#in my defense it's cool seeing night city from this angle for a change

[witchern]

says a lot about the state of my stress level that riding the metro in cyberpunk 2077 is therapeutic.

[odos-bucket]

So I was reading @andillwriteyouatragedy​‘s incredible Brand New Day where Bruce and Clark adopt a young Dick Grayson together, and was thinking about a sort of companion story where they take in Jason together too. Using that story as a rough reference, I’m gonna say they’ve been together for a decade or so here. Dick is somewhere in his late teens. I’m figuring Clark probably offers to tag along on Bruce’s annual trip to crime alley every year. Bruce always politely declines. It’s basically become a part of the day’s bleak tradition. Clark is surprised when for once his offer is accepted. Later on, if pressed, neither of them would be able to pinpoint what was different about that night that made Bruce decide that it might be okay to have some company for once. Clark probably feels weird about it at first. Even though he’d asked Bruce if he wanted company, and Bruce had said yes, which he never would have unless he’d absolutely meant it (and Clark knows that). It still feels a little like he’s intruding on something private, even sacred. Then of course they get there, and there’s nothing going on. Superman’s senses don’t pick up the slightest hint of disruption anywhere in the neighborhood. Maybe they start patrolling around it anyways, maybe they just wander for a couple of blocks. Sooner or later they overhear someone talking about how it’s this night every year that Batman comes calling. Local criminals have picked up on the fact that if they just keep their heads down for this one specific night they can pretty much avoid him. Bruce is all grumbly about it, and immediately goes into ~strategy mode~ like, “Okay, I’ll have to start coming here on different days, on an irregular schedule.” He immediately opens up a dozen different tabs in his brain with calendars, and crime statistics, and is thinking a mile a minute, because that’s what he does. He’s kind of agitated about needing to change something that’s been a ritual for so long (because Batman has OCD, fight me) and he’s annoyed at himself for being bothered by it. Absolutely none of this sudden inner turmoil is detectable in his expression or body language. But Clark knows Bruce, knows how he reacts to things, and that there’s no way he’s not annoyed right now. He says, “Sounds like tonight will be a bust if we stay here,” then when Bruce grunts in response, continues, “We could go back to the manor. Watch a movie.” Then after a pause. “Or we could patrol somewhere else.” A moment passes. When Bruce says, “Okay,” Clark isn’t sure which suggestion he’s agreeing to, but they start back towards the car. It’s not a long walk, but they aren’t moving particularly quickly. By the time they get back to the batmobile it only has one wheel.

Clark frowns as he walks closer, before being stopped in his tracks by a surprising sound. It’s a sound that he recognizes immediately, that he hears all too infrequently. Bruce is laughing. Clark’s mouth quirks into a half smile. He takes a few steps forward, thinking about just picking the whole thing up and flying it back home. Then from a few paces ahead he hears Bruce’s low, gravelly Batman voice say, “Hi there.” Once he’s tuned in to the idea of another presence nearby, it becomes obvious to his advanced senses that someone is lurking behind the car. “Shit,” a small voice says. Bruce takes a few steps closer. “Planning on finishing the job?” He gestures to their remaining wheel. Clark shifts until he can get the kid partially in his sight without the aid of x-ray vision. He’s small, and looks to be somewhere in his pre-teens. “I got no idea what you’re talking about,” he says quickly. “Oh really?” Bruce asks. The boy glares at him. “Nice tire iron,” Bruce continues. “Comes in handy.” “I bet it does.” No sooner than the words are out of Bruce’s mouth, the tool is colliding with his shin. The boy shoots out from behind the car, and down a nearby street. Clark starts toward Bruce, who quickly gestures for him to go after the kid instead. He catches up with him in less than a second. When his hand falls onto the kid’s shoulder he freezes, muscles tightening throughout his body, and heart rate speeding up rapidly. The fear response is so sudden and extreme that Clark finds himself pulling away as if he’s been burned. The anxiety around being feared is something he’s mostly left in his past, but there’s a deep rooted insecurity within him that it still prods at. The kid stumbles when he starts to run again, and by then Bruce has caught up. They hang back, but trail after the boy at a distance, until they reach a condemned building a few blocks away. “Should we go in?” Clark asks. “Probably where my tires are,” Bruce says, before climbing through an uncovered doorway. It isn’t hard to find him again. There aren’t too many heartbeats in the area to distinguish between. When Bruce opens the door to the dilapidated room, the boy’s pulse rate jumps through the roof. Nothing changes externally about him though, and Clark wonders whether or not Bruce can tell that he’s afraid of them. There’s the slightest vibration to his words when he speaks. “Okay, take your stupid tires already. I’m sorry, all right? Just leave me alone!” Bruce isn’t looking at his tires. He’s looking around the room, no doubt noticing the same things that Clark has, mold, water damage, a broken window. The place is freezing. Then in the corner there’s a cardboard box with some pasta and canned goods in it, a small stack of books, and a mattress on the floor. “Do you… live here?” Bruce asks. “Yeah. What of it?” Bruce takes a few more steps into the room. “Where are your parents, son?” Clark asks. “Mom’s dead. I dunno where Dad is; don’t really care, if I’m being honest. Now take your stuff and go already!” He’s holding the iron up again, wielding it in a manner that’s clearly meant to be threatening. Bruce plucks it out of his hands with relative ease, inspects it, then turns it around and hands it back. “Move your thumb up like this, and you’ll have a sturdier grip. And don’t stand with your legs so far apart, it’ll put you off balance.” He sighs. “What’s your name?” “… Jason.” He grabs the tire iron back, shuffling to adjust his grip and footing, keeping his stance defensive. Bruce looks around the place again. “You can’t stay here, Jason.” “Oh yeah? Says who? I can take care of myself! Been doing it for long enough.” Bruce glances up at Clark, who can see the wheels turning in his head, before looking back at Jason. “I’d really like the wheels of my car back,” he says carefully, then hurries to continue before Jason can interject. “Can I make you a deal? We’ll buy you dinner if you reattach the batmobile’s tires?”

