my face and spreading into my chest.

He smiled and let out a little chuckle, "Yeah! Yeah, no problem! I hope you like it," he said, before backing out of the room.

I smirked and looked down at the table, I picked up the straw and pushed in through the lid, pushing until it reached the bottom of the cup.

I was trying to wait until my face didn't feel as warm, but I knew the two people were watching me.

I looked over at Robin, she was still grinning but had the pad of her thumb between her teeth. I took a peak over at Dustin who's mouth had popped open and was looking at me.

"What?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head but still had a dumbfounded look on his face, "This is the Twilight Zone," he decided.

I patted his shoulder, I heard Robin take her seat on the other side of me once again, "Come on, let's focus, Dusty."

He rolled his eyes at my use of his nickname before pressing play on the recorder once again.

I picked try up the cup of juice and brought the straw to my lips and taking a drink. It was sweet and a little tart mixed with the fruity flavours.

I think I would agree with Steve, it was my going to be my favourite too.

Title credit to REO Speedwagon and GIF credit to owner

[stardancerluv]

Pantera & The King of Gotham

Summary: This was a wonderful request from @n9yt1r1 we discussed what would Roman do...if...he found out something rather special about a girl he is seeing...I hope I did this justice after all our talking!

Warning: murder, blood, shower sex, fluff

Got you, she whispered grabbing them by their hair, she carved a P behind the ear. She wiped the blade on her job’s shirt before sheathing her knife.

Getting up, she smiled another job was done. As she made her way to the west end, she had already shed her clothes. No longer did she look like that stupid cat burglar, Catwoman. Putting the disguise in the barrel she struck a match and watched it burn.

She watched the flames lick at the fabrics, her phone buzzed. She smiled when she saw who it was.

“Hi Romy.” She cooed.

“Hi baby, I was wondering if you would be honoring me with your presence tonight.”

She smiled. “I finished earlier. Let me get tidied up and I will see you soon.”

“That is spectacular news!” She loved her how his became fuller and richer when he was happy.

“Make sure there is a honey whiskey waiting for me.”

“I will Rae baby.”

The two of you hung up then. Grabbing the metal rod, she made sure it was all burned. Satisfied, she made her way to her apartment.

She’s grab a few things, she had missed her Romy. It had been a busy week. She had taken on three jobs. Catwoman, Riddler, and one just as herself, Pantera. She made sure to pack, Catwoman’s whip, she had to return it now that she was done with it. In case, she packed her mask. A job might come up. She really didn’t want to leave Roman’s side this weekend but if the pay was promising, she’d consider it.

******

She’d come in the back door, drop her things off in the penthouse then go and join Roman. She stopped when she heard two voices, both of which did not belong to Roman or Victor.

“Look, you should just wait till I call you. Roman or Zsasz could catch me talking to you.” Oh...that little fuck, it was Roman’s driver. Sticking close to the shadows. She continued to listen.

There was a bitter chuckle. “What about, Rheanyra, his girlfriend?”

“I could handle her. She all beauty and zero threat.”

She bit back a chuckle herself. Little did you know, she mused as her blood began to boil.

“Ok, good but look you’re the one that came to me.” The raspy female voice continued. “You’re the one that said, I’m tired of helping and abetting a murderer.”

“Yeah, but look I don’t want to see him walking towards me as I swing from my feet down at the docks.”

“You won’t.” The woman promised. “Tell me again what you know.”

“Just a huge fucking diamond is coming in. Not sure when. It’s supposed to take care of everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Now look I gotta back in there my girl is waiting for me too.”

“Alright go. We’ll talk again.”

“Yeah but let’s just keep it to our phones.”

“I’ll see. Nothing beats a good face to face.”

*****

You heard some shuffling, footfalls going away.

“I’m gonna get myself killed.” You heard him mutter. A door opened and closed, she knew be was back in the club. She smirked to herself. Tomorrow she would get him.

*****

Coming over to Roman, you draped your arms around him as he read the paper. Kissing, his cheek, you pulled back giggling. “Someone didn’t shave this morning.” You said softly.

“I am still waking up after last night, Rae baby.” He smiled.

“Ooh what is this?” You pointed to an article about her only no one knew it.

“Oh, Pantera strikes again last night.” Annoyance, curled his lip in frustration he put the paper down. “You know.” He attacked his boiled egg, I want only the best. This Pantera should work for me.”

“Roman, you are the best,” She cooed. “Maybe they I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Just wants to be free so they don’t out anyone in jeopardy.” Truth be told, it was partly true.

“Yeah...maybe.” He took an angry bite. “But I love big cats, I love their methods. Efficient and to the point.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you intimidate them.” That part wasn’t true but she didn’t want him to get sulky over it. “You are a force to be reckoned with.” That part was true, she mused.

He beamed as he sipped his expresso. “I suppose you’re right.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know I am,” she smiled.

He pulled back from the table. “Come here baby.” He patted his lap.

Getting up, she went over and straddled him. “Yes, Romy.”

“At least through all this, I have someone as beautiful as you, Rheanyra.” He said softly.

“Always.”

*****

Roman, cared for his girl so much. Though these nights with her running off, it irked him. If had not cared about her so much, he’d call her boss and tell them to making her work nights.

He had a surprise for her tonight. He had bought a very special cream he was eager to rub into her caramel skin.

Missing, her tonight as he sipped at his scotch, he remembered when he first saw all of her. He still wanted to rip her ex’s heart out who had made her sad and ashamed of her Vitiligo. She dodn’t let him and Victor and him had not been able to come up with a method that looked enough like an accident. That was one thing, he felt in his gut. He wanted him to pay for the years she took it before she finally left.

He loved all of her. He could only hope that she knew how special she was to him. Looking out his picture window, he sighed.

Something caught his eye then. He put his glass down and peered out his window. What he saw shook him to his core. Someone, an elaborate and well carved mask was hanging over his driver. As lightning streaked across the sky as a thunderstorm rolled in, he could see a very distinct P and he immediately knew who it was. Pantera was in his alleyway. He wanted to ran and call Victor but he couldn’t look away. They tore away at him. As a thunder crashed above, he watched them tear off the mask. The

He found it hard to breath as he watched the tumbling down of those silky inky locks and a profile which he loved tracing with his bare finger as they laid in bed was lit up by lightning. It that made the Gotham sky look like it was cracking. It was his, Rae baby, she was the infamous Pantera.

The combination of the violence and her beauty made a hot knot of arousal form in the pit of his stomach.

Not looking away. He watched as she brought his drivers face close to hers and she said something to him in his final moments. Fear was etched on his face. Soon he became nothing more then a mere rag doll in her hands. Licking, his lips and breathless, he watched as she carved her infamous P behind his ear.

As she dropped him on the dirty ground Roman marveled at how she cleaned things up. Then, she looked around then ducked back into the building. With his heart racing, he went to his office, leaning the door open a crack. He didn’t want her to think he had even noticed.

He heard the floor boards only slightly creak aa she went down the hall. He heard the water get turned on in the bathroom. If he going to do anything, he do it now. Grabbing his letter opener, he went to the bathroom to see her.

****

He saw a big duffle back sitting on what was her closet. Continuing, on he opened the door silently to the bathroom. He watched as she felt the water and turned the knob to put the shower on full. “Rae.” Was all he could say, his heart beat too heavily for anything else.

She opened her sweet mouth, that he loved kissing, that had the beauty of its own soft shade and doubly outlined in beauty. He held up a finger, she didn’t say a word then. Closing the distance, he stood in front of her. He could see his drivers blood now, scarlet as he was splatter across streaks of caramel and ivory that made her so special to him.

He reached into his pocket and took out his letter opener. He held it up, so she would see it. She didn’t resist, she didn’t say a word that only turned him on more. He sliced away and the soiled clothes. He could not stop himself and sliced her panties and bra away till all of her body was exposed to him. Meeting her eyes, he finally smirked. He put the letter opener down and finally shed his own clothes. His arousal on full display. He wanted her to see just what she had done to him.

Wordlessly, he stepped into the shower, loving how the water felt as it fell down his body. He offered his hands to her then. She stepped in. Her eyes, there were so many unspoken words waiting to burst forth. Once again, he but this time he placed the finger on her lips.

Grabbing the soap and the loofah, he built up a nice lather. Soon, the water at their feet turned a rusty red color as he washed away whatever was left of his driver on her soft curvy body.

Dropping the loofah, finally he drew her into a kiss. She melted into it, she was tentative then he welcomed it as her tongue danced with his own. Sitting down on the marble bench, holding her by her hips, he brought her close as he sat there. He kissed them both he then pulled her enough, so that she would straddle him.

The first sound broke between them as she slid down his hard length. Interlacing thier fingers, as he sat back and watched as she made her own pace as she rode him. The water raining down on her magnificently like the rain outside. Only the two of them were in their own world. She placed his hands on her hips and he squeezed, reminding her of who he was. It incited a soft moan. Things for them sometimes danced on the edge of dominance and hints of pain with no marking, just a gentle reminder who was in control on a given night. Tonight it was equal, she when she drew close she sank her teeth in just enough into his shoulder as he could feel her tighten around him. She was close to cumming. A moan, poured from his mouth. She always made him feel so good. Their eyes met and as their tongues met once again, he felt her shudder and she arched and holding him began to melt after she came. It was not long after that as he moved in and out her soft warmth did he finally let himself cum hard into her.

They held onto each other then, just letting the water run down their bodies as they gathered their breaths.

*****

With a blanket, loosely over their hips and as he gently ran his fingers up and down her shoulder, he finally spoke.

“So you’re Pantera.” It wasn’t a question.

From resting her cheek on his chest, she moved and her eyes met his. “Yes.”

“I didn’t think I could care for you more then I do.”

“I am not...”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to...” He paused. “I have you. Pantera can be stick to the shadows of Gotham.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled, drawing her face up so. A seriousness, finally grabbed him as he looked at her. “Why did you kill my driver?” His lips grazed hers as he spoke.

“He was selling you out to a cop.”

“Ok. Make sure to kill the cop too.”

“Are you telling me to do something?” There was a light in her eyes, he had never seen before.

“I could also have Victor do it.” He smirked. “I’ll leave it up to you. But I did enjoy seeing you at work.”

“I’ll consider it then.”

“Good.”

With a soft move, their lips met once again.

[theothersideofhim]

How To Get Out Of Hell In Three Easy Steps

1. Retreat

This was not a date. 

Sure, he might have counted it as such if there were more blood or at least a lot more screaming, but no. Devang’s body could feel well enough to understand what was going on, but didn’t react in any satisfactory way to pain. In fact it did it’s best to give back as good as it got, albeit in a mindless, automatic sort of way. For that matter a “date” usually had an ending. Some definitive point in time where they said their goodbyes or rolled off one another in a sweaty heap and made plans to meet up again. At least, that’s what he assumed happened.

Instead this had been sixteen long, seemingly endless hours of going around the roller coaster he’d created, waiting for Devang’s spirit to come and fight for her body back. But no dice. Eventually he shut it down (to the disappointed groans of a gaggle of demons who’d started constructing an entire theme park around it) and set his chin in his hand. Thinking. Without Devang herself to see her body being used in an amusement park ride welcoming souls to Hell as a sort of cheerful yet humiliating misuse of her meat suit...

What was the point?

So he climbed out of the car in defeat and took Devang’s body by the back of the shirt. Yanked it out of it’s seat with a vengeance but it managed not to fall over, even with no arms to balance itself or grab onto him. Oh well. It’s eye sockets were dark and empty as it stared blankly into nothing. 

“What the FUCK am I supposed to do with you now, huh? HuH???” He shoved it’s chest in frustration, only to have it lower it’s head and HEADBUTT him in return. “SHIT!” 

He heard a couple snickers from the demons around him and--after banishing every last one of them to one hundred years of cleaning between the teeth of the Monster With A Thousand Mouths-- he decided to retreat back to his palace. He’d had quite enough fun for today.

2. Eat

His “palace” was, of course, the motel. Sitting in the ninth circle of Hell in the middle of a fake desert wasteland that acted as a cover for the real icy wasteland around him. It wasn’t a hard illusion to maintain but it was one he loved dearly. For some strange reason. Don’t ask. 

