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shirorozutriea · 5 years ago

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Looking Through Letters

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Day Two: Letters

Looking Through Letters

It was already a week ahead, since Weiss left for a business trip to be held in Mistral. She was sent by her father to observe what was happening in the jewel mines that are excavated by Faunus workers. His words were;

“Weiss, do me a favor and please check on our Faunus workers in Mistral. I received a report that one of the head in charge of the mining are actually doing something inhumane to those people. I gave you my permission to do whatever you like to those you saw that harms them.” Requested Jacques.

Weiss immediately agreed with her father’s musing and began preparing for the trip. But, she actually didn’t expect that she would actually stay for a little longer than she should be. Given for the fact that, there are a lot of things to do in the mining, and as well as the whole branch of the Schnee Jewel Company in Mistral. And I mean, a lot.

And sad to say, that during the course of the week, it was already stressing her out. She heard constant complains from the so-called ‘head in charge’ in regards to the workers. She was able to hear all the cries of the workers. Pleading her, begging her, to help them. She will, oh she will. She will make sure those people will pay for what they have done. But first, she need to start the branch anew. Apparently the current, supposed to be ambassador of the branch, was screwing things up and Weiss is here to fix the mess.

“I can’t believe he had the audacity to put our name in line for this… der mist.” Hissed Weiss.

“What he did must be a serious problem if you’re cussing like that, Weiss.” Stated her body guard and best friend, Blake Belladonna.

“Oh yes. Das Arschfotze! I can’t believe he would just use the Schnee name to smooch off money from the Mistralians. Better yet, the head of the Department of Agriculture.” Growled Weiss. “Could this day get anymore worse?!”

A paper flew in front of her desk. She looked at Blake and raised a brow. “What is this?” Blake shrugged and nudge her shoulder to the letter. “See for yourself.”

Weiss then grabbed the paper envelope and saw the familiar hand writing of her girlfriend. Her sweet and loving girlfriend. Without a word, she gently peeled open the envelope to see the letter sent to her.

Dear Snowflake,

Hello, Weiss! Sorry for not sending you a letter this past few days. I was out on a business too, you know… engineering business. Anyways! I heard from Jacques that you had quite a trouble in your plate there in Mistral. And that is so sad. Condolence to his family lol! Jokes aside. Weiss, don’t overwork yourself. Eat and drink. Do not stay up so late. Cuz I swear to Oum, everything you know will be the other way around. You will not take a step on our bedroom if I knew that you’re not taking care of yourself. Also no sex if that happens. And as you would always say; “You will be punished accordingly.” So take care and have a good day, today. Love you!!

P.S This letter comes with a package.

P.P.S I have Blake to guard you.

P.P.P.S I will try my best to write as soon as possible.

Love, your Rose Petal

Weiss looked at Blake giving her a ‘seriously-look’. Blake only smiled slyly and shrugged, before handing her a basket.

“Ruby said eat that.” Stated Blake. Weiss looked at the basket and saw her favorites. She shook her head and sighed with an audible soft smile. “That dolt.”

Blake smiled at her. “But she’s your dolt.”

Weiss laughed, before she took a sandwich off the basket. “That she is.” She took a bite off the sandwich and pushed the basket to Blake. “Want some?”

Blake nodded. “Don’t mind if I do, because I see a tuna.” Weiss laughed at her and happily eat the contents of her food basket.

Two days had pass and Weiss is still shuffling in her desk to write promissory note for all that… der abschaum had done. Weiss was so busy writing the note that she didn’t noticed another letter came in. Blake knocked on her door and looked at her.

“Weiss. Lunch.” She said. Weiss looked up and then her eyes darted on the wall clock. It read, 12:36.

“Right. I shall partake in the lunch after I—” Blake gave her a look and Weiss immediately put away all the things in her table in a neat stack. She saw the letter and opened it as gently as possible.

Dear Snowflake,

How are you? Have you been eating well? Eh, you probably are, because Blake hahaha. Anyways, I suddenly just remembered how you asked Blake to be your body guard slash right hand. Pfft, oh it's hilarious of how shocked she was. Oh and, Snowflake. My package will be running a bit late, kay? And I know it hasn’t been long since you left, but I already missed you here. It’s cold, I guess. Plus I missed my cuddle bug hehe. Love you! Take care!

Love, your Rose Petal

It was short, but she can feel the love behind those words. And it’s not really that alarming for her to send such short bound words, as she actually is more used to use actions than words. “Action speaks louder than words,” as they say.

“Weiss, I got the package.” Said Blake, handing over a box. She opened the box and saw a newly knitted scarf. It had a note attached to it.

I heard that it was going to be pretty cold in Mistral for a few weeks from now. Sooo, I made this in advance. It’s not Christmas, but it’s still cold, well, not as cold as Atlas. But you get my point. I love you so much. Take care, Snowflake. I’ll see you soon.

-Ruby

“I swear to Oum, I could get diabetes from the two of you.” Teased Blake. Weiss rolled her eyes and grabbed the scarf and gently wrapping it in her neck.

“It’s warm…” Muttered Weiss, nuzzling the scarf. Blake smiled at this.

“These two are too perfect for each other.” Thought Blake as she looked at the window and saw droplets of snow preparing to cover the city, white.

Meanwhile, Ruby is currently dangling her feet in the sofa, upside down. She was playing ‘Grimm Hunters’ in her scroll. It looked like it was an uncomfortable position, but with her expression like that, tongue sticking out in concentration. Eyes glued seriously in front of the screen. It was getting more uncomfortable to look at, bit by bit.

“That position, certainly isn’t becoming of a lady, Rose.”

Ruby jumped at the voice and scrambled to a much comfortable position. She looked at the door and saw Jacques standing in a proper posture with hands on his back.

“Hehe…hiii, Jacques? What brings you here?” She asked curiously with nervousness emitting from her voice. I mean, its less than likely for your friends and family to see you in a very compromising and unpleasant position, but the family, much less the father of your girlfriend… certainly did leave quite an impression of you at your sofa. “Do you want me to do some engineering stuffs? Like checking out your machinery and stuff?”

Jacques sat at the one person sofa. “Yes and no. I need you to do some checking, yes. But, also I would like to know if you’re doing alright.”

Ruby perked up and smiled, leaning in the sofa crossing her legs. “Yeah! I’m fine. Never been better. I’ve been doing a lot of work lately, jumping from places to places.”

Jacques nodded, pleased. “I see. I hope you are taking care of yourself and Weiss.”

“Oh! Sure, I do. Speaking of taking care of Weiss, I asked Blake. You know, to monitor her, cuz like, she's probably one of a few people I know who is extremely workaholic, and I can vouch for that. I mean, when we go to bed she would still be handling reports and stuff.” Stated Ruby, huffing lightly.

Jacques chuckled at the information. “Oh, that she is. Workaholic. I’ve seen my fair share of this version of Weiss. And I might say, it is an unpleasant thing to see. She looks like myself in the past, which I rather hope not. And thank you, for taking care of her, my daughter.” He thanked smiling all the while.

Ruby laughed sheepishly and nodded. “I will do everything in my power to make her as happy as she can be.” Jacques continued to smile, his eyes saying something and without a doubt, said. “I know you would. You are… a good thing that happened to her, after all these years.”

Ruby, sensing the melancholic atmosphere, immediately dived into action. “I know, you’ve done your fair share of mistakes. But that’s fine, everything is alright now. You’ve redeemed yourself, you’ve been able to give Weiss your time. You’ve been doing great. And I can see that. I can see, despite her tired physique after countless of meetings and well, stuffs to do at the company. She was—is happy as she can be. Spending her time with her father. She had been smiling a lot. And I would like to say, I love that smile. And I’m proud of you for reconciling with her. Thank you too.”

She don’t know if Jacques was as good as hiding their emotions like Weiss. Because, just like Weiss, she can sense how happy and relieved Jacques is with that statement. And she was glad and proud of herself about it.

Jacques coughed, blinking his eyes. “Well then, I believe you’ve been sending letters to her—”

Another day had pass and Weiss is still doing her best to make things right in Mistral. With the amount of money that scoundrel had smuggled from the government and as well as from the Faunus. Needless to say, she was absolutely livid.

As of now, she was heading out with Blake to talk to the representative of the Department of Agriculture, to talk about whatever that happened during the course of reigns of that der dreckskler.

“I wonder who the representative is?” Pondered Blake.

They reached the meeting place. They went straight to the elevator and proceed to the floor where the office of the representative is. As they reached the door, Blake knocked and heard a faint, “come in”. They proceed in doing so and saw a familiar blonde hair.

“Jaune?” Blinked Weiss. Jaune perked up and waved. “Hello Weiss and Blake, long time no see.”

Weiss smiled and nodded. “It is nice to meet you again, Arc.” Jaune pouted at the last name. “Come on, Weiss. Last name really?”

Weiss gave him a sly smirk. “If we’re talking about business relations, then it is really a must to call each other in a last name basis. For professional purposes.”

Jaune blinked and put a hand on his chin, stroking it. “Really?”

Blake shook her head and chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’s mostly joking.” Jaune grimaced at the word. “Mostly?”

“Well, last name basis is really for professional purposes. But then, it is up to you.” Weiss said. Jaune laughed. “I’ll just call you Weiss then. Calling you ‘Schnee’ is, kinda awkward and stiff. You know what I mean.”

Weiss nodded. “Alright then. Shall we start?” Jaune hold a finger and Weiss was confused.

“I just gotta tell you, I’m not really the original representative of the department. It’s my sister, but she’s sick, so she asked me to talk to you.” He informed. Weiss nodded, understanding the situation.

“Shall we?” Asked Weiss, taking her sit and Jaune nodded.

Jaune took the folder in front of him and skipped through it, stopping to grab a piece of paper in the folder.

“We received your promissory note and talked about the total amount of money smuggled from the department, and as well as the due date for the payment. Your proposed date took a perfect agreement from the staff heads. They wished to thank you for solving the problem. Because as of now, the department is facing an edge of bankruptcy due to your employer’s ploy.” Stated Jaune, giving Weiss the paper.

“They wished to receive the full amount of two million lien for their expenses in the agricultural state.” Continued Jaune. “Also, let me just stray for a moment. Did you know that they are planning to make equipment, as well as tools and protective gears for safe working conditions?”

Weiss tilted her head. “They are? And I’m assuming they are going to use the money I’m paying for.”

Jaune nodded. “But, I know you know that the amount of money that they’re going to have is not enough for supplies.” Weiss solemnly nodded. “I’ve talked to my sister about it and she said the same thing. The money is not enough.”

Weiss put a hand on her chin, deep in thought. “Are you, asking me to help?”

Jaune shrugged and leaned on the chair. “I mean, if you’re willing, then yes. But I haven’t talked to the head minister about this. And just in case you agreed, I’m preparing.”

Weiss hummed and looked at Blake. Blake then nodded and gave her a stack of paper. Weiss took it and grabbed the pen perched in her suit and wrote something on the paper and gave it to Jaune.

“I will be giving the payment in advance. You must wait for my further announcement about your suggestion. I will be talking to Father about it.” Weiss stated. Jaune perked up.

“So you mean… you’re willing to help?” Grinned Jaune. Weiss nodded. “But I have to speak to Father first. You need to wait.”

Jaune pumped a fist and laughed. “Yes! Thank you, Weiss!”

Weiss smiled. “No problem, Jaune. I’m glad to help.”

After a moment of catching up with Jaune, finding about Nora and Ren’s engagement. Both woman asked for him to tell their regards and congratulations to the couple. Jaune sent his good byes and another thank you to the both of them, before heading back to the office branch.

As Weiss sat on her desk, she saw a letter sitting on her desk, obviously coming from Ruby. She took it and found out a small difference in the letter. It was scented.

“A scented letter? Where did she get a perfume?” Pondered Weiss. She gently pry it open and read.

Dear Snowflake,

Hiii!! How are you? I missed you, Weissy ❤❤❤. You’re dad visited me and asked about my well-being. He’s a pretty good dad. He worries about you. I’m glad you and him got along very well now. He actually asked me to help with some stuffs around the company. And actually showed me around the company. It was pretty cool. Weiss there’s so many machines, I love it!! Also, I may have grabbed a piece of ruby along the way. If your dad noticed, well, he didn’t said anything. Which is pretty awesome. By the way, he actually invites me for dinner when you come home from your work. Anyways, that is all. I hope you’re doing okay there. Don’t stress out, okay? I love you, Weiss. Take care.

Love, your Rose Petal

“Dolt.” Hummed Weiss, as she read the text. And a piece of ruby? Where and why would she need that?

She saw a velvet box in the corner where the letter was tucked in. She grabbed it and opened it, only to see a ruby necklace in the shape of the Rose emblem. She stared at it in shock and adoration. How did she get so lucky to have a girlfriend like Ruby Rose? She would never know. She gazed upon the necklace and admired the lush red pigment of the stone and wore it proudly.

“I really love her. So much.” Muttered Weiss as she fumbled with the necklace in her neck. Blake then entered the office and saw the necklace.

“I’m guessing that’s from Ruby.” Proposed Blake. Weiss simply nodded. “How did I get so lucky, Blake?”

Blake smiled and shrugged. “A question neither can I answer for you. But if I would guess, it’s probably because she’s perfect for you, as well as you are to her.”

Weiss blushed and smiled warmly, Blake can almost feel it radiating from the supposedly known ‘Ice Queen’. Weiss then grabbed her scroll and dialed her father.

“This is Jacques Schnee speaking. To what matters are you calling?”

Weiss can’t help but roll her eyes to how formal her father is. “Well, hello to you as well, Father.” Snickered Weiss as she heard her father choke behind the line.

“Ahem. My apologies, I didn’t saw the contact name. Is there something wrong, dear?”

Weiss smiled at the name. “There is a lot, Father. But nothing I couldn’t handle. I am calling because the representative of the department asked for a financial help.”

“What for?”

“The department was actually going to make safety equipment and gears for workers in the agricultural sector. And I was informed that they were in the edge of bankruptcy when that alter wichser arrived at our desks. With the money I’m paying them for, it won’t be enough for supplies.” Informed Weiss.

“Hmmm, we'll be willing to help. I will be talking to a friend of mine later about supplies. I’ll take over for that. Would you be able to meet with the heads there, Weiss?”

Weiss looked at Blake and she nodded as the woman went through her contacts. “I can do that. What for?”

“I will send you a letter today. It will help you, as well as some documents to proceed with.”

Weiss nodded. “Very well, Father. I will be waiting for your letter.” Weiss hang up and put her scroll down.

She looked at Blake who was talking to, probably Jaune. She watched as the latter tuck away the scroll and looked at Weiss.

“He’ll talk to the heads about the meeting. He’ll call to tell when they’ll be available.” Blake said.

A few moments later, Weiss received two letters. One from Ruby and the other is from Jacques. She opened Jacques first.

Jacques Schnee

Atlas Sector, Howling Castle

Schnee Jewel Company

I will be honored to help the sector of Mistral with the preparations for the makings of equipment and gears for workers in the agricultural state. I shall partake in supporting you with ample supplies for the creation of said equipment and gears. Rest assured that the money for the supplies will be from yours truly. I shall send you an ample amount of financial services for the start of your project.

I also apologize for what my employer had done to your finances. I will see to it that they will be punished accordingly. May you have a nice day and to days to come.

Weiss blinked and smiled at the letter and grabbed the documents but found out that is was sealed. She saw a note attached to it, that is addressed to her. She picked it up and read.

Weiss, do not open the documents. I trust you to not look at it. These documents are highly and very important to our company. Show this to the heads and they will understand what it entails. Take care of yourself, Weiss. Good luck.

-Father

Weiss looked at the document in confusion. And she looked at Blake who shrugged at her. She dismissed the thought of looking through it and put it down and grabbed the other letter. She smiled at the letter.

Dear Snowflake,

Hello Weiss!! I take it that you liked my gift last time. It is made by yours truly hehe. Weiss, how are you? I’m sure you’re doing fine and in great health. Wow, I sound like you’ve been away for years, but I wouldn’t deny that part. It did really felt like years since you left. Weissss, I wanna see youuuuu. Too bad, I can’t. You know, my work has been a bit stressing lately, but nothing I couldn’t handle. It was a-okay. By the way, Yang was here lately. We baked cookies. And it was really delicious. You like raisins right? I baked some for you, Blake has it. Anyways, I gotta go. See you, Weiss. Take care and I love you.

Love, your Rose Petal

“Here’s your cookies, Weiss.” Blake said, reaching out to her with a bag of cookies in hand. Weiss accepted it and opened it. “Want one, Blake?”

Blake shook her head. “No, thank you. I already have some. It came from Yang.”

Weiss nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

A few days later, the meeting was held in the same place where they met Jaune. There they sat at a round table and talked. All in all they were in an agreement with Jacques help. Although a bit reluctant at the first part of the meeting, they said that they couldn’t agree with the man's statement for they have already given their help already by paying the money they have lost. And yet, Weiss didn’t yield and urge them to accept wholeheartedly. And when she gave them the documents whom, each and everyone read except Jaune, Weiss and Blake. They all simultaneously and almost instantly agreed at the terms and thanked them from the bottom of their hearts while being emotional.

Weiss smiled at the heads and told them that there is no need for them to thank them. They will help them in any way they can. And the heiress thanked them for proposing such project. The heads gave their utmost respect and bid them good bye after the meeting was adjourned. Weiss and Blake also bid their good byes to Jaune and head straight towards their office.

“Now, that was settled. I need to make amends with the workers, especially the Faunus workers. Would you be so kindly to help me, Blake?” Asked Weiss.

“Sure. But not with how tired you are right now.” Said Blake. Weiss pouted at her and leaned on her chair. “Now, Blake. The sooner I finished this, the better relaxation I could get.”

Blake sighed and shook her head in disapproval. But nonetheless, agreed to her. “Alright then. What do you want me to do?”

“I just need you there. Guidance and such.” Exhaled Weiss. Blake nodded and smiled at her. “If you’re worried about them hating you or something, don’t. I assure you, they know what had happened between you and your father.”

Weiss rest her chin on her hands. “Right. I’ll be talking to them, later.”

A knock on the door.

Weiss grew confused and looked at Blake who went to the door and opened it, only to see a panting rabbit faunus. Weiss stood up, alarmed and worried. Blake's ears perked up high, her shoulders tense.

“H-help us… Miss Schnee…” Panted the faunus. Weiss grew more worried and took a step to the faunus who visibly flinched, making Weiss feel guilty.

“Take us there.” Said Weiss as gently as she could and the faunus perked up. Blake called upon their guards to help them as Weiss called at her sister's post in the military to gather men to help them.

They ran towards the mines and heard yelping and screaming from the entrance. Weiss audibly heard Blake whimpered beside her, while the rabbit faunus shivered. Weiss felt her gut sunk at what she had seen from her best friend and the faunus.

She then heard the Atlesian army arrived and looked behind her. She saw Winter walking down with several of her men and looked at Weiss.

“We'll enter the entrance. Stay here.” Winter ordered and gestures her men to follow her. Weiss looked at them and let out a sigh.

“It’s going to be okay.” She assured the two faunus beside her who looked at her. Weiss then looked at the rabbit faunus. “Can you tell me what happened?”

And the faunus talked.

After a few moments, she saw her sister’s men carrying and guiding the workers, especially the faunus. Some were in need of medical attention and was taken by stretchers to the ambulance. This caused Weiss to worry more for them.

“Let go of meh, ya bastards! Ey am with ze Schnees. Ya will be punished!” Weiss felt her blood boil.

Winter was about to speak with the man, but Weiss stepped in. Her facial expression, hard and with no emotion. She towered the shocked man who gulped at the sheer aura she emits.

The man smiled nervously and spoke. “H-hello, Mi-miss Schnee. It is… nice to meet you here. I-if it’s not a bother, may I ask wh-what are you doing in here?”

Weiss stared at the man, and with enough venom and spite in her voice, she spoke hard. “You. Are. Fired.”

The man whimpered and nodded furiously as the Atlesian army dragged the man away. She looked around and her hands curled into a fist.

“M-miss?”

Weiss looked at her left and saw an old man faunus with tears in his eyes. Weiss blinked at him, and her physique audibly relaxes. “Yes?” She said reaching out her hand.

The faunus with his dusty and ragged hands clenched with all his might on her hands. Weiss felt the pain in the faunus eyes. She can feel the others staring at her, observing how she would move.

“T-thank you.” Sobbed the old faunus. Weiss felt her stomach clench as if she was punched in the gut. In turn, Weiss held firmly to the old faunus’s hands. “You are all welcome. And I am sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

The old faunus continued to sob and cry, Weiss pried her hands and hugged the faunus. The old faunus clung onto her with all his life.

“Well done, Weiss.”

Weiss looked at the new comer. “Father?” The faunus in her arms visibly flinched and she saw the others tensed. She then heard Jacques sigh.

“Men and women, Faunus or not. I am—we are deeply sorry for all the trouble you have endured. As your man in charge, I should have been here, making sure you're all safe. But with my twisted thinking and ideals, I neglected you all, and gave you a life that isn’t considered life.” Jacques started. He took a step forward to Weiss.

“But I thank this wonderful person, my daughter, who gave me a peace of mind. And I am doing my best to make amends. Starting with all of you.” Continued Jacques. He cleared his throat and exhaled. “Starting today, all of you are free to leave… and live a life you wanted. I will be giving you all your payment and as well as, I am willing to give you financial services that would last a year or three.”

The old faunus in Weiss’s arms looked up and spoke to the man. “What if we wished to stay? No one will take us. A place to stay nor a job to get us by will never be given to us.”

Jacques closed his eyes and think, before opening it again. “All of those who wished to stay, will still have their jobs. But...” He trailed off, looking at the tattered faces of his workers.

“All of you will be receiving a month’s vacation. Food, water, clothes, anything you need will be my responsibility. And I know, you all wouldn’t want that. But I want to do it, a little bit of payment for all your service to me. I will be giving you a subdivision to stay, it’s all up to you about what house you wanted to live in.” He looked at the old faunus and shook his hand. “Thank you, all, for your services. And I am sorry for everything.”

Silence. One by one, series of claps and howls, and other noises can be heard as a sign of approval. They looked at the Schnees and bowed in respect to them. Weiss smiled at them and nodded, she looked at her father.

“I’m proud of you, Dad.” Said Weiss. Jacques looked at her and smiled. “Dad… it’s been a long time since you called me, Dad.” Weiss blushed and grinned as she hugged her father who hugged her back.

“Let's go home.”

They took a flight back to Atlas. Jacques went back to the Schnee manor, saying good bye to the two. Later on, Blake left to Yang’s house and Weiss head to her and Ruby's house. She took off her shoes and entered, went to her room and changed her clothes, then head downstairs to meet Ruby in the sofa, watching Animal Channel. She hugged the poor latter who jumped at her touch.

“W-Weiss? Come on, don’t scare me like that.” Laughed Ruby, nervously. She smiled at the woman in her neck. “Welcome home, Weiss.”

“I’m home, love. And thank you for the letters and gifts. I love them.” Weiss murmured. Ruby grinned at her and kisses the crown of her head. “Anything for you, snowflake.”

Weiss stood up and walked towards the kitchen. “Let’s eat, Ruby.”

Ruby smiled and yelled. “I’ll be right there!”

Weiss then walked away, not taking notice of how nervous Ruby really is. She didn’t even noticed the tucked hand on the redhead’s back. Ruby pulled her left hand, and from there, her hand clenched at a black box where a ring is nestled upon a ring pillow. She fiddled with it before tucking it away to a hidden compartment in the coffee table. And ran towards the kitchen.

“Don’t eat all the food!!”

Notes:

Okay, I didn’t noticed this was actually long. Also I noticed this story has a lot of monologues than dialogues.

I was supposed to do a thing where they were writing letters to each other, you know, kind of like a sweet letter interaction. But it turned out like this, and I’m genuinely surprised, it was awesome.

At first, the bold words was not supposed to be in, but I noticed the pattern it had. It was a coincidence, and a good one at that.

Jacques is good in here, yes. I kind of like that kinds of canon-verse, or was it headcanon, that Jacques turned out to be good after everything with Weiss having to talk to him and Ruby being there.

There were hidden messages in here, but it’s really subtle. My mind just went on it, like poof, oh there, a hidden thing, shh. Hint: it relates to everything that happened in this shot.

#wrw2020 #white rose week #rwby white rose #otp: thank me later #day 2

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yue-muffin · 4 years ago

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I finished Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance for the first time and wow, am I impressed. Having only played the 3DS era games and started Sacred Stones recently, I came to expect a certain range of quality and reach in terms of story. There are games that I found not overly complex but executed well (Echoes) and ones with a good premise and sloppy execution (Fates). Sacred Stones, so far, is one I find with a simple story done well. I’m not terribly enthralled with it, but there’s nothing there to annoy me either.

Path of Radiance is one of those games that takes the ‘simple/standard FE plot’ path, but the execution is brilliant, filled with both depth and heart despite the story having the same basic beats as many other FEs. I was really impressed with the worldbuilding, the character writing, the gameplay/story integration...

My biggest gripe with Awakening and Fates was that the characters were colorful, but few of them were compelling and many lacked the depth to take them beyond their archetypes. Path of Radiance did a good job making me feel that its characters all had a stake in the outcome of the battles, that they had an actual cause to fight for and didn’t just join the army just because. There is always a bit of contrivance in an FE game, but the quality of the writing can lessen or emphasize that feeling.

The gameplay mechanics change from game to game, and I find it really fun to test out the unique features of each installment and see how they influenced each other. the shoving animations are amazing

People also say this is one of the easiest FE games and I have to say, the bonus exp mechanic is probably why. I love this mechanic because of the way it allows the game to reward the player for taking certain actions encouraged by the story (like wanting to spare as many of the enemy as possible = we’ll give you bonus exp if you do). I, uh, am never doing a stealth run of the prison break chapter again though.

I went ultra vanilla and restricted myself to using only the Greil Mercenaries for this run, and I’ll leave my impressions on this post because half the fun of a FE game is building up your team.

I went with the Greil Mercenaries (+ Mia, because she joins them for the second game) for my first playthrough because otherwise I would have no reason to use both Rolf AND Shinon at the same time and Rhys would just warm the bench the whole game lol. And I was really curious to see Rolf and Shinon’s support line and actually have a use for all of those light magic tomes.

Ike: My Ike didn’t get screwed over in any stat, so absolutely no complaints other than the fact that he refused to proc Aether more than once in the Black Knight fight, making Nasir bail him out at the end of the allotted turns. I supported him with Soren because I wanted to see their support line, and have to say that it worked out really well. I was between Soren and Oscar, but it worked better this way because Oscar was always riding off with Titania at the front and Ike just lags behind unless you dedicate several units + Reyson to shoving him to the frontline. And when you’re using Mist, Rolf, and Soren, that really cuts into the units available for shoving.

Oscar: He, uh, ended up the MVP and netted the most kills in the run. Oscar can become an amazing paladin, but mine was so screwed in the strength stat for much of the early game that I had to abuse the bexp mechanic at the base to ensure he didn’t keep lagging behind. His defenses were super good by the end, and the little damage he did take was mitigated by activating Sol every other hit. Also, I have a bias for calvary units, so. Oscar. Loved him.

Titania: I...I love Titania. I love her character. She plays her role perfectly as the super strong unit who is there to support you in the beginning and falls off a little towards the end. She can still hold her own in the endgame, however, and I have no regrets for relying on her early on. There is so much experience to be had in normal mode that she doesn’t really rob anyone else of it unless you go ham and let her destroy everything. In the end, I gave her Savior so she can help deliver chip damage and save Shinon’s ass, I mean, rescue drop people.