There’s a fast food place a couple of blocks away that’s open 24 hours. Jason agrees to accompany them, but walks a few yards behind. The employees at the place aren’t at all phased by the appearance of the two vigilantes. Bruce inspects a suspicious stain on one of the walls, while Jason and Clark look at the menu posted above the counter. They order- Bruce gets two of what Jason asks for- then go outside to eat. Bruce is lost in thought as they exit the restaurant, wondering what it would take to bring free food trucks to the area. Jason’s halfway done with his meal by the time they sit down on the sidewalk. “Do you go to school around here?” Bruce asks, wanting to put together a fuller picture of the boy’s situation. Jason gets a distant look in his eyes in response to the question. He finishes chewing slowly, swallows, then shakes his head, clearing his throat before replying. “No. Not for a long time now.” He shrugs. “I got all I needed to out of it.” “You had some pretty advanced reading material back at your place for someone who didn’t finish middle school.” Bruce recalled seeing The Odyssey amongst his few possessions, as well as a couple of Shakespeare plays. Jason shrugs again. “Reading’s not that hard.” “Some people find it very difficult,” Clark says. “Some people are stupid.” Bruce cuts in before Clark can start on the gentle reprimand he can see him preparing. “Ever think that maybe you’re just smart?” Jason gives him a curious look, like that really wasn’t a possibility that he had considered before, then takes another bite, and stares off thoughtfully. “So, Homer,” Bruce prompts. Jason nods. “It’s a fun story. Odi-seuss is a dick though.” Bruce resists both the compulsion to correct his pronunciation of ‘Odysseus’, and Alfred’s voice in the back of his head urging him to tell the kid not to swear. “What makes you say that?” He asks instead. Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe all the pillaging, and murdering he does throughout the entire book.” “Poem,” Bruce corrects. “What?” “The Odyssey is a poem.” “Wait, really?” Bruce hums an affirmative. “Huh… cool. But the point still stands.” “I’m inclined to agree with you. Have you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel?” Jason shakes his head. “It’s been a personal favorite for a long time,” says Bruce. Clark shoots him an amused grin. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone throwing out a copy,” Jason says. Bruce frowns. “You have a library around here.” The remark earns him an unamused snort. “It’s a Gotham library; people don’t go there to read books, they go there to buy, sell and/or ingest drugs, and they tend not to be too happy with anybody who’s lingering around while they’re doing it.” Bruce feels a pang, not for the first time that night. “Jason,” he starts, before realizing he isn’t sure what to say. Jason keeps angled to watch him expectantly as he rises to deposit his napkins and bag in a nearby trashcan. “We’d like to help you,” Clark says. “Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “Right. Just how do you plan on doing that? Because I’ve heard that before. I’ve done the whole foster care thing already, and I’m not about to go through it again.” “No,” Bruce is quick to agree. “But there are residential schools in the city. We could help you to get enrolled in one.” Jason seems taken aback by the offer. “…Why?” He asks slowly. “Well for one, because kids should be in school. You’d be provided with room and board for the duration of your time there, which would leave you with less to worry about.” He reaches out to pass Jason the second takeout bag. He’s still lingering at a distance from them. “At least think about it?” “No. I mean, like, why?” Bruce’s eyebrow raises, tugging at the material of his cowl. “What’s in this for you?” Jason continues. “Why do you even care?” “It’s our job,” Clark says. “You’re job is to beat up bad guys.” Clark smiles when Jason mimes punching someone, before saying, “Our job is to help people.” Jason purses his lips. “Don’t boarding schools cost money?” “Most of them offer scholarships,” Bruce says. “I have a few friends who are deans. I could make the necessary introductions to ensure you a place at one of their institutions.“ Jason’s arms are crossed high over his chest, and his expression is set like he’s deep in thought. “I don’t want to end up stuck somewhere where someone else is the boss of me.” “How about you at least come with us to check a couple of these places out,” Bruce suggests. “Just see how you feel about them. No commitment.” Jason’s nose scrunches up. “Where exactly are these places?” He asks. “It varies,” Bruce says. “All within the city.” They watch the boy chew on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Just to see,” he says eventually. Bruce nods. “I’m not getting into a car with you,” Jason adds. “We can take the bus,” Clark offers. Jason raises an eyebrow at that, and his mouth quirks almost into a smile. “Batman and Superman are gonna ride on Gotham’s shitty public transit?” “Why not?” Clark asks. “… Okay,” Jason says, still plainly unconvinced. “Let’s meet back here,” Bruce suggests. “Tomorrow?” Jason takes a minute, but eventually starts to nod. “Sure,” he says. “Why not.” They part ways after Clark disposes of his empty bag. The heroes return to their car.

While they’re driving back Clark says, “I know that look.” Bruce pauses to take stock of his own expression, and makes sure to neutralize anything on his face that might be out of the ordinary. Clark continues, unbothered by the lack of response. “It’s your ‘I’m already deeply emotionally invested in this kid’ look.” Bruce hums noncommittally. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Clark adds. Bruce doesn’t either, but that’s par for the course at this point.

Part Two

[consulaaris]

star light, star bright 

shepherds of haven ( @shepherds-of-haven )

red antiqua x f! MC (rhiannon vasi)

2.9k words, pre-relationship fluff

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Falling is a strange thing, Red decides. 

Falling in love is more so. 

He’d never meant to fall, not really; it had just happened, as natural as breathing. Little by little, detail by detail, until before he knew it his heart was in so deep he couldn’t stop it if he tried. It was like he’d merely woken up one day and known. For everything that’s come easy to Red in his life, he’s never fallen often- has never opened himself fully to all that many people. Rhia was the first, all those years ago; he thinks of secret letters and laughter, and all of the stolen kisses that feel now like they were taken on borrowed time. The memories are sweet, even if tinged with the sharp ache of realizing she hadn’t felt the same. 

Yet now Rhiannon has wandered right back into his life, waltzing into the space in his heart he’d never quite filled since she’d left- like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even known was incomplete. 

To be fair, right now he should probably be more focused on trying not to fall off the roof of this building just outside the Shepherd’s compound than on his theoretical romantic prospects. But there’s a fire in his chest and his thoughts are running wild and Rhia’s presence ahead of him certainly isn’t helping on either front. 

Red scrambles up onto the roof, wincing at the roughness of the shale on his knees, and Rhia turns to him, lips curling up in a wider grin than he’s seen from her in a while- one which he can’t help but return. “Need a hand?” she says lightly, reaching out to offer him a lift up to his feet. She’s not wearing her usual gloves, and he catches a glimpse of the jagged scars spanning the length of her hands. But her skin is calloused, cool to the touch, and he finds himself lingering, unable to resist the temptation of holding onto her for maybe a few seconds longer than he should before pulling away. 