He kicked open the door with a squeal of rusty hinges and ushered the body in with a hand at it’s back. Wasn’t hard to make things smell a little musty, to make things look a little dusty in the afternoon sun. To make old wood creak under his feet and have the ceiling fan spin just enough to make the old magazines on the lobby desk flip their pages in the half stale air. Even if everything was actually nothing more than ice and...more ice. His lonely version of “housekeeping.”

“Okay. Let’s see. Need to find something really fucked up to do to you...” He mused a bit, hands steepled under his chin. If the first plan didn’t work then surely there was something that he think up in his little old noggin that would humiliate and horrify Devang. He’d been presented the opportunity of the century! The lifeless zombie body of one the most notorious supernatural figures in this dimension! Not taking advantage of this wouldn’t just be a disappointment to him, it would be a disservice to everyone who’d ever had an evil impulse in their mind or sin in their heart. It would be--

“Hey. HEY. DON’T EAT THAT!” His thoughts were interrupted when he caught the body trying to wolf down a potted plant. Pot first. Stan stumbled over and yanked it by the leaves, spilling soil everywhere and causing the pot to drop and shatter on the ground. The body just looked back at him. Unconcerned and, seemingly, undeterred as it reached back out to tear a leaf off. Stick it in it’s mouth and CHOMP. It was a fake plant, of course. An illusion like everything else. But it was the principle of the thing! That was HIS Monstera plant with leaves so ridiculously huge they looked like something out of the Mesozoic era, and HIS terracotta pot with the hideous fake Native American design on it.

The body continued to munch on the over sized leaf like a contended giraffe. 

“You hungry? Is that what it is? Or you just trying to be a pain in my padded ass???” There was no reply, of course. “Stay. And quit eating shit. It’s not lunchtime.” He pointed his finger at it and turned around again, this time to call a couple demons up. He needed supplies.

“Okay let’s see. She’ll be expecting some kind of weird sex thing. And that’s honestly kinda boring anyway. But she really hates bugs... So maybe if I stuff her eye sockets full of-- HEY!” Out of his peripheral vision he saw the body mosey over to the motel’s front desk, bend at the waist, and pick up a pen in it’s teeth. At his sharp tone, it looked over at him. Frozen for the moment.

“Don’t...”

It’s empty eyes stared at him. They stared through him.

“Don’t fucking do it...”

Schlorp. 

“GODDAMMIT. YOU KNOW WHAT? FINE.” 

3. Defeat

A few minutes later the body was tied to a chair. It had resisted, of course, but without arms there hadn’t been much it could do to stop him. Just to make SURE though, Stan had wrapped a few layers of rope, chains, bungee cords, duct tape, and whatever else he’d been able to find around it’s torso. He just wanted it to stay. Still. For two. Seconds. More than a few times he’d asked himself why he didn’t just EAT the thing himself. Just gobble it up and let it fester a while. Come out as something unrecognizable to either Devang or him. 

He decided not to, but didn’t dwell much on why. 

Instead here the body was. Tied to a wooden fucking chair like some kind of hostage in a 90′s action movie. 

“Now STAY.” He roared at her with a finger pointed. “While I get this shit set UP.” 

Okay. Finally. He turned back to his work, already started on by a group of lower demons. He muttered to them directions on where to aim the “bug cannon” to make sure it ended up in the victim’s mouth, how to string up the IV lines that were connected to bags of tiny insects, hemmed and hawed over which species laid the most eggs inside a human host...

He was distracted enough and was engrossed in so much construction that he didn’t hear Devang’s body flop to the floor. He didn’t notice the body using it’s unbound feet to slowly scoot itself along on it’s side, at least until it wiggle-wormed itself right in front of him.

“Ex-EXCUSE ME?? CAN I HELP YOU?”

“Bored.” The first word it had said this entire time.

“OH DON’T YOU WORRY, YOU WON’T BE BORED FOR LONG.”

Still on it’s side, the body used it’s feet to turn itself in slow circles on the ground. “Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.”

“Oh my fucking sweet graham cracker Christ, SHUT UP.”

“Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.”

“ARGGGGHHHHHH!” He just...couldn’t do it. He’d reached his limit. Fuck the torture. Fuck the bugs. Fuck the evil plan and fuck this stupid body. Stan materialized a baseball bat and started whacking the Boo Chair--as he had been planning to call it--to smithereens. Little fire ants and botflies scattered everywhere, but Devang’s body had built up enough momentum by now and was spinning quick enough to deter anything from coming close to her. 

Finally, when everything was good and destroyed, Stan stood over her. Bat raised and ready to pummel. It was only then that she stopped her scoot-spinning.

She turned empty eyes up to him.

“Hungry and bored.”

Yeah, no. This definitely wasn’t a date. This wasn’t even a hostage situation.

This was a babysitting gig.

He grabbed the body, duct tape and chains and chair and all, and rocketed through all nine layers of Hell. Into the world’s surface where he honed into Devang’s spirit like a bitch-seeking missile, still able to find her by rage alone even though his mark had been healed off her neck. Once he found her energy signature he threw her entire body at her feet.

“TAKE IT BACK. JUST FUCKING TAKE IT BACK. i DoN’t WaNt ThE sTuPiD fUcKiNg ThInG!”

He vanished again, but not before the body ended up coughing up the pen it had swallowed onto the floor.

[xofoldedpages]

Bowstring { byleth x claude }

Pairing: Byleth x Claude Rated: Explicit  Genre: Complete and utter smut Warnings: very mild abuse (like, very mild), dub-con Ao3 Post

The force caused her grip to falter on the wooden sword, and it tumbled away as her knees and hands fell to the ground. Sharp, radiating pain in her jaw blossomed behind a developing bruise that was soon replaced with a thin, cutting sting along her throat. Around Byleth's neck was the string of his bow, pulling her head back.

"Sheesh, Teach. Sleeping all those years really made you rusty, huh?"

--- The mere thought of praying to a god revolted Claude. He has - and always will - believe that the only person you can truly rely on is yourself. At least, that's how it was before time changed everything; before five years passed; before the Alliance came to a deadlock within the destructive war. Now, he found himself relying on a Goddess.

Or, he would, but the woman was stubborn, steadfast on traveling to Faerghus after learning what had become of his Princeliness. Claude couldn't exactly blame her, though.

Actually, he could.

He was the one who traveled back to the monastery, holding onto his belief that Byleth would return to them. He was the one who saw her bathed in the light of a new dawn as she ascended to the Goddess Tower. He was the one who greeted her with open arms after her five-year slumber. Yet, Byleth still chose Dimitri, just like she had all those years ago.

After seeing Byleth dance around the battlefield like a work of art in motion, his tactician mind knew the Golden Deer house needed her expertise. So, when Professor Manuela stepped up to the front of their classroom, Claude was less than pleased. He hid his feelings well, though, behind a feigned grin as the months passed at Garreg Mach. That facade nearly faltered, though, during the Horsebow Moon.

Claude had been on his way back to his quarters when his Princeliness' voice crept from the cracked door of the Blue Lion's classroom.

"Professor, please accept these gift on behalf of the Blue Lions."

Curious, Claude moved closer. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, his ankles crossing over one another. Neither Byleth nor Dimitri noticed his presence.

"Thank you, Dimitri," Byleth accepted the note and brooch.

At the time, Claude thought nothing of this little meeting, nonchalantly hovering nearby, waiting for his opportunity to intervene and wish the professor a happy birthday as well. That time never came.

After receiving her gifts, Dimitri leaned in and placed a tentative kiss on Byleth's lips. Claude nearly toppled over at sight. He brashly moved from the doorframe to just outside the classroom. The reaction Claude was expecting from Byleth - a swift reprimand - never came either.

"Dimitri," Claude could hear the frantic exhalation in Byleth's speech. "I've already told you, we can't continue this. Not until you're out of the Officer's Academy."

Having gained enough information, Claude continued his stride back to the dormitories. A wicked grin sprouted on his lips.

"His Princeliness and Teach, huh?"

Jealousy rattled deep within his bones that night, anchoring itself within Claude's very skeleton. Back then, Claude chalked it up to a simple schoolboy crush on his professor, but it was much more than that. Byleth was unreachable, and Claude did not appreciate unreachable. That obsession continued to manifest in Byleth's absence, developing into something more sinister. Now, he was older; wiser and there was nothing Claude could not achieve if he set that brilliant mind to it, even his precious Teach.

"Awe, C'mon, Teach. Humor me for once," Claude chimed, his hands crossing behind the nape of his neck leisurely.

"For old time's sake."

He flourished his request with his signature wink, and Byleth found herself unable to resist his charm.

"Fine," she responded. "I'll train with you one last time, but then I leave for Faerghus."

It was the middle of the night; the perfect time to travel undetected towards the Kingdom's capital of Fhridiad. Claude nodded, affirming her request. "I won't stop you, Teach."

"Good, then let's head to the training grounds."

A part of Byleth accepted Claude's request because of the guilt riddling her insides. Both Claude and Dimitri were her students, and she cared for them deeply, but Dimitri needed her more. He always had.

They eventually pushed their way through the cumbersome doors leading into the training grounds. The area seemed untouched by the hands of time, pristine as ever. As Byleth marveled at the unscathed arena, Claude began to shamelessly shed his outer layer of clothes. His gold-plated shoulder guard was the first to hit the ground with a ringing thud.

The noise prompted Byleth to twist her body just in time to witness Claude taking hold of his festive sash, untying it. The removal of his sash made it easier to discard his neutral-hued shirt, leaving him in black undergarments. His clothes had hidden just how much his body grew within the last five years, and Byleth's eyes roamed over Claude's taut muscles, admiring his unblemished bronze skin. Claude had always been beautiful.

"Is that a blush I see, Teach?" He teased, his arms finding their way to his hips. Byleth quickly turned her head and blamed her blossoming cheeks on the frigid weather of the Ethereal Moon.

"It's freezing out, Claude." The chilled winds of the North had slithered their way into Garreg Mach.

"I know, but exercising always gets me hot and bothered," He paused his brazen teasing to walk towards a row of stored weapons. To no surprise on Byleth's end, Claude had chosen a longbow.

While her former student shuffled through the weapons, Byleth followed his example and shed her outer layer of armor, leaving her in only training garments.

"Here, Teach, a sword-" Claude turned, but the sight of his undressing professor made him forget his next words. "Wow, looking radiant as ever, my friend."

"Hush, Claude," Was all she could mutter, the cold nipping at her skin. Emerald eyes wandered to Byleth's chest. Claude never prayed, but he found himself silently thanking whatever God ruled over the weather, blessing him with Teach's perfect, hard nipples. "The sword?" Her words pulled Claude back to the surface of reality, and he tossed her the training instrument.

Claude pulled a single arrow from its confines and turned to face Byleth. "How about you start from the other end of the training grounds and charge at me?" He mused. "I'll try and stop you."

It was different from the spars she was used to, but Byleth did not have the heart to reject Claude's proposal, so she simply nodded and made her way to the opposite side. A grim smirk tugged at Claude's lips.

"Here?" She questioned.

"Perfect," He responded, pressing the bow to his cheek. "On three, alright?"

Byleth nodded.

"One."

She readied herself.

"Two."

Her sword lifted, and Claude pulled the arrow tautly.

"Hey, Teach,"

Byleth groaned, clearly frustrated and ready to begin. "What?"

"How do you think the church will react when they learn their beloved Teach was having an affair with one of her students?"

"What?" Byleth gasped, the color from her face draining. Her stilled heart descended into the pit of her stomach.

"Three."

Claude released his grip, already moving towards Byleth. Caught off guard, she barely had time to dodge the arrow that struck where her shoulder had once been. Regaining some composure, she thrashed her sword in Claude's direction, but his longbow connected with her jaw before she could strike him.

The force caused her grip on the wooden sword to falter, and it tumbled away as her knees and hands fell to the ground. Sharp, radiating pain in her jaw blossomed behind a developing bruise that was soon replaced with a thin, cutting sting along her throat. In her daze, Claude had managed to kneel behind her, his crotch perfectly aligned with her ass. Around Byleth's neck was the string of his bow, pulling her head back.

"Sheesh, Teach. Sleeping all those years really made you rusty, huh?"