Boyd: Super frustrating and nerve wracking to train, super hard hitter who still keeps you on your toes by the end. He is the most lopsided unit I have ever used (comparatively low defenses, speed, and skill compared to his attack and HP) but he was definitely fun and made sure I didn’t get too complacent. I don’t normally use fighters/axe units in the modern games because their accuracy is shit, their defenses are even more shit, and why bother with the headache. Once you can forge Boyd a good iron axe, though, his performance becomes more consistent. I did keep Tempest on him for a while, because I find it fun to use the skills a unit comes with, but I took it off eventually. It does help in certain situations when his hit rate isn’t so good (having the biorhythm doubled then is helpful).

Soren: I have a bias for this little asshole, lol. He’s a standard mage, basically. Kind of annoying to train in the beginning because he can barely take a hit, his movement is low, and MAGIC MAKES THE EMULATOR CRASH SOMETIMES, but if you can stick it out, you’ll be rewarded in the end with a unit that doesn’t care about how physically bulky any enemy is and can take down dragons with ease (plus, he heals A LOT because of his high magic stat even with a basic heal staff). I will admit, he’s a walking liability if Ike isn’t his support partner and magic in this game is slightly annoying because each element has its own weapon rank. He basically ate all of my Arms Scrolls because he has FOUR ranks to build (including the staff rank) and all of them have their uses, so I didn’t have him concentrate in one or the other. Although he gets weighed down by a lot of tomes because he is a twig, mine capped speed and didn’t have a problem doubling the dragons in the endgame with Thoron.

Rhys: One of the reasons I did a Greil Mercenaries run haha. He’s not a bad healer. It’s just that there’s benefit to training Mist as your main healer for that one fight later on, and having a team with THREE HEALERS is overkill (unless for whatever reason you made one of your mages use knives...). The problem is that while Soren can take a hit and Mist can run away, Rhys can do neither. His magic stat is very good though, and he was objectively better than my Mist by the end except that he wasn’t on a horse. He was really useful for the endgame since I gave him the Purge tome. Finally, he didn’t have to risk his neck to actually fight. I lowkey love his character though.

Mist: She is so cute, but mine was so screwed in the stats department. If not for bexp, it would have been a nightmare to train her and Rhys at the same time. I early promoted both of them, but getting her to level 10 was hard. Mine ended up getting magic on so few level ups, that I gave her two spirit dusts by the endgame and it was still amazingly low. Her strength stat was 13. 13!! I love the horse, though. Makes her a lot easier to use once promoted. She has no shoving capabilities, though, whereas Rhys (frail, sickly man he is) can shove like half the army. Go figure.

Mia: I love Mia. She can have my heart and run with it. In newer games I tend not to use mercenaries/swordmasters because their movement is kind of eh, their dodge-tank capabilities are not that impressive, and I don’t like relying on crits too much, but Mia was such an awesome addition to the team. It can be a bit difficult to train her in the beginning given her low defense, HP, and strength, but once she gets going, she wrecks things like nobody’s business. Would have liked to do some Wrath combos with her, but mine had Vantage and Adept and that worked just fine with a Killing Edge or a forged sword of some sort. The only issue is her super low strength cap (22?? really??) but the reliability of her crits and/or skill procs make up for that if you can get her past the early game.

Rolf: ROLF. Literally only viable because of bexp. I actually really love how they wrote his character, but what were they thinking by making him join so late, with such low bases AND his strength growth isn’t even that good (40%, less than Oscar’s). All else could be forgiven if his strength growth was at least 50% like his speed. If you can’t actually do damage, there’s no point. Once you pour exp into him like nobody’s business, he can actually be a good unit. I do really like using him, and mine got enough defense and resistance that he wasn’t a liability, but he definitely needs investment. On the other hand, his hit rates were so good that Gamble actually worked well on him.

Shinon: The racist asshole whose only redeeming quality is his relationship with Rolf. I loved their support chain, and actually I do like how the game put him on our team (after giving you a hard time recruiting him) because of how it brings an element of realism makes these characters more human, but yikes he’s potentially worse than Rolf to train because of how long he’s gone for. If you put aside the need for even more bexp to use him, he’s a pretty good crit unit. And he can surprisingly take a hit once trained. I left Provoke on him and BOY he nearly got himself killed in the endgame, but it is pretty nice to draw aggro in order to get some enemies closer for the foot-locked units to kill.

Gatrie: I miss tanks. Newer games make them so much less fun to use because they don’t tank very well (I’m looking at you, Fates...). Gatrie can’t get places fast and only laguz can shove him, but it was fun having someone who can take a million hits and soften enemies up for the others to take care of. He can’t really one round anything because he can’t double and leaves them with a few hit points left (except if he procs Luna) but he’s a worth while addition to the team. Takes a bit of bexp though, since he often doesn’t get as many kills as the rest.

Reyson: Not a Greil Mercenary, but like I was going to pass up a dancer singer who can refresh FOUR units. It was a pain in the behind to get the Knight Ring, but he does make really good use of it. He can also use the Full Guard ring so he can enter certain areas without being murdered by ballistas. I love his bird form, and the fact that frail heron man can SHOVE people who the tiny people in my army can’t (Mist, Rolf, Soren, I’m looking at you). no but really, Reyson’s character is actually really good too, I like him.

It was, uh, interesting getting through some of these chapters without a flier. Absolutely not necessary to have one, and if it was a chapter where I kind of needed someone, I just used Tanith or Janaff (the Naesala chapter was the only one that was annoying without a trained flier).

I genuinely had no idea who to stick skills on, haha. This was an interesting system where you really had to think about who to give a skill since they’re like old TMs in Pokemon...one use only. I like to have some limitations in the skill system though, unlike Awakening and Fates where it’s a free for all. I just like the more limited set of options.

#the muffin's video gaming adventures

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sennaleee · 5 years ago

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(Heyo, here’s a P5 Akira/Akechi omo fic that I wrote entirely for myself despite having a ridiculous number of requests for different things please don’t kill me. ;~; I have a HUGE note regarding my thoughts about timeline, my opinions on these characters and their relationship, and other things, but it was such a Long Explanation that I didn’t want it at the beginning of the fic. If that’s something that interests you, please scroll all the way to the bottom of the fic for that!

Short version with the most important stuff: This ain’t a shippy fic, but I do ship Akechi/Protagonist and like Akechi as a character despite him being a villain. Based on timeline, Akechi is suspicious Akira is a Phantom Thief but doesn’t know for sure, and Akira hasn’t yet figured out that Akechi knows about the metaverse and is a persona user (probs takes place between Kuneshiro’s and Futaba’s palaces, but exact date doesn’t really matter). There are no spoilers for P5 Royal in this fic.

Also gotta admit this is 100% self-indulgent nonsense, so if you're looking for something Deep and unquestionably In Character, this probably ain't it. Honestly, I just wanted to get back onto the writing train, and doing something entirely for myself was the best way to do that lololol. (also upon rereading this to edit, I realize that Akechi is entirely ooc whoops please just accept this for what it is because I don’t want to rewrite it when it’s literally a kink fic)

This fic was inspired by this post.

Fic contains omorashi. Also a note that this is somewhat different from my usual stuff in that there’s a lot more focus on the relief than the desperation, which I blame on point of view. Anyway. I’ll stop talking now and let you get to the actual fic lol.

-----

“Oh, you're back.” Sojiro's usual drawl as he stood behind the counter was expected. What was not so expected was the detective prince seated primly at said counter, an empty mug in front of him and a book held open by his gloved hands.

“Out a bit late today, eh? I'll leave closing the store to you then,” Sojiro said without waiting for a reply, replacing his apron with his jacket and giving Akira a short wave as he headed out. There weren't any other customers, and Akira really had been out late – Ryuji had wanted to train, and afterwards Akira had run into Ann when he’d made a stop in Shibuya’s underground mall. Glancing at his phone, he noted that it was technically past closing time already, and was surprised Sojiro hadn't given him more of a talking-to, not to mention he hadn't said so much as a word about Akechi having to leave Leblanc.

Speaking of Akechi ...

Akira flipped the sign to 'closed,' not wanting to risk having to deal with any more late customers wandering in.

“Come here often?” he joked, pleased when Akechi rolled his eyes and closed the book, setting it aside.

“Good evening, Kurusu-kun. You're back much later than usual today.”

Shrugging, Akira dropped his schoolbag on a booth, only giving Morgana a cursory glance as he hopped out of said bag and stalked up the stairs, throwing a disapproving glare over his shoulder. Akira went behind the counter to grab Akechi's mug, giving the inside a quick look, deeming it clean enough before refilling it with what he knew was Akechi's favored coffee blend.

“Yeah, one of my friends likes running, so I offered to run with him. My other friend likes talking, and I ran into her on the way home.” Akira put the now-full mug back in front of Akechi with an exaggerated bow before going about preparing a coffee for himself.

“Ah, isn't it past closing? I did want to talk with you today, but I'm sure you have more important things to be doing,” Akechi said, even as he rose from his seat, grabbing his briefcase from where it was set on the chair next to him.

“Don't worry; if Sojiro wanted you gone, he would've said. Stay as long as you like. Besides, I just refilled your coffee – be a bit rude if you rushed off now.” Akira gave Akechi a narrow-eyed smirk, just daring him to do something deemed 'rude.'

“As long as I'm not causing you any inconvenience,” Akechi said slowly, though he made no move to sit back down. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to use the restroom, and then we can talk as long as you'd like.”

“Oh, wait, sorry,” Akira said. “Toilet's out of order currently. Sojiro promised me he'd get a plumber in sometime tomorrow.”

Akechi stopped from where he was halfway to the restroom, turning abruptly toward Akira with a single eyebrow raised. “Kurusu, don't you live here?”

“There's a public bathhouse across the street,” Akira shrugged. “Works well enough for emergencies. Otherwise I'm usually only here to sleep anyway.” Watching as Akechi's eyes darted for the slightest of moments toward Leblanc's exit, Akira continued, “I can walk you over there if you need?”

“No, that won't be necessary,” Akechi was quick to answer, returning to his chair and immediately reaching for his coffee, taking a long drink.

“Suit yourself. It's no problem.”

“I can assure you there is no need.”

Holding back an exasperated sigh, Akira instead walked around the counter and very deliberately moved Akechi's briefcase off of its chair and onto the booth next to Akira's own bag, ignoring Akechi's token protest. Plopping down in the now vacated chair, Akira folded his hands around his own coffee cup and smiled at Akechi. “So, Akechi-kun, what is it you wanted to discuss today?”

---

It had stayed in the back of his mind throughout the rest of the evening and later into the night. Sure, Akechi hadn't mentioned the restroom again, but there were the tiniest of tells – he was crossing and uncrossing his legs just a tad more than he would normally, he was twitching his foot up and down whereas he tended to sit completely still, it was taking him a good hour to get through this third cup of coffee when he could usually down them in no more than thirty minutes, even while talking to Akira throughout.

Akira wasn't focusing on Akechi's sure need of the restroom. It was more a curiosity, wondering why he didn't just give in and use the toilet in the bathhouse when obviously Akira was aware he'd needed to go for some time, but Akechi was nothing if not stubborn.

They jumped from topic to topic throughout the night: What restaurants Akechi had visited recently, what Akira had been doing with his friends, how both of them were doing in school, plans for the upcoming summer break, and of course, the all-consuming topic of the Phantom Thieves. Granted, as soon as Akechi started asking the more probing questions, Akira redirected toward Akechi's more recent interviews, charmed to watch Akechi scowl for just a moment before plastering that pleasant grin back on.

Akechi didn't stumble or stutter or lose track of his words. He kept sipping on his coffee, albeit at a slower pace, while Akira watched on.

It felt like no time at all before Akechi glanced at his phone and gave a start. “Ah, it's getting quite late! I really must get to the station before the trains stop for the night. Thank you for indulging me, Kurusu-kun.”

“Pfft, how many times have I told you not to thank me? I like talking to you, idiot.”

“No need to be rude,” Akechi softened his scolding with a smirk, eyes sharp as they looked up at Akira from under his bangs.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you by walking you to the station.”

“Thank you, but that's really not necessary,” Akechi was quick to say.

“It is -” Akira stopped to dramatically pull his phone out of his pocket to check the time, “- 11:47 at night. As safe as Yongen-Jaya is, I refuse to give up on chivalry and stay here while the Detective Prince himself walks alone to the train station.”

“If you insist. I suppose it wouldn't exactly be 'princely' of me to argue.” Akechi's smile was more obviously forced than Akira had seen before, and he could swear he saw Akechi's left eye twitch before he turned toward the door and made his way toward it.

“Hey, Akechi?”

“Yes? I don't want to miss the last train, Kurusu,” Akechi said.

“Yeah, I know. I only thought that you wouldn't want to forget your briefcase.”

Akira took great humor in watching how quickly Akechi's back straightened, arms stiffening at his sides in what Akira assumed was embarrassment.

“Of course. Thank you, Kurusu-kun.”

Carefully locking Leblanc's door behind him, Akira smirked to himself when he realized Akechi had already started making his way toward the station without him. His gait was no faster than usual, and Akira doubted he would've known anything was wrong without his much earlier clue.

“Hey, wait up! The station's not even a five minute walk away. I promise you're not going to miss your train,” Akira called, jogging a few steps to catch up.

“My apologies. I simply don't want to risk the possibility of becoming stranded here overnight. After all, it would do nothing for my reputation if it were to come out that I spent the night in a Yongen train station.”

“Don't be ridiculous. If you miss the train, you're coming back to Leblanc.”

Akechi looked over in shock at that, eyes wide and mouth open as if he were about to retort, yet no words came.

“I don't know why you're so surprised. What sort of friend would I be leaving you to fend for yourself? You wound me, Akechi, truly.” Akira clutched at his chest, dramatically throwing his head back in faux-distress.

“Be serious,” Akechi scowled, continuing his steady march toward the station.

---

The last train for Shibuya left Yongen at midnight exactly. The big clock on the station wall informed them that it was currently 11:56.

Gesturing toward this clock, Akira said, “See, plenty of time to make your train. I can't believe you doubted me.”

“Yes, wonderful job, you correctly estimated the amount of time it takes to walk from your own home to the train station you frequent.”

“No need for sarcasm. A simple 'thank you' will suffice just fine.”

“Oh, thank you, my hero, Kurusu Akira. Now that I'm at the train station, I assure you I'll be able to make it to Shibuya on my own. No need for you to stay with me.”

“Come on, Akechi, it's only four minutes. I'm convinced you want to be rid of me.”

“Four minutes...” Akechi looked at the clock before looking down at the floor for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. He glanced once more at the clock, once toward the train tracks, then before Akira even knew what was happening, Akechi was off like a shot. He wasn't quite running, but his long strides were moving him through the station at an impressive pace.

Akira took only a moment to watch after him in shock before taking off at a swift jog to catch up with him.

“Akechi, what—”

“Please excuse me, Kurusu-kun,” Akechi said in a strained voice before abruptly pushing through a door. Akira, still chasing after him, entered right behind.

He shouldn't have been surprised to be faced with a restroom. It was small with only a toilet and a sink with no actual stalls, likely due to the Yongen-Jaya station itself not servicing too large of a crowd on the daily. Sure, he shouldn't have been surprised – Akechi had made clear his need for a restroom literal hours ago, and he'd had three cups of coffee since then, but Akira still couldn't wrap his head around Akechi being so desperate as to run away from him to get to a bathroom. Sure, there had been small tells throughout the night – just that much more fidgeting, that much more tightness in his facial expressions, but if Akira hadn't been looking for these things, he certainly wouldn’t have noticed them.

As it was, Akechi wasn't even bothering to wait for Akira to leave, instead dropping his briefcase on the floor and working on undoing his pants even as he was still walking toward the toilet.

There was no way he was unaware Akira had followed him into the bathroom. Apparently, his desperation was so great that he simply didn't care. Akira would've left. He wished he could've left, but as Akechi would've been in direct view of the door had Akira opened it, he didn't dare, instead reaching over and locking the door to prevent anyone else from bursting in.

Looking away would've been, at that point, the correct thing to do. However, the situation itself was so bizarre that Akira felt frozen in place. Frozen and staring as Akechi managed to pull himself out, already obviously dripping even before he managed to aim at the toilet. He was biting his lip and Akira could see, even from across the room, that Akechi's hands were trembling as he aimed and then he was peeing and wow Akira didn't want to be impressed, especially in what was clearly supposed to be a private moment, but the force of the stream was like a goddamned firehose.

The immediate relief was obvious on Akechi's face, his expression relaxing for the first time all night. His eyes drifted closed and his mouth went slack as he let out tiny sighs and cut off moans.

Akira was still frozen, staring, unable to pull his eyes away from the blissful relief apparent on Akechi's face. He could feel his own face flaming in a blush. The sounds alone would've been embarrassing enough, the harsh splashing and the sighing that was only slightly quieter now that Akechi was biting his bottom lip.

To Akira, the moment lasted eons. It seemed neverending in both the worst and best of ways, but truly it couldn't have been longer than a minute when the force of Akechi's stream finally began to wane, the liquid exiting slower and slower until it tapered to a stop. Akechi had turned his face away now, as he tucked himself back into his pants, flushed the toilet, and strode to the sink, taking his time washing his hands and decidedly not meeting Akira's gaze in the mirror. Not that Akira wanted to. At least, he didn't think he did. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to meet Akechi's eyes again after that display.

Once finished washing up, Akechi stayed facing away from Akira.

“You can leave now, Kurusu.” Akira had expected his tone to be darker, angrier, but all he could hear was a bone-deep exhaustion mixed with … was that sadness? Embarrassment? Disgust?

Unfortunately, reacting to unexpected situations such as this was not Akira's forte.

“Uhhh. Wow. that looked like it felt good.” Great, Akira, shove your foot right into your mouth, amazing job there.

“Please just go,” Akechi groaned, covering his face with both hands.

“So actually … You know how Leblanc's toilet is out of order?”

“...Obviously.”

“I definitely have to go now. Mostly out of sympathy for you, but—”

“Would you—ugh,” Akechi growled, face still buried in his palms. “Fine. Fine. I will be the one to leave.” Akechi spun around and all but leaped toward his bag, holding it very conspicuously in front of his crotch as soon as he grabbed it, but it was too late. Akira had definitely seen a small dark patch just to the right of Akechi's zipper, made all the more obvious by the light tan color of Akechi's pants. He strode to the door, trying to yank it open and quickly realized that it was, in fact, locked.

Akira choked on a laugh, the ridiculousness of the past five minutes fully catching up to him. He desperately hoped Akechi hadn't noticed – laughing at him was the worst way of getting Akechi to keep spending time with him, Akira knew. Thankfully, if Akechi had noticed, he didn't acknowledge it as he unlocked the door and let himself out at last.

It only took Akira himself a few minutes to finish in the restroom, even though he took his time, knowing that Akechi had surely left for Shibuya already. So, it was to Akira's immense surprise when he left the bathroom only to see a familiar figure sitting against the wall, knees pulled to his chest with his head pressed into them.

“Akechi?”

“... I may have missed the last train.”

Akira glanced at the clock. 12:08. Apparently Akechi getting his relief did take as long as it seemed...

"At least you already have a back-up plan,” Akira said, grabbing Akechi's briefcase before offering him a hand up. Lifting his head, Akechi fixed him with a glare.

“And if I refuse?”

“You won't refuse. Besides, there's a laundromat right next to that bathhouse I mentioned earlier. I'll throw in your pants for you so you won't have to travel with a stain tomorrow.”

“Would you shut up?” Akechi hissed, but he seemed too tired to put any true venom behind his words.

“Come on, I'll lend you my spare pajamas.”

Without another word, Akechi finally took Akira's hand and rose to his feet.

“I will warn you, Morgana may act very offended by you staying the night.”

“I'll be sure to apologize to him for invading his space then,” Akechi murmured as the two boys left the station and began retracing their earlier path walking side by side.

Akira snorted and bumped his shoulder gently against Akechi's. “Hey, if Morgana wants to stay with me, he's going to have to get used to you being around.”

Akechi's breath caught and he didn't answer, though a quick glance over revealed his cheeks dusted light pink.

---

An hour later found Akira and Akechi both finally ready to sleep after having made a late-night laundry run and settled onto the bed and couch respectively. Morgana, surprisingly, had already been fast asleep when the boys arrived and they were respectful and quiet so as not to disturb him. Akira was sure he'd get an earful about his unexpected guest tomorrow, but at the moment, he wasn't in the mood for a lecture.

“Sleep well, Akechi. And please, if you have to use the restroom during the night, don't hesitate to wake me. It's no trouble to show you to the bathhouse,” Akira said, only partly doing so to push Akechi's buttons.

He could swear he could hear the blush in Akechi's words as he replied, “Thank you, Kurusu-kun. I'll be sure to do so.”

-----

(K, so here’s the super long note I promised at the beginning of this fic. I copy/pasted verbatim from how I had originally written it, so if things seem redundant, whoops sorry.

Full disclosure: I am a die-hard Akechi/Protag shipper and I will not apologize for that. I don't think I made this shippy at all, but I know Akechi is a polarizing character, so I want to make y'all aware that it was a dirty Akechi stan who wrote this. I just think he's an interesting character and I am very sympathetic to him okay don't judge meeeeee. I couldn't remember exactly when Akechi first started going to Leblanc in the actual game, so the timeline is kind of skirted around, but I imagine this to take place after Makoto joins the team but before Futaba contacts them. I know, I know, no one cares about The Lore on a kink fic, but it makes me happy to think about it, and it is also more important in this case because of the following:

The way Akira and Akechi act toward each other is heavily based off of where they are in the timeline + how I interpret canon events (I refuse to say headcanons because I can defend why I think this). Basically, I feel there's strong evidence that despite suspecting Akira to be a Phantom Thief, Akechi didn't truly know he was until Okumura's palace. I also feel that there is even stronger evidence that Akira and Morgana didn't realize Akechi was a persona user until the school fair event that occurred after Okumura's palace. Yes, the event that allowed them to figure this out happens significantly earlier, but there's nothing pointing toward either of them actually figuring it out until the school fair. Please keep this in mind when reading, as this 'headcanon' of mine definitely affects how I write them interacting with each other. I realize that may be confusing, since I think there's some discrepancy as far as interpretation goes around these events and when they truly happened, but this is how I interpreted the game.

Also in regards to the very ending of this fic: Didn’t add this part in because it would’ve dragged for really no reason, but my thoughts on what happens the next morning is that Akechi is naturally an early riser and gets up earlier than both Morgana and Akira and sneaks out so he doesn’t have to face Akira again, which is how we can skirt around the little issue of ‘Akechi can understand Morgana talking.’ Sojiro is definitely in Leblanc already when Akechi leaves. There is awkward eye contact, but neither of them say anything, and Sojiro vows to never bring it up to Akira. (He definitely brings it up to Akira later that same day.))

#omorashi #omocute #fandomo #fictomo #p5 omo #akechi omo #omo fic #p5 has basically taken over my life since i got royal whoops #sorry to any of the people who requested things 573819507318 years ago and still haven't received them #*shakes fist at sky* one day they'll be done #until then i hope you enjoy this self-indulgent mess thanks bye

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discopiratetanis · 5 years ago

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The words you want to hear [soulmates au]

Chapter 1 | (ao3)

Okay, fine, it took longer than I expected to write this chapter (I’ve been sick, and social life doesn’t wait for you). I know it was going to be three chapters at first because I had a clear idea in my head and thought that was all I needed, but no! It turns out that it wasn’t.

I have divided what was going to be chapter two into two parts, and probably, if the same happens with chapter four, there will be a fifth (with a lot of emotional content, I promise).

So! I hope you like it!

(I’m tagging everyone who was left wanting more with the previous chapter, if someone else wants to keep track I can tag them in the next one too! If the tags don't work is tumblr fault)

@little-piece-of-tamlin

@imweakmylove

@skywing4797

@rhodey-rhudert-rhodes-main

Lettenhove Fortress was a square mass of grey stone, with thick walls and high towers, located at the top of a bare hill next to a mountain range covered with wild forest. A village surrounded the hill, with the houses scattered along its slopes. A fast bubbly river flowed and spurted from the mountains and surrounded the last houses of the town, forming a natural barrier against attackers. A wall, as huge as the walls of the fortress, surrounded the village on the side that the river did not protect.

Jaskier stopped his horse, a black stallion with white legs, as soon as he reached the end of the bridge that connected the two banks of the river. Geralt did the same. A barbican, guarded by two soldiers with the Lettenhove coat of arms, were watching the only passage to the village and the castle. The soldiers looked at them with suspicion and reticence, especially at Geralt. The witcher noticed that they frowned at the sight of the medallion. He said nothing, letting Jaskier step forward to them.

“A crown per person and per horse,” the soldier stationed on the right side said, as soon as Jaskier’s steed took a step.

Jaskier clicked his tongue.

“I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of the Viscount of Lettenhove, and I will not pay to enter in my own house, nor will pay my companion. Let us pass,”

The guards looked at each other before they looked back at Jaskier. The soldier on the right scoffed.

“If you were truly the son of the viscount, then you would know that you are the new viscount. Or you should know,”

Geralt saw out of the corner of his eye how the soldier on the left was tensing up, ready to attack just in case… He could smell his distrust, even a little nervousness (because of him, not Jaskier) but he remained calm. He didn’t need more trouble, not when people were willing to find problems out of nowhere.

“I know my father is dead, soldier,” Jaskier hissed, and he really sounded like a really pissed off nobleman. “Let us pass or you will face the consequences,”

The right guardsman frowned a little more, threw a quick glance at his companion, who shrugged with a huff, and then grunted. He extended a hand to Jaskier.

“Well, if you insist… Documentation, please,”

Jaskier inhaled deeply (and Geralt knew he was tired of this shit already) and reached into his bag. He took out a small scroll of parchment which he offered to the guard. The soldier spread it without ceremony, and read it in silence. With every word he read his expression changed from weariness and mockery to surprise and panic. He looked up from the scroll, rolled it up quickly, and returned it to Jaskier.

“My apologies my lord, please, come in,”

Jaskier huffed, taking the scroll and put it back in the bag. Then, without words or acknowledging the soldier’s apology, he spurred the horse on and marched forward. Geralt sighed and followed him, knowing that the guards were looking at him much more boldly and curiously than before.

They entered the town.

The main street was full of holes and mud puddles. It connected the entrance of the bridge with the marketplace and the castle. They rode at a slow pace. Busy villagers were walking around, leading mules or carts with sacks or hay bales. Hens and gooses were fluttering or pecking everywhere, groups of children were running through the alleys or playing with rag balls. Somewhere a pig shrieked. Geralt thought, somehow, that all of that reminded him of Blaviken. He looked at Jaskier, who was serious, glassy-eyed.

“So, will there be consequences?” he asked, casual.

Jaskier let out a grunt. He was becoming a very good Geralt imitator, groaning in response to everything, silent, moody, unwilling to explain anything. He had been like that for two weeks since Jaskier got the letter from his family and hired Geralt to kill a monster without any more details. Two weeks of tense, hard travel to Lettenhove. Geralt was almost starting to resent his own shortcomings.

“Of course not,” Jaskier replied. “I’ve been away for years, I understand I wasn’t recognized,“

“Hm,”

Geralt was about to ask if he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t. When someone as cheerful and optimistic as Jaskier went grey and empty that way there was no point in ask if he was okay. How could he be? Geralt had realized during that time how much he hated seeing Jaskier like that. They had been traveling together for years, with some time lapses in which each one had gone on their own way but–

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbled. He had his eyes fixed on the road. “I’m dragging you to all this mess,”

Geralt shook his head weakly.

“Well, no offense, but I’ve been worse,” he said, trying to liven things up. “At least I know you won’t try to con me,”

“Of course not!” Jaskier exclaimed, clearly repulsed by that idea. Then he added with a whisper: “How could I do that…”

Geralt curved a tiny smile without looking at him. Jaskier was probably going to be the best contractor in his entire career, both past and future, as a witcher. He wouldn’t try to trick him, bargain with him, or hinder him. He would accept whatever conditions Geralt asked, he would accept any price. He was sure of it. So thinking about what price to ask him was difficult. Jaskier was his friend, not just any client. And he had just lost his father.