(He’s in too deep again, and he knows it; feels a truth lingering in his heart which he’s not quite yet ready to voice.)

The building whose roof they’re on isn’t particularly tall, but it’s still larger than many of the surrounding ones and the landscape of Haven unfolds before them, windows and alleys lit here and there by lamplight. It’s a city of layers that Red hasn't even begun to fully explore. Somewhere behind them, he knows, the Sun Palace lies in all its glitter and glory, but here in the night when he feels like he’s on top of the world, the Autarchy doesn’t seem to matter quite as much. The air is crisp, cold; the bitter chill of winter clinging to life even as it begins to give way to spring. Both moons are narrow crescents in a sky wreathed by thin clouds, yet though he can see the faint flickering of the stars they’re largely obscured by light emanating from the city.

But his gaze is drawn in particular to Rhiannon, silhouetted against the night as she takes in the view. Enough of a nearby streetlamp illuminates where they now stand, and its orange glow flickers across her face. Dark hair- normally kept in a loose braid- hangs in loose waves tonight, the strands teased into a gentle dance by the wind and its white streak seeming almost to glow in the dim light. She looks more at peace than he’s seen her in a long time. 

“Beautiful,” Red says quietly. He’s not entirely sure what he’s referring to. 

Rhia turns, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?” A rueful expression crosses her face. “I used to come here a lot in the beginning, when I was first conscripted. I needed my own space to think.” 

It takes him a moment to process that. “You were conscripted?” The words leave his mouth before he can stop to think, and though he curses himself inwardly for ruining the moment Red’s not sure he’s able to keep the note of surprise from entering his voice. He’d always thought that she’d joined willingly, and nothing she or any of the other Shepherds had said had indicated otherwise.  

She winces. “I… yes.” Rhia’s mouth tightens slightly at the admission, and he can see the rest of her body tensing. “The Inquisitors would’ve killed me otherwise. I’d used magic to save Caine-” her expression softens slightly at the mention of the boy “-but declined to join the Shepherds after they’d taken me to their compound, and those dogs were waiting for me as soon as I’d left.” Although Rhia’s voice is light, he knows her well enough to know that that’s a facade. Gone is the relaxation of her previous posture; trembling hands bely the emotions she tries so hard to conceal, but there’s a vaguely defiant set to her shoulders, a glint in those stormy eyes- like she’s on the defensive, justifying her actions not just to him, but to herself. There's a sharp hurt in his chest as she realizes that she’s scared. 

Red opens his mouth to respond, to reassure Rhia that he doesn’t blame her, that he doesn’t think any less of her for it, when she speaks again in a rush. 

“I’d like to think I would’ve gone back to them, joined up later. But I guess we’ll never know.” A laugh bubbles out of her, sounding more desperate than amused. 

“You would have,” Red says earnestly, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “I know it.” Of that he’s certain, because if he knows Rhiannon at all, he knows she cares. Even if it seems like she’d tried so hard to bury that part of herself over the years they’d been apart; even if it seems like she’s still burying it, sometimes. 

“Maybe,” she whispers, looking down at their hands. Something in her feels fragile, small, an expression fixed on her face that reminds him of broken glass. All at once she’s the Rhiannon he knew and someone else entirely; she’s sharper now, quieter- all lines and angles and expressions that are oh so strange, yet achingly familiar. He knows what would’ve helped Rhia then.

He’s not as sure he knows what would help her now. 

It’s harder to tell than it used to be, since she’s wrapped herself in that angry mask, since she’s hidden herself away beneath layers upon layers he’s only just begun to unravel again. And though Red’s seen deeper than most, he thinks, there’s… something still hidden. Something new just under the surface of her, like she’s full of secrets that seem to be eating her alive.   

Or maybe it’d been there this whole time, and he just hadn’t been able to see it. (He’s not quite able to suppress the lump of guilt that rises in his throat at the thought.) 

Red just hopes she’ll share it with someone someday. Even if not him, if only to ease the burden on herself. 

“You’re with them now, though- and that’s what matters, right?” He pauses, searching for the right words. Gray eyes cling to his every move like he’s a lifeline in the night. “We just have to do the best with what we have, and make the best of the choices we’ve already made. It doesn’t make you a bad person. I think you’re a very good person, as a matter of fact.” 

Rhia shakes her head once, as if in vague disagreement, and a few strands of dark hair fall into her eyes before she brushes them back again, swallowing thickly. “I just… I want to do something good, y’know? For once.” Red feels his brow furrow at her wording, can’t help but wonder. But he must not be as good at hiding his reactions from her as he’d hoped because a wry smile crosses her face.

“I’m sorry. I ruined the mood, didn’t I?” 

“Never,” he says, the corners of his lips tugging up in a crooked grin- chasing his curious thoughts away as he brushes his thumb across her cheek. “A moment with you could never be ruined.” (A brief moment of internal panic hits him like a jolt when he realizes how that sounds, but the expression on her face is soft enough to make his heart beat just a little too fast. And when his smile is rewarded with a small one in reply... he can’t bring himself to regret having said it.)

She lets out a shaky breath, one Red hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of Rhiannon, but there’s a tension that lingers between the two of them, so thick it seems like he could reach out and cut it with a knife. He can see it in the set of her shoulders, feel it in the grip of his hands on hers, the look in her too-bright eyes, and her lips part as though she’s about to say something more. 

But then Rhia shivers. 

Her whole body jerks slightly with the force of it, pulling her hands away from his, and he can sense rather than see her surprise that mirrors his own. An instant of silence passes between them as their eyes meet… and suddenly they’re both keeled over laughing, the tension shattered and given an outlet by the suddenness and unexpectedness of the motion. It’s not funny, it really isn’t, but it’s the nature of people to do strange things under stress and so they laugh until they run out of breath, only to look at each other and succumb to the peculiar hilarity of it all over again. Spots of color bloom high in Rhiannon’s pale cheeks, her head tossed back even as she tries to cover her mouth to suppress her giggling (and if there’s something that looks suspiciously like tears glistening in the corners of those lovely gray eyes, Red decides he’s not going to press the matter). 