Seeing his former teacher on all fours, helpless with his bow around her neck, made Claude's cock twitch in his pants. Byleth could feel Claude's growing erection and began to squirm under his body weight. This, however, only caused her ass to sway against his cock, and he let out a low groan deep within his throat.

"Claude," As Byleth spoke, the sharp string pressed into her neck's tender flesh, embedding raw impressions into her protruding trachea. "You're hurting me," She actually managed to squeeze out the words, teetering on the edge of consciousness, as her arm reached up to wrap her fingers around the string.

He pressed back harder on the bow. "Come now, Teach. Use that exquisite brain of yours," He cooed, looming his body down, so his chest was flush with Byleth's back. His teeth caught the lobe of her ear, and he playfully nibbled on the other shell, rolling it between his teeth. "Who woulda guessed that I would be the one teaching you a lesson, my friend."

By now, Byleth's world was fading to black, and Claude was living up to the name of his crest's dragon, producing stars in her vision. Before she completely let go of reality, Claude slackened the bow, and Byleth instinctively coughed. He moved quickly, using his knee to break the wooden bow in half. This allowed him to shuffle Byleth's hands behind her back, securing them with the string that had previously cut off her supply of oxygen. This position left her helpless with a cheek resting on the training ground floor.

"Ya know, I didn't want to have to do this."

That was a lie, he did.

"If you had just chosen the Golden Deer, things would have been different."

His voice seemed distant, almost nostalgic as he reminisced on old times. Byleth's jaw tightened, and a mixture of emotions overwhelmed her. Anger? Desperation? She remained silent as he continued.

"But instead, you chose Dimitri," Claude shook his head, his tongue flicking on the roof of his mouth in disapproval. "And then you choose him again! Can you believe that?" As he spoke, his arm snaked around her waist, and his other brushed her luminescent hair to one side. Then, he began to graze his lips along the back of Byleth's neck, building heat whenever they collided with her skin.

His touch was slow and calculated and left no part of her untouched. He moved from her nape to the back of her ear, and finally to the curve of her jawline. The hair he had grown on his face tickled her skin as he moved. When Claude reached the bruised corner of her mouth, his touch eased. He caressed the blemish with his lips once, and then again, and continued to litter the spot with kisses.

Byleth, sickened with his actions, tried to pull her face away. Claude's fingers immediately grabbed onto her chin, and he made sure to press his thumb into her bruise. Her face contorted, but she refused to whimper. "Wow, Teach, you're gonna make this a lot more difficult than it needs to be, huh?"

As he whispered against her ear, his hand snuck up the back of her thigh and into her shorts. "I don't usually reveal my schemes, but I'll indulge you this one time."

His fingers ran along with the pattern of her stockings, and a wicked grin lit up his face. "Already soaking, I see."

Byleth cursed, her words vaporizing into the cold air. "No need to be embarrassed, Teach. I am pretty damn handsome, after all."

His fingers worked her cunt from the outside of her stockings. He focused on her swelling clit, using leisurely circles to try and get a rise out of her. "You see," He began, his fingers picking up pace ever-so-slightly. "I'm going to fuck you so thoroughly you forget all about your plans and his Princeliness."

Claude could feel Byleth's breath hitch in her throat. "And, if that doesn't work, which I'm sure it will," He was confident in his abilities, "You'll do what I say, or would you rather Seteth and the rest of the church find out about your little rendezvouses?"

"Claude, please, I never-"

As much as her shorts permitted, Claude retracted his hand and smacked at Byleth's wet cunt.

"Eh, eh, eh," His words cut into her sentence. "I don't want to hear the words 'Clause please' unless you're begging for my cock."

Byleth wondered when Claude's mouth became so filthy. Or, maybe it had always been like that? Despite her growing arousal and a budding warmth in her stomach, she fought against her wrist restraints.

Claude smiled half-heartedly. "You know, Teach, I always did admire your stubbornness."

Claude withdrew his hand from her shorts completely, but only to slide them down to her knees. He leaned back, watching her squirm. In truth, Claude appreciated the pearly flesh of her ass, the skin contrasting against her black lace stockings. He planted a firm spanking on her cheek, and Byleth's lower back bent in response. A dark chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. "Whoa, Teach, slow down. No need to bend over backward for me quite yet."

"I swear, Claude, once I'm released from these restraints-" Byleth began to mumble threats, but they only made Claude's cock swell with excitement, and he pulled down her stockings in haste.

Already imagining the taste of his dear professor on his tongue, Claude parted Byleth's lips, revealing her moistened and pink cunt to him. Feeling suddenly exposed and well aware of his fingers on her womanhood, Byleth gasped. Five years ago, she and Dimitri had never ventured this far sexually. The two had only kissed in fear of retaliation for their taboo relationship.

Upon awaking from her slumber, Byleth assumed that Dimitri would be the one to defile her. And yet, here was Claude positioned behind her, using her old relationship as leverage against her. The worst part was, he paid no mind to her protests.

Without warning, Claude's tongue ground against Byleth's entrance, lapping up whatever juice he could drain from the hole. Byleth inhaled sharply, then bit her bottom lip. She refused to give in to him.

This only kindled something dark within Claude; a deep desire to have his professor quivering at his feet, begging for his cock. He, however, would take his time and savor her taste. His tongue worked her cunt expertly while his hands roamed her thighs and ass, massaging circles into the lean flesh. Soon, his tongue focused on her clit with almost painful pressure, working itself up and down then left and right. He started agonizingly slow, and Byleth began to whimper.

Her response earned a smile against her clit, and Claude gradually began to add tempo to his pace. His technique made Byleth's legs tremble against his head. He gave one final long, hard suck against the nub before withdrawing his face from her parts. From behind, Claude witnessed the unsteady rise and fall of Byleth's chest, and despite the frigid air, noticed hair clinging to her drenched neck.

"C-Claude," Byleth breathed out between pants.

"You've always had an unusual amount of composure, Teach," His tan, slender fingers traced up her back, above her restrained wrists, and to the front of her face as his body leaned forward. "But watching your legs shake for me, now that is a sight to behold."

When Byleth's lips parted to speak, Claude seized the opportunity to force his fingers in her mouth. "Show me what those pretty little lips of yours can do," his words ghosted her ear. She had half a mind to bite down on his digits. The only thing stopping her was the position she was in. He had the upper hand, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Tentatively, her lips closed around Claude's fingers, and she swirled her tongue around them best she could. While her tongue served his fingers, he slid them down Byleth's throat, and she heaved against them. When Claude deemed them slick enough, he removed them before she would actually gag.

Still soaking, it was easy for Claude to insert them into her cunt, and he could have sworn she moaned. It wasn't a matter of if, but when she would be begging for him. His fingers curved inside her, and he massaged her walls, seeking her most sensitive area.

Byleth delivered a feeble moan, and Claude knew he had found it. "There we go," Claude announced, his fingers working feverishly at her slickened walls.

Byleth tossed her head back, relishing in the warmth that spread through her abdomen. "F-fuck, Claude." The sound of his name on her tongue made his cock drip with pre-cum.

To put Byleth over the edge, he reached in front of her and began to stroke her swollen clit. Both hands worked together tirelessly, and he felt her walls starting to clamp down on his fingers.

And then he stopped, removing his fingers from her entrance. He licked at the remnants of her cunt on his fingers and admired the near breathless woman beneath him.

"Claude, please-"

He smacked her ass.

"I already told you, Teach, I don't want to hear those words unless they're paired with the words fuck and me." As Claude reminded Byleth of his conditions, he undid his pants, his erection springing from its confines. He gripped his pulsating cock and rubbed it against Byleth's wet cunt.

The world around Byleth was spinning in a tipsy haze, and she swore she was intoxicated at that moment.

"Please, Claude, fuck me."

Immediately, Claude embraced Byleth's neck in the crook of his arm, the tip of his cock readying itself at her opening. "Sheesh, Teach, if that's what you wanted, all you had to do was ask." And, without warning, he plunged himself inside of her.

"Fuck," was the only word he could utter against her ear, his pelvis shifting flush against her ass.

Byleth felt a dull ripping sensation that soon dwindled into overwhelming bliss as Claude remained station inside her. She felt him twitch against her walls, his nails digging into the side of her hips.

"Teach, you feel fucking phenomenal."

Claude had been with countless women during Garreg Mach and after, but they paled in comparison to Byleth. Or, maybe he was blinded by the fact he couldn't actually have her. Not in the ordinary sense of the word 'have,' at least.

"Please, just stop talking, and start-"

Claude pulled back his hips only to propel himself hard into his teacher once again, and Byleth cried out. "I don't think you're in any position to make demands," he whispered against her ear, his arm pressing against her neck.

He started slow and meticulous, pulling his cock backward until it nearly spilled out of Byleth, only to thrust forward and fill her completely.

"I wonder," Claude began, drawing his cock back. "What Dimitri would say if he could see you now. How wet you are for my cock," his hips moved forward, stretching Byleth's walls. He half-expected her to protest, but her only answer was a needy moan. The display was all he needed to know that Dimitri was far from her mind.

He released her neck, and his hands gripped a fist full of her hair, jerking her head back. Then, he began to ravage her cunt with swift thrusts. With each moan she choked out, Claude's pace quickened. He fucked her with primal need, her body bouncing off his dick in perfect rhythm.

It wasn't long before an almost uncomfortable warmth bloomed in Byleth's core. First, her legs trembled, but then her whole body followed. With his unoccupied hand, Claude reached below Byleth, stumbling to find her clit in his haste. When he did, he stroked rough circles with his fingers against the puffed nub and pushed her head down into the cold cobblestone ground.

Byleth could barely handle the spine-numbing sensations that conquered her body. Claude, feeling her walls tighten, maneuvered his cock more rapidly, the bouncing adding friction to the fingers violating her clit. The woman yelled out his name over and over into the air as she neared her climax. When she finally released herself on Claude, he could no longer hold his own back.

His cock pulsed and his body hitched forward. Biting down on Byleth's shoulder, he released his warm cum in her walls. Claude rested his chest on her back, striving to regulate his erratic breathing. When he finally unlatched from her, a mixture of their climax seeped down her thigh and onto her stockings; a sight Claude was quite proud of.

With ease, Claude released her wrists from his makeshift restraints with a lively laugh. "See, Teach, that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

The next morning, the others were surprised to see Byleth still apart of their ranks. No one complained, however, especially Claude. His former professor proved valuable on and off the battlefield.

---

"Hey, Claude," Hilda's voice called out to the Alliance leader as she stood in the doorway of the Captain's Quarters. "Have you seen the Professor? I've been looking everywhere for her!"

Emerald eyes glanced up from the Tactician's Primer he was studying, his mouth puckering to one side. "I can't say that I have, Hilda. Did you try the sauna yet?"

"Oh, good idea!" And with that, Hilda practically bounced away.

Claude's composure deteriorated as soon as his retainer was out of sight.

"Fuck," He breathed, grasping at Byleth's hair as she swirled and bobbed her head along the length of his cock. From her knees, she glanced up at Claude, his sun-kiss faced was painted with a rosy-pink hue, and his unruly hair framed his handsome face.

And he was hers just as much as she was his. --- As always, I am taking requests! Just click on the request / comment / love link in the right-hand corner of my page! All Claude x Byleth fanfiction can be found searching just that; Claude x Byleth

[myssamyss]

Everything Stays, Part 4 of 6

Featuring Jojo’s comic, “Malink past” Part 4: When You Turn It Around

The next morning, Link woke before the sun, readied his gear, and crept out the door. He made his way to the stable as dim light began to color the ranch. A mercifully cool wind swept in from the fields; the heat had finally broken. Link reached the large stable door and pulled at the latch, only to haul the door open and freeze in surprise.

Malon stood in the middle of the stable, running a coarse brush through a spotted mare’s mane.

She turned and gave him an accusing glare that made his limbs turn ice-cold. They stood there, still and staring, neither speaking. Link swallowed in the back of his throat, but he didn’t back down. Malon broke the silence first.

“You’re up early,” she told him dryly.

“So are you.”

Malon gave him a strange look and he sucked in a breath, but then she turned back to the mare and continued brushing. The stable was quiet but for the slow, rhythmic rustling of brush against mane.