And that meant a lot of things.

“I haven’t even been able to tell you what monster you have to kill,” Jaskier kept saying, a little bit bitter.

“That’s not your fault, your letter doesn’t say it,”

“But you could have prepared yourself during these weeks, I don’t like to think it’s been time wasted,”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been,”

Maybe Geralt didn’t know what kind of beast he had to hunt for Jaskier, but he remembered each and every day of those two weeks when he had had to stop Jaskier from turning into another beast, a wounded one who was trying to ease the pain of mourning with alcohol and tavern fights. For him, it hadn’t been time wasted.

Never would be.

They went through the second barbican, the direct access to the castle, without stopping or being stopped. Groups of residents were entering and leaving the fortress, in their daily hustle and bustle unaware of the tragedy that had shaken the viscount’s family. As if that wouldn’t alter their lives in any way. Once they were in the bailey, Jaskier looked up at the castle keep, where the flag with the Lettenhove emblem was waving.

“Young lord?”

Jaskier blinked and looked down. A man in his early fifties had approached them. He had short, brown hair with gray streaks, a square jaw covered with a slight beard, hard, tough features, tanned skin, dark and wise eyes. He was wearing, still, the uniform of the captain of the guard. Jaskier got off his horse, a stable boy grabbed the reins as soon as he did, and took a deep breath.

“Captain Fryderyk,” he said, tense.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how Geralt also dismounted Roach and gave, reluctantly, very reluctantly, her reins to another stable boy. Around them, servants, locals, and even some of the castle guards were watching their arrival with interest. They looked at Geralt, perhaps, with a little fear. But no one seemed really disturbed.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lord,” His voice was severe but soft, like when Jaskier was still a little child running along the top of the walls, playing at escaping from the servants and guards who were trying to catch him and Fryderyk, a young aspiring castle warden, was the only capable of doing it.

Jaskier nodded.

“Thank you,”

“I see that you have brought a witcher,”

“Yes,” Jaskier looked at Geralt, who was standing at his side now. “He is–”

“I know who he is,” The captain interrupted, and his eyes glanced at the medallion for a second. “The White Wolf, I have heard the songs,” Then he smiled, barely, but smiled, and turned around. “Jarek!” he called with a strong voice, an order.

A guard in his thirties who had followed his captain near Jaskier and Geralt stepped forward.

“Sir!”

“Find Lucjan. Have him show the witcher his new quarters,”

“Yes, sir!”

“As a guest of honor,”

“Yes, sir!”

The soldier, Jarek, threw an amazed fearless glance at Geralt. Geralt looked back at him, unamused. Jaskier snorted, smiling. Then Geralt looked at Jaskier. His inner right forearm itched. Jaskier gave him a small sad smile and followed captain Fryderyk to the keep. Geralt saw him disappear behind the main gates and breathed a long sigh. Jarek cleared his throat.

“Shall we?”

Geralt grunted and follow his own guard. They went to another gate, located on the right side of the keep, and entered as if Geralt had been living there all his life.

“So, are they true?” Jarek asked.

“What?” Geralt retorted with another question.

They walked through a long corridor.

“The things the songs tell about you,”

Geralt sighed, resigned.

"Some of them,”

They entered a kitchen, a large central kitchen, where the cooks, kitchen helpers, and other servants were busy finishing dinner. Jarek looked around and then raised his voice to make himself heard:

“Eh, does anyone know where is Lucjan?!”

A maid, a young girl who was peeling potatoes in a corner, exclaimed in response:

“In the great hall!”

“Thanks, Myra!”

The guard nodded to Geralt and continued to walk across the room to another corridor. The witcher thought about how strangely peaceful life seemed a castle life and how chaotic it really was. He grunted again, feeling tired.

“Jarek,” he called.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about the viscount’s death?”

Jarek didn’t answer right away. A slightly heavy silence, only broken by the noise of the fortress vitality, hovered around them. Until the soldier spoke, much less cheerfully than before.

“Not much, I’m afraid, mostly rumors,” he exhaled a deep sigh, and then, slowly, stopped his walk in the middle of the corridor. “It was almost three months ago, the viscount went to the nearby mountains to hunt with some of his knights, the usual,”

Geralt approached him until they were face to face. He smelled sadness, impotence, confusion. Jarek’s expression was grey, like Jaskier’s.

“And?” he encouraged, softly.

The guard bit his lips, frowning, trying to…

“It usually takes them a week to go there, hunt what they want and return to the castle. So a week went by, and when they didn’t come back the captain wanted to go look for them, just in case something had happened,” Jarek frowned a little more. “But the viscountess told him to not worry too much because sometimes they took a little longer to return,”

Geralt made a slight grimace and clicked his tongue. He was about to ask him how long it was before someone came looking for them when Jarek spoke again.

“And then, on the tenth day, our lady fell to her knees with a piercing cry and spat out black blood,”

Geralt arched his eyebrows.

“Soulrotting?”

He saw Jarek holding his breath at the mention of that word. Then the guard nodded silently. Geralt grunted.

“That was how we knew the viscount was dead. The captain commanded some of his men to the mountains and searched for survivors and the body of our Lord, but they found nothing except the half-devoured corpse of one of the knights,”

“I see,” Geralt murmured.

That didn’t tell him much, but it was something. It must be the same that the letter said. He still needed to find out how the monster, if it was a monster at all and not a wolf pack or bears, had devoured that man. He needed to go there, to those mountains, to look for anything that might tell him what he was up against.

He knew that Jaskier would want to go with him.

And they still hadn’t talked about their previous fight on that subject.

Jarek said no more and continued to lead Geralt to the great hall where they found Lucjan, who turned out to be the castle’s butler, a slim and graceful man with black hair and blue eyes. He placed Geralt in a room on the east side of the tower, which served as a room for distinguished guests because visitors usually slept in the great hall with the servants, the knights, and the dogs. Lucjan remarked casually that the rooms of the viscountess and the soon-to-be new viscount were on the west side.

Geralt thanked him and Jarek for their help and was left alone. He left his bag and his swords on a table against the wall, and sat up in the bed heavily, thinking, calculating. Three months was a long time, and whatever had attacked Jaskier’s father and his men might not be in the same area of the forest anymore. The trail must have been erased and more than faded. If no one else had been attacked over there, or near Lettenhove itself, it would be difficult to find the monster. The hunt could last a long time, even if he was lucky.

But at least he will have food, drink and a roof over his head, and possibly all the time he needed to find and kill that monster.

He sighed and started to take off his armor, leaving only his shirt, pants, and boots. He took off his gloves too, tossing them on the table, and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, feeling again that little tingle on his forearm. He groaned, weakly, and opened his eyes.

Then, hesitant, rolled up his right sleeve.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest before seeing her?”

“No, no… I’m okay, I need it… I need to see her,”

It had been years since Jaskier had walked those halls, those stone rooms. He had almost forgotten how trapped he had felt in there, the weight of the title hanging over his head. Now that his father had died, that weight had fallen and was crushing him everywhere. It was only a matter of time, once the matter of the monster that had killed the viscount had been resolved before someone would bring up the subject of the succession.

Jaskier didn’t want to think about that.

Not yet.

“I know she must be having a hard time, but what about you?” Jaskier asked Fryderyk as they headed for the viscountess’ rooms.

The captain had grimaced and sipped his nose a little before taking the back of his hand to it, wiping himself… When he put his hand down, Jaskier saw black blood on the glove.

“I can manage, we have called a sorceress, she has given us a potion to ease the effects of the rot,” he explained in a rough voice. “Anyway, in your mother’s case it’s worse, she’s been in bed since your father’s death,”

“Right…”

“Don’t worry about me, young lord, I’ll survive,” Fryderyk gave Jaskier a sad smile. “He and I weren’t completely bounded, only I have had his words,”

“But now you’ll never know if he could ever have had yours,” Jaskier whispered, also sad, feeling his left forearm itching. He rubbed it, swallowing. “How is it? Being a one-side soulmate?”

The captain sighed. His voice was distant and small as he talked.

“It’s hard, very hard, and lonely. You wait and hope that someday the other person will show you his soulmark, and then you have to see how they find their soulmate, but it’s not you, it’s someone else. And you wonder if there’s something wrong, if you’ve done something wrong, if you’re… broken, ”

Jaskier blinked, feeling his eyes getting wet and his face burning.

“You are not broken, Fryderyk,” he murmured.

“I know I’m not, but sometimes you wonder,”

There was an uncomfortable, dense silence. Jaskier bit his lips. In the distance a dog barked, followed by other dogs that must have run in the ward. The beat of the forge, the stables, the march of the guards, the bells, all were sounds of his childhood. Fryderyk looked at him but said nothing.

When they reached the viscountess’ quarters, Fryderyk stopped and stepped aside. Before Jaskier entered, he smiled weakly at him.

“Welcome home, Julian,”

Jaskier felt his fingers tremble. He managed to smile back.

“Thank you, Ryk,” he whispered.

Fryderyk squeezed his shoulder. Then Jaskier knocked on the door. On the other side a serene, melodic, female voice indicated that he could come in. He turned the knob. He entered. The room was big, warm and cozy, just as he remembered it. The walls were covered with tapestries illustrating feats of the past, the floor was covered with a thick carpet of bear fur. The fireplace at one end of the room crackled brightly with orange sparks. The desk where his mother wrote her letters was… immaculate. And on the other side of the chimney was the bed, the big double bed where his parents had fathered him, and where now his mother lay, sick with soulrotting. The viscountess wasn’t alone. An elderly maid was standing by the bed and wiping away the sweat and blood of her Lady, who was mumbling unrelated and delirious words.

And just a little further on, next to a little table with bottles filled with liquids of various colors, there was a young woman, beautiful, elegant, with long, wavy, black hair, who was wearing a white dress that shone with tiny stars as she moved. When Jaskier closed the door and the woman turned around, he could see that her eyes were violet. The woman gave him a polite smile, while she was mixing two of the liquids on a bowl.

“You must be Julian,” she said, calm.

“And you must be the sorceress,” Jaskier mumbled, approaching her and the bed.

“Yennefer,”

Jaskier watched as she took a clean cloth and soak it with the solution she had mixed in the bowl, then folded it and placed it on the viscountess’s forehead. Instantly, the woman stopped shivering and babbling and fell into a quiet state of sleep. She also stopped sweating, and bleeding from her nose. Yennefer sighed. The maid straightened, caressing her Lady’s hair, gently. Jaskier swallowed, pressing his lips in a thin line.

“She will sleep painlessly all night, and all the next morning until noon. I will retire until then, I need to keep trying more formulas.”

Yennefer began to collect their jars, putting them in a wooden box carved with geometric patterns. Jaskier watched his mother in silence, while the maid cupped the pillows and placed the blankets better. She was older than he remembered, of course, her brown hair had a much more grey than the last time he had seen her, she had more wrinkles everywhere. But she looked older, really older, because of the sickness, he knew that.

“My young lord?” Yennefer called. Jaskier looked at her. She had her box, closed, in her arms. The bowl was still on the table. “Would you accompany me?”

Jaskier threw a glance at his mother one more time, feeling his own heartbeat heavy in his chest, and then left the room followed by the sorceress. Outside, Fryderyk was gone. Yennefer began to walk down the hall, heading east side of the keep. He would have liked to be able to talk to his mother, let her know he was there, but…

“Whatever they promise you,” Jaskier said a moment after. “If you can save her life, I’ll pay whatever you want,”

Yennefer curved a sad and tiny smile.

“What I want, my lord, it’s something you can’t pay with money, but I appreciate the offer,” she replied, then he let out a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure if I can…The corruption is advanced but I will keep her alive as long as I can,”

Jaskier bit his lower lip.

“How much time?” he asked, in a mutter.

Yennefer made a grimace, a disappointed, perhaps with herself, one.

“I don’t know,” she said, also with a whisper. “I’m sorry,”

Jaskier slightly shook his head.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” he asserted. “But thank you,”

Yennefer nodded. They walked then in silence until they reach the east side of the keep and the guest’s quarters. Jaskier knew that one of those rooms has to be Geralt’s but he felt suddenly too tired to talk to him about anything right now. He thought about his soulmark, his words. He had been thinking about it for those two weeks, when he had been sober enough to think. He knew he should tell him, but at the same time he knew the witcher, always ready to renegade Destiny and everything that binds him to other people, would not give it a second thought at best. At worst, he would walk away from Jaskier, to protect himself from feelings and emotions, or to protect Jaskier, or whatever Geralt might think of as an excuse. And Jaskier was also always willing to think the worst about his relationship with Geralt. Geralt, who had cost him gods and help to trust him, who had taken eons to pronounce the word friend even when he had treated him as one for years.

“You should tell him,” Yennefer said then, making the bard lose his train of thoughts.

“What?” Jaskier looked at her, confused.

“About your soulmark, you should tell him,”

Jaskier blinked.

“How do you know?”

Yennefer huffed a smirk, a proud smirk.

“Your thoughts are strong, and I can read them easily without having to look at you. I’ve seen him too, just like you do. He is very handsome,“ she said, playful.

Jaskier cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burning and his hands sweating.

“He’s not only handsome, he's…” he hesitated, not knowing what words use. He thought about the banquet at Cintra, about Geralt telling him that he had no words for anyone, about the time when Geralt had said that he didn’t need anyone and didn’t want to be needed. He frowned, sighing. “It’s complicated,”

“Ah, I see, a witcher,”

“Yes,”

“So you are a one-side soulmate,”

Jaskier wet his lips and felt, again, tired. A weak beat had started to hammering his temples and forehead. One-side soulmate. He remembered Fryderyk and his eternal longing for the viscount, present throughout all his childhood. Even as a child he had realized that the patience and kindness his father had always had with the captain of the guard was not common.

“It seems that way,” he said, in a hollow tone of voice.

Yennefer threw him a glance, but said nothing in return. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at her room. Yennefer opened the door, but looked at Jaskier before entering. She parted her lips but paused for a second, as if she was going to say something that she thought better not to. Instead, she said:

"I’ll see you tonight at dinner, your people will be pleased to see you in the great hall,” Jaskier nodded, and she added: “Maybe you should take a bath and rest until then, it’ll help you clear your head.“

Then Yennefer came into the room and closed the door. A soft click indicated that she had used the lock. Jaskier stared at the door, abstracted, and rubbed his left forearm without realizing it. He sighed, weakly, and turned on his heels, heading for his quarters, thinking again.

* * *

The keep had a floor, in the basement, divided between the dungeons and a kind of therma that his great-grandfather had ordered to be built during his mandate. Jaskier had played there many times with other kids, children of guards and servants, when the adults were too busy and they had nothing else to do until dinner time. Well, in Jaskier’s case he did have things to do, but he preferred to run away to play rather than be bored to death listening to his tutors talk about geography or history that didn’t interest him at all.

The therma was a large rectangular room with a big oval pool carved into the stone, which could easily accommodate twenty people at a time. Three smaller cavities, for at least four people, were also carved around it. An intricate system of pipes diverted water from the aquifers that the river fed to a tank, which a team of servants was responsible for keeping warm. They filled the pool and the smaller bathtubs when a lever for each one was operated.

Jaskier ordered the servants to fill one of the small tubs, and started to unpack the clothes he was to wear later, when he had got rid of all the dirt and sweat from the roads. The stable boys had carried his bags and luggage up to his room, and though his current clothes were in good condition, Jaskier could not help but look through his old closet and chest. Everything was the same as when he had left years ago, with the exception that his mother had probably had ordered his clothes to be aired from time to time so that the moths would not prey on them.

When the bathtub was full and the steam covered the surface of the water and its surroundings like a cloud, Jaskier undressed, gave the dirty clothes to one of the servants and went into the water. Another servant left sponges and soapy salts, plus towels nearby for him to dry off later. Jaskier felt his muscles slowly warm and relax, and puffed a pleasant breath. He took one of the jars containing the salts and poured a handful of it into the water. Soon, white and blue bubbles appeared, and two centimeters of soap mantled the surface of the tub completely. He slid down to rest his head on the edge. The tub wasn’t very deep, but it allowed him to float a bit without having to sit down. Jaskier closed his eyes and just let himself go.

He didn’t know how long he was like that, gone, not moving, locked in a bubble of silence without wanting to go out into the outside world again. Thinking of the sorceress’ words, her dying mother, Fryderyk’s black blood, and Geralt. Geralt above all, and the words written on his arm, said with evident anger but which by Destiny meant the maximum expression of affection and love that Geralt felt for him.

I don’t care about your songs if you’re dead

He hadn’t had much time to think about the phrase, not really. After Geralt had left him behind in the storm to kill the monsters that infested the sewers of that city, he had returned to the inn in shock, almost without realizing it. That night he hadn’t slept, worrying about how he could tell Geralt that he was his soulmate, even though Geralt didn’t have a mark on him with Jaskier’s words. Before Cintra, Jaskier had dreamed of that possibility, had thought about situations, had conceived scenes in his head, in which Geralt said his words, Jaskier said Geralt’s, and they both accepted their mutual feelings and were happy in their own way. Before Cintra, when Jaskier was younger and more naive, he would not have hesitated to tell Geralt about the mark.

But after…

After having seen him run away from Destiny again and again, after having heard him say that Destiny was only an excuse for those who believed in it wanted to feel better with his bad actions, after having found out that witchers did not have anyone’s words…

After all of that, Jaskier wasn’t sure of what he should do. And he didn’t want to deal with it either.

Not yet.

The sound of the door and heavy footsteps of leather boots made him open his eyes and stand up a little. Through the increasingly dissolved cloud of steam, Jaskier saw Geralt walking toward his bathtub with a bundle of clothes under his arm. The witcher seemed to have an expression on his face halfway between exhaustion and surrender.

"That butler of yours told me you were here,” he grunted, dropping his clothes not far from the tub.

Jaskier knew, knowing Lucjan, that the man had probably smelled Geralt two miles away and pushed him into the therma with a broom so he would not have to touch him. The bard snorted and shrank against the wall of the bathtub even though it was big enough for three people as big and wide as Geralt to get into. He kept his arms, especially his left arm, underwater, hidden under the layer of soap and bubbles, aware that… that now Geralt could see his mark if he wasn’t careful. Jaskier blinked, not quite sure if he was ready to tell him, right then and there, before Geralt could catch him and demand an explanation, in case Geralt cared enough about the subject to demand an explanation, of course.

He held his breath, looking up from the water and the foam. And saw Geralt taking off his shirt, still grunting about Lucjan, and leave it lying next to the pile of clean clothes. Jaskier blinked again, watching him, watching as his skin pearled with steam and sweat, and made his muscles, covered in scars, seemed to swell with the heat. Watching as the wolf medallion caught the light of the torches and twinkled between his pecs.

Jaskier swallowed, dry, hard, and turned around, slowly, before he could see Geralt peeling off his pants. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he always felt it as if it was that way. He rested his arms on the edge of the bathtub, and his chin on his arms, being terribly aware of the rubbing’s sound the clothes were making as Geralt was taking them off. He heard a couple of soft taps, the boots being thrown on the floor, then the noise of the belt loops. The pants. The underwear. Jaskier closed his eyes. Then he heard, felt, how Geralt was getting into the water, on the other side of where he was, with a grunt of pleasure.

His cock twitched.

Jaskier swallowed again, trying to think of something far away from anything erotic so he couldn’t get hard. But he failed. He remembered that one of his fantasies in his youth was fuck with Geralt in a bathtub. He saw himself riding the witcher, with his big and calloused hands gripping his hips, panting and moaning in his ear, against his collarbone, kissing and licking his neck, biting a nebula of hickeys, rough, harsh.

He pressed his lips.

“Jaskier,”

His eyes snapped open but he didn’t move. Jaskier felt something tightened his guts, his throat. He knew Geralt could smell the arousal in someone. He licked his lips, without facing him, his eyes on the wall, feeling tense, his left arm burning.

“Hm?” he hummed, softly.

He heard water sounds, maybe Geralt was shifting on his seat, maybe he was wetting himself, cupping soap with his hands and… He didn’t know for sure, he didn’t look. It was a large hesitation, one in which Jaskier could feel Geralt golden eyes fixed on his back. Then he heard a weak groan, a deep sigh.

“Do you want to talk?” Geralt said.

Jaskier frowned, confused. He wanted to reply that they were talking already.

“What?” he croaked instead.

“About… how do you feel,”

Geralt tone of voice was weak, full of worry. It made Jaskier looked at him over his shoulder. Geralt was still seated across the tub, watching Jaskier with softness, his bulky arms resting on the stone edge. Jaskier knew that was an open stance. He gulped a ball of air and steam. He moved an inch away from the bathtub wall and put his arms in the water, keeping his left arm carefully hidden behind his body. Then he turned around, facing Geralt. His arms in his lap were still difficult to see because of the foam. He breathed in, deep, and looked up. And then he got lost because he couldn’t suppress the need to slid his eyes along Geralt broad chest. The medallion was almost touching the water, there, between those dreamy and damned pectorals. Geralt snorted, amused.

“My eyes are up here,” he mumbled, leaning forward a little.

“Uh,” Jaskier blinked.

And he felt his whole body vibrating, writhing, burning in a terrible hell. He opened his mouth to reply but then he saw the cocky smirk Geralt was curving with his also damned and perfect lips he wanted to kiss, and he felt so embarrassed that, without realizing what he was doing, he splashed Geralt in the face. Geralt coughed and barked a laugh, a pristine, sincere, pure laugh, that gave Jaskier years of life.

The bard felt his chest filled with a warm cloud of cotton and sunlight. It made him think of all the times they had camped together in spring and summer, in open clearings in the forest where they could play at finding stars in the night sky. He remembered some of those nights when Geralt had shown him the constellations and told him the stories that accompanied those stars. He remembered the nights, by the light of the bonfire, when Geralt had read him his bestiary so Jaskier could compose his songs without putting himself in danger. He remembered the afternoons, with the sun not fully set, when they had trained together and Geralt, after beating him every time, had taken care of his little wounds, like the scratches made by the rapier guard, the scrapes from falling to the ground, the cuts that Geralt had made to him without wanting to.

He remembered the soft, tender looks Geralt had given him when he was concentrating with his lute, humming some new song, and Geralt thought he wouldn’t notice.

Jaskier felt his eyes stinging, wet with tears.

Oh, gods, I would love him even if I didn’t have his mark

He blinked very quickly, frowning, and plastered a fake smile before Geralt could notice, if he wasn’t noticed yet.

“Alright, I didn’t see that coming,” the witcher said, letting out a joyful sigh.

Jaskier shrugged. Geralt’s gesture grew dark a little, just a little, and more with sadness than resentment or harshness.

“But seriously,” he said. “If you want to talk… I know we don’t usually do it but…”

Jaskier smiled weakly and looked down. If there was one thing he needed and didn’t need at the same time right now it was Geralt fussing about wanting to talk about feelings.

It was ironic.

“Yes, I know,” Jaskier sough. “I’m sorry, I had been a pain in the ass these weeks,”

“Not at all, if you don’t count all the times you tried to punch someone bigger than you when you were drunk,” Geralt curved a tiny smile.

“Oh, shut up,” Jaskier huffed, pretending to be offended, but he smiled too, still looking down. “I know it is an awful way to mourn someone,”

“Indeed,”

“It’s just… I hadn’t thought about my father for years, not in a close or familiar way, and finding out that he was dead and that… that would probably lead to my mother’s death as well…“

“It’s hard,”

Jaskier nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered, feeling vulnerable as if his heart has been ripped off and it was floating in the water, at plain sight. “But it’s not just that, it’s everything else,”

“What do you mean?”

Jaskier paused. His left arm throbbed, beating with a soft bump. He knew Geralt had heard his now faster heartbeat because the witcher stiffened against the stone wall of the tub, wary.

“Well, Geralt… I’m the only son of my father,” he said. “That has to mean something, right?”

Then Jaskier looked up and locked eyes with Geralt, who seemed suddenly conscious of that fact as if it was the first time that idea had crossed his mind. Geralt raised his chin a little, frowning.

"Right,"

Then he was the one who looked away first. Jaskier closed and clenched his hands in fists on his thighs and looked away too, turning around again to rest his arms on the edge of the tub. He listened to Geralt splashing around, probably rubbing himself with one of the sponges the servants had left beside them. The water was almost cold after he had been lazing around for so long, but Jaskier didn’t care. Soon he heard Geralt standing up, getting out of the bath and drying himself with one of the wool and linen towels. He also heard the new rubbing of the clean clothes against Geralt’s body. He heard the belt loops, he heard the boots, like an inverted loop. It was almost torture.

Then a throat-clearing sound rumbled, and he looked up. Geralt was standing in front of him, fully dressed and with a small towel on his shoulders to dry his hair. He was dressed in blue and gold and maybe his clothes weren’t, and wouldn’t be, the most elegant in the castle, but Jaskier knew, because he knew, that Geralt had, was, trying for him. And that warmed his heart a little. Geralt was extremely gorgeous when he tried.

"Aren’t you coming?” Geralt said.

Jaskier grimaced. He couldn’t move, he shouldn’t move. If he did…

“No, go ahead, I need a little more time,” he replied.

Geralt stared at him silently for a couple of seconds, then he exhaled a long breath, almost a grunt, turned on his heels and walked away. And Jaskier gulped, with a thick lump stuck in his throat, and felt his face burning.

Then, finally, the tears rolled down his cheeks.

* * *

When Geralt arrived at the great hall dinner was already served. A high table with four seats arranged, located next to the wall opposite the main gate, was full of food already, and two people were seated at it: the captain of the guard who had received them that morning, and a young woman with long black hair. And then, placed along the rest of the space in the room, there were several tables also long and crowded with the viscount’s knights, some guards who were not on duty, probably many of the fortress’s peasants who had already finished their work for the day, and passing travelers who were offered hospitality in the castle.

The atmosphere was warm and lively, with men and women laughing, eating and drinking, making jokes and telling stories, the children running from table to table, with some of the dogs chasing the kids or fighting over some old bone that could still be gnawed on. The servants were going around, serving drinks or more food. A couple of bards, near the central chimney and the main table, were playing their instruments. Geralt stood still at the threshold of the gates, a little overwhelmed by the cloud of noise until Lucjan, in all his grace and dignity, took pity on him and led him to the main table. As he passed, some of the diners elbowed each other and whispered, but if Geralt’s heard well, he was sure that those words were not hostile.

“Jaskier hasn’t come yet?” Geralt asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” the butler replied, indicating that his place was the farthest from the central position at the table, which corresponded to the viscount. The captain was seated at the right of that spot, and the woman at its left. Geralt seat was at the black-haired woman’s left.

Geralt replied back with a grunt, and sat down at the table, taking a sip from the goblet that was in front of him. He immediately wrinkled his nose and looked at the liquid. He groaned. Wine.

Next to him, the woman giggled.

“You know you can ask for anything you want, right?” she said.

Geralt tilted his head and looked at her. She was beautiful, with her purple eyes, her wavy hair falling over her shoulders, her red, full lips, and her formal black dress. Geralt smelled her curiosity and interest, but he did not look down beyond her chin. He was curious too. Aside from her emotions, there was… The witcher curved an understanding small smile and looked straight ahead.

“A sorceress,”

She smiled back.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she replied and took a sip from her own goblet.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt raised his cup, drawing the attention of one of the servants, a young woman. The girl was about to pour him more wine, but Geralt clicked his tongue. “No, bring me an ale, the best you have,” he said.

The servant nodded and left to fulfill the request. Geralt let out a tired sigh. Then he offered his cup to Yennefer, who accepted it without objection and poured the content into her goblet.

“I know who you are,” she said, in a casual tone.

“Yes, everyone here seems to know who I am,” he replied, unamused.

Her smile spread a little more, delighted, and returned him his cup.

“I have heard the songs, written and sung by the next Viscount of Lettenhove himself,“ she continued. "I really expected you to have fangs, or horns, or something,”

Geralt huffed a chuckle.