When he’s finally calmed down enough to speak, Red grins at her from where he’s half bent over with his hands on his knees, his chest sore from their fits of laughter. “You always have run cold, haven’t you?” he says teasingly. 

Rhia glares at him playfully, but the pout on her lips is easily overtaken by a smile of amusement and another chuckle. “Some things never change.” 

A lot of things, Red thinks. But he merely settles himself down to the roof, beckoning Rhia towards where he’s now sitting. She complies, but frowns as he opens his cloak in an offer to share. 

“I’m not-”

“You’re not what? Not cold?” He raises an eyebrow. “I think you clearly proved the contrary just a minute or so ago.”

Watching Rhia’s face go completely scarlet is probably more satisfying than it should be, but Red can’t stop the little smirk that grows on his face as she splutters in protest. “That’s not true! I just-” she falters at Red’s expression, her resignation punctuated by another shiver “-fine. Fine. You win.” Still grumbling, she scooches herself closer until they’re practically huddled together, the cloak wrapped around them. Despite wearing her own cloak and even a knitted scarf- one he’s sure he saw Caine buying not so long ago- Red’s surprised at how cold to the touch Rhiannon is still (even if having her pressed to his side has him feeling warmer than ever). 

“See, isn’t this better?” he says teasingly, and though Rhia makes a little face at him, still blushing, she doesn’t deny it. He’s reminded suddenly of all those nights at the Circle when they’d snuck off to the rooftops or the lake, and how easy things had been then. How strangely difficult they feel now. It’s hard to resist the urge to put his arm around her; part of Red wants to hold Rhia, pull her close until there’s nothing left between them and he’s lost in the touch of her skin and the heady lavender-and-snow scent of her. But the more logical side of him shies away. Red has always been confident in his relationships, but he knows all too well how this ended last time. 

Not like his heart has ever listened to logic, though. 

Unaware of his internal struggle, Rhia’s gaze shifts upwards, a little sigh escaping her. “I know it’s just part and parcel of living in a city as big as Haven is, but I do wish we could see the stars better. That’s one thing I miss.” 

An idea lights itself in Red’s mind and he purses his lips, tilting his head slightly to the side in consideration. “Well, it's not the stars, but…” He lifts his hand up, palm raised to the sky, and a little mage light appears there. Then another. One by one the sparkling lights- in faint shades of gold, and white, and red, and blue- rise into the air around them, held aloft by the power of Red’s concentration. Glittering around them in various sizes and pulsing with a gentle glow, amidst the lights it seems for a moment like they’re sitting in their own personal galaxy. Just the two of them in their own little world, their own set of stars. Rhia’s lips are parted ever so slightly as she takes in the scene, eyes wide in an expression of wonder- and when she turns to him she’s brimming with an emotion he can’t quite interpret, peering at him as if maybe he holds the answers of the galaxies in his eyes. 

“Show off,” she whispers affectionately. There’s something almost painfully fond in her gaze, in her voice. 

Red doesn’t even bother to deny it, but it doesn’t curb the smile on his face as he winks at her. Yet while Rhia’s attention returns to the lights dancing slowly above them, enraptured by their glow… his focus is entirely on her. And when Red looks at her, really looks at her,  it crosses his mind that maybe some of the worlds he’s been trying so hard to find are right here next to him, hidden away in a heart for which he hasn’t quite yet found the key. Something builds, aches, growing in his heart and throat until he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wants to learn the shape of her all over again, relearn every little piece of her he’d already known and more. Even if there’s the fear he’s going to get burned, again every instinct of his urges him to reach out, to hold her close. But he refrains. For now. Time is one thing they have, and he’s never been one to rush the important things. 

(His heart sings with the quiet joy of it, the quiet hope.)

Lost together in the silence they sit with no need for words between them. Eventually Red lets the mage lights fade from existence, winking out one by one until they’re left just with the soft half-darkness of the city and the warmth of each other. Rhia leans into him ever so slightly. He swallows nervously, but though he doesn’t- can’t- look at her then, keeping his gaze fixed towards the sky, he can’t keep his lips from curving upwards. The breeze sweeps his hair back from his forehead, and he inhales deeply- relishing this, relishing the moment like some fragile thing he’s not sure will last. 

Movement at the edge of his vision causes him to frown, turning a little to better make out whatever it is, and when he does Red’s mouth opens in a perfect “o”. 

“It’s a shooting star! Quick, make a wish,” he says, grinning, and he feels Rhiannon stirring at his side. The star’s movement is faint but clear across the sky and they trace its path until it disappears beyond the horizon, although the sense of elation Red feels at having seen it remains. Maybe it’s a little silly, but there’s a sense of childlike wonder that fills him at such a small thing, and it feels… fitting, for tonight. 

“What did you wish for?” he says cheekily, turning towards Rhia (who merely stares at him with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed).

“You know you’re not supposed to tell your wish,” she sniffs. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

“Ah, so it’s something you really want, huh?”

She rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, and the familiarity of the gesture warms him. “Would I have wished for it if I didn’t?”

Red laughs then, and she joins in, and again it’s just the two of them in their little bubble above the city, just the two of them like he’d once hoped it would be. And he knows they’ll have to rejoin the rest of the world, that it’ll have to be soon because he can feel the heaviness of sleep tugging at his body, but in that moment he doesn’t really want to. 

Something in tonight has made it all feel a bit like a new beginning- because though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows what he wished for, tucks it away in his heart until the time is right.

Part of him can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Rhia had wished for the very same thing. 

[randomingoftherandomness]

For the prompt! 1 or maybe 8? If you’re feeling up to it!

A/N: Thanks for the prompt! I’m gonna go 8. A has always liked B and it’s hard for them to see B falling in love with C, not knowing that C actually has a thing for them

--

James gives him a familiar look that is equal parts frustrated and incredulity, and Booker knows he deserves it. “Don’t, just,” He swallows, waving his hand. “Just don’t, okay? Not tonight.”

The man may not be his best friend but he is certainly showing Booker why he should take that top spot when he merely uncaps the nearest bottle of beer and holds it out to Booker. “Thanks,” Booker huffs. 

“Still think you’re an idiot, though,” James says, clinking the neck of their bottles together. Good to know what he’ll have to look forward to when they head off on their week-long road trip to help James’ sister move her things out from their home state.