Taking her silence as understanding, Link exhaled and strode into the stable. Straw crunched beneath his boots, and the sound of Malon’s brushstrokes was drowned out by his swift steps. He began readying Epona’s tack.

“So you’re just leaving?” she asked him after several long minutes. A half-hidden hurt laced her words.

He turned back to her. Her hands gently stroked the mare’s muzzle, but her blue-eyed gaze was sharper than any sword.

“I’m not ‘just leaving’,” he replied, taken aback.

She shook her head and her bangs went flying. “Really? Because it seems to me that you were fixing to leave here before we had a chance to talk.”

Link felt stunned. He���d been trying his best to do right by her. At least, he thought he was.

“We did talk. And I even stayed for dinner. I came here to give a proper goodbye, like you deserve.” And I didn’t have to, Link thought to himself bitterly as he mounted Epona. Maybe coming to the ranch had been a mistake. Maybe this was the problem with long goodbyes and explanations. Maybe they only made things worse. Just leave, he told himself.

Her voice rose. “Why though? Why are you leaving now? I thought we were finally getting, well... close.” She glanced away with her last word.

“I don’t get close to people,” he said sharply. She winced.

“But if there’s anything I’ve learned,” he continued, “it’s that there’s always a parting. Nothing ever lasts.”

Malon stared past him to the open stable door with a silent frown. Link nudged Epona’s side with the heel of his boot, spurring the horse to a walk.

“You’re right.” Malon’s quiet voice cut through the air. “We’ve been friends since childhood, yet there’s very little I know about you, or even the world. What does a dumb farm girl know?”

What? He pulled back on Epona’s reigns and turned back to Malon, shocked. “Malon, no, I-I didn’t mean…”

Her face softened and her voice grew sincere. “But I’d like to,” she said with a small, hopeful smile. “I’d like to know... Ever since that day you played my mother’s song, I’ve wondered.”

She stared at him with deep blue eyes full of such care and longing. His resolve melted away. Because anything was worth this—the way she was staring at him now, shoulders squared with passionate hope and her bottom lip held half-open in plea. His chest ached at the few meters of distance already between them. Maybe... he could turn back. Maybe he could explain things and let her in. Her honest, fierce need for him was worth abandoning his self-imposed rules.

He nodded to her slowly and her face brightened with joy, encouraging him. He swung a leg over Epona and dismounted. The aching in his chest faded, and an intoxicating warmth rose to take its place.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” he admitted. He sat down on a nearby hay bale.

Malon waited a few quiet moments, then she came to sit by his side. She smoothed her long purple skirt over her knees, tucked her red bangs behind a delicately pointed ear, then met Link’s eyes with a disarming stare.

“Why does nothing ever last?” she asked simply.

“Well…everyone leaves...even you…” he murmured.

Malon’s brows drew together in confusion.

“Well, not you,” he backtracked. “Another you. And I suppose I’m the one who left then... I’m sorry. I’ve never really tried to explain it all before, to someone on the outside.”

She placed her hand against his arm just beneath the sleeve of his green tunic. Link started. He knew she was trying to comfort him, but her gentle touch felt like an electric shock. Though unlike real-life electrocution (which Link was too familiar with), the feeling was admittedly pleasant, and the memory of danger primed his mind, emboldening him. He looked down at the straw-covered floor and gathered his thoughts.

“You remember the first time we met? I was going to the castle?” he asked.

She nodded, enthralled.

“Well,” he began. “I broke into the castle, and there was this prophecy…”

***

Wild trailed behind the other heroes as they walked along a wooded path. He didn’t often take up the rear, as he was well-accustomed to walking long distances (unlike poor Wind). But today he craved the familiar comfort of solitude.

He kept a handful of pleasant memories in relief to fall back on when he felt overwhelmed, a collection built before the Calamity’s defeat when thoughts of failure and Zelda’s long-suffering threatened to overwhelm him. As he walked, he shuffled through the series of memories, imagining himself darting after little Cottla through cool grass above the hills near Kakariko, trading iridescent insects with a wide-eyed Beedle in a warm stable, or standing in the golden Tarry Town sunshine during Hudson and Rhondson’s wedding. He enjoyed escaping to these moments when he’d been nothing more than himself, without expectation or prophecy.

Wild’s thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Time falling back in their group’s walking order. It wasn’t unusual for him to double back to chat with Twilight, but Time didn’t pause beside the fur-clad hero now. Instead, he kept his pace suspiciously slow, until he was nearly even with Wild. His armor clanked with each step.

Wild fixed his eyes just above Wind’s crop of bright blonde hair ahead of them.

“Wild,” Time began, his voice quiet. He slowed his pace even further, widening the gap between Wind and the two of them. Wild matched him, but said nothing.

“I wanted to apologize,” Time said. He sounded sincere. Wild turned his head to show he was listening.

“I’m sorry for coming down on you at the pond, over the kid. I was just…worried. Lately you’ve been…” Time searched for a word, but seemed to think better of it. “Anyways. I know you can handle yourself. And if you want to talk, about anything...” Time shrugged.

Wild nodded. He wasn’t angry with Time. The man just made him uneasy, and Wild wanted to be left alone. Still, he appreciated Time’s willingness to humbly apologize, even if it took clear effort. Wild pushed back against his own annoyance and resolved to make an effort, too. Besides, Wild thought, if he couldn’t be alone, then maybe he ought to face his simmering unease head-on instead. He was good at throwing himself into the thick of things.

“Why’d you get married?” Wild blurted, hurling himself into the very subject he felt so keen on avoiding. He didn’t dare look over at Time. But the older man surprised him by taking the seemingly random question in stride. From the corner of Wild’s eye, he saw Time cocking his head and considering his answer carefully.

“Hm,” Time mused. He gave a small, uncharacteristic smile. “I guess… I got married… to share trust with someone.” He paused. “It wasn’t easy, at first. I mean, none of us are big on talking.” Time threw a glance toward the rest of their party. “Well, maybe Legend. But never about anything real.”

Wild nodded, listening guardedly.

“But having someone to listen? It keeps you sane.”

He heard a bite in Time’s voice. Wild’s gaze flicked to the red and blue marks that flanked the ruined eye.

Time caught the quick glance. “She knows about all of it.”

Wild let his head fall down toward the ground in minor embarrassment. He of all people knew the discomfort of a curious gaze. He resisted the urge to scratch at his scarred ear.

He kicked a rock instead and thought about Time’s answer. True openness sounded very difficult to put into practice. Wild might have once shared that kind of trust, that kind of love with another. ‘Might’ being the key word, as he could never be completely sure. A vision of Mipha’s delicate face swam in his mind. They might have been planning a life together...

Hard to share my honest thoughts when I can’t even remember them, Wild thought coldly.

“It wasn’t easy,” Time added softly, breaking the silence. Wild had barely noticed the long pause between them. Damn, still rusty at carrying on a conversation. Monologuing in his mind certainly didn’t help. He focused in on Time’s words.

“And there were bumps, she isn’t perfect. And I’m not either. I wasn’t sure it would last,” Time said. “But she hasn’t left yet.”

Wild nodded. “Thank you,” he told the older man.

Time clapped him on the shoulder, then began humming a vaguely familiar song as he picked up his pace and made his way to the front of the group, leaving a relieved Wild behind. The older man respected solitude, and seemed to understand Wild’s own need for it.

***

Malon knocked twice on the door to Link’s room, but there was no answer. Maybe he was sleeping again? He’d been taking on more than his fair share of ranch chores lately, she figured he was bound to be exhausted. Didn’t he know that his work ethic already far outstripped her father’s expectations without any of the added effort? She knew her father was already impressed. Link didn’t need to prove himself further. He was easily their best ranch hand, and he fit well in their little family. Besides, Talon had apparently already given Link his blessing years ago. Link needn’t be nervous now.

She pushed the door open quietly, but was met with an empty, neatly made bed. No sign of her Link.

Her eyes fell to something lying on the bedside table, an item that she had only seen a handful of times before: the ocarina. The ocarina whose notes had first sown the seeds of adoration deep in Malon’s heart as Link had impossibly played Malon’s most treasured song. For years she’d believed that Link’s unexplainable knowledge of the song was a sign from above, perhaps even from her own mother, that she and Link had a future together. Now she knew his true past, and the instrument had taken on an entirely different legendary nature in her mind. She crossed the room and ran her fingers across its glazed surface without thinking. It was smooth and cool to the touch. She gathered it in her hands—

“What are you doing?”

She spun around to see Link standing in the doorway. For the first time in many months, his face was a closed door. A painful lump caught in Malon’s throat as she realized her grave mistake. She carefully returned the ocarina to the bedside table with a small clink and stepped away as hot embarrassment rose in her chest.

“Link, I’m sorry...” she began. Link crossed the room to place himself between her and the ocarina. She glanced up into his eyes and found deep pain staring back. The few inches of space separating their chests felt like a vast distance.

“Please go,” he told her quietly. She nodded solemnly and left his room, easing the door shut behind her. As the latch clicked, despair welled up inside her heart. She had repaid his trust with unchecked curiosity, and all the sorries in the world wouldn’t take back her trespass. --------------------------------- Author’s Note: thanks as always to @clumsydarknut for beta-reading.

[missjanjie]

Someone Like You | Branjie Oneshot

Title: Someone Like You Summary: Maybe Vanessa is taking a pointedly low blow when he decides to flirt with Kameron. Maybe Brooke Lynn has just been waiting for a reason to get his hands back on his former flame. Maybe they've both been too stubborn and a third party had to be the catalyst. Maybe it's a cliche, but cliches wouldn't be called that if they never happened. Word Count: ~2.2k Relationship: Branjie (Vanessa ‘Vanjie’ Mateo/Brooke Lynn Hytes) Rating: E

Read on AO3

It wasn’t very often that the queens got to hang out together offstage. There were constant hectic schedules wherein if you weren’t on tour with a queen, you might forget what they look like. So, a group of them coming together for the fourth of July was nothing short of a miracle. It was a lively party, food and drinks were flowing and everyone was in good spirits.

That included the queens that were trying to pretend that reliving their relationship via national television and touring together weren’t reigniting flames.

“Is it true that you guys have a betting pool on when they get together?” Aquaria asked, lips pursed around a red solo cup and back against a tree to protect from the California sun. “’Cause I’d put fifty on them not making it to NYC DragCon.”

“I mean, it’s not not true,” Yvie admitted. The ethics of betting on your friends’ love lives were dubious at best, but Brooke Lynn and Vanessa just made it too damn easy. “But what do you expect? They’re on the opposite ends of the communication spectrum. Fuck it, I’ll take you up on the DragCon bet,” he chuckled.

Vanessa had arrived first, fitting right in and mingling with everyone he came into contact with. It was a solid ten minutes before Brooke Lynn arrived, and they made eye contact, smiled and nodded, then tried to go on as if the other wasn’t there – and failing miserably. “Is he still looking over here? It ain’t enough we’re stuck on a bus together every day?” he huffed petulantly.

“We was all invited, you need to get over yourself,” A’keria rolled his eyes. He looked around, stopping the next person that came within an arm’s length. “Hey Kameron! Can you take Vanjie off my hands, so I don’t have to look over my shoulder every five minutes?”

Kameron looked confused and caught off-guard, but shrugged, nonetheless. He liked being around Vanessa, nearly everyone did. “Uh, sure?” he draped an arm around Vanessa and walked with him to find somewhere to sit.

“He thinks he’s my babysitter or some shit, embarrassing me like that,” he muttered as he grabbed a beer for himself and Kameron. They found a bench to sit on and Vanessa sat with his back propped between the arm and the back of the chair, his legs draped lazily over Kameron’s lap. He could swear Brooke Lynn was watching him from across the pool, but saying anything would’ve only proved A’keria right, and he wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

“Ooh, looks like Vanjie has a type, huh?” Willam had propped his arms up on the back of the chair Brooke Lynn was sitting on. “Guess you’re finally off the hook,” he chuckled, nudging his shoulder lightly.

Brooke Lynn scoffed and sat upright. “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit presumptuous? Vanjie’s just like that in general,” despite saying that, his gaze shifted to fully focus on Vanessa and his Nashville sister. He supposed on at least an aesthetic level, he could see what Willam meant, but surely, he was just trying to fuck with him.