“I had them filed down,” he mumbled, looking at her, cheeky.

Yennefer snorted softly, drinking. Geralt looked away again. The servant returned then and filled his goblet with ale from a small barrel, which she left on the table, at the empty end next to Geralt. He appreciated it, so he could pour himself when he wanted to. He drank half of his cup in one gulp. The ale was good, very good. He thanked someone for that.

It was rare to be seated at the head table of a nobleman, without that nobleman being present. As time passed and Geralt drank and ate as he hadn’t been able to for weeks, he started to think about where Jaskier would have gone or where he would be. He didn’t think anything had happened to him, because in a castle full of servants one never had any privacy, but. He really began to worry when the maids began to remove many of the empty plates and pans and bring in the desserts. Yennefer seemed to share his thoughts because her gesture grew more serious with each passing hour and Jaskier still did not appear.

“I told him to rest a little before dinner, not to skip it. He needs to do normal life,” she muttered behind his goblet.

He looked at her, equally serious. He could smell the concern in her, among resignation and her personal scent of lilacs and gooseberries.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked.

She grimaced, looking back at him. For a moment Yennefer didn’t respond, tilting his head, curious again. Geralt saw her frown slowly crease.

“No,” she replied. “But maybe you do,”

“What?”

“You know him better than I do, better than anyone in this room. Not even Captain Fryderyk knows him as well as you do now, not even his mother if she could speak,”

Geralt looked away, uncomfortable, a little nervous.

“I don’t think he came out of the fortress, but in his present state… It’s dangerous to leave him alone too long,” Yennefer said then.

“Have you read his mind?”

“No, not on purpose, I didn’t need to. I’m sure you can smell his suffering too,”

Geralt wrinkled his nose a little, clicking his tongue. Yes, he remembered the bitter, sharp smell of anxiety and despair. But he didn’t think it was that bad, even with all the drinking and tavern fighting.

“Well, what he usually does when he wants to stop thinking about anything?”

“Drink,” he replied quickly, frowning. “Drink as if the world was going to end the next day,” he said with a tired grunt. “Fuck,”

Geralt got up.

“You’re going to get him,” Yennefer said, and he got up too. “I’m going with you,”

Geralt was about to protest. That was something he had been doing on his own for quite some time, he didn’t think he needed the help of a stranger. But he smelled, stronger than before, the concern in her, and did not reply. The two of them circled the table and headed for the doors leading to the kitchens, followed by Fryderyk’s gaze.

“If we were in a village,” Geralt commented as they strode forward, quickly. “Jaskier would be in the tavern sticking his head in a bucket full of ale,”

“I see,” she said. “I assume he would also look for ways to get physical pain,”

“He got into fights, how do you know?”

Yennefer pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Physical pain reduces mental pain, or at least it’s easier to assimilate and ease,” she explained. “I’m afraid Lady Pankratz is not the only one who is ill in this castle,”

Geralt glanced at the sorceress before peering out of the doorway of the central kitchen. Inside the room, the cooks, helpers, and servants were still working, but with less speed and fervor than when Geralt had been there in the morning. He entered a few steps, followed by Yennefer, who picked the cherry from a cake that was on one of the tables.

“Has anyone seen your young lord?” he asked, raising his voice.

He didn’t even know if the servants knew what aspect Jaskier had. Some of the men and women looked in his direction and a confused buzz of questions and comments rumbled throughout the already noisy kitchen. A maid came up to them with a basket of eggs.

“I think we did see him, a while ago a man with wet hair came and greeted us as if he’d known us all our lives, and then he ransacked the winery and took a couple of bottles,”

“Yes, he was the old viscount’s son, his father did that too,” An older man added. “He looked like him, the same lost eyes,”

Geralt gritted his teeth.

“Where did he go next?”

“That way,” the man pointed to the side door that Geralt had entered hours earlier.

The witcher left without saying anything. Outside it was almost pitch black, despite the burning torches of the fortress. For Geralt that was not a problem. He took a deep breath, trying to catch the scent of Jaskier. It was easier when he had not bathed for days and his natural scent was stronger. With all the soap he had seen, and used, in the baths before, he would have to look for the freshest, cleanest smell in the area. That wasn’t a problem either.

But they found him earlier because of the noise.

Near the stables, a lively group of guards was drinking, cackling, and shouting happily. And among their voices, the one that stood out the most was one that Geralt knew very well.

“… and then he said: I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to my horse!”

A burst of laughter erupted as Geralt and Yennefer slowly approached them. When they got close enough, they saw Jaskier sitting in a barrel with a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. He was wearing his shirt out of his pants and untied down to about half his chest, and Geralt noticed how some of the men were casting suggestive glances at him. A rough, burning feeling ran through his body and almost made him growl. Yennefer put a hand on his arm, and when he looked at her, the sorceress quietly shook her head.

That was when Jaskier saw them.

“Geralt, my friend! Come, let me introduce you!” he exclaimed, taking a sip from the bottle before continuing to speak. The crowd of men cheered, looking at the newcomers as well. Some looked at Yennefer from top to bottom, before they realized what a dangerous look she had. “Boys, this is Geralt of Rivia, the famous and mighty White Wolf whom I have accompanied through countless adventures!” The group applauded again. It was clear they were drunk too. “And you,” Jaskier said, tilting his head, looking at Yennefer. He blinked. “I don’t remember your name, but you’re the sexy witch, right?”

Someone whistled. Yennefer huffed.

Geralt took a step forward.

“I think it’s time to go,” he said, low, hoarse.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose.

“What? But we’re having so much fun, right, guys?!”

The men backed up their words with a new round of laughter and words of encouragement. One of the guards clapped Jaskier’s shoulder, as the bard took another sip of wine.

“You’ve had enough fun,” Geralt grunted, gritting his teeth again.

He didn’t know why he was getting angrier than when they were in cheap taverns. There shouldn’t be anyone there who could do him any real harm. Surely by now the whole castle that the son of the late Viscount had returned home. And yet…

Jaskier pouted, clicked his tongue and stepped off the barrel. He took his last drink from the bottle before leaving it in the hands of one of the guards, without looking away from Geralt.

“I’m sorry, boys, when he makes that face…” Jaskier walked towards Geralt, a little clumsily but without zigzagging. “… I better listen to him, or I’ll be sorry later, won’t I?”

Geralt raised his chin a little. The bard had stopped a few inches away from him and the witcher could smell the alcohol. Also the pain and his little faded personal scent of dandelions and wood oil. Of all the times he had had to deal with drunk Jaskier, this was the first the bard had been so arrogant. He was not even drunk enough to be unable to walk, or to thrown up, or to fall asleep anywhere he might have found. No. He had picked up a bottle and drank with other people, people he didn’t know and didn’t know him, and he hadn’t even picked a fight as he had done before. Geralt was a little skeptical, as well as upset.

“All right, enough, let’s go,” Yennefer said, taking Jaskier by the arm and pulling to make him walk.

Jaskier snorted a small chuckle, and let himself go as the group of men said goodbye to him. Jaskier returned the goodbye with joy. Geralt followed them like a guard dog.

“Wait, wait! I remember your name already!” Jaskier said. “It’s Yendoline, isn’t it?”

Yennefer sighed long, still leading Jaskier by the arm. They entered the keep through the side door of the kitchen and quickly passed through the hall until they reached the stairs.

“You almost got it,” she answered, sounding a little less tense.

Jaskier giggled.

“I can’t believe that after all these years I have to take care of dumb nobles again,” Yennefer muttered.

Geralt heard his words and felt a new wave of curiosity. He didn’t believe that a viscount needs the guidance and advice of a mage or a sorceress, so Yennefer must have been there for another reason. Then he remembered Jaskier’s mother and her illness. Soulrotting. Something even magic couldn’t quite cure. Geralt sough.

“Well, you don’t have to, I’ll take care of him next time,” Geralt said.

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen you, feeding his drunken ego,” she replied, sarcastically.

“I didn’t want to start a fight,”

“You wouldn’t have done it, he was looking forward to you taking him away, in your arms if I may add,”

“What?”

“Hey, hey, are you guys talking about me?” Jaskier whistled, laughing.

Geralt frowned.

“Why do you care so much? You don’t know him,” he said to Yennefer.

The sorceress helped Jaskier up the last segment of the stairs to the floor of his quarters. The corridor was empty and cold, lonely.

“I have my reasons,” she said, sharp.

Geralt wanted to push her further, but they soon reached what must have been Jaskier’s room. Yennefer opened the door and let Jaskier go, looking at the witcher.

“Watch him while I go to my room, I’ll bring him a remedy so he won’t be hungover tomorrow,”

“Sure,”

Yennefer walked down the hallway, leaving them alone. Geralt sighed again, feeling even more tired than before. Even with the time he had spent in that bath, the exhaustion of the journey, both physical and mental, and the tiredness of the day, were taking him. And he hadn’t even begun the hunt.

The hunt…

He followed Jaskier into the room, leaving the door ajar. The bard seemed to have calmed down a bit, and now he was muttering unintelligible things as he sat heavily on the bed and lay on his back with his arms outspread. Geralt approached him cautiously and contemplated him silently for a moment.

The grief was there, inexorable, inevitable, eating away Jaskier like a worm, sucking up to his energy like a parasite. Geralt felt helpless, unable to do anything. That sorrow, that pain, was a monster he didn’t know how to fight.

Slowly, he knelt down in front of Jaskier and began to unbuckle his boots to take them off. It was something he had done many times those last two weeks: make sure he didn’t get hurt, no more than Jaskier himself did with the alcohol, taking him to a safe bed, taking off his boots, leaving him lying on the bed, tucking him in with a blanket, making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Help him to sleep, sometimes with his witcher’s magic. And the next morning, give him breakfast and something for his headache.

Again and again, not knowing how to break the loop.

“You can’t break the cycle,”

Geralt looked up and saw Yennefer slowly approaching the bed and the small table that accompanied the headboard. Geralt took off Jaskier’s second boot.

“Not at the moment, at least,” she added, with a little sadness.

She had left a bottle full of blue liquid on the table and watched the bard gently, almost… almost affectionate. Geralt placed the boots under the bed and pulled Jaskier’s legs up to it. The bard whimpered and curled up like a ball on his left side. Geralt opened the chest at the foot of the bed and dug through it, finding a quilt that must have been worth more than Roach and his entire bag of coins put together.

“When will he break it?” he asked.

Yennefer shrugged a little, grimacing.

“I don’t know, it depends a lot on the person, whether he’s strong or weak, whether he’s willing to fight… In his case, the illness has just started to bloom and maybe he can get over it with help,”

“I understand…”

“This is not soulrotting, there is always hope that he will recover, but he will need time and patience,”

“Things I don’t have,”

Yennefer was silent for a moment, staring at Geralt as the witcher tenderly wrapped Jaskier in the quilt and made him rest his head on the pillows. She also noticed the weak caress he left on the bard’s forehead and cheek.

“He’ll need you,” she whispered.

Geralt stood up, glancing at Yennefer, but then he looked back at the bard.

“When his mother dies, Geralt, he will need you,” Yennefer added.

There was something in his voice that made Geralt uncomfortable and nervous. That woman, that sorceress, what the hell was she doing? Why did she care?

“What did he tell you?” he grumbled.

Yennefer paused.

“Enough,” she finally said. “Although I didn’t need him to tell me anything either, it was sufficient for me to see you together,”

Geralt grunted and looked away from Jaskier, facing the window covered with delicate curtains, through which the moonlight filtered faintly.

“You have no idea,” he said. “You’ve known us for hours, you can’t have a damn idea about what’s going on,”

“And you? Do you have any idea what’s going on with you two?”

Geralt turned around and glared at her, puzzled and somewhat wary. She had a scowl, her lips pressed and her arms crossed. She was irritated, indignant. Why? Geralt tilted his head. They looked at one another silently for long seconds, so long that it seemed as if time had stopped. He tried to smell anything more from her, but it was all resentment and hostility around the sorceress, more even than the lilacs and the gooseberries. And he knew, he was sure, that she was trying to read his mind more deeply.

Then she spoke, slowly, with a low, restrained tone of voice that still denoted her wrath.

“I know what it is to think that I don’t deserve anyone and yet desire someone with all my strength, but at least you have him, witcher, and you want to waste it,”

Geralt blinked, now more confused than ever, and watched as Yennefer left without saying anything else. She didn’t close the door on her way out. Hr blinked again.

“Geralt?”

Jaskier’s voice made him forget about the sorceress. He went to the edge of the bed that Jaskier was facing and sat on it. The bard babbled something that Geralt didn’t understand so Geralt put one hand on his shoulder, covered by the quilt, and squeezed gently.

“Sleep,” he said, with a murmur.

Jaskier licked his lips and sipped through his nose. Geralt smelled his wet cheeks.

“Have I thrown up?” Jaskier asked, without opening his eyes.

Geralt smiled softly and stroked his hair. As he brushed his forehead unintentionally, Jaskier curled up a little more.

“Not a drop this time, I’m proud,” Geralt replied.

“Good,” Jaskier whispered.

Slowly, little by little, Jaskier fell into a deep sleep. Geralt listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart, still too fast for a human at rest, his breathing sometimes cut off by tiny hiccups. Geralt stroked his hair a little more and then left his hands in his lap, staring at him in silence.

Jaskier was, in human terms, an adult, but for him, he was still too young, and he still thought of him as the boy he had been when they met. Geralt made a grimace that no one would ever see, an unhappy and lost gesture.

“Sorry If I don’t have words for you,” he whispered. “I know it’s what you want, but I think…” he hesitated and took a deep breath. The alcohol was still there, but it was fading already. The buttercups, the oil, the fresh scent of the soap… made him think about the old days. “I guess it’s better this way,"

Geralt curved a tiny smile, sweeter but equally painful and turned around on his seat. Then, slowly, rolled up his right sleeve and stared at his inner forearm.

There, on his pale skin, there was a bright stain that occupied almost the entire inside of his forearm as if someone had dropped a lot of paint on it. Most of the pigment was blue, a dark blue that, if Geralt remembered correctly, looked like the blue of the clothing Jaskier had worn at Posada many years ago. Above that blue were smaller and erratic spots, red, yellow and gold, that formed a nebula. And above these, tiny turquoise specks that dotted the rest of the stain.

It was all remained of his old soulmark after the Trials.

He remembered the appearance of his soulmark. Maybe not the words itself but the style of the handwriting, the colors. He remembered how the words were shaded, with a beautiful gradient that gleamed with the moonlight. He recalled when he was a child still in training having fantasized about his soulmate before he had known that witchers could not, should not, be bonded to anyone, and that the Trials would erase his mark for that purpose.

Geralt rolled down his sleeve, hiding the deformed mark, and stood up. He looked back at Jaskier, who was sleeping soundly and clinging to the edges of the quilt. He felt a terribly overwhelming, warm sensation that made his legs tremble and his fingers tingle. He swallowed. And he turned away from the bed. He left the room quietly, and closed the door, slowly, until he heard the click of the deadlock. Then he strode into his own room and lay down on the bed without undressing.

He knew he needed to sleep, but by the time the dawn broke and the sun rose over the horizon, Geralt was still awake. With no energy to face other people that day, he took off his evening clothes, put on his witcher’s uniform and his armor, and hung his swords over his shoulder.

By the time the castle began to really wake up, Geralt was already halfway up the mountains.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #Yennefer of Vengerberg #my fanfiction #soulmates au #ten thousand words of nothing #TEN THOUSAND words #there are a few minor original characters #this is getting out of hands #but i'm very proud of some scenes

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becasbelt · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: G Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell Additional Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Post-PP3

Summary:

Beca and Chloe get stuck in a massive traffic jam in LA. Boredom, teasing, and fluff ensue.

* * *

-5:26 PM-

“Come on! Let’s get a fucking move on, people!”

Chloe giggles at Beca’s annoyance with the traffic in front of them. “I really don’t think that’s going to help this situation at all, babe.”

Beca honks the car’s horn and glares at the person in the car next to them when they glance over. “Well it should,” she stews. “This is fucking ridiculous. I hate LA traffic.”

When Beca had kissed Chloe on the USO tour, Chloe’s entire world had changed for the better. After years of dropping hints, Beca finally figured out that Chloe was in love with her and admitted that she was in love with her, too, after opening for DJ Khalid. Fast forward a few months to now where Chloe went to vet school in West Hollywood while Beca worked on her first album. They were both living their dreams, and Chloe was still pinching herself to make sure it was all real.

Right now, though, it didn’t really feel like a dream. They had gone out for a quick grocery run at around 4:00 and were now apparently stuck in rush hour traffic. In the past half hour they’d gone about one mile, much to Beca’s frustration.

“What’s even going on up there?” Beca asks. “Why the hell aren’t we moving?”

“You know how bad traffic can be here,” Chloe shrugs as she scrolls through her phone. “This is nothing new.”

“Yeah, but I feel like it isn’t usually this bad.” Beca honks the horn again, as if that will make the mile long traffic ahead of them move faster.

They sit in silence while Beca stews and grumbles, the sounds of cars honking and the radio playing softly filling up the space around them. Beca cranes her neck to try and see farther in front of her, but to no avail. Eventually, she slumps down in her seat in defeat.

“Well now we’re not even moving at all,” the grumpy brunette laments, putting the car in park. She crosses her arms angrily over her chest.

“Apparently there’s a huge crash like three miles ahead of us,” Chloe informs her, pulling up a news coverage clip from her Twitter feed and passing her phone over to show Beca. “A bunch of semis collided and spilled stuff all over the highway. It’s pretty bad.”

Beca scowls at the device and hands it back. “Great. GREAT. This is just perfect. I love this for us right now.”

“At least we didn’t have any plans for tonight,” Chloe says, trying to sound positive.

Beca just groans and hits her head against the steering wheel.

-5:45 PM-

“Ugh, can we skip this song?”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“It’s fine, but it’s way too happy for this situation.”

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll keep it on. You need a little positivity right now, Bec.”

“You know, if I didn’t love you so much I’m positive that I would hate you.”

“That’s the spirit!”

-6:02 PM-

“Okay, that’s it, I’m turning the car off,” Beca announces after they haven’t moved in twenty minutes. She turns the key in the ignition, shutting the engine off but keeping the music on.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You know, now that you’ve turned the car off we’ll probably start moving soon. That’s usually how it goes.”

“All the more reason to turn it off, then,” Beca replies with a cheeky grin. She reaches down and unbuckles her seatbelt, and Chloe does the same. “You know,” Beca says a moment later, tearing her eyes away from the cars around them to look at Chloe. “If I have to get stuck in a giant traffic jam, I’m glad you’re stuck here with me.”

A grin spreads on Chloe’s face and she bites her bottom lip. “You’re such a sap, Mitchell,” she teases, reaching over to pinch at Beca’s cheek. Beca swats her hand away.

“You see, this is why I never use sincerity,” Beca complains with a glare. “I’m always made fun of whenever I do.”

Chloe softens slightly. “That’s only because I love it so much when you’re sincere,” she says sweetly, leaning in to kiss Beca’s cheek. She pulls back to see a slight blush on the other girl’s face. “And I’m really glad I’m here with you, too.”

Beca grins and looks away shyly, turning up the music’s volume instead of answering.

-6:19 PM-

Chloe huffs and slumps down in her seat. “I’m borrrred.”

Beca, who’s busy answering emails, glances over at her. “Yeah, I know. I heard you the first fifteen times you told me.”

“Well I’m bored because you’re not paying attention to me,” Chloe laments. She sticks her hand out the open window. “I thought we were in this together, but you’re off in superstar land.”

Beca winces and clicks off her phone, setting it in the cup holder. “Sorry, it’s just Theo asking about some stuff for the album.”

A car nearby starts blasting “Elmo’s World” from its speakers, and Chloe is momentarily distracted before responding to Beca. “What does he want this time?”

Beca starts shuffling between radio stations. “He doesn’t like some of the lyrics for the one we’re recording tomorrow, so he was sending over some revisions.”

Chloe hums. “Did you like them?”

“Eh,” Beca shrugs, apparently indifferent. “They were fine. I wasn’t too attached to the original lyrics anyways.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a while and Chloe turns her attention back to the car still playing Elmo’s theme song, intrigued.

“Okay, well now I’m bored.”

Chloe looks over at Beca. “Oh how the turntables,” she says, quoting The Office with a raised eyebrow.

Beca rolls her eyes. “I hate that show,” she claims.

“Sure you do,” Chloe says, nodding her head. “That’s why I caught you watching it when I got home the other day.”

“That means nothing,” Beca defends immediately, crossing her arms over her chest. “It just happened to be on when I turned on the TV.”

Chloe hums in disbelief. “If that’s what you’re going to stick with, then good for you.”

Beca huffs. “Well, it’s the truth, so,” she punctuates the unfinished thought with a tongue click.

“You want to watch it right now?”

“…well I guess it couldn’t hurt. Since we’re both bored and all.”

-6:51 PM-

“Babe, this is your song!”

“Okay, we’re changing it for sure this time. Ow! What was that for, dude?”

“Beca Mitchell, don’t you dare switch away from this song.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus, did you really have to hit me that hard?”

“It was a preventive strike.”

“It was mean.”

“Poor baby. Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“I mean… it might make me feel a little better. It’s worth a shot, at least.”

-7:08 PM-

Chloe stifles a grin as Beca slyly places a hand on her lower thigh. She continues to flip through the car manual she found in the glove box like she hasn’t noticed. “Hey, Bec, I think I finally know how to change the time on the clock. They have complete step-by-step instructions in here and everything.”

“That’s nice,” Beca says distractedly. Her fingers begin to draw lazy circles along the bare skin on the inside of her thigh, slowly making their way farther up Chloe’s leg. Chloe clears her throat to focus herself.

“We can also change the display to show what cardinal direction we’re going in, too.”

“Neat.”

“And if you hold down the hazard button for ten seconds, the car will self-destruct.”

“Awesome.”

Chloe snaps the booklet shut. “Beca, you know we can’t start something right now,” she lectures, gesturing down at her lap, and while Beca blushes and looks guilty, she doesn’t remove her hand. “There are literally people all around us.”

Beca shrugs. “I don’t think they’re paying attention,” she says lowly, lightly dragging her fingers along smooth skin. Chloe gulps and resists the urge to spread her legs further. “No one would notice if we just…”

She trails off as she leans forward to place a warm kiss on Chloe’s jawline. Chloe sighs and closes her eyes at the feeling of wet heat moving along her neck. She weaves a hand through Beca’s hair and tilts her head to allow her more access.

Chloe’s eyes lazily drift back open and she’s met with the sight of an old lady in the car next to theirs staring right at them. Embarrassment replaces the arousal in Chloe’s body, and she hastily pushes Beca off of her. Beca looks at her in confusion.

“Uh, people are paying attention, apparently,” Chloe explains, gesturing subtly to the old lady. Beca’s confusion is immediately overtaken by shock and a blush spreads across her cheeks. She waves awkwardly to the lady and pivots in her seat to stare look pointedly out the other window.

Okay, so they definitely needed to keep their hands to themselves in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Chloe files the information away for future reference.

-7:32 PM-

Beca groans and pushes her seat as far away from the steering wheel as she can, stretching out her legs. “It’s too damn hot in here.”

Chloe, who’s waving the car’s insurance papers in front of her face to cool off, nods in agreement. “It really is. Are you sure we can’t turn on the car for a little bit?”

“We’re pretty low on gas,” Beca says hesitantly. “I don’t want to risk running out as soon as we finally get out of this mess.”

Chloe pouts but doesn’t fight her on it. She looks out the window and sees some people ahead of them standing outside of their cars talking and gets an idea. Beca peers curiously over at her when Chloe opens her door.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I am getting some fresh air,” Chloe states as she gets out of the car. The blood starts rushing through her legs like normal again while a gentle breeze brushes against her sweaty forehead. Chloe lets out a sigh of relief. She closes the door behind her and rounds to the driver’s side of the car.

Beca squints up at her through her open window. “You’re really going to be one of those people that gets up and walks around during a traffic jam?”

Chloe leans down, resting her forearms on the window sill and sticking her head back in the car a bit. “I don’t see any other options. It’s better than sweating through our clothes in the hot car.”

Beca glances down at her slightly damp t-shirt and plucks at it with her fingers, frowning. “You may have a point.” She turns off the car all the way and pushes open her door, joining Chloe on the road. Chloe claps her hands in excitement.

“It’s kind of neat just standing out on the highway like this, don’t you think?” she asks, turning around in place to take in her surroundings. Beca chuckles and lets her gaze drift to some cars off in the distance.

“It is a small sort of accomplishment, I suppose.”

Chloe takes one of Beca’s hands and tugs her to the trunk of their car. “I’m hungry. Didn’t we buy some granola bars or something?”

Beca opens the trunk and sifts through the grocery bags inside. “Doesn’t look like it, babe,” she says, but sticks her hand in a bag anyways. Her tongue pokes out in concentration as she tries to get a grip on something in the bag, and Chloe bites her lip at how cute the expression makes her girlfriend look. Then, a look of victory crosses Beca’s face. “Aha! I knew these were in there!” Beca pulls her hand out to produce a box of frosted sugar cookies.

She starts attempting to open them while Chloe wrinkles her nose in confusion. “I didn’t know you bought those,” she says, watching Beca fail to open the plastic packaging. “When did you add those to the cart?”

Beca doesn’t tear her eyes away from her challenge. “You were looking at that magazine cover I was on, and I snuck it on the belt,” she says, the struggle eminent in her voice.

Chloe watches her fight the box in amusement for a few more seconds before gently prying it away from Beca’s hands, opening it with ease. She hands it back to Beca with a sweet smile. Beca attempts to look unembarrassed. “Thanks,” she mutters before reaching in and taking a cookie out, shoving half of it in her mouth at once.

They munch on the box of cookies, sitting on the hood of the car. A few people come up to them to make small talk, mostly commenting on how sucky the situation is, though none of them stick around for very long. Soon the cookies are gone, leaving Chloe and Beca to sit in comfortable silence.

Beca reaches over and pulls Chloe’s left hand into her lap, playing with her fingers. Chloe smiles softly and looks over at the brunette, but Beca’s eyes are focused on their hands. Lithe fingers run along the tendons on the back of her hand, and up and down the veins lining the inside of her wrist. Beca delicately rubs her thumb over Chloe’s ring finger with a contemplative look on her face, then brings their hands up to press a kiss to her knuckles a moment later.

Chloe hums in contentment and leans against Beca’s side, watching people ahead of them walking around and conversing with one another. Beca squeezes her hand once, and Chloe’s smile grows even wider.

-8:14 PM-

“Chlo, am I crazy, or is that an ice cream truck?”

Chloe looks in the direction that Beca is pointing in to see that, yes indeed; there is an ice cream truck in the near distance. To make it even more bizarre, people seem to be buying ice cream from the truck.

Beca and Chloe look at each other. They come to a silent agreement and slide of the hood of the car. When they reach the truck, there’s only one other person in line, so they’re able to quickly purchase two cones – chocolate for Chloe, vanilla for Beca – and weave their way through the traffic back to their own car.

They lean against the passenger side door and watch the sun slowly start to sink in the sky as they eat their ice cream. Chloe steals licks from Beca’s cone every once in a while, which her girlfriend pretends to grumble about, but Chloe can tell she doesn’t actually mind.

The ice cream truck starts playing music in the distance, and Chloe smiles as Beca starts quietly harmonizing with it under her breath.

-8:24 PM-

“If I die in this traffic jam, will you tell Theo that I won’t be able to make it to our meeting on Wednesday?”

“You’re not going to die, Beca.”

“I’m starting to lose hope that we’ll ever get out of this.”

“You’re so overdramatic.”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re under dramatic.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. Give me a break, my brain’s fried from sitting here for three hours.”

“Fair enough.”

-8:47 PM-

Chloe glances up from her nearly dead phone and does a double take at what she sees. She slaps at Beca’s arm excitedly. “Bec, people are moving!”