It’s Andy and Quynh’s engagement party but no one’s expecting him to be the life of the party and that suits him quite well. Any minute now, James will be swept up into a conversation and leave him to his little corner by the radiator and the window. Booker plans to stay the respectable amount of an hour before making up some excuse, a deadline due midnight perhaps, and escaping the almost oppressive happiness. 

The lovely couple is in the thick of things, holding court amongst their well-wishers and despite the determined cloud of misery that hangs over him, Booker finds himself feeling happy for them. Andy and Quynh are some of the best people he knows and he can only be happy for that unique joy of finding the person you would want to walk the ages of this earth with. If anyone should find it, he is glad it’s them.

James nudges him in the ribs and he doesn’t need to turn to know why.

The music changes just as he hears Andy’s laughter and Joe’s playful growl in greeting. He can’t see the entryway from here, too many bodies, but he can picture it in his mind. That bodily hug, picking Andy up in his arms. It’s how they’ve always greeted each other ever since they started up this friendship and it’s honestly endearing.

Booker’s heart gives an unpleasant lurch at the way Joe opens out an arm to wrap around Nicky’s waist. The gesture was comfortable, familiar like they’ve done it a million times before when Booker knows that they’d only begun to put a name to that unspoken attraction between them just a few weeks ago. It’s a thing so new that it still hurts him to see it.

Joe and himself had had a thing back in uni that fizzled out into a deep and meaningful friendship, and if Booker still harboured some lingering affection for the man, that he had hoped they could one day figure out a way they could work, he thinks he hides it well enough that it doesn’t show. Nicky was someone that entered the picture when they’d dined at his little restaurant and Joe had gone speechless at the sight of him over his Minestrone.

Booker isn’t blind. He knows love at first sight when he sees it and the thing between the two of them was just that. He’d been the one that nudged them along this path, being their touchstone in those early days and even now for the things that frustrated them. Booker was the first person Joe had called when they’d gone on what was their first date and he was the one Nicky came the night before what would be their first kiss. 

It was stupid to be this involved when his heart breaks whenever he sees them both together, but he thinks he can never truly be divorced from them, so a fool he will just have to be.

James sighs from beside him and takes his beer bottle, stealing his attention back to the present. “Do you need to go?” He asks, frowning before shaking his head. “No, wait. Do you want to go?” Damn, Booker can’t help thinking fondly, he is really vying with Joe for that best friend position.

He parts his lips to speak, leaning in to say that it’s ok, that he’ll go in a moment when he sees James’ eyes flick up somewhere behind him.

“Hey,” Joe greets them, bending down to wrap his arms around Booker in a tight hug. The inflection of his voice sits wrong with him, though, and it takes him a minute to pinpoint that this was the same voice he uses when there’s something wrong and he is trying to hide it.

“Why are you guys hiding in this corner?” Nicky asks, eyeing up the way that they’re pressed knee to hip, to shoulder on the narrow seat. Booker doesn’t know what to make of the guarded way those pale eyes regard him and he wants to say that it is nothing, when James wraps a strong hand around his wrist, squeezing tight.

“We’re talking about the trip we’re taking. Next weekend, just the two of us,” James says, the words pouring out of him like silken butter. Booker can’t help but gape back at Joe and Nicky when they turn to him. 

Something almost like cold fury crosses Joe’s warm brown eyes but when he blinks, it’s gone. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

James laughs, throwing an arm around Booker’s shoulder. “Nothing much. Just plan on showing this guy just how special he is. A lot of people overlook that. I don’t intend to.”

“James...”

“He’s a very special person,” Nicky agrees with a soft laugh that doesn’t meet his smile. “Very lovely.”

Booker’s stomach coils uncomfortably and he thinks he feels heat creep up his neck at the praise. Joe cuts in, physically angling his body towards him and the insistent press of his presence has him breathless for a moment. 

“Can we speak to you? Just for a minute?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Booker croaks. Turning to raise his eyebrows at James, he waits until Joe and Nicky have made their way towards the balcony to hiss, “What the bleeding fuck, James!”

In reply, the man merely claps him on the shoulders and cups his cheeks with bottle cooled hands. “Listen. If this goes the way I think it’s gonna go, you owe me beers for a year and you tell them not to cut my throat in my sleep, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Booker whines, clawing out for him as he darts quickly away and towards Andy and Quynh.

Sighing, he hauls himself to his feet, following Joe and Nicky out to the balcony. “Is something the matter? Are you guys ok?”

Joe frowns at him, stepping closer to him to push the sliding doors shut. Out here, there’s nothing but the sound of the city and the muffled voices of the party behind them. 

“Are we okay? Shouldn’t we be asking you that? When did you and Copley get together? Why didn’t you tell me?” Joe starts, only to pause when Nicky grabs him by the arm.

“What Joe is saying in his uncharacteristically ineloquent way, is that we’re surprised, that’s all. Seems to have come out of nowhere,” Nicky gently enunciates.

Booker folds his arms in front of him, feeling defensive for some reason. “We’re not together.”

“What?”

“We’re not together,” Booker repeats. “We’re just friends.”

Nicky shakes his head, propelling himself forward to grip Booker by the shoulder. “But he said-”

“I’ll be going out of town with him for a week to help his sister move from their home state, that’s all,” Booker shrugs. “I was going to tell you guys tonight.”

“But the way he said it made it sound like you were together?”

Taking a half step back, Booker hides his discomfort by ducking his head. “Yeah, he can be a dick like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” 

He tries to make his way back into the party when Joe’s hand curls itself to his elbow. “Booker? Booker, I’m going to try something and you can punch me if I’m wrong, but I really hope that I’m right about this.”

Booker keeps his eyes on Joe’s, hardly daring to breathe lest he breaks whatever spell that has been spun between one breath and the next when he feels himself being pulled into a kiss. It’s a featherlight touch, that he arches into with heart-aching familiarity, barely lasting a second before his mind catches up to him and he pushes Joe back in horror. He turns to Nicky, an apology on his lips that sticks in the back of his throat when he sees that there is no anger there, nothing but quiet anticipation that makes his eyes almost glimmer in the city lights.

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, Booker, but you always seem to give us the slip.”

Fingers card through his hair and settle at his nape, drawing his eyes back to Joe. “I never got over you, Basti. I know, at least I hope I know, that you didn’t either.”