“Maybe so, but you gotta admit, nothing would be funnier than Vanjie jumping from you to one of the queens you’re almost always compared to. I know her fans would take that shit and run wild with it,” Willam mused and clicked his tongue.

“Fuck all the way off,” Brooke Lynn huffed and shooed him away. Once he was alone again, his gaze refocused completely on Vanessa and Kameron.

They were still sitting awfully close and talking animatedly. Kameron had his free arm wrapped loosely around Vanessa’s waist, and Vanessa had his arm draped casually over his shoulders. To the untrained eye, they did look like a couple. And what Brooke hated was that they looked goodtogether, like one of the Instagram gay couples that got paid partnerships and thousands of likes on every photo – something that could have easily been him in Kameron’s place had he let it be.

Had Vanessa initially been trying to elicit jealousy out of her ex? No, not necessarily, but once he caught sight of the way Brooke was staring them down, he just had to run with it. He leaned up to whisper to Kameron, blocking the side of his face with his hand so Brooke couldn’t read his lips. All he actually said was “Play along, Brooke Lynn keeps watching us,” and winked.

And Kameron chuckled with a nod, he had found the whole situation to be entertaining in a will-they-won’t-they high school crush sort of way. That, and much akin to actual sibling behavior, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to mess with Brooke Lynn when he knew he deserved it. Out of the corner of his eye, he confirmed that they were still being watched. He threw his head back and laughed as if he’d just heard the funniest joke, letting a hand come down to rest on Vanessa’s thigh.

Brooke Lynn glowered and leaned forward; jaw clenched. He was sure by the way Vanessa was batting his lashes and leaning into every word that this was intentional, and somehow that made it harder for him to keep his cool. But the boiling point was when Vanessa licked his lips and bit down on his lower one, giving Kameron bedroom eyes. He pushed to his feet and walked over. “Hey Kam,” he greeted in an overly polite tone. “Can I just steal Vanjie from you for a minute?”

It was hard for Vanessa to hide a triumphant grin. As soon as he got up, Brooke had grabbed on to his hand. He had hardly gotten out a ‘goodbye’ before he found himself being pulled towards the house and yanked into a guest bathroom. “What—”

“Don’t you even fucking think about playing dumb,” Brooke muttered as he had him shoved up against the door with one hand, locking it with the other. He gripped on to Vanessa’s shirt with both hands and kissed him fiercely until he ran out of breath. “We both know what you were doing. You think you’re so cute, huh?” he moved a hand to grab a fistful of his hair, tilting his head back to kiss along his jaw.

For quite possibly the first time in his life, Vanessa was left speechless. While the answer was going to be a cheeky yes, he couldn’t remember how to speak. Instead, he let out a breathless whine as he pulled Brooke Lynn closer.

This only made him let out a soft, dark laugh and back away completely. “Of course, needy bitch,” he smirked and turned on the shower, letting it run. Brooke saw the confusion on Vanessa’s face and grinned. “Gonna need something to drown out the noise.”

And there it was. There was the look on Vanessa’s face that set him off in the first place – the heavy-lidded gaze, the soft smile of anticipation, the redness blooming across his cheeks – Brooke realized he couldn’t stand the idea of that look being given to anyone else. His smirk broadened and he leaned against the sink. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked, gesturing to Vanessa’s fully-dressed form.

Vanessa clicked his tongue as he started to undress. “You’re so fucking cocky,” he huffed, as if it wasn’t part of why he was so aroused and eager to fuck in someone else’s bathroom. He tossed his clothes haphazardly across the floor and darted over to help get Brooke’s clothes off as well.

Brooke rifled through a couple of the cabinets until he found a condom and bottle of lube. He backed Vanessa against the sink and pulled him into another kiss, hands holding onto the back of his head until they moved down his body, picking him up and placing him on the sink and pushing his legs apart. “Shower’s not gonna be enough to cover you up if you’re as loud as you usually are. Think you can be quiet like a good boy?” he gingerly worked in his lubed-up fingers one at a time, purposefully testing Vanessa’s ability to keep his voice down.

“I’ll be good,” Vanessa answered, despite the sharp moan that slipped out as soon as he opened his mouth. He grabbed the condom from the sink counter, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth and pointedly directing his gaze down to ask Brooke if he wanted him to put it on.

“Look at you, so eager,” Brooke cooed teasingly. “You have to get me hard first, baby,” he helped steady Vanessa who suddenly decided to shimmy off the counter and onto his knees, then rest one hand on the sink and the other on the back of his head.

Vanessa didn’t need any further instruction; he wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and took the head into his mouth. He relaxed his throat and began bobbing his head steadily, his eyes trained up on Brooke’s face as much as he could.

“See? This is what you should be using your mouth for, not biting your lip and flirting with other queens,” Brooke grunted, fisting his hand into Vanessa’s hair. He kept a firm hold on the back of his head, pushing down a little bit at a time until her heard a slight gagging noise. “You’ve gotten rusty, baby. You used to take it all the way so easily,” he chuckled breathlessly.

This only left Vanessa momentarily discouraged. He relaxed his throat and steadied his breathing through his nose. After a moment, he was bobbing his head around Brooke’s entire length, his forehead resting against his lower abdomen, his hands braced against his thighs.

Brooke allowed him to continue a little longer than necessary before letting go of him. “Get up, baby. Bend over the sink,” he instructed, putting the condom on himself while the other got up. He bit his lip as his eyes traced over Vanessa’s body; the way his back muscles twitched from how he braced himself against the sink, the way he curved his back so his ass was pushed out – he was far too pretty and he had gone far too long without the sight.

With one hand on Vanessa’s hip and the other on his shoulder, Brooke lined himself up and eased himself in, a soft moan escaping as he did. He stayed still for a moment, letting them both adjust before starting a slow, steady pace of firm thrusts. “Still so tight Vanjie, guess you really haven’t been stepping out on me,” he joked, leaning over to kiss at his neck and jaw.

“You don’t – fuck – really think – ah! – I was gonna get with Kameron for real, do you?” There was a smugness in Vanessa’s voice, and how could there not be? He was exactly where he’d wanted to be from the second the idea hit him. That, and every time he mentioned it, Brooke started fucking him harder.

“You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” Brooke retorted, moving his hand from Vanessa’s hip to wrap around his cock. “Or else I wouldn’t feel nice enough to let you get off. I don’t think you’d like that, hm? Having to go back to our friends with blue balls?” he smirked at the discontented whine he got from him. “Then I think you need to apologize and remind me who you belong to.”

Vanessa moaned out, bucking desperately into his grasp. “’M so sorry, all yours, only yours,” he managed to get out, finding it more and more difficult to get out a coherent thought. “Fuck, please, I need to—”

Brooke cut him off with a heated kiss, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. “Go ahead,” he exhaled, working his length through his orgasm. He let go when he was certain Vanessa was spent, switching to grip onto both hips and thrusting his hips erratically until his orgasm washed over him as well. He backed off to throw out the condom, then pulled Vanessa against his chest, holding him tight. It wasn’t clear if everything they said still rang true, or if they were just words that came out during a moment of heated passion.

“Do you wanna wash off real quick?” Vanessa asked, breaking the silence, not waiting for an answer before getting into the shower. It might look suspect if they both rejoined the party soaking wet, but they could claim they went swimming and hope no one calls them out on it.

“Good idea,” Brooke murmured and followed suit. They washed off in silence for a few moments before he suddenly pulled Vanessa into a deep kiss. “Next time you don’t have to flirt with anyone else to get my attention, okay? You’ve got it, undivided.”

Vanessa bit his lip, looking down and nodding. “Just didn’t want you to feel obligated to dive back into a relationship or whatever. I know I can be dramatic when it comes to love…”

Brooke shook his head and kissed him again. “You don’t need to apologize. We were both equally justified and stupid in our beliefs. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

Meanwhile, Kameron had made his way over to Aquaria and Yvie. “Are you guys still taking bets on the Branjie thing? ‘Cause I’ve got a hundred saying they’ll give in before the fireworks,” he said, waving the bill around.

Aquaria looked at him incredulously. “How did you draw that conclusion?”

Kameron glanced over his shoulder, seeing a soaking wet Brooke and Vanessa emerge from the house. “Just call it a hunch.”

[pokemon-go-kids]

Facts about muses {As a treat}

Elizabith

×Hack, her Gengar, was her first Pokemon. When Elizabith was 6, she had run away from home after a bad encounter with Zapdos!Spark.  She wound up in a old cemetery where she encountered a Gastly, who had been abandoned by a trainer who was “shiny hunting”. She stayed there for the night, then went to Willows lab with the Gastly in tow. Elizabith dubbed him the name Hack, and soon the duo became inseparable. To make up for Zapdos scaring her, Spark let her catch the Pokemon and make it her own, making Elizabith the first of the kids to catch her own Pokemon.

×Her first starter was a Bulbasaur, which Elizabith named Bubbles after the spots on her. Her first actual starter (for the Galar challenge) was a Sobble which she named Ramune.

×Elizabith spent so much of her time around Pokemon as a child, that she didn’t really talk to other children. Her parents told her to interact with the other kids more and she did, but they typically bullied her. The first friend Elizabith ever made, was a new girl named Joanie.

Ace

×Aces first pokemon was his Litten, Tony. He got him when he did the Alola challenge. Their relationship is brotherly outside of battle, but this proves for a strong connection in battle. Ace does admit to a small regret for evolving Tony so soon, as he misses the little Litten sleeping on his bed.

×Hot Wings was a gift from his mother once he returned from Alola. The Torchic is rather hot-headed, much like her trainer. She gets jealous easy, but typically only attacks her Ace during her fits. Despite everything, she has an odd respect for Tony and seems to look up to him in a way. The two both love Ace very much.

×Ace understands Elizabiths fear of Zapdos the best, as he has had more than one sour encounter with Moltres  The most prominent was one where Moltres remarked, “I could burn you to ash and feel little sorrow, do not think I won’t make it happen.” After that encounter, he marks the change in the twos relationship.

×One of Ace’s biggest guilty pleasures is cake. He tries to eat healthy and what not, steer clear of pointless sugars, but he can’t resist a good slice of cake. Usually you can find him around the house sneaking a few bites, or if he’s in one of his moods, devouring an entire slice as fast as he can. His favorite is Black Forrest, or Chocolate with Vanilla frosting.

×He briefly considered joining team Mystic and even did a year working with them, but ultimately decided to return to team Valor.

Quinn

×Quinn is scared of the dark. When they were younger the power went out while they were in the lab. In the brief 5 minutes the power was out, Quinn was jumped on in the dark by an Umbreon and shoved into a table. They managed to stay still for 5 minutes and when the generator kicked in, turning on the lights, all they saw was the blood on floor. Ever since then, they’ve been weary of the dark.

×Their first pokemon was a Mudkip which they named Kipper. Kipper stays at home while Quinn is traveling, and doesn’t really leave without Quinn due to a deformity. One of Kippers legs didn’t grow properly as a result he struggles with walking. Quinn is looking into Prosthetics and hopes to have a prototype ready soon.

×They speak French from their time in Kalos. Its a bit rusty and they struggle with reading it, they can understand it at best.

×Quinn sleeps in full pants and long sleeve pajamas, surrounded by ice Pokemon. Its because they can’t sleep if their too hot or too cold and this is the only solution they’ve found as of yet. When their sick they switch it to tank top and shorts with fire Pokemon.

×When it comes to Articuno, Quinn can’t really define their relationship. Articuno is pretty neutral to all the siblings, but does seem to treat them better than the other legendary birds.

Joanie

×Joanie doesn’t actually have any Pokemon. Her aunt and uncle didn’t think she was ready for them when they were alive, and Darkrai’s aura scares most Pokemon away from her now. At most she has Darkrai and sometimes a Litwik he brings with him. Joanie dryly remarks, “I am not Darkrais trainer any more than he is my Pokemon, if anything I’m his to boss around.”

×Her parents moved to the area and literally TAUGHT her how to befriend Elizabith, like schooled her and everything. The plan was to use Joanie to lure Elizabith to them so they could kidnap her and use her as blackmail. It backfired and they were arrested, and Joanie moved away to live with her aunt and uncle. When she returned and Elizabith still thought they were friends, she was disgusted. Even now, she rebukes Elizabith ad keeps telling her “I was literally instructed on how to be your friend, we were never truly friends.” This is partially, if nor majorly, because Joanie secretly feels bad for what her parents did to Elizabith.