Beca lurches up from her slumped position over the wheel. She rubs at her eyes and blinks groggily out the front windshield. “There is a God after all,” she murmurs in awe, starting up the car.

Chloe whoops loudly as they begin to drive, joining in with the cheers from the cars around them. Beca lets out a victory cry of her own that makes Chloe double over laughing in her seat. Chloe starts belting out “We Are the Champions” at the top of her lungs, and Beca doesn’t even try to protest before she starts to sing along.

When Beca steers the car onto the exit ramp to get off the highway, Chloe lets out a contemplative hum and says, “You know, that actually wasn’t too bad. I think that was a great way to spend our evening.”

“And I think that’s probably the craziest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Okay, rude.”

“It’s true, dude.”

“Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I love you.”

Beca grins and reaches out to take Chloe’s hand. “Love you, too, weirdo.”

#fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe #chloe beale #beca mitchell #repression makes for fast and fluffy writing folks #just so you know

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cutesuki--bakugou · 5 years ago

Text

Ancient Soul

Time Travel, Quirkless, Feudal Japan AU

“Your soul does not belong here.” Those were words you never thought that you would hear. Now, thrown into the past in feudal Japan, you must find a way to survive, all while struggling to avoid the growing feelings for one hot-headed war general. War, romance, death and love drive you forward, to find the place where your soul truly belongs.

Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Ancient Soul tag. New chapters released every Wednesday as long as schedule permits.

Genre: Romance / Angst Story Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Sex, Death, Depictions of Violence, Alcohol

Chapter 17: Truth

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing Words: 2002

Standing before the pristine tori that marked the entrance to the stairway leading up to Shōshitsu Shrine, you couldn’t help but remember how you had felt the day you came to this world. The uneasiness that had crept upon you back then was crawling across your skin like millions of tiny spiders, making you nearly want to collapse on the floor and just cower in fear. The place horrified you. It was so heavy with the many centuries of sadness and torture it had caused for hundreds, if not thousands of souls.

“Katsuki,” you spoke softly, as if trying to not disturb any malicious spirits around you. “Do you know any history of this shrine?”

Deciding that you weren’t going to start walking up on your own, Bakugou gave you a slight push with his hand against your back, forcing you to start following him up the stairs. “I don’t know why it was originally built, if that’s what you mean. But I do know the story of it and why it’s called the Vanishing Shrine.”

“O-oh? What is it?”

Bakugou gave a small grumble in thought, as if he were trying to remember all the details. “People say that a widowed woman came here every day to pray for the soul of her lover to return to her. It was constant prayers, rituals, anything that she could do that she believed would work. I think she did this for… twenty years?”

“Wow… that’s dedication.”

“Nothing worked in the end. She was still a lonely, foolish old woman. Until she decided to hang herself on a beam at the entrance of the shrine. From that moment on, people believed that it was cursed. Any idiot can feel that it’s different here… It’s heavy.” Bakugou turned his gaze to look out into the forest that ran along the stairway, which were dense and dark, even in the sunlight. “There is something here… and strange things do happen. Like you, for example.”

“What about me?”

Bakugou looked down at you, his gaze curious and almost cautious. “Everything about you. The things you talk about, the way you were dressed, that black item that I destroyed that you called a… phone?”

“Yeah, that’s right…”

“People are found here all the time, screaming and being incoherent. But I think that just being in this place curses the mind. Makes people do and say crazy things.”

“Hm… I see. That is an interesting story.” Keeping your eyes down on your feet so you wouldn’t trip, you could only imagine what his reaction would be if you had told him the truth last night. He probably would have thought you were completely insane, but that didn’t really matter now. Who knows what would happen at the top of these steps, or what would become of you when all of this was over with. Still, when that final step was before you, there was no hesitation as you crossed the threshold onto the shrine grounds.

Almost instantly, everything was lighter. You could hear the birds and bugs chirping away in the forest, the sun warm against your exposed skin. It seemed so welcoming that any story or rumor could nearly immediately be dismissed. That is what made it so dangerous, you realized. It called people in and made them stay long enough for tragedy to strike.

“Well?” Bakugou interrupted your thoughts, having not taken that last step up. He seemed content to stay outside of the boundaries, and in truth, you wanted him to. “Can you remember anything?”

“Ah… Give me just a moment, I’m going to walk around a bit. I’ll call if I need you.” You gave him a comforting smile, feeling your heart flutter at the worried furrow of his brow. “I’ll be okay.”

“Fine. Don’t go too far.”

Gathering your courage, you began your exploration, walking around the beautiful, pristine building. As you did, you tried to look for… well, anything. Anything at all that stuck out as odd to you, but by the time you walked around twice, all you had found was an oddly placed rope still dangling ominously from a beam at the entrance to the shrine. Giving a frustrated sigh, you eventually stopped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Anything, [L/N]?” Bakugou called to you, still in his place and barely within your field of vision.

“No, nothing. I can’t find a single-- EEK!” You squealed out in shock as the bushes beside you ruffled violently, making you stumble back over your feet and land square on your ass.

“What was that?! Are you okay--!”

“-- I-it’s okay, Katsuki! I’m okay, it’s just… a fo-...” Your throat closed up as you realized what it was you were looking at, glaring at you hunched over in the grass. “-- a fox.”

Sure enough, familiar dark brown eyes were staring back at you, glancing over every inch of your form as the animal stayed low to the ground. With a flick of its left ear, you immediately saw that it was missing quite a large section, making your heart nearly leap out of your throat. “Y-you… It’s you!”

With your loud exclamation, the fox hissed as it’s back arched, tail and fur along it’s back flared in defense. Unlike what you had experienced, the animal was completely feral with no signs that it could understand you, let alone recognize you. In a panic, you shifted to your hands and knees, crawling closer to it. “P-please, you have to recognize me! You sent me here!” The closer you got, the more aggressive the fox became, snarling with pointed carnivorous teeth. It was then that any hold on sanity you may have had broke, almost lunging at the creature, but you found you were held back by strong hands on your arms.

“[L/N], what the hell are you doing?!” Bakugou pulled you back away from the fox as it dashed off into the woods, which only made you even more hysterical, trying to fight Bakugou to get away from him.

“N-No, come back! You sent me here, you damn thing! Come back!” When you were swept off your feet and into Bakugou’s arms, you finally gave up on struggling, clutching on tightly to his robes. “T-That was the fox, it knows me! It sent me here!” Sobbing and wailing, you could barely hear Bakugou curse or feel the movement of him going down the stairs.

“Damn it, [L/N]... I told you, this place takes hold of those with fragile minds. I should never have brought you back here…”

From that moment on, time went by in a blur.

You couldn’t seem to register or focus on anything. You felt numb, lost and completely alone in the universe, more than you ever had before. Your only hope of getting home had failed, and now you had to accept that here is where you would be until you died. You would never again experience scrolling through your favorite blogs, playing videogames with your friends, cuddling with your cat, or the calmness of driving a car in the warm evenings. All the mundane activities that you had taken for granted were gone, and though you had tried to come to terms with it way before you came to the shine, having a definitive answer was crushing.

There was no more ‘maybe’. Instead, it was all absolute. You would live out the remainder of your life here.

Period.

End of story.

“I guess that settles that.”

“Eh?”

You and Bakugou shared a confused look, flames of the fire in front of you creating shadows that danced across his face. He seemed genuinely shocked that you had said anything in the first place, but you felt too numb to really ask why.

“Don’t you think?”

“Think what? [L/N], you haven’t said a single word to me in three days, and that’s what you all the sudden come out with? What the hell are you thinking about? I thought that place had made you go completely mad.” Bakugou reached up to rub the inner corners of his eyes, obviously at his wits end with this whole situation. “Damn it, I thought you weren’t ever going to snap out of it.”

“Three days?” You gave your forehead a good rub, trying to recall any recent event besides your interaction with the fox. “Have I really been quiet that long?”

“Not just quiet, but damn comatose.” Bakugou handed you a stick, one end of it skewered through a cooked fish. Timidly, you took it from him, trying to remember when you had stopped to go fishing. “But to answer your question,” Bakugou continued, starting on cooking another fish over the fire. “It does settle it. We’re about halfway back home.”

“Can I have some sake?”

“Only if you eat.” Bakugou watched you closely for a moment, waiting until you took your first bite of the fish before handing you the alcohol flask. You let it sit on your lap for a while, eating most of the fish before you took your first sip. The heat of the alcohol warmed you almost instantly, bringing feeling to your numb body.

After your first hefty swig, you gave a sigh, leaning back on your hands. “I should have known that was going to happen. I should of just… expected it.”

“I still don’t understand what happened…” Bakugou mumbled, only sparing you a quick glance as you took another drink. “What the hell were you even doing yelling at that animal?”

“If I tell you, I know you won’t believe me. Even I wouldn’t believe me. It’s absolutely bonkers!”

“What the hell is ‘bonkers’?”

“Look, Katsuki.” You shifted yourself to face him, taking another drink. “Can you just… have an open mind right now? Just for a minute? I’m about to tell you something that you won’t understand and that sounds absolutely insane. But I swear to you, on my life, that it’s the truth. Every word of it.”

Bakugou observed your face for a moment, giving a heavy sigh. The contemplation and curiosity were obvious on his stern expression, but you could tell by his stiff body language that he was wary. “Fine… Go on, then.”

“I… am from the future. A different era completely, about 500 years from now, more or less.” You were surprised how casually the truth came out of your mouth, even feeling comfortable enough admitting this to take a huge bite out of your fish. “I am, or I mean, I was a college student in Kyoto studying [degree]. My best friends Mirio, Nejire and Tamaki talked me into visiting that damn fucking shrine as a little trip. I even skipped my class for it! We drove here down the highway on Mirio’s dinky little blue car, though I slept the whole two-hour trip.”

As you went on and on, Bakugou listened silently, munching on his fish. You told him about your entire past, where you grew up, your family and everything that you used to love doing. “... I miss real shoes and jeans. Jackets with the fluff on the inside that keep you nice and toasty. Coffee! Oh god, I miss coffee.” With an agonized groan, you leaned forward, your head resting on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Mm… And chocolate. Just candy in general. My cat used to love licking lollipops…”

At the mention of your furry best friend, your eyes immediately welled up with tears, sniffling as you squeezed in closer to rest against Bakugou’s side. “My cat… I miss my cat. I wonder what happened after I left… I hope someone is taking care of them. It must have been so scary for me to just up and vanish like that…”

“That seems to be who you miss the most. But I’m sure that they are being cared for…”

Bakugou’s quiet, judgement free comfort brought a heat to your chest, your tears escaping you as you nuzzled your face into his robes. “Katsuki… You believe me?”

“[L/N]... I…”

#bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou x reader #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #bnha writing blog #xreader #personal #ancient soul

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theangrypokemaniac · 5 years ago

Text

I'll state from the beginning that the images below display the sort of sweet synchronicity to which only love can give life:

MaAndPaShipping is the best ship, and here are five reasons why:

1. It Made James

Like the boy do yer? Ever felt the slightest tingle of warmth at the mention of his name?

Well get down on yer knees and give thanks to his mother and father for gifting him to the world!

Where would we be without their remarkable commitment? Could James have grown into the dandified dream boat of your desires if deprived of the safety provided by his parents?

Had they not brought him up, he'd be dead, The Dog of Flanders fantasy made reality. If miraculously he survived, foraging in the wild is not conducive to a foppish personality.

Is that to yer fancy? No? Then let's have a little respect. The luxury Ma and Pa gave enabled his macaroni tendencies to reach such heights.

Their love created him! How can it not be celebrated?

You lot would ship Jessie's parents but you can't, because she has no dad, and I don't suppose you'll ever assent to his obvious identity of Windy Miller, although 'Jessie Miller' has a wonderful ring to it, so what can be done?

Should a Pa Jess be conjured for the purpose, he still buggered off, didn't he? Where's the allure in a faithless git?

I can't comprehend the obsession with Ma Jess. As soon as here she's stiff, and what is there to remember but coercing her daughter into eating snow?

Hey, I named her. What more do you want from me?

I'd rather have the living, visible ancestors, if you don't mind.

Yeah, says the history fanatic.

Why not make the most of the chances offered, and follow a devoted couple whose love made a difference to your existence?

2. Canon!

There are many ships which I find repulsive for involving depravity, or absurd as the subjects haven't met, or don't inhabit the same fictional universe.

Video et taceo: I see and I say nothing.

Neither does anyone. Forcing decent folk in to incest, bestiality etc. is quite alright.

Perverted ideas are left alone, but woe betide a Rocketshipper, because that's offensive.

It may be the only original ship left standing, with proper evidence and sanctioned by Nintendo, but no, it's fair game for undermining. People pick at your arguments, quibble constantly and NEED to register their objections NOW. You MUST be made aware of opposition. You're not to be permitted your views the way those with twisted tastes are indulged.

Why, out of tens of thousands of combinations, does making Jessie and James an item provoke hostility?

The strength of negativity actually serves as validation, for why be so concerned if it's an impossible relationship?

However sick they are, I'm not anti any ship. I can't muster sufficient interest to do it, and if I scroll on, I forget. I certainly don't attack those responsible.

Anti-Shipping is inherently nihilistic for promoting loneliness. They aren't against Rocketshipping through wanting Jessie and James to be with someone else, as an alternative is not readily available, so the outcome of it is neither finding a companion.

MaAndPaShipping attracts no sourpuss silliness, for 'tis canon beyond question. There's nothing about being 'just friends' when married with a son.

How's the state of your O.T.P.? Not looking too clever I expect, and what's your contribution: wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying?

Cast it off! None of that longing is necessary in these quarters, as MaAndPaShipping is a fait accompli.

Hallelujah! Wallow in that Love!

Don't you yearn for at least one ship that all of us accept by default, to the extent these aristocrats are spoken of as a single unit?

Across the internet, Ma and Pa are bracketed as 'James's parents', never 'he' and 'she', always 'they', barely counting as distinct characters. That's how undeniable the love is between them. Sheer indifference has awarded it a blessing from everyone.

MWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

Of course, now I've drawn attention to it the moaning will start, but we all know a spoilsport when we see one.

If they had any legitimate complaints they ought to have mentioned 'em before this piece highlighted the marriage!

Except it won't have occurred to 'em previously, proving the eternal, indissoluble quality of MaAndPaShipping.

You get good value with this one.

Find a post referring to Ma and Pa as individuals and I'll have written it, for that's what you call ironic.

3. It's a Fine Rocketshipping Proxy

I was at primary school when Pokémon hit the West like the bright, bearded meteor it is, atomizing all competition for a child's attention.

I have shipped Jessie and James before I knew anyone else did it, unaware shipping was even a thing.

There are other pairs where I think: 'That seems to fit', but it's incomparable to what I feel for them.

It is part of me. I bleed it.

I have shipped it longer than most Tumblerries have dwelt upon the earth.

I used to believe, what with the hints and manga finale, that this resolution was inevitable, and all I had to do was wait.

Well I've been patient for two decades now, thus when I look at the modern incarnation, and realise it's no nearer to that goal, and instead is further away, waiting starts to wear a bit thin.

I resent the lack of appreciation shown to the fans by the cretins in charge, how any meagre shippy inclusion is done not with an interest in deepening bonds, but with the blatant cynicism of moulding us into performing monkeys dancing to their manipulative tune.

I dislike being treated like a sea lion, expected to clap me flippers at the wave of a fish, or as a panting dog begging at top table, where, because they're desperate to maintain the status quo, every scrap flung down from above now comes with an Anti-Ship kick in the teeth, just to be sure nothing progresses. Not whilst the franchise can still be milked for all it's worth.

I have lost faith Rocketshipping will happen. What passes for Pokémon today carries not the remotest indication of any intention on the so-called writers' part to finish it that way.

Even if it did, it's not my Team Rocket, it's those skeletal, gargoyle bastardisations. My Jessie and James never got the reward they deserved.

I'm somewhat in the market for a replacement. Beneath this loathsome carapace of acid and ice beats the tender heart of a true romantic, and it must have an outlet!

Shipping Ma and Pa provides a certain spurious relief, because it's as close as you can get to Jessie and James without it being them, both biologically as his parents, but they're so similar to the duo it counts as proof in itself.

Holy Matrimony! is prime Rocketshipping territory, not merely the balloon lift, but many slight additions are as important, like the haircuts matching.

Ma and Pa are therefore Jessie and James in the past, present and future:

The past for representing Jess 'n' Jamie gone Victorian, and we've all wondered how that'd turn out.

The present as it's there right now, absent of suffering the shameless whims of morons to get what you want. 'Tis yours to savour.

The future as a glimpse of Jessie and James once married with children, and they agree:

That's how they play it given the opportunity!

What, James in blue, for his and Pa's hair, and Jessie wearing purple, like Ma's, with a red shawl for her own, and Ma Jess's orange earrings to copy the beads?

• Money!

• Bun!

• 'Tache!

• Classy pad!

• Fancy gear!

• Pampered pet!

• Identical cups of Earl Grey!

4. Original Blend

Ma and Pa have only got two fans! We care more than the entire fandom has in twenty years!

Rocketshipping art is ten a penny, so why not display a pioneering spirit, sharpen up those pencils and be inspired?

Let your mind expand and marvel at the possibilities of these unchartered territories, and I'll reblog it if it's nice.

Pay attention to the condition of it being nice. I'm not putting up with any old toss.

Real Ma and Pa is what I want too, not those Sinnoh coffin-dodgers.

It's never been done! Every drawing breaks new ground!

I don't like fan fiction, but I wouldn't say 'no' to that either. Recall the 'nice' stipulation again.

Come on, be the first amongst your friends and get ship shape!

5. It Gives Us All Hope

Suppose your favourite amour one day became canon: you imagine that's the end of the matter?

Well it ain't.

Between Ash, Misty, Brock, Jessie, James, Gary and Tracey, there are three-and-a-half out of fourteen parents (Flint doesn't count as a complete man) and one out of twenty-eight grandparents, and that's not enough!

If the series drew to a close with your beloved couple apparently walking into the happily-ever-after, there's no guarantee it'll endure. In fact, the odds are they'll split up within a few years and leave another generation to fend for themselves or starve.

That's right, so don't presume the final episode is all you need to worry about. Can you rest easy knowing it'll go pear-shaped once the camera stops rolling?

It's futile soothing one's worries with:

Oh, but they know what it's like to be alone. They'd never inflict such stress on their children.

Oh really?

Look at that poor showing of grandparents. Either Pokémon has a system reminiscent of the sci-fi film Logan's Run, where everyone over thirty is vapourized, or these disappearing maters and paters were themselves victims of abandonment.

I bet when they settled down, they thought it'd be different for their kids, they'd make sure of it, but no, off they went down that same route of feckless self-indulgence, and that's being kind assuming they intended not to repeat history.

Depressing eh? What's the good in any of us surrendering to romance, real or otherwise, if love is but a mayfly of emotion, and all dreams are doomed to die?

Then Ma and Pa arrive, and suddenly the storm clouds part for a ray of heavenly light.

It's not only that they made the effort in what was probably an arranged marriage and have stayed together from youth, it's that they've stayed together when no one else has, which augments its value.

When separation is commonplace, sticking it out becomes rarer and rarer as any belief in the sanctity of wedlock erodes with every failure.

If they didn't bother, why should I? What's the use when it won't work?

Once that idea enters your head, it's over, and your gloom-laden attitude fulfils itself.

Society is collapsing about Ma and Pa's ears, but they persevere nevertheless, refusing to buckle under the turgid malaise engulfing the arrogant and weak.

It's bloody beautiful, man!

You may suggest an environment of supreme wealth erases normality, and to their class and time period divorce is still taboo, so they don't really have much of choice but to remain wedded.

Ah, but it's not as if they simply tolerate one another for appearances, or carried on for the sake of their son (which is more than anyone else did besides), not when he walked out on them.

They've been married longer than James has lived, so at least eighteen years (don't all squeal at once), and they're still blissfully contented!

They hold hands!

They use terms of endearment like 'dear' and 'my precious'!

They were made for one another!

They work as a team!

They want the same thing for James!

It could bring a stone angel to tears it's so beautiful!

See what success can be achieved when you try? When you endeavour to love the one you're with and make yourself worth loving in return?

Better that than chucking 'em at the first sign of trouble.

Ma and Pa is such an irrevocable union even the despair of losing their only child failed to tear 'em asunder, and that'd defeat many, but not this husband and wife.

Be grateful, for it means all is not in vain.

It doesn't have to be misery and pain: love can last despite the pressure of a wretched, hollow culture bent on self-destruction. Your ship might just succeed too.

God bless 'em for keeping the magic alive!

...

Why do I have the presentiment that I'm going to regret encouraging support?

#maandpashipping #team rocket #ma james #pa james #ma and pa james #james #jessie #james's mom #james's dad #james's parents #rocketshipping #kanto #holy matrimony!

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babystevie · 5 years ago

Text

Crossing Paths

Chapter 8: An off day

Read of AO3: Here

Things were easy, things were good, and Steve wasn’t feeling as though he was going to pass out at any given moment because of his strong aspects in horrific anxiety.

Which was relatively nice.

He was doing normal things that college kids should be doing, instead of hiding from people who apparently knew where he was, which let’s not think about that right now, and leave it hidden away with all the other issues,

A normal college student.

He was currently working on his biology homework, planning on following it up with a nice syllabus he needed to create for his education course before the next class rolled around later in the week, because he was a severe procrastinator at heart.

In the safety of his apartment he could breathe and focus on mundane things such as homework, and due dates and hear the voice of Robin in the other room, commenting on whatever T.V show she was probably only half watching as she undoubtably scrolled through her cellphone.

He smiled to himself, he’d taken his medicine that morning like any person should, and didn’t plan to leave his apartment for the rest of day,

Dustin had sent him a picture of his finished car this morning with a bunch of exclamation points because the boy had finally put the decals on the car, and then proceeded to try and get him to come to the beach because it was a beautiful day.

But, but, today was a Steve and Robin day, and during those days where it was just them, they caught up on things that they had ignored during the weekend, where they went and had fun in the streets of Miami.

And those things for Steve contained his pile of homework from his classes and caging himself into his apartment where he was as safe as he could be, well in his opinion anyways.

“Dingus!” Robin’s voice yelled throughout the apartment, bringing him out of his focus and effectively sending him to walking towards the sound of her voice, which was underneath the comfort of her blanket on the couch, and he smiled before plopping down behind her and laying down underneath the blanket,

“You’re warm.” He stated with a chuckle, making her huff and roll her eyes.

“Take a picture with me.” She stated, moving her phone where it was the both of them in the shot, looking as best as they could in their pajamas, laying down together on the couch in the middle of the afternoon.

He smiled towards the camera, matching her happy expression before the camera clicked and she immediately uploading the photograph to every social media platform, only tagging his second Instagram page from her second, before finally setting her phone down and directing her attention to the T.V in front of her.

The silence was nice, the comfort that they were able to take from one another would probably never be understood by most of the people in their lives, especially the people who were convinced that him and Robin were perfect for one another, and should start dating, since they already lived together.

Which in Steve’s opinion sounded pretty awful, he loved Robin, Robin was his best friend, someone he could share anything with. And they did share many things. Whether it be clothes, makeup, and neither of them could forget the trauma and PTSD that they definitely shared. But he was happy to have someone like Robin.

Dustin was horribly jealous 90% of the time where Steve would choose to stay with Robin at the apartment rather than go to the beach with him and the remainder of the party, but he understood that their friendship was different, Steve and Dustin were family now more than ever, and that kind of love was different, is different.

Robin’s phone pings, and she picks it up where it was forgotten on the blanket over the top of them and she cracks a smile and a small laugh, before shoving it in his face,

And its from Billy,

Stealing him from me Buckley?

And Steve unlocks the phone for her, because he has her password, of course he does and snaps another photo, just of him this time, snaps a picture of himself with a large happy smile, and then another with his tongue sticking out at the camera before pressing ‘send’ and adding a text message once they both say delivered,

Don’t worry L.A, last I checked we had a date coming up 😊

And all the messages say received, read, but Billy doesn’t reply, and Steve smiles to himself, a blush staining his face because he knows, he knows he’s got a face that makes people stare at him. As he’s gotten older, he’s come to realize that a pretty face opens a lot of doors and it grabs attention in a room, if he smiles just right and makes his eyes just a little brighter with eyeliner, or a stream of sparkle, he can use it to get anything he wants.

Which in retrospect is kind of a terrible thing to do, but he though he knows he’s pretty, that he’s got long legs that many men, and some woman he knows, love to look at it, he doesn’t really care. No. He cares when people actually want to talk to him, to him not just to leer at him.

Like Billy does.

Objectively he may not be the smartest, but Steve can make the connection that Billy thinks he’s attractive because hell, he calls him ‘Pretty boy’ and recently has started to call him ‘Princess’ which he enjoys way more than he should, because wow.

Everyone’s got their flaws, and apparently Steve’s is cute little pet names coming from someone with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen.

“I’m hungry.” Robin states, taking him out of his thoughts, “And if you lay there any longer thinking about Billy, I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve rolls his eyes before pushing her off the couch and outright laughing when she squawks in outrage as she hits the floor,

“C’mon, lets go to that little diner outside of campus.”

He winces a bit as he comes to his full height, where his leg throbs slightly but ignores it for walking into his room and changing into something that wont make him so self-conscious and putting on a black button down, and a pair of black pants that makes his ass look good before grabbing his jacket and meeting Robin in the living room once more where she’s complaining about the fact she’s going to wilt away if they don’t leave right now.

She is ridiculous.

She smiles bright and somehow sighs at the same time before pulling her phone back out and pointing it to him as he walks into the room, and he gives her an overexaggerated pout because he knows that she’s recording on snapchat as she starts speaking,

“We’re just going to the diner he says, I’m just gonna change into someone else real quick and comes back out in this, like he has a right to go everywhere looking like he’s about to walk the red carpet.”

And he can’t help himself and laughs at her while she keeps recording, “It’s called style Rob, look it up sometime.”

And she squawks again, much to his pleasure and walks up to her to flip the camera around before kissing her on the cheek in the frame,

“C’mon, you look fine, now let’s go before you really wilt away.”

“Yes, your highness.” She cackles and stops recording.

They start their short walk to the diner and the older lady they usually have as a server is there and she gives them both a motherly smile before taking them to their normal booth and they sit across from one another before ordering their usual.

Not long after, the waitress comes back to their table, and leans down so she can talk to them more privately,

“Last night.” She whispers with a start, “Couple guys came in here, and I heard them say both of your names. I don’t want to know why, and I don’t want to worry you both, but they left in a big SUV before they left.”

Robin and Steve look at one another in a silent conversation, before Robin smiles and thanks her tightly, smacking a couple 20 dollar bills on the table as Steve pulls out his phone and dials Jonathans number as he waves the woman goodbye, and she gives him a stern stare that screams for him to be careful.

They exit the diner and start their walk back to the apartment to get Robin’s car when Jonathan answers his phone,

“Hello?”

“Get the party together, we’re running out of time.” He states into the phone sternly, not bothering in responding, “Rob and I will be at the shop in 20.”

“Got it, be careful Steve.”

“You too Jon.”

He hangs up the phone and puts it back into his pocket as they turn the corner to see an SUV outside of their apartment,

“Fuck.” Robin hisses, “That has to be them.” Stopping him in his tracks and pushing them both back around the corner.

Steve looks around for a way out of there, and sees a motorcycle before grabbing Robins hand and running towards it as quiet as possible before swinging his leg over, and looking for a key,

It’s in the ignition.

Maybe his luck isn’t as shit as he thought.

He starts the bike, and Robin holds onto him after she gets on and he wastes no time in taking off into the direction of the shop.