“But, Nicky...”

“Nicky was well aware that he loved you when he got into this relationship with him. It was one of the first things we talked about on our first date,” Nicky laughs, closing the distance between them to wrap an arm around Booker’s waist. “Then when we kissed, we knew.”

“Knew what?” Booker stumbles over the syllables, heart racing a million miles per hour at the slow smile that stretches Nicky’s face.

“Knew that we wanted to try this, but only with you. Think you’d be okay with that?”

Joe nuzzles a kiss to his temple, even as he feels his mind short-circuiting at the words. “You don’t have to say anything. We can take this slow-”

“Yes,” Booker breathes, hand over Joe’s heart and the other pulling Nicky in. “Yes, a million times yes. Please.”

He buries his face in the crook of Nicky’s neck. The vibrations of their laughter and their words are lost to him, and he can’t bring himself to care. Whatever comes next will come and he will tackle them as they do. For now, there is just them, on this balcony, and the infinite happiness that fills his chest with liquid gold.

[send me an ot3 prompt]

[titan-mom]

not to be extremely predictable but 🎄 i took a little journey to the unknown

Every time I hear this song I think of my paladin singing it in duet with her goddess so, something about her, and the kind of people she meets in the woods at night!

-

Aspen’s got a fire roaring, banked against carefully piled stones. It’s rare she finds such a nice place to make camp. Her tent behind her is hung from a limb coaxed down from the cedar boughs above, and anchored with subtle vines summoned up from the earth below. Her bedroll is cushioned by the needle-covered ground, the forest damp but not too damp for good crackling kindling. A pinecone here and there to add a little pop to the fire.

She has a kettle on, and is working on crushing freshly plucked needles for tea, when an awareness rises up her spine and into the small of her skull. Sehncia, restless and aware in the confines of her mind, takes her attention and angles it south-southeast. It feels like a hand cupping her cheek, delicate and gentle.

Danger? Aspen asks, quickly.

Single man, armed, but looks more hungry than aggressive to me. Sehncia replies. You could take him.

Aspen’s glaive lays at her side, and her breastplate in the tent behind her. She makes no move for either yet. Instead, she finds her waterskin and pours what’s left into the wooden bowl at her feet. The runes glow softly and dissipate, as the water turns to soup. She ate tonight already, but it appears she will have a guest, and she likes to have a well stocked arsenal for these sorts of meetings.

She can hear the footsteps now, quiet on the ground. He’s not bad at moving stealthily, but she knows what she is listening for, and which way to turn her head to hear it better.

The vagabond is dirty, ratty, but has nice gloves and solid boots and a heavy coin purse. She notices his small traveling pack and a short city cloak, it looks as though he is not prepared for a night in the wild. The firelight glistens in his eyes as he emerges, drawn like a moth to the blaze. He gauges her and the weapon in reach, but sees her satchel and guitar at her side, and raises his knife as a threat. “No sudden movements, lass.”

She lifts her head calmly to meet his eye. Surprisingly, it does not unsettle him right away. Usually her calm demeanor sets off the cleverest highwaymen. They put together the pieces and decide a girl alone in the woods who does not startle at the sight of a man with a weapon is an anomaly not worth challenging. Especially one dressed as plainly as she is, one who doesn’t look worth robbing.

He’s so young. Sehncia marvels.

He looks nearly thirty.

Foolish, then?

Yes. So young, in a sense.

She gestures with an open palm, rotating from the wrist, keeping her elbow close, and limiting her movement to soothe him. “Welcome. Please, sit.”

The vagabond pauses, finally, a little wiser than he first appeared. He chews this response and flexes his grip on the knife, inching closer around the fire. He has a decent enough stance, is presenting her with a small profile. Wouldn’t do a thing against a moonbeam or some vines, but he doesn’t need to know what she’s capable of.

“Toss the bag.” He commands, unconvincingly. “Don’t touch the spear, no need for trouble.”

“And what are you going to do?” Aspen admonishes, taking on the tone her mother used to use when she didn’t want to stop talking to her imaginary friend and go to bed. “Keep walking all night? Sit, eat, rest. I’m about to make tea and I have leftover soup. Aren’t you hungry?”

He looks at the bowl in front of her crossed legs and hesitates, jaw slackening a bit. He is clearly very hungry. She picks it up slowly in both hands, and offers it out. The teakettle on the fire begins to hiss, low and gentle.

The man holds his stance for a full minute as he weighs his options, and she holds hers just as long. Finally, he lowers the knife, sinks carefully down to the ground a wary distance away from her. The bowl is passed and he cups it close, breathes in the smell, and sips carefully. Upon discovering it is the perfect temperature -magically, but he doesn’t know that- he slurps it hastily.

Aspen considers him occupied, and takes the kettle from the fire, carefully dropping in the crushed berries and pine needles before replacing the lid for it to steep. While she is distracted, he furtively licks the bowl clean. But Sehncia sees, and shows her the image, bubbling amusement in her mind. Aspen reminds her that he has likely not eaten all day, and suggests they do not pass too much judgement. Though she agrees it’s a comical sight.

“You haven’t been traveling before, have you?” She speaks up. There are four large towns within four days travel of here. She could guess which he came from, with a few pointed questions. But she won’t, she respects the strangers who find their way to her fireside.

He peers at her, bitter at the accusation. It makes her a little defensive, and she snorts before continuing. “Oh please, you’re out of food, you don’t have a bedroll, and you have a coin purse well full enough to buy both of those things. Even if it’s all coppers.”

“You threatening to turn me in?” His shoulders hunch like hackles, his fingers claw her bowl. That answers a few questions itself.

“My glaive is stolen too. I never saw you out here if you didn’t see me.” Aspen offers in return. But she realizes her mistake as he takes an appraising look at the weapon, and notices the glint of armor behind her. His brow pinches. Sehncia roils unsettled around her head.

“You’re a deserter.” He says slowly.

“And now I know where you’re from.” She returns, which stiffens him. “Like I said, we won’t talk about each other.”

“Right.” He replies, slowly, as if he’s still looking for a trap. “I mean. You seem too generous to be a guardsman. That must be why you left, right?”

Aspen doesn’t grace that with an answer, and actually does not share his low opinion of the crownsguard. She turns instead to fetch a tin cup from her satchel. “Have you got a mug on you at least? Tea’s almost ready.”