×Joanie wanted to be a hair stylist when she was younger. She would practice on all her dolls, and even on Elizabith once.

×Because of her bond with Darkrai, Joanie has lost the ability to have dreams of her own. Depending on how Darkrai’s feeling he may give her some great dreams, no dreams at all, or even a nightmare from his trial. No matter what, Joanie usually wakes up feeling like she needs at least one more hour of sleep and always has bags under her eyes as a result.

Swift

×She gave herself the name Swift after she successfully evaded a hoard of angry Gavantula. One of her fellow grunts complimented her on how fast she’d been, and on the spot replied, “Well, they call me Swift for a reason!” And nobody ever questioned who called her Swift.

×Swifts family is well known in Galar as one of the most generous families in Whydon. They come from old money, and added to that with their flying Taxi business. The youngest of 6, Swift used to spend her days in Spikemuth actively avoiding her families expectations and responsibilities. Eventually, on a vacation to Alola when she was 16, Swift ran away and wound up joining Team Skull. From there’s she’s been on the run from the law and her parents for about 3 years now.

×Swift did pretty well in school on her own, and graduated a year early by cheating off of other. One of her favorite school activities was reading, but teachers and curriculum slowly took that away from her until she just stopped enjoying it. What’s the point of reading when everyone only wants you to read boring books?“

×Her first Pokemon was an Espurr which she named Strawberry. Her Pokemon in alola was a Mimikyu which she named Pumpkin, "because your wearing a costume like its Halloween, and pumpkins make me think of Halloween!”

×She’s a kleptomaniac, and genuinely tries to catch herself before it happens. It’s partially why the cops are on her ass, but once they realized, “She might not mean to do this” they only gave her community service as opposed to jail time.

[michelemoore]

Takhuk

June 28, 2020

Michele Moore Veldhoen

 THIS BLOG BEGINS WITH TRIVIALITIES BEFORE ASCENDING INTO MORE WORTHY TERRAIN

Hi there, I hope this month’s blog finds you hopeful, cheerful, and immersed in some of your favourite summer places and diversions.

Over a year ago, I found this hilarious free stock photo on Pexels. I saved it hoping one day it would suit one of my blogs, but it never has. So, having many false starts to this month’s offering, I visited my photo file, saw this picture, and decided to just start writing about it and see what emerged.

Here goes…..

Let’s begin by asking - what exactly was the composer of this photo trying to convey? Humour? Was the prime goal to say, ‘surprise!’ and have people like me crack up?  Imagine the composer conceiving the idea of stuffing a sausage inside a banana peel? Was it the middle of the night? Was he or she hungry, just home from the pub? Had he or she, who I imagine accompanied by friends, already eaten three bananas and the other half of the sausage, along with a chunk of cheddar and a box of crackers? After which the composer and friends perhaps got into some other form of mind altering consumables which led to a philosophical look at the scraps on the counter? Or was there nothing close to philosophical musings going on? Were these pub crawling magic brownie eating clowns just having a good time playing with their food?

(If you are about now wondering if I’m speaking from experience, you would be wrong. This is the work of a writer’s imagination. Besides, I ate toast, not sausage and bananas when I got home in the middle of the night from the pub.)

You can imagine anything you want when you look at a photo like this, and I’m sure some of you are imagining things about this picture that you wouldn’t write down. I like the idea that the creator was simply playing with food and came up with this funny shot, but I also can’t resist the other obvious reason for this composition: the creator wanted the viewer to think about how assumptions are easily made about an interior based on an exterior appearance. Appearances can be deceiving, says this photo to me.

For example. A movie trailer. A movie trailer can be two minutes of captivating entertainment – action, humour, or great scenery.  So we get all excited, put on our pj’s, make a big bowl of popcorn and settle in for an evening of….captivating entertainment. An hour later, disappointed, popcorn finished, we’re considering an extra early bedtime.

Pricing can also be deceptive. How many times have we paid top dollar for something only to find it performs no better than its’ competitor at half the price? Although in many cases it is true that you get what you pay for, it is the truth in this statement that is leveraged by companies looking to deceive us into paying a high price for something built no better than the standard version. Manufacturers of small appliances like toasters and blenders are good at this. All shiny and stainless steel and fancy LED lights on the outside but the bread comes out half toasted and the blade can’t even chop ice. Humpf.

Of course people themselves are the most deceptive of all. An old friend of mine once walked up to a stranger, a woman whose stomach was protruding. My friend patted the woman’s stomach and said, how exciting! When are you due? That’s right. She wasn’t. To this day I’m grateful I learned that lesson through my friend’s mistake rather than my own.

We humans are notorious for making assumptions about people based not only on their personal appearance but also their possessions. Take a house.  

Imagine a house with trim that never looks weather worn, that has fresh paint on the front steps every spring. A house surrounded by a tidy yard, the grass always cut, snow always shoveled. Decorative shrubs and trees always pruned. This house smiles upon the neighbours who walk by and admire it from the sidewalk. This is a house we would gladly approach if our cell phone died and we were stuck with a flat tire in a snow storm. (I just looked up photos of serial killers houses by the way, some of them look just as tidy as I have described.)

But when one day we are actually stuck in a snowstorm with a dead cell phone, we ring the doorbell of that house and no one answers. Through the blinds on the window beside the door we can see the light on in the kitchen at the other end of the house. We can see television light flickering on the wall. We ring again. Still no one comes to the door.

Now, what would we assume at this point? They can’t hear the bell? We can hear it, so we know it’s working. Perhaps the resident(s) have headphones on? Or are hard of hearing? Perhaps there is just one person home, a single woman, a young person, and they are afraid to answer the door. Perhaps whoever is watching the television has fallen asleep?

We make these kind, and reasonable assumptions, based on the exterior appearance of the house. If the house had worn out steps, peeling paint, and a rusty dented car parked in front, would we even choose to approach the house? If we were stuck in that snowstorm with the dead cell phone and it was the only house with any lights on inside, we may have no choice. So we ring the bell, and no one answers. We hear the bell, we see the flickering television light. But no one answers. What do we assume?  They’re rude? Lazy? Drunk or high? Are we relieved they didn’t come to the door because from the looks of the house and car we feel slightly uncomfortable? Rather than ring the bell a second time, we rush away from the door and begin searching for a house that looks better.

Meanwhile, inside the first house, the door wasn’t answered because the two residents, a married couple, are in the middle of an argument. They have lost 50% of their household income due to the Covid-19 pandemic, they can no longer afford both car payments or the mortgage on the recreational property in BC they had purchased three years earlier. They have both been drinking red wine, heavily, to try and numb the shock of their sudden financial distress, which has brought into sharp focus a fact they have known for years – they have lost touch with each other. The financial crisis has become a relationship crisis. When they heard the doorbell, they looked at each other and froze. Both were too emotionally charged, too fragile, to face another person at that moment.

In the second house, the situation was exactly the same. Except the bills they could no longer pay were not for new cars or a lake house, they were their son’s university tuition payments and the Canadian tire bill for the new patio furniture they had bought last summer. They were arguing about how much to list it for on Kijiji. They were arguing about whether or not they should sell their house. They were both employed when Covid hit, and then both of them lost their jobs. They were drinking wine too. When the doorbell rang, they felt their shame was too bare to face another person.

Our instincts will have us shy away from places and people that don’t fit our perceived ideas of what a good safe place, or a good safe person, should look like. After all, we are tribal by nature. Birds of a feather flock together. It is deep in our flight or fight response to put our guard up when we are confronted with a member of our species that doesn’t look like they fit our tribe, our flock.

But it’s also deep in our nature to recognize and connect with heart. Animals do it all the time. A mother cat takes a duckling into her family. A dog befriends a kitten, they become friends for life, the dog would die for the cat. In wild animal refuges, animals of different species, including the human handlers, become inseparable.  Each creature in these relationships gives or receives a sense of security from the other, regardless of glaring differences not only in their appearance but in their very species. In the wild, a mother cat would kill the duckling and feed it to her kittens. A wild dog would see a kitten as food as well. But these are pets, they are cared for, they are safe, they are loved. And so they can easily wear their hearts on their paws. At the animal refuge, where each creature is well fed, safe, loved, and free from fear of or domination by other species, heart becomes the strongest instinct. Heart is expressed easily, joyfully.

Of course we too, can, and do, tune into heart, as we do all over the world, every day. It is only when our deep, instinctual fears are stoked, or when we feel truly threatened, that those deep flight or fight responses rise. Right now, for example, I’m feeling the fight response toward the country that is holding our two Canadian Michael’s hostage. I use my higher order thinking to separate myself from that response and remember it is not the country, but the specific individuals with too much power in charge of that construct of ‘country’, that are responsible for this crime.

I see people afraid of Covid in the grocery store, usually older people, lash out at younger people who aren’t keeping their distance to the standard the fearful person feels they should. I believe that for many of us, Covid has activated our deep survival instincts, which are always tied to fear.

Every day, in this incredibly diverse and interconnected world, we look at a surface, an exterior, of an object, a building, a person, and experience a response that is either born out of assumptions or born out of heart.

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,  The Little Prince  

Strange and unpredictable, isn’t it, what a writer’s imagination can do with a photo of a sausage inside a banana peel?

www.thetreeswallow.com

[she-walked-away]

Talk Drunky to Me

Hey guys! So, I suck and the muse has been hiding for almost 4 months. I'm sorry I haven't been writing, but now that the show is over and KLAROLINE IS ENDGAME, my muse is KICKING! Okay, I'm hella rusty and Klaus is probably totes OOC here, but why not come back to life with a little crack drabble?

From Ashleigh: One gets drunk and confesses all over the phone, unaware that said person on the other end was actually outside, ready to confess their love. Fluffy post canon Klaroline?*no babies* ;)

Enjoy!

Coming to New Orleans in the middle of Mardi Gras was a good idea in theory, but in hindsight, Caroline cursed her less than stellar timing. The streets were brimming full with half naked people running around, tossing beads and spraying booze over the crowds while she attempted to navigate her way through the French Quarter. She dragged two heavy, gray suitcases behind her, and sidestepped a hazy college guy who embarrassingly face-planted in front of her as he attempted to flirt. Caroline wrinkled her nose and kept on walking, thankful that her taste in men had improved immensely over the decades.

Thirty years ago, Caroline would have been in the middle of the throng of people, drunk off her ass. But older, wiser, eternally a teenager but creeping into middle-age-Caroline was more interested in spectating the festival with a glass of champagne between her fingers and an Original Hybrid by her side. 

She rarely spoke to anybody from Mystic Falls. Elena and the Salvatore brothers took the cure years before, turning human and living out their last lives in the suffocating small town. Matt married a quiet girl from high school Caroline’s math class that she never noticed and was about to become a grandfather for the fifth time. Bonnie traveled with Enzo, the witch using powers and herbs to keep herself from aging. She and Caroline kept in touch, meeting up whenever they were on the same continent.

It wasn't the first time she thought this, but perhaps she seriously considered for the tenth time, turning back and having the airline ship her belongings to Klaus’ door.  She blew her sweaty bangs off her forehead as she lugged her suitcases with a huff. Why did she feel the need to bring her whole shoe collection, including her ski boots? But, the dramatic person in Caroline (and to be honest, the dramatic person in Klaus too) eagerly anticipated the sure to be memorable look on his face when she showed up on his doorstep with her stuff. 

She stopped by an alley, pulling out her phone to consult the address Rebekah texted her the week prior. Over the past few years, she and the blonde Original had somewhat hit it off through an accidental run-in in Barcelona. Caroline ran into a little drunken trouble with a hunter one night, and Rebekah was luckily in the same place at the same time, swooping in the save her. Surprisingly, the older vampire was a blast to travel and shop with. They had a long standing tradition of hitting all the infamous fashion weeks, and Rebekah not so subtly kept Caroline updated on her family’s hijinks. 

Putting the address into Google maps, Caroline made a face when she realized how far out the Mikaelson mansion was from the French Quarter. Leave it to Klaus to find the oldest, largest mansion in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town. She was just about to open up her Uber app for a ride when her phone vibrated in her hand, the words “Blocked Caller” flashing across her screen.