And

Their going fast, swerving through traffic, to put as much distance in between them and their apartment as possible. Robin grips to him tighter as they pass campus, pass Billy’s apartment and he feels his phone in his pocket vibrate as Robin squeezes his waist and now, he knows that Billy saw them both speed past

Fuck

15 minutes later they’re driving into the shop, where one of them had opened the doors, it closes behind him and they both hop off the bike, where everyone, the entire party is standing in the middle bay staring at him and Robin before he finally speaks,

“It’s time to find and bring everyone home.”

#steve harrington #harringrove #Billy Hargrove #fast au #I love you

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theepicwaffleman12 · 6 years ago

Text

Under the Waterfall

So this is a Bumbleby lemon. My first lemon, actually. (Well, really, it’s more of a lime.) If you’re not a fan of that, keep scrolling. That’s all you gotta do.

For the rest of ye, here, have a shower fluff. I hope you enjoy. Let me know how I fucked up and I’ll do my best to improve for next time!

(Oh, and of course I’m gonna be writing WhiteRose stuff too, eventually. Did you honestly expect me not to? :P)

She stood under the waterfall, the droplets cascading on her body and rolling off with gentle splashes. She stood, thinking, under the rain of an Atlas shower.

It had been quite the past few days.

“Oh.”

He fell. The sickening crunch heard later didn’t ease matters, only made her mind worse. Then there was Yang, kneeling beside her, holding her close, keeping her calm.

“I know you won’t.”

She knew. She knew that she wouldn’t leave. They remained there for quite some time, just holding each other, promises restored and faith returned.

But what if she thinks I’ll leave again? Did she think I was never going to come back? What about us now? We’re closer than we ever were, but how long until that comes crashing down? How much happiness do I have to lose?

What if sh-

“Hey.”

That voice. Blake dragged herself from out of her mind, covered herself and turned around, and there was Yang standing in the entryway of the shower, a towel in her robotic hand. She gave Blake a glance from head to toe, blushed slightly, but still carried that same confidence that Blake knew and admired for so long.

“Room for one more?” asked the blonde as Blake’s cheeks dusted a light pinkish-red. “You seemed a bit down recently, even more so than usual. Maybe this’ll be good for both of us,” Yang explained. Blake slowly smiled and gave a nod.

“Now turn around.”

“Wait, why?” Blake shot a quizzical look at Yang as she set down the towel and popped off her arm.

“So you get a surprise,” said Yang almost nonchalantly, before adding with a sensual growl, “and I get to have a good look at that Bellabooty.” Blake rolled her eyes at the nickname she hadn’t heard in so long, but did as she was told, stifling a laugh. The rustle of clothes landing on the floor sounded behind her, followed by the wet footsteps of bare feet.

“Alright, you can turn around,” said Yang, with a surprising touch of embarrassment and shyness. Blake took a deep breath and turned around.

The very first words out of her mouth were, “Holy shit.”

Yang’s body was... well, there wasn’t a word that could describe it perfectly. Her legs were muscular, long and smooth, leading up to a region barely explored, her stomach was lined with a pack of abs that would possibly make Sun jealous, and finally, her breasts.

Dear gods, were they something.

Now, Blake was no stranger to human anatomy. She carried the same parts as everyone else, with the addition of two extra ears placed on her head. But somehow Yang’s chest made Blake’s mind seem like she was seeing breasts for the very first time. She stared at the large mounds, topped with dark pink areolas and peaked with small pointed nipples.

Yang was absolutely aware of Blake’s gaze on her chest and waved a hand in front of it, leading Blake’s eyes up to her own. “Hey. I’m up here, y’know,” grinned Yang with a mischievous look in her eyes, adding, “Not that I don’t mind you staring at my boobs, but I’m up here.”

“S-sorry, they’re just... Wow.” Blake glanced around shyly and rubbed the back of her head but Yang shook her own head with a warm smile.

“Don’t go dismissing your own body, there, Belladonna. Your breasts are fine too, your stomach is nice and lean, and I’ve already begun to know your ass better,” Yang smirked as her own cheeks dusted pink. Now both girls were blushing under the water in probably the most awkward scenario they’d ever been in.

They just stood there for a few minutes before Blake finally decided, screw this, and grabbed the nearest bar of soap. “Should we wash each other?” asked the Faunus as yellow eyes bashfully stared into lilac. Yang paused momentarily but her eyes betrayed her as her head gave a nod that seemed all too eager.

Blake rubbed her hands in the soap. “Where shall I start?”

“Legs,” said Yang as she pointed to the area in question before rubbing shampoo in her golden locks and washing her hair.

So Blake began at her legs, moving her hands up and down, very gently. Her hands danced up Yang’s curves, passing by a certain area on purpose before arriving at Yang’s belly. She traced her soap-covered fingers over each of the abs that stood strong like stones on the skin before reaching around and rubbing her back and just grazing Yang’s butt. She’d get that later, if she was allowed. She stroked Yang’s arms, gave her hands a quick squeeze before heading towards the most dangerous area.

Yang knew exactly what Blake was doing and while she was nervous at Blake touching her chest, she was also incredibly excited. Bad brain, she thought to herself. It’s just two girls washing each other who may or may not be a thing. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Blake finally lowered a hand onto one of the mounds as Yang’s breath hitched. Blake immediately stopped. “You okay?” she asked with a concerned tone as Yang nodded and shot a comforting wink at her. The hand went back and began to move in circles. Both girls’ faces were red as Ruby’s cloak, and the mood in the room was beginning to escalate faster than they anticipated. The other hand found its way to the other breast and repeated the motion while Yang’s mind shot into pleasure. Her mouth betrayed her body as she let out a quiet moan of relief.

Blake chuckled at this and, gaining more confidence, began to put more effort into the circles. Yang’s breath hitched more and more, her eyes squeezed shut and her legs began to twitch. Her moans became more drawn out. Finally, Blake let go and both girls let out a very happy exhale.

“How’d you even manage to do that?” asked Yang. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who has experience with this stuff.”

“I don’t,” admitted Blake. “But you can learn something from those novels.”

Oh, right. Yang mentally facepalmed as she took the bar of soap from Blake, rubbed her hand in it (which was harder than it looked), and wickedly grinned.

“Please don’t tell me you’re starting where I think you’re going to start,” Blake grumbled as Yang gave a completely fake innocent nod, motioning for Blake to turn around. “Fine, fine, just be gentle with it,” said Blake, quietly muttering “Why the hell not?” under her breath.

Yang’s hand seized the two cheeks and begun to squeeze like she was a kid who had just gotten access to a new toy. Blake let out a “Eep!” before almost shouting, “I said gently!” She could hear Yang stick out her tongue playfully but her gropes eased to gentle strokes. “Sorry, got caught up in the moment,” admitted Yang. “I didn’t think I’d go that fast.”

“It’s fine, it- Ooh! That feels nice,” sighed Blake as Yang’s hand gently caressed her butt before moving up to her breasts and took hold one of them from behind, using the same circular motions Blake had used. Blake’s moans become more pleasure-filled and longer. Yang’s hand trailed down Blake’s stomach, legs, back up to her rear and gave it yet another squeeze before reaching her arms and finally setting at her hands.

Both girls’ hands intertwined as they held each other, and for a while it was just the two of them, fully bare as the water continued to cascade down.

It was Yang who woke from the trance first and exhaled. “Well, I for one feel a lot bett- Oh, you sly kitten.” Yang shook her head as her brain finally registered Blake, now facing her, as her hands squeezed Yang’s rear. “So you like my butt as much as I like yours, eh?” asked the blonde brawler with a flirtatious tone to her voice. A simple “Mm-hm,” came from Blake as she continued her groping.

Completely lost in the moment, Yang leaned down towards Blake. To her surprise, Blake leaned up towards her. Their mouths were inches apart, almost touching. “You fine with this?” whispered Blake. Yang smiled before whispering back a confident “Hell yes.”

Their lips finally collided.

Fireworks exploded.

Blake’s eyes were full of wonder when she pulled back, Yang’s full of pure joy. “I keep saying this, but... wow,” Blake sighed, her voice breathless yet full of love and passion. Yang nodded. “Yeah. Wow.”

A few seconds went by before Yang asked the question that lingered in both of their heads: “So, are we a thing now?”

“I think so,” answered Blake, before teasingly asking, “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Fuck no,” Yang swore before apologizing and adding, “I’ve actually sort of liked you since Beacon. I think it was at the dance when I realized how I felt, with you and I without a care in the world, just having fun together. I was actually hoping to express myself after the tournament was over, but we know how that went and... I just shut down after you ran. I didn’t think you’d even come back, that’s how depressed I was.”

Blake nodded. “Me either, honestly. I didn’t know how you’d react, whether you’d want me back or not.” Yang took a hold of Blake’s face and gently stroked her cheek, wordlessly saying all that needed to be said. Blake’s mouth warmly twisted upwards in response.

“Now, can you let go of my ass?” asked Yang playfully.

“Why don’t you make me, then?” replied Blake, her smile growing wicked, shooting a wink of her own at Yang, who blushed again.

“I’m supposed to be making you feel flustered, not the other way around!” laughed Yang before she moved her own hand to squeeze Blake’s rear quickly before she managed to break free of the Faunus’ grip and swayed her hips on the way out for emphasis. She could practically hear Blake’s mouth drop open as she bent down to pick up the towel before she turned back around. “Someday, I’ll get to watch you do that,” teased Yang. “I’ll see you outside, ‘kay?”

“Yeah...” sighed Blake, blowing a kiss to her before she realized what she had done. Yang, playing along, pretended to catch it and winked at her before wrapping the towel around her and then she was gone.

Blake turned the shower off, wrapping her body in her own towel as her mind raced with joy, ecstasy and love all at the same time.

Gods be damned, that woman. I love her, thought Blake.

I love her.

And she loves me right back.

#bumbleby #lemon #lime #rwby #fanfic #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #there's still shit i could edit but meh #i like how it came out regardless #lmao i'm such a dork when it comes to these two #they're so fuckin CUTE #I L O V E them #asdsgdgajsdg #this took like two hours to write lmao

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turtle-steverogers · 6 years ago

Text

harsh words

angstangstangst

warnings: fighting, smoking mentions, past implied abuse

ship: sprace and brotherly jack/spot

editing: nuh uh and it’s kinda eh

Race’s legs carried him quickly up the stairwell of his apartment complex, phone held in an iron grip in his hand. Spot had texted him twenty minutes ago, saying that there was an emergency and he needed to get home as quickly as possible. The message was alarming to say the least and Race had hastily handed the class he was teaching off to Albert in favor of rushing home.

Anticipation coursed through his veins as he unlocked the door to the apartment, scared of what he might find on the other side.

“Spot, honey, where are-” he cut himself off when he noticed Spot sitting on the sofa, ankle propped on his knee as he idly scrolled through his phone.

He didn’t seem in any immediate danger and Race frowned, “What’s going on?”

Spot looked up, eyes tired and unsettlingly devoid of emotion as he calmly clicked off his phone and placed it on the arm of the couch. His movements were slow and calculated as he reached into his jacket pocket, producing a small white box.

Race swallowed, feeling oddly trapped as Spot tossed the box onto the coffee table, turning to look at Race with raised eyebrows.

“Where’d you get those?” Race asked, voice shaking as he kept his gaze glued on his precious cigarettes.

“You tell me,” Spot’s voice was even, but the anger and disappointment was easily noticeable in his tone, “You told me you quit, Antonio.”

“I did-”

“Obviously not,” Spot scoffed.

Race huffed, anger replacing the fear in his stomach, “I tried to quit, it was just in case.”

“Just in case, huh?” Spot stood, the anger in his expression mirroring Race’s gut, “then why was half the box gone?”

Race bit his lip, eyes flicking to the side, “I mighta messed up a few times,” he murmured.

“I few times?” Spot snapped, “That was more than a few fucking times.”

Race rolled his eyes, shouldering past Spot and kicking off his shoes, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does, though,” Spot insisted, stepping back into Race’s peripheral as he shrugged off his jacket to hang on a hook, “‘Cause not only did you fucking lie to me about quitting, but you’re fucking killing yourself in the process.”

“It’s my fucking body, Sean,” Race bit, throwing his jacket down, “You don’t get to tell me what to do with it!”

“I do when you’re destroying it, you idiot, I don’t understand why you can’t get it through your thick fucking skull-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Race shouted, anger surfacing in his words, “Literally just shut up, I don’t get you’re always on my fucking case. Can’t you fuck off for one fucking-”

“Stop yelling at me,” Spot whimpered, taking a step back. Race froze, eyes narrowing at his sudden change in demeanor. His eyes were screwed shut, chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Race could see his hands shaking and his anger quickly dissipated as concern took its place, “Sean, what-”

Spot shook his head, backing up a few more paces before rushing to their shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Race stood, dumbfounded in the middle of the living room. He’d never seen Spot react like that to anything. He was always collected, even in the most trying situations- never letting anything get through to him.

Race forced himself to walk to their bedroom, reaching down to try the doorknob. It was locked. Figures.

He lifted his arm, numbly rapping his knuckles against the wood, “Sean, open up.”

A loud sob sounded from inside the room and Race felt his stomach drop. Spot never cried. What the fuck was happening?

He tried knocking again, this time with a little more force, “Spot, can you please let me in?” Desperation leaked into his voice as he tried, to no avail, to open the door again.

A panicked lump rose in Race’s throat as Spot’s cries became steadier. He slid down the length of the door, leaning forward so that his forehead was pressed against it.

“Sean, I’m sorry,” his tone was begging, “Let me in, I want to help you.”

A knock at the apartment door brought Race to his feet and he forced himself to walk away from the bedroom to open it.

“Jack, what?” Jack was standing on the other side, looking like he’d run all the way from his apartment- which he probably had.

“Where is he?” Jack demanded. Something in his expression sent a chill down Race’s spine and he stepped out of the way to let Jack in.

“Uh, he’s in the bedroom, but he’s not answering me-”

“Of course he fucking isn’t,” Jack snapped, “you fucked him up.”

Race cocked his head, “Jack, I don’t-”

Jacked whirled around, anger flashing in his eyes, “You really never fucking think before you do, do you? Did it ever fucking cross your mind how fucking scary it must have been to be yelled at after what he went through?” he shook his head, composing himself, “Just..give me a minute,” he waved a hand at Race, before walking to his and Spot’s bedroom.

Race watched as Jack knocked on the door, muttering something incomprehensible to Spot on the other side. A moment later, the door opened and Jack slipped inside, leaving Race alone.

He collapsed on the couch, overwhelming guilt causing his legs to give out under him. He lowered his head into his hands, trying to swallow the tears that threatened to engulf him. He didn’t fucking get to cry, this was his fucking fault.

He pulled out his phone, gripping his hair tightly to ground himself as he pulled up Albert’s contact.

Albert picked up the call a moment later, “Yo,” he sounded worried, “What’s up? Everything alright?” “Not really,” Race winced as his voice cracked, “Is class over?” “Yeah,” Albert said, “I’m in the breakroom, what’s wrong?”

“Spot, uh, Spot found my cigarettes-”

“I thought you quit.” Albert said, slowly.

“I tried,” Race swallowed, “Listen, that’s not the point. So like, we got into a fight, yeah? And things were getting heated and he flipped out and now he’s locked in our room with Jack and he won’t talk to me,” he paused, sighing, “I don’t know what I did but I could hear him crying and I don’t know what to do.”

Albert didn’t answer for a moment and Race pinched the bridge of his nose, “Al?”

“Sorry, I’m thinking,” Albert said through the line, “How uh,” he trailed off for a moment, “How heated did you guys get?”

Race shrugged, although Albert couldn’t see him, “I don’t know, pretty ugly?”

A beat, “Did you yell at him?”

Race scrunched his eyebrows, “Yeah, but I mean we were both mad.”

Albert went quiet, thinking for a few more seconds before, “He was in foster care in high school, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you,” Albert clicked his tongue, backtracking, “Maybe, like, whatever reasoning he had to be put into foster care fucked him up? And, like, you shouting rubbed him the wrong way?”

Race felt the blood drain from his face and he straightened his back, a sick feeling spreading throughout his body.

“Oh my god,” He breathed, “You’re right, I bet that’s it. God, I’m awful, oh my god.”

“You didn’t know,” Albert said, softly.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’ta shouted in the first place,” Race shook his head, mad at himself, “He was just tryna look out for me, Jesus.”

“Yeah, we are talking about the fuel to this fight later,” Albert said, firmly, “You were supposed to be done smoking, Racer.”

Race sighed, “Albert, please, not now?”

“Fine,” They lapsed into uncomfortable silence, “Are you okay?”

Race scoffed, “I mean, I’m fine, I guess. This whole thing was my fucking fault so it doesn’t really matter,” a moment later, the door to the bedroom opened and Jack poked his head out, beckoning Race over, “Yo, Jack’s calling me. I’ll catcha later, Al, thanks.”

“Alright,” Albert said, “I’m here for you, dude.”

Race hung up the phone, pocketing it as he crossed over to Jack.

“He’s calmer,” Jack snipped, “But I’m gonna stay with him,” he thrust a blanket into Race’s hand, “Take the couch for tonight.”

Race nodded, wordlessly walking away, dejection and shame causing his shoulders to sag. He set up a small nest for himself on the couch, turning on the TV and mulling over the night’s events until he fell into a fitful sleep.

XXX

“Jack, lay off,” Spot’s scratchy voice came from the bed, where Race could now see he was sitting, eyes puffy and legs drawn up to his chest. He’d woken up early to Jack telling him that Spot was ready to talk. Jack had finally let him into his bedroom, but not before warning him that if he ‘pulled anymore shit, he’d be at Albert’s for the week’.

Jack shook his head and lowered himself into the beanbag chair they kept in the corner of their room.

Race sat on the edge of the bed, trying to formulate his thoughts, but all that came out was, “I’m really fucking sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Spot said, sincerely, “I’m still mad at you for the smoking thing, though.”

Race hung his head, picking at a thread on the bed, “I know.”

The room went quiet, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Race heard Spot take a measured breath and he looked up, “My dad was a drunk shit.”

Race had been expecting an explanation of this sort, but it still felt like someone had taken a hammer to his ribs upon hearing it.

“I don’t really feel like talking about it all right now,” Spot sounded exhausted and utterly defeated, “I’m too fucking tired for that, but I never really bounced back from his shit and hearing people raise their voices, especially men, scares the shit outta me, so for future situations,” he scratched his head, discomfort written on his face as he glanced to Jack, who gave him an encouraging nod, “Could you...not?”

“Absolutely,” Race said, immediately, “I’m really sorry I shouted, I had no right to, anyway. I shouldn’t have lied about quitting and I shouldn’t have taken my embarrassment out on you.”

Spot nodded, “No, you shouldn’ta.”

“I’m sorry,” Race said, genuinely.

“I forgive you,” Spot said, reaching out and squeezing Race’s hand, “Hug?”

“If that’s alright?”

“‘Course,” Spot smiled, pulling Race in and wrapping his arms around his neck. Race melted into his arms, reciprocating the hug with equal amounts of fervor.

“Are we okay?” He mumbled into Spot’s neck.

“Yes, we are,” Spot answered, “But we need to talk about your smoking.”

Race groaned, “Can we just sleep for now?”

“Absolutely.”

Jack stood awkwardly, “I’ll, uh, yeet outta here now, bye guys.”

“Bye, Jack.”

“Bye, Jackie, thank you!”

“No prob, Spottie. Bye, Racer,” the door closed behind him and Race and Spot shared a soft kiss before dozing into a peaceful sleep.

this took me longer than usual im so tired

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @thatpoorguysheadisspinning @tongue-blep-tommy

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#newsies fic #newsies #spot conlon #sprace #racetrack higgins #sad bois #poor spottie #he a scared boi #oof #sorry yall #this is eh #also i have lines due tomorrow that i def dont have memorized so wish me luck

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osmw1 · 6 years ago

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Crowbar Nurse Chapter 1 — Prologue: Travelling Between Worlds Because of my Phone is Normal, Right?

I am a nameless rookie nurse.

My hobby is clearing my mind with video games. In particular, mindless zombie shooters and dating sims that I can enjoy while yapping off with friends are my favorite genres.

… well, it’d be more accurate to say “was”. I ended up being employed by an awful hospital, even though I was super careful with my applications. But because of that, I don’t have any spare time to play my games. I was way above the legal overtime limit but yet, here I was working for free.

Let me go home already… I can’t think straight anymore…

I was tapping away at an outdated computer in the nurses’ station and doing today’s documentation.

The location is Shinjuku. The time, wee hours. A hellhole of a hospital ward with a window to the night outside. The nurses of this ward start their day way too early and end their nights dizzyingly late. Even when neglecting my hunger and hygiene, I can get only four, five hours of precious sleep a day. Such are my circumstances when working hours are this long.

I haven’t really done anything at all lately. I don’t have the time to game or hang out with my friends… the only thing I’ve done other than work is scrolling on my phone…

I silently sighed inside.

Society thinks us nurses to be huge flirts, headstrong, and highly paid. I’m sure there are some out there who are like that. … not me though. I’d say I’m the complete opposite of that.

When I was a teenager, I played games all day and cared too little about looking pretty, leading me straight down the path of being a loner. By the time I did care, I was a university student busy with studying and practicum. Outside of school, my girlfriends and I would be in stupidly high heels and partying like there was no tomorrow.

Though I like talking with people, I was always too timid for my own good. Not only did my seniors always yell at me, I also have literally zero experience in relationships. … I suppose faking it and going to clubs did get me attention from shallow guys, but the thing is that I have never been popular with the opposite sex. That’s why I can’t stand people who are blessed with confidence.

… I’m completely twisted. I know. I’ll probably end up in my thirties with everybody saying that my standards are too unrealistic and no one interested in me…

I sighed out loud this time. And as for the highly paid part? That’s probably not true for me as well. My take home pay is a little over 180,000 with more than 100 hours of unpaid overtime. Still, in this “Land of the Setting Sun”, that’s probably considered well-paid.

There are all sorts of nurses, y’know?

I’m neither well-paid nor well-versed in relationships. I’m just a sham who loves her zombies. I had once prided myself on my love for nursing, but the soul-sucking work as of late led to the flames of my passion burning out. I’m simply a lifeless drone.

Ughhh, I need to let loose and wipe out some zombies… I can’t stand working anymore…

Shoving those memories aside, I begrudgingly returned to recordkeeping. Now, let me describe what a day for a newbie nurse with no time for fun or zombies is like. After five hours of sleep, I wake up and head to my ward. I look up the details of the patients I’m in charge of on the piece of crap computer. Once that’s done, I make sure all the medicine and IV drips are good to go. After handing off things to the night shift, I begin making my rounds. There’s not even a moment spare to get water or go to the washroom. Even when working such a long shift, I say goodbye to lunch breaks if it gets busy. It doesn’t matter your level of seniority, you effectively get only five minutes. If it’s bad, it’s closer to 30 seconds… I fly into the break room, stuff my face with food, and eat it while walking back to the desk. Then, I get back to logging or preparing for the midday debriefing. I’m sure… I’m sure other places are like this too. In every hospital is a ward this depressing.

… oof. Crap. Nearly fell asleep there.

That moment of microsleep was most definitely because of sleep deprivation. The steady chime of the patient monitoring system and the clattering of keyboards from other nurses working overtime fill the room. I glanced at the watch I had stuffed in my pocket—12:30, later than usual.

It’s past midnight already, eh? Still, even when everybody lives around here, Shinjuku at night is still a little dangerous.

Even then, none of us dayshift nurses have gone home yet. That’s just how things work here. I casually looked up from my PC.

Colorful neon signs and lit offices contribute to the dazzling lights in the nightscape. It shone through the window across the hallway from the nurses’ station. Low-intensity aircraft warning lights dotted countless skyscrapers. The red lights on top of the buildings were like a constellation twinkling together. Its beauty never fails to take me out of reality.

… though I may be sleepy, even at this hour, the streets were not. The lights revealed everybody who was still awake.

Until I started working, I never knew the nights of Shinjuku were created and supported by people like me—the slaves to society.

People are used and discarded every day to maintain this beautiful dazzling world.

… and just as that thought floated across my mind, my view of the night sky worrisomely fluttered for a moment.

Hmm…? That’s weird.

I couldn’t tell whether my vision was blurry or that my head wasn’t functioning properly. Though what was very clear was that I was far too tired. Then, I got lightheaded for a split second. As soon as it passed and I breathed a sigh of relief, I clutched my chest in pain.

I’m going to die… oh yeah, I’m totally dying.

As my heart stabbed with every pulse, I took a deep breath only to find my head spinning again.

�� frankly, I’m not doing so well.

This has been a frequent occurrence lately. I hold back the wave of nausea as I struggle to form sentences in my head… then suddenly, the exhausted head nurse rushed over to me in a panic.

“—the management is coming around! Hurry, hide yourself in the linen room!”

Once I realized the head nurse was shouting at me in a quiet voice, she stood me up by my shoulders. And before I knew it, she shoved me into the linen room at the far end of the nurses’ station and slammed the door shut.

… ah, not this again…

I subconsciously sighed. This happens every day in our ward. Basically, it’s to conceal the fact that us newcomers are forced to work overtime. If the head honchos of the nursing department find out, they would chew out the head nurse.

The directive of this sweatshop of a hospital is supposedly to eliminate overtime and, officially, newcomers aren’t forced to do so. That’s why when the head of the department swings by, us newcomers get spirited away.

That’s fine and all, but… damn it. The computers automatically logout after 10 minutes of inactivity, so there goes all my unsaved data…

Looks like I’ll have to redo everything, which means I’m stuck here until at least 1:00. I squatted down and subconsciously sighed again. Guess I don’t have much of a choice but to sleep until they come get me. As I shut my eyes close in exhaustion, I felt a strange vibration coming from my pocket.

… huh? A notification? I thought I turned off my phone…

I doubted myself as I reached into my pocket. When I took a look at my phone, the screen was pitch black but oddly enough, some text was showing.

… hmm, what’s that? Is that English?

The excessive number of symbols made me question whether it was really English or not. It may have been pitch black, but it was just bright enough that I could tell the screen was on. That and the green text showing clued me in on that.

… what’s all this about? Did some super hacker breach my phone? Wait, are there people who hack smartphones in the first place?

I looked down at the screen in confusion… hmm? What? Hold on… The green text scrolled past at a blistering pace. The line practically disappears as soon I tried to read it!

“… what?!”

I was fully awake when I reflexively cried out loud but was still too late to cover my mouth shut. The directors should have still been out there on their patrol. I hope they didn’t hear me.

Whaaaaaaat. Huh?! Augh! What’s going on?!

A scene of pure sci-fi unfolded in front of my very eyes. Talk about a complete one-eighty from my depressing daily life.

No, seriously, am I being hacked? Is this what it’s like? This looks more like magic to me though!

Unfortunately, a Neanderthal who can’t even do basic addition on Excel like me had no idea what was happening. I don’t get it… but I knew that this wasn’t supposed to happen.

sudo…? apt-get install? Hey, hey, hey, hey! Don’t go installing anything weird on my phone without my permission! It’s now asking for a password… and it’s being filled in!

My eyes went wide as ••••• popped up in the password field.

But… I didn’t even do anything…

I was speechless. Then, while my jaw was still on the floor, the door violently swung open… as someone came barelling through.

■Protagonist

The protagonist is a super overworked rookie nurse who was on the verge of dying. Once you get her on the topic of zombie games, she'll yap on for even longer than the intro to The Final Countdown—though it's not an opportune moment right now.

contents: /ch001/ /next/

(leave me a tip on Patreon?)

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years ago

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Roots and Leaves

Eh, I liked this arc. Or. The pain this arc inflicted on people. :) ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN TO TRAGEDY TOWN, SUCKERS!

There’s rain above him, turning the dirt to slick mud that just keeps slipping through his fingers.

God no please not like this not like this-

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe and he knows that not a foot away is air-salvation-life, but he can’t breathe now and-and-

Please not like this-

And his fingers finally breach the topsoil, scrambling in the mud, blood drying in the wind.