He blinks, confused at the abrupt change of direction, then catches the question and digs in his pack for a tankard he probably swiped from a tavern. He hands her back her bowl, and she pours him half the contents of her kettle. “That’ll be hotter than the soup, watch yourself.” She warns.

He seems to catch on that he’s been getting advice from someone a decade younger, and sips before it’s cool, to make a point. Aspen shakes her head as he tries not to wince and pant. She cups her own mug her hands, letting the warmth seep in against the night air and the aroma rise to soothe her.

“Here’s the deal I offer every stranger who stumbles into my campsite.” She says, giving him a sidelong glance. “We can ask whatever we want, but we are not obliged to answer. And we swear not to talk about each other to any other strangers till tonight’s long past. We share food and fire and stories, and part at dawn. If we happen to be going the same way, part at the next fork in the road. Sound fair?”

“Sounds more dangerous for you than for me.” He says. With some food in him he’s getting bolder, smarter, looking for a way to feel on balance and in control of the situation.

“I know how to use that glaive too. Fifty-fifty odds for which of us would walk out in a fight.” This platitude is a lie, but one meant to soothe the pride she prodded earlier.

“Smartmouth.” He irritably sets the tankard down for a moment, to let it cool.

“You’re welcome, for all I have offered.” She replies, breezily. He licks his burned lips and doesn’t meet her gaze for many minutes.

“…Thank you.” He admits, finally. “I think I’ll take you up on it. It’s… beginning to get chilly. And there’s strength in numbers, in case of a bear or a wolf or something.”

Sehncia dissuades the predators, but Aspen does not need to mention the voice in her head. So she agrees amicably instead. “Certainly. Also, since you don’t know where you’re going, Salthesh is the closest town, west of here, two days walk, I’ll show you the road at first light. It’s your best bet for some proper supplies. And for goodness sakes get a longer cloak. You’ll need the extra blanket some nights.”

He nods, but has one more question before he is comfortable, she can see him searching for words in the firelight dancing on his face. “How did you know I was lost?”

“I have a sense of that sort of thing. I’ve long learned only lost wanderers find my campsite.” She replies, honestly. “I’m becoming a bit of a guide.”

He sips his tea, contemplative, trusting the heat to have simmered by now. It’s a long and quiet few moments before he breaks the silence again.

“I don’t know much about stuff outside Ambershire, but I have a sense too. I know when it’s time to move.  City’s piecing itself back together, but there’s a lotta mercs around and not a lotta jobs for them.” He looks at Aspen, directly, nodding slightly. “Settin’ bounties for deserters is a quick way to keep mercenaries busy and quell any dissent, ya know? Maybe time you picked some new roads, kept yourself outta trouble.”

It makes sense, she supposes. The thought of heading elsewhere fills her with equal parts nerves and excitement. She’s not sure which parts come from Sehncia and which from herself, but she’s never really known that.

“Thank you for the wisdom.” She replies, slowly. “I’ll sleep on it.”

“Least I can do in return.” He replies, taking another drink. “You got it figured out with this setup. It’s… nice.”

“You could do it too.” She suggests. “It’s just kindness and sharing and the trust of strangers, simple as that.”

“I dunno. I think it’s something special you’ve got.”

Sehncia hums in her head, teasingly. Aspen feels her like draped arms over her shoulders. “Perhaps.” She agrees. “In that case, I count myself lucky for it.”

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 12--The Cottage

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  To escape prying eyes, Ienzo and Demyx go to the seashore to train Demyx's new power.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Something cool tapped Ienzo’s face. He groaned.

“Sorry, child.” Even’s voice. “Go back to sleep.”

“Even?” He was nauseous. “I feel…”

“Ill? There’s a bin right here.” He held back Ienzo’s bangs as he was sick and handed him a glass of water.

“What… what happened?” Ienzo asked. He rinsed out his mouth and spat. He felt very odd; his muscles trembly, weak.

“A touch of darkness. You should be alright. It seems that coward finally intervened.”

“He’s not a coward,” Ienzo mumbled. “He saved me. Where--”

“Asleep on the couch. He didn’t want to go home until he knew you were okay.” A sigh.

Ienzo sat up slowly. His head was pounding. “I… heard them. Almost as though in my mind. Asking where their wives were… and to help them. You were right, Even.”

Even’s brows furrowed. “For once, I hoped I wasn’t. But Ienzo… if they were turned to shadow, the only way to truly save them… was to give them that small mercy of death. They’re at peace now.”

“I still feel like I’ve killed someone.”

“I know you must. So did Demyx.”

“Tell me you consoled him at least a little bit.”

“...I believe Aeleus did. I was tending to you. Seeing how your body was impacted. Thankfully… you are fine. The shakiness should pass.”

Ienzo tried to stand. Even pushed him back down.

“You need to rest.”

“I want to--see him.”

“Goodness, Ienzo, if it matters that much, I’ll send him up here.” A pause, then another tired sigh. “Things are… settled, then?”

“Yes.” A million questions were bursting in him dizzily. “Where’s my father?”

“He is safe. He’s with Dilan.”

“Demyx has… magic.”

“No doubt brought out when you were in danger.” He set the sick aside. “I suppose we should actually teach the fool to use it.”

“Saïx was there. I’m almost positive he was at least watching the mansion. I should’ve sensed that many Heartless sooner--and before I fainted, my eye hurt.”

Even’s eyebrows shot up. “I… I see. But how could he track you, with--”

“The old fashioned way, I suppose. Or whatever enabled him to use his powers without a full moon.”

“The replicas…” Even muttered. “I wonder if--”

“How would they have put him in another body? And what difference would it have made?”

“I’ve no idea--but I’m certain Xehanort would have mutated my research to suit his own needs.” He tapped his fingers together. “I may have a plan… to get you away from the city while things are so hot… and train the fool at the same time.”

“Forever?”

“I don’t think so--even with Saïx, this is still one of the safest places for you.” He stood and, unexpectedly, placed a kiss on Ienzo’s brow--that was how he knew Even was worried. “Try to get some rest, okay?”

Ienzo was trying to find the energy to get up and go brush his teeth when the door cracked open. “How are you doing?” Demyx asked in a rush. “I was so--”

“I’m a little weak, but I’ll be alright. You saved me.”