Rolling her eyes, she swiped to answer. It was a common occurrence for Enzo to lose his phone along with Bonnie’s whenever they went on a drinking binge in Vienna or Venice and they always called her from their newest number to let her know it was them. 

“What country are you calling from this time?” she answered with a laugh.

There was silence on the other end, a shuffling noise coming through. Caroline narrowed her brows.

“Enzo? Bon?”

She heard another shuffle and a manly sounding groan came through the receiver. Her pulse jumped, her mind instantly going a hundred miles a minute wondering if Enzo got himself into some trouble.

“Enzo? Is that you?”

“Caroline,” a low, familiar accent sang through the receiver.

Her heart stopped, cheeks instantly flushing at the recognizable tone. Of course he would pick tonight of all nights to call her.

“Klaus?”

“Dearest Caroline,” he murmured, slurring a bit.

And he was as drunk as a skunk.

Caroline bit back a laugh at the cheesy moniker, finding herself wholly amused at his inebriated state. Over the decades, she and Klaus stayed in contact mostly through the phone and letters (she relentlessly made fun of his old-fashioned courting ways, but loved it all the same), so it was rare for him to be anything other than his usual arrogant, confident, murderous self. However, the last time she encountered a drunk Klaus, it was about a month after the incident in the woods and neither of them ever talked about it without blushing.

The first rule of phone sex, is to not talk about phone sex.

“Dearest Klaus,” she threw back at him, grinning stupidly at the brick wall in front of her.

“Love, have I told you how melodic your voice is?” he slurred.

Caroline snorted. “Not lately.”

“It’s like a drop of water in the middle of the desert. I ache and thirst for it,” he continued dramatically. “A taste of it is never enough.”

Caroline covered her mouth as she giggled, trying to muffle her amusement from the hybrid. Clearly he hadn’t toned down on the dramatics over the past couple of years. She heard him stumble through the phone, snarling at whoever was trying to help him.

She rushed to speak, keeping him from shedding any blood on the poor soul that ran into him. Clearing her throat, her fingers fiddled with the lock on one of her suitcases. “Been celebrating Mardi Gras?”

“Commiserating,” he all but groaned through the receiver. “Love, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

“About 37 years, but who’s counting? ” she answered, her cheeks burning. “How drunk are you?

“Drunk enough to know how foolish I’m acting,” he responded dutifully. “But if I can hear your voice for one night, it’s worth it.”

Caroline rolled her eyes so hard that she could feel them ache. “A little dramatic are we?”

“Shakespeare was bloody annoying, but his writing had strokes of genius,” Klaus responded with a drunken huff.

Caroline’s eyes widened and a smile crept across her face as she realized the cause of his dramatics. “Been reading today?”

“Kol was visiting today and we had a little spat-”

“I’m sure.”

“And I say one little dagger threat and Elijah banishes me to the library for the rest of the day in exchange of him sending my dear brother off to Dubai. Bloody coward, I wasn’t going to actually dagger him. So, I spent the day catching up on a little light reading.”

“How light?”

“The whole Shakespearean catalogue,” Klaus admitted wryly.

Caroline bit her lip, trying to hold in a smile. “And?”

“I might have taken them down to the wine cellar and polished off a couple dozen bottles. I was only trying to bring a little culture into New Orleans, love.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she teased.

“Ridiculously over my heels  for you,” he shot back and Caroline groaned at the cheesy line.

“Oh God, that was terrible,” she countered with a laugh and she could hear him chuckle drunkenly on the line.

“I’m a bit wankered,” he sighed deeply.

“I would say you’re totally ‘wankered’,” she laughed. “Where are you?”

“On a street,” he replied promptly. “Watching the human race make ridiculous drunken spectacles out of themselves.”

She resisted the urge to point out that he was currently doing the same thing on the phone, but it wouldn’t have phased him.

“What street?”

“I’m not sure. Somewhere in the quarter,” he hummed drunkenly under his breath, the crowd noise in the background growing louder.

Caroline pulse increased and she tightened her grip on the phone and took a step outside the alley as she glanced around. He probably was only a few blocks away.

As ready as she was for figuring out what she and Klaus could be, the idea of seeing him again brought back both excitement and panic. She hadn’t seen him in decades, and teenage Caroline’s insecure fears were still there in the back of her mind. What if she wasn’t what he wanted? What if he realizes that “however long it takes” wasn’t worth it in the end?

“Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” he murmured, breaking her thoughts. “Like, you’re in a sea of people but you still feel utterly alone?”

She sucked in a low breath, unable to deny drunk Klaus’ uncanny way to hit the nail on the head of one of the many reasons why she was ready to try with him. Traveling by herself was amazing and it was nice to be able to not have to keep with someone else’s itinerary. But she had to admit that it was lonely at times. There would be a beautiful sunset in Venice over the water and she’d long for someone to share the beauty with, or dance the salsa with someone she knew in Havana. It was wonderful, but could be so incredibly lonely at the same time. 

But with Klaus, she never felt like that. All of the other guys she’d dated, she’d be sitting by them at dinner or at dances and knew that their full attention was never on her. Tyler’s was always on revenge, Stefan’s on Damon and Elena’s, Matt always saw her as the back-up Elena. She always was alone. 

Until she met Klaus and somehow, without even trying, she became his first choice.

“All the time,” she admitted.

Except with you.

There was a pause and she heard him take an unsteady breath. “Caro-”

She blinked quickly, trying to brush off the heavy moment. As if her body could feel him before she saw him, goose bumps suddenly rose on her arms and the hair on her neck prickled. 

He was nearby. 

She loosened her grip on her suitcases and put her phone down on top of it. Caroline swallowed, stepping around the corner and almost ran right smack into him. His hands shot out to grab her arms and steady her, his phone dropping to the ground with a clack.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

His eyes were wide, jaw slackened at the sight of her. If she wasn’t so nervous, she probably would have laughed at the comical shock on his face.

She was right, the dramatic person in her reveled at the sight.

“Caroline.”

“Klaus,” she gave him a small smile.

“W-what are you doing here?” he stammered, blinking rapidly as if he was trying to figure out if she was actually real.

Pressing her lips together, she steeled herself and met his unwavering blue-green gaze.

“However long it takes right?” she answered, her heart thumping frantically against her chest.

Klaus stared at her, his gaze unflinching as her fingers fidgeted nervously. The silence between them was profound, the noise of the crowds fading away as she got lost in his face. Her fingers itched to touch him, to curl into the soft gray henley shirt he was wearing. His curls were messy, no doubt a symptom of his all day drinking binge. But his eyes were clear as day, the drunk glassy look disappearing at the sobering moment.

Moments passed and her heart began to sank at his lack of response.

“Right. Maybe this was-”

Klaus cut her off, yanking her into his arms, immediately burying his face into her neck as he hugged her tightly. She exhaled sharply, the scent of him overwhelming as her arms wrapped around his waist and his fingers threaded through her curls.

“I-” she tried to say and Klaus cut her off with a shake of his head.

“Not yet,” he murmured in her hair.

She just closed her eyes and held on tighter. He pressed his lips to the soft skin between her neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. Caroline fought off a shiver, feeling the scrape of his stubble against her neck as he moved his mouth up to her ear and kissed a spot behind her earlobe. He lifted his lips from her skin, moving back to where he could look at her. His hand brushed through the curls on the side of her head before cupping her cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

He was entirely sober, his hybrid nature and the confrontation doing its job to bring him back down to earth.

Caroline pressed her lips together, meeting his searching gaze. It was such a simple question, but it was overloaded with so much meaning. Was she ready for him? Was she ready for him to be her last? Was she sure? 

Once she leapt, she could never fully take a step back. 

Caroline lifted her hand, gently pulling his off her face. Instantly his face fell and he took a step back. She reached over into the alley and pulled out her ridiculously heavy suitcases, stumbling a bit when they banged against her shins. 

“What do you think?” she asked, arching a brow at him. 

His answering smile took her breath away. He strode towards her, cupping her cheeks and pressed his forehead against hers. 

“Say it.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Klaus.” 

“I’ve waited decades for you to say it, love,” he needled her, ghosting a kiss on the corner of her lips.

She involuntarily moaned at the taste of him, the bite of the wine he had earlier mixed in with something that was totally and uniquely Klaus. 

Something she wanted to taste forever.

“I’m ready.”

And then he kissed her.

Please review here :)

[martianunicorn]

writing prompt: sticky fingers, fantasy, fight scene

prompted by a someone on LINE chat group.

first fic for our original works that we post here and it has to be dodgy material. Sigh.

[possible triggers: wounds, blood and innuendo]

He felt it where he had lost feeling since a long time ago. The pain jolted him awake. Aidan glanced over at the sleeping figure beside him. Soft snoring, chest rising and settling at a regular pace.

Didn't wake Sierra. Good.

Aidan rolled to his side to prop himself up. Still strength in his arms, though just barely. Clearly he was getting rusty and needed more exercise. He took a deep breath before peeking under the sheets, lifting up the waistband of his pants.

Nothing seems wrong.

--- --- --- --- ---

"We're taking the shortcut through the forested mountains, where there are at least a few hundred Shedim monsters, and you say the two of you - a girl and a cripple - can guard the goods through this?"

"A rogue and a mage," Sierra corrected the quartermaster. "I am strong, and this guy here looks frail, but once he opens his mouth you'll be fleeing with your pants wet in horror."

"Will you not give people such a disproportionate introduction of me," Aidan sighed in vain, knowing that his wife would speak as she liked regardless.

She grinned at him. Aidan pulled down his mask to reveal his scarred mouth, gnashing his teeth at her playfully. They laughed.

Like expected, the Shedim horde came out at night. Aidan felt it in the bramble wall he had built around camp.

He alerted Sierra, who was never asleep. She disappeared wordlessly into the darkness of the dense forest. He jumped onto his donkey which he was resting beside, readying his staff in his hand.

A choreography that the couple was too familiar with. Sierra, who was sneaky and fast, would extinguish the enemies one by one, each knowing none the better: stealth offense. Aidan, whose spells are flashy and movements confined by his paraplegic body: offensive defence.

So he roused the rest of the camp and had them gather in the middle where it was easier for him protect. As every creature of the shade approach, Aidan would finish them off with a ball of light from his staff.

Twenty minutes later, when the camp was surrounded by the carcasses of the slayed Shedim, he could hear sounds of Sierra fighting in the forest. If she was that near, it could mean the end of the horde. Or that the horde was simply that big.

Or strong. She was fighting just one of them. Mazikin class? The humanoid shade was keeping Sierra at a distance with spike projectiles. Sierra had switched weapons to using a crossbow instead of her favoured katar and dagger.

The sight of Sierra fighting a ranged battle makes Aidan want to laugh, but he stopped when he realised she was not fighting, but kiting. Okay, so she was basically luring the boss monster here for him. Thanks, wife, very sweet of you. (As if he hasn't gotten enough kills yet.)

Time for serious business. Aidan pulled down his mask. ”Sarefah…” he incanted. A large fireball formed above him.

"Watch out!" Sierra cried out. His spellcasting did not go unnoticed by the Mazikin, which had decided to go after the more dangerous target. Spiked spines grew out of its back and flew forward at him. Aidan urged the donkey backwards. Unfortunately, his steed panicked and tripped, throwing him onto the ground.

Aidan grimaced. The boss monster may have him faced down kissing grass, but his spell was already charged. "Ba'arah!”

The fireball barreled into the Mazikin.

The resulting flare lit up the night sky. What a big fireball, he thought. But slower than Sierra, he hoped.

"Aaahh!!" he heard her shout.

"Did I accidentally set you on fire?" Aidan pushed himself up with his hands, resisting the urge to tease her.

"Not me, dumbass! You!”

"Me...?" He quickly rolled over and gave his body a once over.

THOSE SPIKES IT THREW. One of them is piercing through his left thigh. It is also on fire.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh…!!!"

He threw out a freezing spell instinctively.

(Later, Sierra would nag him about using ice on an open wound. Hey, he is a warlock kind of mage, not a healer kind of mage, what would he know about first aid.)

--- --- --- --- ---

Nothing seems wrong, but it is not like Aidan can see all that clearly. He flipped their shared blanket open and lit a light in his palm.