* * *

A week earlier…

Jason suspects this wasn’t his brightest idea. Though, really, when your criteria for ‘should I?’ is ‘is it as bad as chasing after the Joker by myself?’…well…you get a lotta leeway, okay? Not many things are that bad.

Besides, it wasn’t for himself.

Okay, so it was a little bit, but not a lot, and…yeah, it was seventy-five percent case and twenty-five percent ‘has Bruce revoked my access yet?’

Answers: he found his perp in Bruce’s database, and he still has access to the Batcomputer’s (why is everything you own Bat-something, B, huh? How old are you, four?) files. Huh, look at that, B’s a sentimental bastard after all. Or he just spaced. That’s more likely. New Robin to train and all that.

Whatever.

He got a bit distracted, testing how far his access went, and ended up in his own files, because he’s a little morbidly curious as to what it says about…about. Y’know.

It was all so clinical, to the surprise of none. Bruce had apparently gone over that tape with a fine-toothed comb like the obsessive bastard he’s always been, and the only things missing were internal injuries and a few of the more subtle-yet-permanent damages like his shoulders. Things that aren’t obvious when you’re sitting quietly in a chair.

Fucker. Jason’s still wondering if Bruce spent more time cataloging the damn tape than he spent looking for him.

He’d been about to click out (he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Wayne Manor to punch Bruce in the face, he doesn’t, he swears on his own unused grave) when he’d spotted the ‘leads’ tab.

Eh. He probably put it there in case Alfred was looking over his shoulder or somethin’. Like bringing up a Wikipedia article when you were about to get busted playing Solitaire instead of working on your essay.

But Jason’d clicked on it, and, well…

Well.

It’s more extensive than he’d thought. He’s not sure how to feel about that. Bruce had been close, a couple’a times-questioned the right guards, even, if he’d just questioned ‘em again a month or two later, after the Joker bought ‘em off…

He hopes that fact keeps him up at night.

He continues to scroll. Lotta dead ends, lotta close calls, lotta where the hell did you get THAT idea? And he’s just about to sign out when his eyes flash across, of all places, the school Bruce’d left him at for all of three days after he caught him with that tire iron in hand.

Wasn’t that place closed?

Apparently not. Wow. Only in Gotham, man, only in Gotham-what’s that?

It’s a link to the ‘genetics’ page Bruce made him fill out at the very beginning. He’s still torn between finding a little creepy and admitting that it’s kinda practical. What’s interesting about it now, though, is that there’s been some editing done.

What the hell? Did some long-lost relative crop up? An amnesiac or something?

Sheila Haywood, the name reads. And next to it, relation-mother.

What? He feels his lips hitch up in that stupid rabbit-expression (he can’t help it, SHUT UP) he gets when he’s really confused. Mom (?) used to laugh and call him Bugs.

This makes no sense at all. Bruce must’a had a period of insanity or somethin’. He has exactly two parents (well, three and a half-Alfred counts as something and Bruce…once upon a time, maybe…), and this Sheila Haywood is not one of them. He even looks a bit like Catherine-same hair, same eyes.

But.

But Willis had those features too, didn’t he.

Jason shoves the laptop away from him and takes a few deep breaths. This is ridiculous. Bruce makes mistakes. Obviously-look at him, huh? This is one he hasn’t caught, that’s all. Hasn’t looked further because there’s no reason to look further. Sheila probably just…maybe she came forward looking for money or something, that’s a thing. Happens all the time.

He pulls the laptop back, after a few minutes, and opens the file. It’s not a big one-name, birthday, picture (he doesn’t look like her, she’s blonde and bright-eyed and pretty) and…associates.

Joker. Ah. That relationship is over, according to Bruce-there had been blackmail involved. Well, there’s that lead explained. Dead end, too. She’d been free of the clown for over a year, before Jason ever…

Bruce is mistaken. That’s all. Willis knew a lotta people, for fuck’s sake, he’d never been…Mom had always been upset. Y’know.

His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why. This isn’t anything. This is a mistake, Bruce makes them all the time. Look at him. God, look at…look at Babs, if Bruce hadn’t made the mistake of givin’ Joker a thousand and one chances, she wouldn’t be…

Sheila Haywood smiles awkwardly at him from her driver’s license picture. The last time Bruce updated this file was…maybe six months after he disappeared. At the time, she’d been living in a middle-income apartment close to Gotham General-her place of work, apparently.

What does it matter anyway, huh? Catherine was his mom, even at the end when she barely recognized him anymore. And she hadn’t done somethin’ stupid enough to get Joker-blackmail, either. So there.

He mashes the little red ‘X’ in the corner and flings himself backwards to reach his bottle of Fanta (Fanta, don’t ya want-a?). Fucking Bruce. Why does he have to leave that kinda stuff lyin’ around, huh? It’s over. It’s done. Archive it or whatever and find somethin’ new to brood over. Like Dick’s poor fashion choices. (His hair’s growing dangerously near mullet territory again…if he steps one spandex-clad toe into Crime Alley, Jason’s tackling him and taking an electric razor to that before it can evolve into its final form. Never again. Gotham doesn’t deserve that.) Priorities, old man. Priorities.

His Fanta’s half-flat and he scowls, blames Bruce for distracting him and making him forget to drink it while it was still bubbly, and takes a sad swig anyway.

As it turns out, the Fanta isn’t all that flat and with his head hanging partly off the couch, it, uh, gets near his nose. The fizzy feeling makes him gag and jam his tongue against the roof of his mouth to try and stop it.

He should’ve just had tea. Soda’s too much risk.

He sets the bottle aside, glares at it so it knows its blame, and stretches. There’s a neat pop-pop-pop along his spine, followed by a nasty knock in his right hip that forces a startled gasp out of him, and then blessed silence.

Well. For Gotham. Somebody’s screaming at somebody in traffic below.

Never change…

Mom used to shut the window, even if that made it stifling inside. Said she didn’t want Jason picking up any of those words. Joke was on her, a little bit-the ancient Russian lady that used to watch him now and then taught him everything he ever needed to know. Bruce…had not been enthused when Jason’s ‘I know Russian!’ turned out to mean ‘I know how to tell you, your dog, and your mother-in-law to fuck a rotten egg in Russian!’

What? He hadn’t specified.

His computer glows at him, the background of Jane Austen’s signature looking starker than ever, and he lets his head fall completely off the couch, feels the blood start rushing to it.

Sheila Haywood is, uh, Joker-free now, right? Not working with Harley Quinn or whatever? Harley can be scary as fuck when she wants to be.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it is completely irrelevant to him. Bruce made a mistake. It happens. Or the Replacement had that idea. Or Dick. Yes. That’s all.

But he’s still going to check, because he always checks on past Joker associates, in case they’re sleepers or anything. Look at that one infected guy…Henry or whatever.

S’a matter of public safety. That’s all.

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #Jason's curiosity is going to get him into trouble one of these days #Arkhamverse #sort of #you know me I mash canons together into a canon meatloaf #Roots and Leaves

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lillaxtrigger · 6 years ago

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Young hope: Chapter 14

Out in the dusty wastes stood a lone diner on the side of the road. Outside were a pack of black vehicles parked out in its lot. At the outdoor tables sat various well dressed agents, eating breakfast with one another. “So, you hook up with Jimmy on the weekend or what? Bet you guys were pounding on each other all night.” one of them asks, piercing his fork through his eggs. “Naw man, too much to drink. I just went home and slept off my hangover.” “You gotta lay of the scotch, mate. It’s killing your social life.” A miserable groan escapes the officer, affirming with; “I know. It’s the tenth time I skipped out on Jimmy. Wouldn’t blame him if he just moved on with his life. I’ve been trying rehab these past few month, but it’s been doing jack shit to my…to my...”. “Jack shit to you’re what, bro?” “Hold on. Think I see something.” The agent pulls out a pair of binoculars and looks out towards the horizon. His other looks behind and wonder what his partner might be trying to view. Out in the distance, a single speck leaving behind a trail of dust crawls its way up the road. It seemed to heading towards the diners direction. “Holy shit!” the agent with binoculars exclaims. “What? What da ya see?” The agent hands his partner the binoculars and tell him to: “Take a look for yourself.” Peeking through the spectacle, he witnesses a long haired man of Asian descent dressed ridding through the roads on a motor bike. “Is that fucking Chase Young!?” “It’s motherfucking Chase Young, bitch!?” “We gotta warn the boss!” At his partners request, one of the agents hurries into the diner.

Sitting upon the counter stools, an orange haired man munches on his morning ham. On his side, a green haired woman sips on her morning cup of joe. The other, a white haired man, enjoying the rich creamy taste of his bagel Around them, countless other agents enjoy their various breakfasts, laughter and merriment ensuing throughout the humble diner. The agent outside rushes inside, stirred in a panic as he swiftly approaches the trio sat upon the counter. “Boss! Boss! You’re never gonna...” On the verge of his terrible warning, the man come down with a maddening cough. The man in the middle hands the agent his glass of milk to quell the coughing fit. Swigging down the morning drink, he soon continues with his dire message. “You’re never...gonna guess who’s coming up on the horizon. It’s Chase Young.” The happiness and joy that waved through the airs of the diner are cut down in an instant upon hearing the very name. The three sitting upon the counter are unfazed by the news, the man in the middle gazing beyond the agent that ran inside.

A smooth, yet sinister voice rings out, greeting with: “It’s been such a long time since we last met, hasn’t it Todd.” The agent looks behind him and sees the infamous man right upon his back, jumping backwards and landing on the floor as he crawls back. “Or would you prefer your other alias...Agent 344.” A faint smile forms upon the head agents lips, them greeting the villain before him with; “Hey there Chase. Mind telling me what brings you here on this fine morning? If your planning to settle the score, I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied with breakfast at the moment.” “Another day. I come baring a piece of news. News that you in particular might be interested in.” Pulling out a tablet, the infamous malefactor scrolls through the page of a news website. “A day ago, an article came out concerning a troubling development within a quaint metropolis called Townsville, one that was ultimately solved by a group of teenagers, would you believe it. Normally I have little to no interest in the affairs of measly worms, but someone in the article fancied my eye.” Presenting the front of the device to the trio, the tablet showed a news feed featuring an article with the catching tagline: “Local high schoolers solve kidnapping crisis” The picture aside the reading featured a group of teens standing in the front of the town hall, earning the mayors congratulations. “One of them reminded me a lot of you when you first confronted me.” 3 kids within the shot draw the trios attention, Todd himself left quite astonished. A blue haired young man dressed in white, a smile planted across his face. A purple haired youth missing an arm, his depressed glare drawing away from the camera. An orange haired lass sporting overalls, a fake grin to hide her hints of worry. “Isn’t that...” the white haired man wonders. “Well, I’ll be damn.” the green haired woman goes. Upon the site of the blue boys goofy demeanor, the famous agent gives his own smirk. “Nice going kids. You’re on your way.” The tablet returning Chases person, he hears his adversary deliver his own message. “Well Chase...If you just came out all this way just to show me that...” Most of the agents within the diner compose themselves, ready for anything. “Then I’m afraid I just can’t let you leave here...not like this.”.

A bowl of banana split ice creams slams itself down upon the counter. The infamous villain stares down upon the potassium enriched dessert as Todd and the green haired girl sit aside. His rivals laughter filling his ears before the agent insists: “Come on Chase, eat up! It a party. Dig in.” Grasping the desert spoon aside the bowl, he turns his gaze over to the beatific man to his side and questioning: “Didn’t you just eat have breakfast?” “Aw, come on. Who cares? There’s always time for ice cream, right.” the famous agent remarks before chomping down on a Neapolitan ice cream sandwich. Looking through the surrounding diner, Chase partook in the view of the opposing agents around him enjoying themselves to the variety of desserts. From frozen bars, to ice cream cones. From bowls full, to ice cream cake, everyone seem to be in glee over their frozen dairy treats. With this site, the villainous man shrugs off the odd circumstance and scoops up a spoonful of the split set before him. The sweet cooling flavor of the treat relieves his senses.

“So, how have things been, Chase? Those kids of yours doing well?” “Drake and Shen Mi have been doing quite well in their training. Steadily growing these past several years.” “How old are those two now? Last I check, Drake was around 12, I think?” “Drake and Shen Mi are both 19 and 13 respectively.”. “That old, eh? Heh...Kids growing up so fast.” “What about your kids, Todd?” the green haired woman woman. “Mine, well…I-” “Do you even remember the last time you’ve seen your family?” the white haired man adds. “God, I can’t remember. It’s been years since I last visited them...maybe around 10 or so? SUPERIOR’s always got me flying around the world. Always something happening. Sure do miss them.” “You could always retire.” Chase suggests. Upon letting out a light chuckle upon the notion, the agent mentioning how: “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Chase?” Letting out a heavy sigh at the end of his laughter, Todd looks looks upon the sheen of the counter top. He’s met with his own heavy expression in the reflection of the marble as he declines with: “Nah. With all the heroes around retired to raise their own families or pursue their dreams, someones still gotta be around to protect the world. I’d love more then anything to go back home to my family…They probably hate me for leave them for so long…But...”. Lifting his gaze above the counter, he then shares his thoughts for the future. “It’s a hope of mine that with this new generation, a league of heroes may rise and take the mantle. And let me catch a break.” “Lest you forget, that with a new league of heroes, and alliance of villains shall form among them.” Chase warns. “Yep, but...I’ll just leave them with the new kids...” Withdrawing a deep breath into his lungs, Todd cuts back with: “In the mean time… What say we cheer for the success of the new generation?” With that claim, Todd presents his ice cream treat to his longtime rival in a similar manner one would toast a wine glass. Chase gives a slight smile and returns the gesture with his dessert spoon. “To the new generation.”

Within the shadow of a lone room, a single light shines down upon Roy as he prowls through a table full of documents and pictures; the laptop at the end logged onto a magical siting forum. “That bitch has to be out there somewhere. I ain’t stopping til I find her.” the purple merc growls. The door behind him opens, pouring in natural daylight from behind a dark figure. The purple merc blocks his eyes from the glow, the sunshine irritating his vision. “Roy, what are you doing in here?” a familiar voice rings out. The boys vision adjusting to the natural glow, he finds Mally awaiting in the doorway. “Oh, hey Mal. Just trying to track down the fiery cunt of a witch that took my arm’s all. How you doing?” “How am I? Roy, you haven’t left this room for several days. You haven’t been to school or your mercenary job. Plus you stink. Like actually stink. For hell almighty man, take a fucking shower!” the girl demands. “Pfft, fuck school, always waking me up in the middle of classes, keep telling them that’s how I learn shit, but they don’t listen. And my merc work can wait. Aside from the money I send to my mom, I got cash to burn for months on end. I ain’t coming outta this room, til find that magical bitch beast.” “And what’s you’re plan once ya do find her, huh? Kill her?” “Oh, I ain’t just gonna kill her. I’m just gonna collect the debt she owes for inflicting me with my newly found disability: one freshly ripped off arm. Might just attach it to where she blast mine off after I beat her to death with it. How’s that for irony!?” Roy declares. “Insanity be more like it.” the voice in his head pipes up. “I’m not insane! You’re insane dammit! You been driving me crazy ever since you wormed your way into my head!” Holy shit. This is worse then the orange haired skater feared. She could not help but stare in wide eyed disbelief as her purple brother screamed to himself. Turning back to the desk with a composing breath, Roy insisted that: “If both of you will excuse me. I got work to get back to.”

Letting out a sigh herself, Mally declares to the violet mercenary: “I guess I can’t really get you outta here, can I? Not unless I offer this!”. “Offer wha-!” A gaze back to his adopted sister had shown her in possession of Roy’s purple hood, nearly restored to its former glory, baring the only exception being the stitched up arm socket. A longing stare painted across the mercs face, he begins to slowly approach, his single arm reaching out for his treasured apparel. “You...You fixed my hoodie? Even stitched up the arm hole.” “Yep, took Tore a couple days, but he knitted and patched it up as good as new.” “Gimme Gimme Gimme!” Roy rapidly demands as he reaches for the hoodie. Mally halts his desires to reunite with his beloved hood, putting her hand over his face as he tries to nab the article of clothing. “Come on. Just let me have it, already!” “Ah ah ah! Not so fast. You want this back, you gotta do as I say.” her sister demands, pushing him away. “Oh piss off!” “Don’t you piss off me! I’m doing this for your own good. Unless you rather not see your precious hoodie again? Probably best to donate to a needy child who can use it to shield themselves from the bitter cold of the nightly air.” “Just go with the girl. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge her.” the voice urges. The purple merc lets out a loud groan as he claws his own face, admitting defeated. “Fine, you win. What do ya want me to do?” “First, you’re gonna do everyone around the block a huge favor and take a god damn shower already. After that, I’m taking you on a little trip.”

Right after cleaning himself off, Mally led the purple merc to the dwellings of Serena’s shop. Colorfully enchanted fumes rise from the alchemic bottle and beakers as the brewing witch herself sort through her assorted collection of elixirs. “So, got anything that might help us out?” her orange haired customer wonders. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything that can aid your missing limb dilemma. However, I do hold an assortment of anxiety and stress relief potions among my wares. Care to try any of those? Both girls gazes turned towards Roy, he lets out an apathetic breath and admits: “Whatever. Got nothing to lose. Hit me.” Tossing a blue elixir towards the boy, the merc catches it in mid air and pops the top off. “Bottoms up.” he decrees before drinking the entire bottle. “Um...” Serena tries to chime in, worry drawn on her face. After he down the last drop of the mystic elixirs, Mally stands curious and asks if he’s: “Feeling anything?” A glance at the front of the bottle, the label show itself to read: “Anxiety antidote”. “Not really, just this weird burning sensation in my sto-” Suddenly, the boy drops the bottle and covers his mouth; the glass shatters to piece upon impact with the concrete floor. “Roy! What’s the matter!? Is it working?”. The boys face turning a shade of navy, a bellow of blue flames spout from his maw, illuminating the basement in a soft cerulean glow.

After that sudden fiery expulsion, Roy starts coughing up blue smoke in the aftermath as Serena puts out the leftover flares. “What the hell happened!?” Mally exclaims. “I’m...not sure. I’ve never seen something like this happen before. Then again, I’ve never seen anybody down an entire bottle, so that might explain it.” the witch concludes.

Clearing his lungs of any pollution, he takes a much needed breather and remarks with: “God damn, my throat hurts.” “Feeling any better?” Mally asks. “Hmm...” Wondering if the potion that he had just injected had any psychological effect, he test such a theory, by taking a glimpse of the spot where his left arm use to firmly sit and concludes that: “Nope. Nothing.” “Huh...Kay Serena, bring the next bottle.” “What!? Aw hell naw! You’re not making me chug another one of those things down!” Roy denies. “Don’t worry. You should be totally fine...Barring you don’t gulp down the whole thing.” Serena reinforces as she pulls out an orange potion.

After letting out an irritated groan, he takes the elixir from the witches hands. Drinking the citrus mixture by a couple gulps, his mouth smacks at the taste. “Anything?” Mally wonders. “Is this orange sod-” Before Roy’s answer could fully escape, a sudden pain inflicts the boy, his palms resting upon his temples. Out from the boys purple noggin, tree branches sprouted from the sides of his head; the sudden imbalance causes him to fall to the floor. Looking down upon the merc, she wonders if they should continue with this increasingly endangering elixir endeavor. “Mmm...Maybe one more.”

A quick saw and file of the wood later and Roy takes a seat back, rubbing the temples of his head to check if not a splinter was left. Serena presents him with one more potion to try Serena him to: “Try this one.” Staring into the purple hue of the elixir, he swipes the drink from the brewers grasp, settling with: “Fuck it. Third times the charm.” Taking in a cautious sip of the brew, he proves careful to only let a few drips of the potion down. “Well?” Mally wonders. A few moments come to pass before the next predicament unfolds itself. Roy begins to tremor furiously; the vibrations that the boy gives off shake the entire shop. “What is happening!?” Mally asks. “My precious shop!” Serena panics. The bottles and beakers set all throughout the room the begin to shake, the countless glass clacking with one another. Serena acts fast to catch any bottles that venture off the shelves and threaten to break upon the hard concrete floor. “Roy! Make this stop!” It takes not a single moment for the merc to resolve this quaking predicament. Floating above the concrete to halt the earthquake, the shop ceases to shake in conjunction. The ladies in the room share a sigh of relief once the quake had stopped in its tracks. “Glad that didn’t last long. For a second there, I thought the whole house was gonna come down on…What-what are you doing?” Mally turning to her purple brother, she finds Roy to be still vibrating among the air. “I DoN’t KnOw.” he admits, the uncontrollable shaking distorting his voice. She approaches the purple angel and with but a simple connecting touch, the house begins to tremble once more. Quickly withdrawing her grasp, she shakes off any leftover vibration and turns back to the witch. “Is this supposed to happen?” “No. All of the potions we tried seem to be rejecting him. I don’t know why. I doubt any more might work.”

“That’s it! I’m bouncing outta this goddamn brew bonanza!” the boy shakes on objections. “Wait! Wait! Roy! Roy! Listen. We’ve only just started. Ya can’t give up now.” “Why? You heard her. None of these potions will do jack shit for me.” “I know, but I got other friends I can take you to. This recovery cruise ain’t sunk yet.” “Fine. But this whole shaking shit fit better not last long.” “Oh, don’t worry. The potions effects should wear off momentarily...maybe.” “Alright, lets get going.” Hearing Serena give a fake cough, both turn towards the witch to find her presenting her awaiting palm. “Those potions weren't exactly free.” Catching a quick glance from his orange haired sister, Roy pulls out his wallet with an escaping groan.

Once the shaking had ceased, the two head over to another one of Mally’s friends, hoping a certain boney buddy of hers can help with Roy’s endeavor.

Inspecting the spot where the young man’s arms once stood, Vivian lets out a pondering; “Hmmm” “So, think you can do anything?” Mally asks them. “Damn, you were right. It is just gone. Not even a fucking stump’s left.” After her less then thorough inspection is complete, she attempts to comfort the disabled angel. “Anyway, Best not piss yourself, mate. My arm pops off all the time. It ain’t that bad.” “Doesn’t yours reattach?” Roy responds. “I’m sure yours can too. Just gotta sow the damn thing back on. Where’s you’re arm anyway?” “Disintegrated.” “Oh...Well fuck, guess that’s out the window.” “Ain’t there something you can do.” Mally wonders. “Ummm” A quick moment to wonder and an idea pops into the skeletons head. With a quick part of their socket, Vivi sticks their skeletal arm onto where Roy’s once sat, the merc irking upon the sudden attachment. Gazing towards the newly attached limb, the merc finds the arm to be uncomfortably dug into his person. “Um...”.= “There we go. Now you looking damn spiffy, son.” “Don’t you need that?” Mally worries. “It ain’t for keeps. Just letting him borrow it. He gets it on weekends, and I keep it the rest of the week. How’s that sound, big guy?” Roy stands, taking in the site of the boney limb as it moves about without his input. With the limb giving him a thumbs up, Roy concludes that: “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work.” “Why not?” Mally questions. “Yeah! Think you’re too good for my arm, asshole!?” “Well, beside the fact that it can easily shatter in my line of work, I need a limb that I can reliably control. Especially in a fight. This, ain’t gonna cut it.”. The boney limb suddenly falling out of Roy’s socket, he adds: “Also that.” “Fucking...Jeez.” Vivi quietly remarks. “Well, guess we’ll go somewhere else. Sorry for wasting your time Viv.” Mally apologizes. “Hold the fucking phone. I might have one more thing I can try. Hate to use the damn thing, but for you Mally, I’m willing to give it a shot.” “Okay, what is it?” “Just...wait there for a second. Kay?” Vivi says before rushing out of the living room.

Once Vivi absconds from the living room, Roy turns to his sister with a sudden suggestion. “I’m not sure we should stick around.” “Roy, listen. I know Vivi can act, uh...Bluntly...but they can really come through for us in a pinch. Trust me. You just gotta relax.” A sharp blade enters Mally’s line of site, coming into the living room attached to a black pole. Vivi soon enters, the scythe firmly in their grip. “Okay, lets get this shit done, bitches!” “Uh Vivi, what are you plan on doing with that scythe?” “Listen kid, I appreciate you trying to evening me out. But I’d rather have the arm I have left, thank you.” “No no no, listen. This ain’t just some regular ass scythe, see. It’s powered by the souls of the damned.” “Liking the plan so far.” Roy adds. “And I’m gonna try and use it to make ya sprout a new arm.”. “Are you sure you know how to use that?” Mally questions. “Duh, of course. I saw my grim reaper bitch use it a ton a times.” Wielding the scythe like a rifle, she aimed the tip with the blade towards the purple merc. “Now hold still while I shoot ya ass.” “Hang on! I don’t know if this is gonna hurt-”

A lime green ray sprouts out of the tip of the scythe at the merc, sending waves of nightmarish energy coursing through his very being. As this horrible process was developing, screams of pain escape Roys mouth, muffled by the sounds of screaming souls. The zapping finished, the young man falls in a smoking mess, Mally rushing to his aid. “Roy!” She lift the merc from the floor, concerning with: “You feeling okay?” “Yeah, think I’m fine.” “Feel any different?” Vivi asks. “Don’t think so. Just this weird feeling on my left sid-” An intense feeling suddenly befalls the young man, urging him to grasp the spot where his arm was; grunts of pain slipping past his teeth. Witnessing her brothers side convulse and, Mally slowly begins to back away wondering out loud: “What’s happening!?” “Guess the scythes working its magic.” Vivi guesses. The young mans grunts evolve into full blown screams as he writhes on the living room carpet, his left side violently pulsating. At long last, something erupts out from Roy’s arm spot, flying across the living room and landing behind the arm chair with a squishy plop. Nearing him once more, Mally inspects Roys left, finding no visible injuries to speak of. No blood, no guts, cuts, bruises, but alas, not even a nub to pass for a limb; the side completely clean. “Roy, a-are you alright?” she cautiously worries. “Auugh! Fuckin hell, that hurt!”

Amidst reviewing her recovering brother, the orange haired skater hears her skeletal friend attempting got nab their attention with: “What is it?” Mally asks, turning to the half skeleton, finding Vivi’s disgusted gaze to be fixated behind the chair. Leaving the purple mercs side to approach, she looks to where Vivi’s site was locked; horrified by what she had found. “What is that?” Mally questions in a contemptuous fashion. “I have...no fucking clue.” After recovering from his painful agony, Roy gets up and takes to the others side, wondering: “Ahh...What are you two going on about back he-...What in the ever loving name of hell is that horrid pile of shit?” Before the abhorrent felt trio stood a small mound of skin and flesh, laid in a pile behind the arm chair. “Did...that come out of me?” “Guess...Guess it did.” Mally stutters to answer. “The hell do you think we should do with it?” Vivi questions, poking the horrid heap of meat with the blunt end of the scythe. Upon the constant nudges, the terrifying beef mound begins to rapidly convulse; all of them stepping away and anxiously awaiting what the wayward meat might do. All of them look on with utter repugnance as the flesh before them sprouts a countless set of limbs from its sides. A jagged set of chompers rip open upon its top, a gurgling scream escaping the newly formed maw. With its newfound appendages, the terrible flesh blob scuttles out of the living room. “...That ain’t good, is it?” Mally wonders. “Nope.” Roy reinforces. “Quick, after it!” Vivi commands.

Peeking within the confines of the clean kitchen, the trio scan around for any signs of the meaty heap. Cautiously, they slowly enter the cooking area, preparing themselves for wherever their horrid hunt might pop out. Mally turns to the aid of her purple brother, hope that he might sense its presence. “Alright, Roy. Where do you think it might be?” “No clue.” “What do you mean no clue? Can’t you sense its energy or something?” “It’s a pile of undead flesh. Can’t sense its life force if it doesn’t got any. Take ya friend for example. Can tell they’re not playing with a full tank if you catch my drift.” “Hey, piss off, my tank is plenty full.” Vivi retaliate.

Mally ventures about the kitchen, wondering where the grotesque pile of inhuman matter scurried to. The sound of soft gargling coming from above, she looks atop the fridge, finding their prey burying itself with the contents of a cookie jar. “Guys. Look. I found it.” she whispers to her friends. Taking in a view of the preoccupied undead before them, Roy readies his aim, the mercs pointing finger prepared to fire. “Careful. Just need to take the shot while it’s-” “I gots this!” Vivi blurts. The sudden shout alerts everyone in the room towards Vivi’s direction, including the mound of flesh as it lift itself from the jars contents. The half skeleton bolts towards the ice box, brandishing the unholy sycthe in their hands. Their orange haired amigo jumps aside from their readying upward slash, astonished how cleanly of a cut the weapon had made to the appliance. “Did I get the little shit?” Vivi asks. Aside themselves, the disgusting abomination scuttles across the counter top. “Hit the deck!” the two hear Roy warn, aiming his finger towards their escaping target. Quickly ducking under, the duo evade the purple mercs shadowy beams. Several shot are fired in the meat monsters direction, each shot missed breaking a part of the kitchen. In it’s escape, the flesh growth could be seen scuttling out towards the hallway. Mally jumps over the counter, wielding her hockey stick in pursuit of the small horror.

In her chase, the hockey wielding hero attempts to quell the undead blobs venture, swinging her weapon about the cramped walls of the hall. None of her attempts succeed, instead shattering and breaking the picture frames decorating the hallway in her failed assault. Dammit! Just stand still already!

The orange haired lasses pursuit of the nightmarish imp leads her into the confines of a strange bedroom, taken aback by the bizarre décor laid strewn within the dwelling. Whoa, what the hell’s going on in this part of the neighborhood? Glowing sphere, weird looking statue, odd shaped necklaces around the mirror. Almost like the lass had stepped into the chamber of a mystic gypsy. Its a wonder if some of this stuff is even man made. Right in Mally’s peaking wonder, Vivi rushes inside in a maddening fluster. “Hey, hey, hey! Why the hell are ya trying snoop through my room for!?” “I-I saw that flesh thing come in here.” “Alright, lets waist this bitch, where’d it-...What-...what’s with all this weird junk?” Roy questions. Gazing towards the night stand, the merc finds a glowing crystal ball; the terrible souls within streaking through the gemstone. “Is that a mother fucking soul sphere? Where the bleeding hell did you nab one a those?” “Just get the hell outta my room! I’ll draw out the little bastard out and you flank it!” Vivi demands in a red fluster. “Aight, jeez!”

Both guest having absconded from her dwellings, Vivi slams the door shut with a nervous sigh. God, why did that damn fleshy piece of corpse shit have to crawl its way in here? The better question being where said cadaver imp might be lurking. A quick protrude through their closet shows the meat mound to not be hiding within. Ain’t there. Looking under her bed proved to be useless, as the creature was nowhere down there. Not there either. Dammit, where the hell is it hiding? Hearing the sound of scuttling steps behind them, the half skeleton turns about to find a glimpse of her hunt taking shelter behind the dresser. Gotcha now, bitch. With little hesitance or caution, Vivi slashes the scythe down upon their dresser, the wooden drawer splitting in half. They catch the undead horror show scurrying away from the broken piece of furniture and fleeing towards the back of the bed. No you don’t! A reckless swipe towards the soft mattress and the bed was sliced in two, the sentient growth crawling its way to the ceiling fan. Come on! Once more, Vivi wields the damned weapon, swinging the sharp blade overhead. The strike sends the fan crashing upon her person as the meaty monster scuttles away. God dammit!

Vivi’s two guests await to ambush the horrid mess of flesh outside the bedroom, the occasional echo of destruction reaching beyond the door. “So, you see anything in that girl or what?” the purple merc asks his orange haired sister. “Who, Vivi? Well, uh...She nice, cool, hyperactive, crazy. I like her a lot.” “A lot, huh? More then that red head your thirsty for?” “Chloe? No, I- Pfft, thirsty? What makes you think I like Chloe like that?” Mally attempts to deflect with a bombastically fake laughter. Not a single word escapes Roys tongue, his obviously knowing look being more then enough of a response. Her fake guffaw quickly dies down, and is soon replaced with a weary sigh as she wonders: “Is it that blatant?” “Oh, your thirst for red cream soda is very clear.” “I-I mean, Vivi’s really really awesome, but...I’m just holding out for Chloe. Ya know?” “Why not just have both of them? Like a...banana, strawberry and cherry fruit punch Sunday.” “A-at the same time!? I-I don’t know. I haven’t even had one girlfriend before. Not sure I could handle two at once.” Mally responds, her face red like a tomato. “Come on. How hard can it be? I mean I hookup with more then one person from time to time.” “Flings don’t count Roy. I mean like actual relationships. Have you ever actually been in one that wasn’t just a hookup?” “Um...Well...Oh, there was-...No wait, that didn’t happen...Huh...Guess not.” “Then may you ain’t the best guy to give out advice like that, are ya?” “Probably.”

Right then and there is when the bedroom door unexpectedly slices in half, the fleshy horror, scuttling past in their surprise. “Quick! Get it!” Vivi shouts.

Quick to the chase is Mally, who witnesses the hunt retreat back to the living room. Back at the scene of the crime, the hockey wielding hero spots terrifying growth upon the TV screen. Hurling her weapon towards her target, the horrid creature scurries away from the flying stick that instead impales itself in the television. Vivi is next to enter the scene, locking her site onto the living pile of flesh as it crawls behind the couch. The strawberry blonde flails their blade at the monster, slicing the sofa in pieces as she finds the mound of meat scurrying away. Roy comes in not a moment sooner, finding the abomination born from his flesh held up on the ceiling. Swiftly, the merc waist no time dispatching his hell spawn with a full blown blast of darkness, but blowing a massive hole in Vivi’s roof in the destructive process.

Vanquishing the hideous growth, the three bask in the pleasurable cloudy sky above from the broken roof. “Huh...guess that fucking happened. Maybe another might work.” Vivi wonders, aiming the scythe once more towards Roy. “No!” both of their guests blurt out. “I-I mean. No, thanks Vivi. I’m sure you’ve done all you could. We’ll just go somewhere else for help.” Mally tries to relay. “Alright, but my parents are gonna freak the fuck out when they see their house trashed like a crack junkies favorite hiding spot. Probably cost them upwards of...I don’t know, 10,000 bucks or some shit.” “Oh, We’ll be happy to cover for any damages to your home might’ve received. Right Roy?” Mally avows, looking towards her one armed brother. An irritated growl escapes the purple mercs mouth as he reluctantly takes out his wallet once more.

Upon exiting from the abode, Roy tells Mally: “Right, now if there ain’t no more torturous situations you want to parade me through today, I going back home. Wasted enough time and money as is.” “Hang on! I’m nowhere near done yet. There’s still a couple more people I wanna take you to.” “Oh come on, who else could you possibly have left to put me through the wringer?”

“Of course I’d be happy to help.” Kingsley happily offers. “Your kidding, right? Why’d you drag me to his sexy twink ass? I already said I don’t want a robot arm. It’d break the first moment I’d punch some bastards jaw clean off.” “No, but I can help in others ways. I’m not just a technician, you know.” “Just give him a shot, Roy. He has pulled off miracles for us before. Maybe he can with you.” Mally advises. “Fine. Work you’re magic, miracle worker.” “See Roy, your problem is that your obsession for revenge is purely a psychological affair. No amount of potions or magic can fix that. What you need is a good old fashioned psycho analysis.” “And you’re gonna be my psychiatrist? You even certified?” Roy questions. “Well...Not exactly. But I’ve been meaning to get into psychiatry for a while now. This could be just the dive in I need.” Turning towards his sister, the purple merc is greeted with a sincere smile, a clear sign of desiring acceptance. “Just give him a chance. You never know if might actually help.” the voice in Roys head echoes. Letting out weary groan, he surrender to the prospect of therapy. “Fine, lets just gets circus performance over with.”

Resting upon the gentle memory foam of the boy geniuses bed, Roy lets himself sink into the softness of the mattress. “This beds comfy as balls.” At the bedside, Kingsley himself sits with laptop in lap, ready to take note of whatever psychological info may sprout. “Right, so where should we start first? Childhood? Job? Mental state? Hit me.” Roy offers. “How about we not go down those revenues today. For now, lets just talk about your arm. How did losing your arm make up feel?” “Pissed. How else?” “Okay, um. In what way? Like sad angry, crazy angry, what?” “Angry angry.” “Alright, rough start. That’s fine. Um, how do you feel about, hnn...Circe?” Kingsley asks. “Probably same as you do. I mean she did shoot a hole in your chest.” “Oh, so you’re feeling really scared about her. Is that right?” “What, no. I’m talking revenge. Getting her back for what she did to you.” “Okay, but uh…Are you sure that revenge is the best option?”. “Are you saying that she shouldn’t pay for what she almost did to our friends?” Roy rebuttals. Failing to muster a response, all Kingsley could do was stare nervously at his patient. “Hmm...”.

Outside, Mally awaits for the session to end via a makeshift waiting area; a small bowl of delicious suckers rest upon a table between the seat. Sweeping the bowl of sweets in her grasp, she digs through the various flavors, hoping to uncover the one she desires. Come on. It’s gotta be in here. Pulling out a cherry sucker, the orange hair lasses face beams with joy. Yes. The tarty sweetness of the red fruit is always a taste to enjoy. Hesitating not a moment longer, she unwraps the little treat and pops the candy into her mouth. As she enjoys the succulent flavors of the sucker, a voice chimes in from her side, asking the lass: “What are you doing?” A gaze to her left gives her a view of Cayenne staring her down. “Just waiting for Roy’s to get through his therapy session.” she responds. “Therapy?” “Yeah. Kingsley helping Roy get over his lost arm.” “Huh. Didn’t think Kingsley was a therapist. Maybe he can sort my shit out when he’s done.” Cayenne wonders, taking the seat next to her guest. “Got some issues to work out?” “Some.” “Wanna talk about em?” “Nope.” Failing to bait anymore words forward, Mally instead offers the bowl of suckers to the spice queen. Cayenne glances down the dish full of tasty treats, tempting at the prospect of picking a flavor.

“How about we just go through some hypotheticals, huh? What’s you’re plan on tracking her down.” the purple mercs psychiatrist wonders. “Well, I’ve been going through police reports, sightings, forum boards, deep web searches, all the nooks and crannies I can stick my dick into non stop.” “And how long have you’ve been at this?” “Don’t know, about several days now.” “How all that working out for you?” Roy averts his gaze from him upon the question, not a single answer escaping from his mouth. An all too clear sign to the novice therapist that his patient is hesitant to admit his lack of progress. “Nothing, huh?” Again, the one armed merc fails to muster a single word, only giving his therapist a disappointed groan for a response. “Roy. That’s fine. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not gonna find somebody in hiding in about a week.” Seeing his patient refusing to even glance in his direction, Kingsley opts to fish for one more answer. “Why don’t I ask one more question, before we wrap this up, huh? What do you plan on doing when you find Circe?” Upon the question reaching his ears, the purple merc begins to rise from the memory foam bedding. “Oh ho, that’s an easy one. First thing I’m doing once I find that mystic witch bitch is tear her arm right outta her socket in the most horribly painful fashion imaginable. I want her to feel the exact kind of pain she gave me.” Standing on the side Kingsley was sitting upon, Roy slowly begins turning his gaze towards his therapist as he continues. “Then, I’m gonna sow the arm I ripped off where mine was and slap her senseless with it til she’s nothing but a sobbing mess of tears and blood.” Slowly beginning to creep his way towards his therapist, Kingsley starts to back away from his patient in kind. “Honestly, I’d say that be what anybody wants if they’d gone through the same shit I did. But apparently that just makes me coo coo for cocoa puffs, don’t it? Now do I look like a cuckoo bird to you, Kingsley?” Met face to face with the merc sinister gaze, Kingsley struggles to come up with even the faintest of answers towards his awaiting patient. Finally, he takes a breath and lets out a request. “Can you excuse me for a moment?”

The boy genius sudden abscond from the makeshift office catch the girls awaiting outside off guard, who watch as he slams the door shut tight in his haste. “Nope.” Rising from her waiting room seat, Mally questions the frightened therapist with: “What happened? Did you find what’s wrong with him?” Drawing in another deep breath, Kingsley clasps both hands together as he prepares to admit: “Mally, I’m going to be complete transparent with you. I was not prepared for how far off Roy was at all. He needs to see an actual therapist, preferably behind a 12 inch sheet of reinforced glass.” “So...nothing then.” “I’m sorry Mally. I can’t help him.” Looking down into the carpeting of the halls, the worry that her brother might fall into the depths of his own revenge fueled madness echoes through the poor girls thoughts.

“Dude don’t need therapy.” Cayenne chimes in. A quick turn from behind, they witness the spice queen rise from her seat. “You got any ideas?” “Guys pissed about his arm getting blown off, right? Just needs help blowing off all that steam. All that’s that tension and stress’s probably driving him fucking nuts.” After a hearty bite that breaks the sweet in her mouth into tiny piece, she struts over to the bedroom door with a smile full of smug and glare full of sass. “So why don’t you two wait out here while I go make the purple jack off inside feel all better.” Cayenne closing the door behind her, both orange heads turn to one another. Wonder what she might have in store to help with Roy debilitating mentality.

Not a second later, the wall beside the bedroom door erupts in a mess of dust and wood. The clouds settling to reveal Roy, laying upon the wrecking of the opposite side. Coughing out the wall dust, he looks towards the hole in the wall with an irritated demeanor. Out from it, Cayenne walks with a taunt in waiting. “Come on, ya purple bitch. That all ya got? Or did losing your arm make ya suck at fighting even more?” Not a single moment does the merc hesitate to lunge towards the spice queen, kicking her out the bedroom window and into the luxurious backyard.

Upon landing in the middle of the garden, Cayenne witnesses her purple foe in following and dashing straight down towards her. She dodges out of the way, leaving Roy to stomp on the rose bush, the petals scattering upon impact. The merc then shoots out a ray of darkness out of his single hand, which Cayenne easily deflects. She sees Roy dashing towards her, and prepares to counter. Instinctively, he tries to punch to the left, but with no arm on that side, all that is left is for him to be smashed into the ground by Cayenne. Roy tries to quickly get back up from the blow, but his uneven balance makes him jump to the left. Getting his footing back, he sees Cayenne rushing toward him. After blocking two of her kicks with his legs, he dodges a punch coming to his right. He tries to counter, but again with no arm, he can’t. Cayenne takes the moment to punch Roy into the fountain. The garden décor shatters upon impact, the debris falling upon the boy.

Getting up from the rubble, Roy sees Cayenne slowly approaching. He takes a huge chunk of the broken fountain and chucks it in his opponents direction. Cayenne easily destroys the oncoming stone, the shattering clouding her view. From the dust, a foot plants itself firmly on her face, sending her flying across the garden, breaking a fence and a garden decoration or two. Upon getting back up, a gleeful smile is drawn upon the spice queens face. “You cheeky bitch.”

Both rush towards one another, Cayenne goes on the attack, but Roy ducks under and kicks her aside. As Cayenne skids away, she quickly fire red beams from her eyes at her opponent. Roy blocks the beams with a single hand, but is having difficulty holding it back with only one arm. Cayenne quickly pursues as Roy holds the ray back. The intensity of the beam growing stronger on approach. The merc distracted, she punches him square in the stomach. While in his range, Roy grabs Cayenne hair and delivers a hard headbutt to her face. Both fighters go reeling back from the blows, trying to regain themselves. Once stable, they witness the other smiling. “So, guessing from that smug ass grin of your, you enjoying yourself?” Cayenne asks. “Little bit, yeah.” Roy admits. “Good. Cause I ain’t holding back anymore.” “Funny, I thought this was all you had.” “Heh heh, I was gonna say the same thing.” The two of them begin to charge towards once another, ready to get serious.

Before the clash could carry on any further, Mally steps in between the approaching duo with an urging: “Stop!” Both halt their midair collision right in the nick of time, inches away from the interacting orange lass. “What the hell, kid? Why’d you stop us like that?” Cayenne complains. “Yeah, I was actually have fun for a second there.” Roy adds. Rushing out from the back door, Kingsley sprints in the scene, pleading: “She’s right. You gotta stop. Cayenne, remember what I said about getting rid of stress like this?” “This ain’t nothing like those club fights, Kingsley. It’s just a sparing match. No need to get so bent outta fucking shape.”. “Then what do you call that!?” Mally questions, presenting all the destruction they caused as counter evidence. “...Practice.”. A quick groan escaping her lips, Mally turns to her black winged brother and question. “Roy, be honest. Is all of this actually making you feel any better?” “Well...No. I mean it’s fun, but still feel like shit. Think I might just go home and lay in bed...forever.” “Wait a sec. Kingsley might’ve had a point about your whole arm thing being psychological... I think I might have one more person I wanna take ya to.” “Oh he-hell no! If it involves any more painful experimentation on my part, then you can fucking forget it sister.” “No no no. Trust me, I think you’re gonna like this.”

“Um, what about the backyard?” Kingsley wonders as the gardens burn and the broken fountain leaks. “What about the backyard? You’re fucking loaded, mate. This kinda shit right here probably cost you guys peanuts.” Roy mentions “Not unless you got a sue happy dad like mine. One time he found a fly in his soup at a restaurant and sued the whole place for literally everything. Even the employees.” “He sued the employees?” Mally wonders. “He sued “for” the employees.” “Why the hell she ain’t paying for it then? Damn bitch kicked off the whole backyard brawl.” the merc questions, an accusing finger pointed towards the spice queens direction. “You think I can pay for all this shit? Naw, man. I’m flat broke.” With next to no choice on the matter, the purple haired young man takes out his wallet once more to pay for his shenanigans.

A knock at the door upon a quaint suburban home sounds forth, Mally and Roy awaiting for the residence of the abode to answer, with a new party member joining for the occasion. “Thanks for showing us where your cousins staying Mel. Don’t think we could have found the address on our own.” “No prob. Just watch whatcha say around my aunt. She’s nice, but can be a very...temperamental woman” “In what regard?” Roy wonders. “Just watch how ya talk, kay?” The door opens, on the other side was a jolly round man, greeting them with a friendly smile. “Hey there, Melvin. These your friends?” “Yo, Uncle Hoagie. Is Hank home?” “Yep. The boy’s right inside, come on in.” The man of the house leads them within the humble abode, half full box littering some of the floor board. “Sorry about the mess. Still unpacking from the move. Just make yourselves comfortable.” His guest taking their seats, the man announces from across the living room.” “Kay, baby. Just tell em to wait in the living room. I’ll go get him.”

The father having left the scene, Roy finds it the perfect time to ask Mally: “So, why exactly did you drag me here again?” “Because, I wanna show you how you losing an arm isn’t the end of the world. And I think I might've found the guy who can finally burn through your doubts.” “Really? Cause the only thing you managed to burn through today was my bank account.” “That stuff was just spare cash to you anyway.” “I was gonna buy cool shit with it!” “What the hell did you say, boy!? I don’t care if you lost ya arm, you ain’t gonna be cursing in my house!” the mother shouts, the sudden demand making all of them jump from their seat. “Warned ya.”

Within one of the homes bedrooms, Roy enters to find the dwelling to be decorated with blue prints, devices, half built machines, and odd looking collectible cards. Not to shabby for a mechanic. Kind of a mess though. On the far end of the room was a desk with various mechanical tools and parts with a boy in a red cap sitting behind. “Heyo! You must be Roy. Mally told me all about what happened to you. Losing your arm and stuff.” the boy greets. “You Hank? Tell me, what exactly does she think you’ll do to make me feel peachy. Fight me, shock me? Poor boiling milk on my head? Come on, I’m ready for anything here. Bring it.” “Nah, nothing like that. I’m just tell ya how I felt when I was in your shoes.” “You? What makes you think I know what I’m going through?” “Oh...” The boy comes out from behind the desk, revealing himself to be sitting in a strange looking wheelchair. “I think I have some experience under my belt.” The sudden reveal catches Roy off guard, making him ask the handicapped boy: “You- You’re legs. They give out on ya?” “Well, kind of...It’s kind of a long story. Why don’t you take a seat.” A quick scan around the room proved to not have a lot of places one might rest. Whole room cluttered with half built gizmos and gadgets, there’s barely anyplace to sit. “Uh, where at?” “Um...Don’t know. Wanna borrow mine?” Hank offers. “What?” “Heh, heh. Just kidding. Just push the stuff off my bed. It’s fine. As the handicapped had requested, Roy pushes all the clutter weighing his bed to give himself a seat. Why’s he got all this junk everywhere? Think he’d give himself more room to wheel around. “Sorry about the mess. I’ve been meaning to clean up for a while. But I’ve been kinda busy. Anyway, I wanna tell you about the time I’ve discovered two of my greatest passions.”

“When I was really young, I was inspired with what my dad had built in his youth. I wanted to build stuff that was just like his, maybe even better. So I got to work. Building contraptions and gizmo with all my spare time. It’s there that I discovered my love for aviation. I wanted to build the best planes I could. I’d spend all day and night with all kinds of designs, weeks tinkering and tweaking to make sure they were the best they could be. Even test them out myself. And let me tell you, the first time I soared through the open air, the clouds in my head and the wind in my face, it was magical.

But then, at the ripe age of 8, disaster struck. Something went horribly wrong during one of my test flights. The inside of my cockpit was sparking, the controls weren’t working, the emergency eject wasn’t responding. It sent me into a whirling panic as I desperately tried to fight back for control. But before I knew it, I hit the ground. Dragging myself out from the wreckage, I’d lost all the feeling in my legs. It wasn’t until I was dragged to the hospital that I found out that I’d been left paralyzed from the waist down. I could no longer walk, run, or even stand. After that, I fell into such a horrible depression. Thinking that bound to wheelchair, I couldn’t do anything. I lost my drive...for building...for flying...and maybe...even for living. But one fateful day, when I was in the deepest pit of despair, I met a very famous man. An inventor, bound by the loss of his legs like I was. He personally showed me to his lab, presenting wonders that I would’ve never even dream of.

If he could make such ground breaking achievements without his legs, then what was stopping me. I hesitated no more. I got back in the game, my drive skyrocketing higher then ever before. I’ve made countless machines, gizmos and gadgets galore. Planes that have soared over the highest mountains and though the cloudiest skies. I don’t think I’d even be alive if it weren't for that man. He taught me one of the greatest lessons I ever heard. That in spite of body, your heart and mind, have no limit. And thanks to that, I was able to stand proud once more.”.

After listening to the boys heartfelt story of recovering depression, he realized what he said in last statement. “Wait...Stand proud?” Hank begins to snicker, the laughter escaping through his nose. “Can’t believe you caught that?” “But...Doesn’t it suck? That you can’t use you’re limbs anymore? That the burden may never go away?” “Yeah, at first it did, but I found work arounds. I built machines that can help me with everyday life. Help me get up stairs, go to the bathroom, even modified my chair to do a whole bunch of awesome stuff. Go off roading, stick to walls, launch missiles, even fly.” “Fly?” “Yeah, wanna see?” Hank asks. Throwing caution into the wind, Hank eagerly presses one of the buttons on his wheelchair. The seat takes flight, lifting him above the carpet floor and gliding him all across the room. “Pretty cool, huh! I can do this for minutes on end!” Smoke soon starts to come from the bottom of the chair and before he knew it, the boy had crashed back to the floor. The impact shaking the entire room, knocking over several machines down on the floor. “Heh, provided with fuel of course.” Helping Hank of the floor, both of them hear his mom shout: “Hank, what’d I tell you about flying indoors!?” “Sorry mom!” he apologizes. Getting back in his chair, Hank finishes with: “What I’m trying to get at is that losing my legs wasn’t the end of my world, and losing yours arm shouldn’t be the end of yours either.” Roy examines his left side, rubbing the spot where is arm used to be in contemplation.

Upon his exit from the bedroom, the purple merc is greeted with Mally and Melvin, awaiting for him in the hall. “So, feel any better?” Melvin asks. With an honest smile drawn across his face, he confirms to them that: “Yeah...I think I do.”. “So, does that mean you’re not gonna go after Circe?” Mally wonders. “Oh no. I’m still out for revenge. I’m ripping her arms off the moment I find her. But...I can let that happen in its own time. I’ll wait.” “Eh...Close enough. Least you’re feeling better” The girl throws Roy his fixed hoodie, the well earned, sentimental garment that he immediately dons. The stitching of the hood blanketing his skin makes him take in a deep breath, sighing with a sort of euphoric relief that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. “That’s the ticket.”

The wheelchair bound genius coming out of his room, Hanks wonders: “Did it work?”. “Looks like it did.” Melvin answers. “Awesome. Glad I could make your bro feel better Mally. Oh, before I forget!” Hank proclaims. Pulling out a yo yo from one of the compartments in his chair, Hank tosses the toy toward Mally. “Mally, catch.” Catching the seemingly harmless toy, the girl inspects reflective chrome finish, asking: “What’s this?” “It’s a new gadget that I made for you to test out. It’s a yoyo that can attach itself to any surface at will. With the combination of the high impact steel shell and ultra reinforced string, that gizmo should be strong enough to lift a heavy duty cargo hold.” “Awesome! What’s it called?”. “I...don’t know. I guess the grapple yoyo. I’ve rarely been good with names.” Hank admits. “Well, I guess to mark the occasion, how bout, I call it...The Royo.” Everyone simply stares at the girl as she presents the yo yo over her head. Melvin breaks the silents by chiding: “That’s even worse.”. That insult makes Mally lower the gadget, a loud groan escaping from her mouth. “Just call it the grapplyo. It’s punchy, memorable, and gets the point across. Just like my di-”. “You betta not finish that sentence!? Else I’m gonna whoop yo ass!” Hanks mom shouts, making everybody jump.

Walking from the front porch of humble dwellings, the adopted sibling turn their attention to one another, Mally asking Roy: “So, that you’re not coo coo for cocoa puffs anymore, You joining us for this dance thing that Tore’s girlfriend invited us to.”. “Nah, rather just train somewhere. Get used to this new setup of mine, ya know.” “Alright see ya.” the orange haired skater finishes before on the cusp of taking off. “Hey Mally.” Roy tells, making his sister halt in her tracks. She turns towards the merc, asking with: “Yeah?” “...Thanks.” With a warm smile, the skate jockey returns the thanks with: “No sweat.” Both of them part their separate ways, Mally blading her way through the streets as Roy takes to the skies.

As he flies away from the geniuses abode, Roy takes in a deep breath of suburban air. “So, I take it you’re back to your usual masochistically deranged self?” the voice in his head questions. “You know it, baby.” “Good, I was beginning to worry for a moment that’d you finally snap.” “Speaking of worry. I need to ask you a couple things. Starting with you’re name.” “Pardon?”. “It’s pretty clear your not just some voice in my head. Ever since I’ve been struck by that pink stone in the fortress a while back, you haven’t left my head since. And where most internal voices would drive someone to madness, you’ve only seemed to be trying to fish me out of it. What are you really?” “Guess I can’t put anything past you, can I? Very well, I supposed you at least deserve to know who I am.”

As the black winged angel flies out toward the waning sunset in the horizon, the voice that has been pestering him for so long now finally reveals herself. “My name is Hera. And I am a goddess.”

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At last, the next season of Young hope is here. Let's hope I can stay consistent for a little while.

Anyway, first chapter I think I start us off would be about Roy dealing with what happened to his arm and the ways one could cope with the suddenly finding yourself with that kind of disability. Also figured this would be the best way to introduce Hank since he acts as a sort of console for the purple merc. Probably the best way I've introduced a character yet, to be honest.

All of this was inspired by that one Kim Possible episode with the wheelchair guy.

Hank belongs to: @kururu418

#Young Hope #lillaxtrigger

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