Being the hyperalert rogue she is, Sierra woke up.

"Ai? What's wrong?"

"Umm. I can feel a pain. In my leg."

She sat up. "How can you feel your legs even?"

”I don't know…?"

Without warning, she lifted up his back and pulled down his pants. She gave his non-punctured right thigh a pinch. Then a few more kneads.

"I don't know what you are trying to do there, I can't feel it, but anyway I might be getting aroused if you continue that."

"I'll touch you higher if I wanted to do that," Sierra chuckled. "Okay, so still no feeling here. How about this one?" She switched to touching his left bandaged thigh.

"It hurts. And I still am not feeling your hands. Feels like the pain is inside or somewhere else."

"Hmm," she undid his bandages, and took a closer look at his wound.

The bleeding had stopped, although the sight of raw flesh pulsing without the layer of skin made Aidan grateful – just a little – that he was paralysed hip down; no doubt it would hurt like hell if he could feel it.

"There's something inside," Sierra shifted so that she was in between his legs. Aidan would make a snipe about it, but he is in pain so he shuts up.

"You can't feel it, but when I touch your skin I can feel some unnatural movement." She swung his left calf over her shoulder so she could see his thigh at eye level. "And yea, I know your legs well enough to know what's not normal with it."

She is definitely doing this on purpose, he swears. Knelt in front of him, with his legs spread open and one swung over her shoulder. "C'mon, give me a light here," that grin on her face confirmed his suspicions.

He raised his fist, and opened his palm to give her a light.

"Okay. I think I can take it out," Sierra assessed, fingers circling his puncture wound lightly.

Before he could question "how", her thumb went in. He gasped at the sudden intrusion. "Wait, not. So… fast… I wasn't ready… for, t-that…”

The parasite in his thigh seems to sense its impending removal, so it had began squirming, with each movement sending an electric pulse through his supposedly defunct nerves to his brain. "Gu- hrrgh…!" a sound between a gasp and a grunt​ rang in his throat.

Sierra added her index finger to the hole, stretching the entry point. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Aidan bit into his perforated lips to hold back his voice from escaping. He had one hand clawing and grasping at what feels like Sierra's skin fiercely enough he thinks he drew blood (good, gotta give her a taste of the pain she is indirectly inflicting on him now), while the other struggled to hold up the light in his palm for her.

Her fingers went in deeper, probing inside of him. "Hurry up – find it quick!" He begged.

"I'm trying!" To her credit, Sierra did sound distressed about his pain. He saw blood spurting from his wound, her hand and face partially dyed dark red with the stench. The sensation in his left thigh is starting to be felt somewhere higher on his body, a little too close – he could feel the pounding of his pulse, in there, rising-

"– Got it!" Sierra forcefully pulled the parasite out. His breath hitched, and the light went out.

--- --- --- --- ---

Aidan would like to study the parasite to learn of its properties and how it worked, but the instant Sierra extracted it she ground it into minced meat with her dagger while telling it, "No one rapes my husband except me."

… He mentally rescinds any feelings of gratitude he had for her.

She turns to him and giggles, holding up two sticky fingers in a V shape for victory, covered with his rotten blood and the secretions of the parasite.

His own left hand was a little more sightly, fingertips covered with a fresh crimson. "Do me a favour, and clean us both up," he said.

"Okay," Sierra stood up to walk to where their towels hung. Blood trickled down her right thigh where he had scratched her earlier. A reflection of his own injury, he mused.

(pulled Aidan and Sierra for this fic, as one of the rare few ships that our subconscious hasn’t decided to sink yet.)

[lingthing]

Starlight

When my great grandmother was a little girl, her father taught her how to use the stars in the sky to guide her home. With that in mind, along with an idea from @mollymerula, I wrote this.

BRIGGS WEEK /// Day 3 Major Miles --- Heritage

It was just Major Miles and a young Sergeant tonight, dutifully patrolling the base of the wall. There were other teams scouting elsewhere to cover more ground. But in this particular spot, they were alone.

Miles treaded through the fresh snow with expertise while the young Sergeant trailed behind, huffing and puffing all the while.

The Sergeant had introduced himself but a few days prior as Roland Knox. He was a fresh face from South City HQ- clear on the other side of the country. Miles could tell from his clumsy footfalls and the way he trembled beneath his military grade coat whenever they paused to take a look around that he was not accustomed to the cold, much less the Fort Briggs level of cold.

Why the higher-ups would want to assign such a young, inexperienced lad to the likes of this place, he’d never know.

The Major was kind in that he always volunteered to tag along with the rookies. Other officers tended to be apprehensive, fearing the clean-up that came with their potential mistakes. Not out of any sort of malice, but because a mistake around these parts tended to carry more weight.

An inexperienced, inattentive soul was easy prey for Drachman spies. One wrong move and BAM! You’d have a bullet lodged in your sorry cranium. 

At least, that’s what the guys had told the young Sergeant in the mess hall- prattling on and on to the poor thing like older siblings teasing the youngest about the boogeyman coming to get them at night.

Even in the midst of his struggling, Sergeant Knox’s gaze seemed to dart about in all directions. Drachmans could be anywhere. They could strike at any time. They were just waiting for him to lower his guard. But he wasn’t going to play into their devious hands. At the first sight of one, he’d swing his rifle around, get his finger on the trigger an-

“Oof!”

Visions of crafty Drachman spies were blown away from his mind’s eye by the sight of the Major’s broad back right in front of his aching mug. His superior turned to look quizzically at him. Knox balked and quickly saluted.

“My apologies, sir! I was looking everywhere but...right in front of me...,” he trailed off meekly.

He braced himself for a harsh reprimand, but his fears and the racing of his heart was quelled as the Major held up a hand to reassure him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just be careful from now on. The night is still young.”

Sergeant Knox glanced behind them, looking at their trail in the snow that eventually led back towards the wall. Why, they’d hardly even moved! His chest that still heaved from its efforts and his calves that gave throbs of complaint filled him with shame. To think the Major would want to be stuck with such a greenhorn...he felt like burying himself in the snow they stood upon and just disappearing.

Miles observed the woeful expressions that played upon his subordinate’s face before turning his gaze up to the full moon. It shone brilliantly, bathing their surroundings in moonlight and making everything seem to glow. Twinkling stars dotted the night sky like an array of diamonds.

He held his hand up in front of him and turned it ever so slightly- shutting his left eye to get a better look. When Knox had snapped out of his sorry stupor, he saw what the Major was doing and the sight of it puzzled him.

“What are you doing, sir?”

Miles didn’t answer. At least, not right away. He kept silent until at last he spotted it, and he pointed at a particular spot in the sky.

“There. That’s Polaris- the north star. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to find it. I must be getting rusty,” he mused while scratching at the back of his head.

Knox kept looking at the star. Once you spotted it, you couldn’t miss it.

“Oh, and there,” Miles continued, now pointing to a different part of the sky. “That’s Canis Major. Which means Leo is right...over there.”

Knox followed his pointer finger as best he could. Though it took him a moment each time to realize just what he was looking at. Among the celestial mush, he could see patterns. He could see where the stars lined up and created precise formations. His eyes lit up with impressed wonder.

“Wow...all I ever learned how to find was the big dipper and the little dipper,” said Knox.

“It takes practice. No one becomes an astronomer overnight.”

Knox was excited now. It seemed that he’d gotten back some of his spark.

“What’s another one...?...Ah, I mean, sir,” he babbled, earning a chuckle from Miles.

The Major pointed out another constellation, and then another. He told the young Sergeant their names and their stories, and the subordinate listened carefully, trying to commit it all to memory.

“Wow, sir. How’d you learn about all this?”

“My grandfather taught me when I was a boy. Back then, I had many summers of practice.”

The mention of summer reminded Knox of just how cold it was out here. He’d been so immersed in his little astronomy lesson that he’d forgotten all about it. 

He tucked his gloved hands into his pockets.

“Did he teach you all of them?”

“Not all, but most. Just enough to help me find my way, should I ever need to.”

Miles was quiet for a moment. He took a few seconds to look around, which now reminded the young Sergeant that they were, in fact, still on patrol.

The Major started walking again. Knox adjusted his rifle on his shoulder and quickly followed suit, wanting to keep up this time around.

“You mean, if you ever got lost, you’d be able to find your way back by using the stars?” Knox asked, breaking the silence.

“If I tried, I’m sure I could.”

“That’s pretty neat...though, I guess it wouldn’t be very handy if you got lost in the daytime.”

Miles laughed.

“Let’s hope I don’t. And if I do, I hope it’s with a map on my person.”

Knox smiled from his superior’s quip and glanced at the sky again. He wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it now- all the constellations hovering over them.

When they stopped again, Knox looked around for but a few moments before looking up at the sky to see if he could find one.

“Hmm...there!”

He grinned and pointed rather triumphantly.

“What’s that one, sir?”

Miles came up behind Knox to see where he was pointing.

“...that’s the little dipper.”

Knox looked again.

Oh.

He made a face and grumbled a bit to himself. From what Miles could tell, it was something about being an idiot. He smiled and took a hold of his arm.

“But if you look over here...”

He moved Knox a little to the right and then raised his arm slightly.

“...you’ll find Meleneth.”

“Meleneth...,” Knox repeated, getting a feel for the name on his tongue. “What’s that one’s story?”

Miles’ expression seemed to harden somewhat. It wasn’t until he removed his grip from Knox’s arm and remained silent for a few moments that Knox turned to look at him, and he saw the hesitation there on his superior’s face.

“...sir?”

Miles looked at Knox- saw the strange mixture of confusion and worry in his eyes- and offered a small smile of reassurance before looking back up at the sky again.

“...Meleneth was a young woman who lived centuries ago. At the time, there was a great drought that spread disease and suffering across the land, and the people started to lose their faith. They felt that their god, Ishvala, had betrayed and forsaken them.”

The name Ishvala made the young Sergeant stiffen up a bit. Such a name wasn’t uttered very often amongst the military. And when it was, the subject matter was...unpleasant.

“Meleneth rose up and defended their God, saying that their devotion was being put to the test. She said that they need only believe, and their trial would come to an end. And to show them, she began to pray.”

Knox’s nerves slowly began to slip away, and he listened carefully to every word of the story.

“She prayed for several days and nights without stop. Those who watched her feared for her life, but admired her devotion. Soon, they too joined her in prayer, and they persisted for days on end as she had. Then, at last, the rains came and the people cried out with joy. They began to sing praises to Ishvala, and to Meleneth for showing them the way to salvation. And when the rains filled a great basin there among the desert and created a lake, they named it for her. As they did that constellation.”

Knox looked at the constellation once more. And now that he thought of it, he could see it- the image of a woman sitting, her hands clasped before her.

“...so,” Knox began in a small voice. “In Ishval, there’s a lake named Meleneth?”

“Yes, there is.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“...yes.”

Silence occupied the space between the pair once more. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them even thought about saying anything. Or at least, Miles didn’t. But as usual, Knox was the first to finally speak up.

“Your grandfather sounds like a smart man.”

Miles looked at Knox.

“I mean, anyone who knows about all this stuff has to be smart. A dunderhead like me could never think to use something like the sky as a map.”

Miles gave a little snort.

“You’re no dunderhead. Far from it, in fact. If you were, a timber wolf would have come and snatched you away by now. They always go for the weak ones first.”

He reached to tousle Knox’s hair.

“There’s plenty filling that skull of yours.”

Knox made a good-natured whine of protest and grabbed at Miles’ hands, making his superior laugh yet again. They went back and forth like that for a while longer before resuming walking. Knox kept his gaze focused on their surroundings now like a dutiful little soldier boy. And in spite of how much he really wanted to, he resisted stealing any more glances up at the sky.

“Major Miles, sir. I know you say I’m not a dunderhead, but come tomorrow and I’ll forget everything, I’m sure.”

Miles smiled and prepared words of reassurance, but they were immediately forgotten as Knox continued.

“So, do you think that next time, you could show me again? Or maybe at a time when there’s not a risk of us being shot at?”

“...of course.”

And so the Major and his faithful subordinate carried on with lifted spirits, the latter at last giving in and looking up at the sky again.

“Okay, that one is Leo! Right?”

“...nope. Now that’s the big dipper.”