He didn’t look proud; his eyes darkened. “I guess.”

Ienzo patted the bed next to him. Demyx sat down. He still smelled like rain from the night before. “You still feel guilty, don’t you?”

He looked down at his lap; tears glittered in his eyes. “How can I not?” he asked. “Those were… people . With memories and stories and songs, and I--killed them.”

Ienzo wrapped his arms loosely around him. “Even was telling me… that, well, if they were so taken by the darkness, only death could help them find some kind of peace. We need to try and internalize that. We helped them, we didn’t kill them.”

He took a shaky breath. “Aeleus told me that too, but…”

“I know. I know it’s hard.” Ienzo felt another rush of guilt, stronger; he was the reason Demyx was suffering like this. “How do you feel… otherwise?”

He swiped at his eyes. “Well… I mean… it’s so weird that I have these powers. Like all of a sudden I could just take the rain around us and make it do things.”

“It makes sense that it’s water, considering where you came from. Elemental magic can be some of the most powerful. Even wants you to train it--and you should. When I first started manifesting my own abilities, not being able to control it could cause… a lot of inconvenience.” Ienzo sighed. “I’m sorry, Demyx. Truly I am. If not for me none of this would have happened to you.”

Demyx touched his pendant. “I would’ve felt empty forever,” he murmured. “The darkness is still coming, Ienzo. That wouldn’t have changed.”

“I know,” Ienzo said. “I’m still sorry.”

---

Aerith had an ingenious solution to their problem. She had a cottage outside the city limits, along the coast; not only would they be away from Saïx’s prying eyes (they hoped), but Demyx could train in relative peace. Even tried to wrangle his way into going with them, but Aeleus was able to convince him that he was still needed here, to do his research on Heartless. For this, Ienzo was grateful.

“This isn’t some romantic getaway,” Even snapped. “It’s for your power--for your safety . You better not touch him.” He glared at Demyx.

“Whoa. Easy, alright?”

Aeleus drove them there. “I’m surprised Even relented at all,” he said. “He must have faith in your capacity to teach.”

“Well, I taught myself most of what I know,” Ienzo said. “I think that can apply. Besides… you’re right. He’s better off doing his research in the city. Likely more Heartless.”

Demyx hummed softly, staring out the window. Dilan let them through the city limits. (If he wasn’t with Ansem, where was Ansem? ) “Everything’s so fucking bright ,” he said.

It was; Ienzo had not realized how accustomed he’d become to the rosy tint in the sky. Aeleus did not comment, but he did put on a pair of sunglasses. “Has it been a long while since you left the city?” Ienzo asked.

“Come to think of it--yeah, it is. The sky is so blue .”

Aeleus chuckled.

As they continued up the coast, the land grew greener, wilder, hills rolling gently. Demyx watched it all raptly, and Ienzo watched him enjoying it. A few hours later, they turned off the deserted road onto a dirt path.

The cottage was small, and clearly very old; its stone was etched with erosion, the shingles mismatched. Ienzo could feel the powerful ward around the place, and saw runes covertly etched along the few trees surrounding the property. A small garden was still overflowing with greenery, spells keeping the plants happy and warm. The sea smelled slightly different here, a little more metallic; then again, it was easing into November. Aerith was waiting patiently by her own car.

“This place is way cute,” Demyx said.

“Thanks. It was my mom’s.” She gazed toward it with affection. “I usually stay here all summer--sometimes longer.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Ienzo added. “Really.”

“Well, it is only a few days. And I should really be winterizing it anyway.” She shrugged. “The enchantments around it should keep you safe enough, and if they don’t, should warn you if someone’s coming.”

He frowned. “You’re not staying?”

She shook her head. “Normally, I would, but I have… affairs to attend to.” She winked. “But anyway, make yourselves comfortable. There’s a washing machine in the mudroom. Oh, and the hot water runs out quickly, so don’t take too long in the shower.” She handed Aeleus the key. “Don’t have too much fun!” She got in her car and drove off.

They carried in their few bags, their groceries. The place was cramped, and laid out oddly, but frankly it was adorable; small paintings hung on the walls, and while the furniture was mismatched, it was done in an aesthetically pleasing way. Demyx touched the small, old record player. The appliances were old, too, many of them the color of Robin’s eggs, and the sink in the kitchen was trough-style. A rag rug covered part of the worn hardwood floors. All over the place were more flowers; ivy, lilies, calendula, the whole place full of color.

There were only two small bedrooms upstairs, along with a pull-out couch in the living room. “I don’t mind crashing here,” Demyx said, settling on it. “I can fall asleep anywhere.”

Aeleus shook his head. “I should be down here, in case there are intruders. It’s alright.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

Both of the bedrooms were small, but they both had ocean views. The double-beds were neatly made with linen that smelled very clean. Aerith had clearly spent some time getting the place ready for them, making Ienzo feel another small wave of guilt. Ienzo touched the pink checkered blanket on the room he’d claimed. He suspected this was Aerith’s room; it felt vaguely like her magic. The room angled into a point; here was a desk and a bookshelf full of all sorts of titles. Romance novels, cookbooks, self-defense instructions, medical texts. Ienzo realized that if he knew her better, they'd be friends.

This settled, he took Demyx down along the beach.

It was colder here, windier, the beach rockier. They sat on towels and listened to the sea. “What I normally do is try to center myself,” Ienzo said.

“Deep breathing?” Demyx asked.

“Whatever would calm you.”

Demyx shut his eyes. After a long moment, he said, “the sea… helps.”

“Good.” He allowed him another few moments, then added, “When you’re calm, imagine… you’re opening a box and taking out something you really love.”

He heard Demyx gasp softly; Ienzo could feel him, his energy. “It’s warm.”

“Yes. Is it easy, or hard to hold onto?”

“Pretty easy.”

A good sign. His passive abilities must have something to do with that. “Good. That’s good.” He thought of when he’d shaped his own elemental magic. “Do you feel the energy in the earth below you?”

“Kind of--I--” His brows furrowed. “Moreso--the water next to me.”

“Imagine picking it up. Carrying it. However would be easiest.”

“Um… okay.” The tides seemed loud now. Ienzo looked over; The surf was definitely a little more violent than before.

“Keep breathing. Deeply. We’re safe here.”

The water retreated a little. “Is it supposed to be heavy?”

“That’s you expending your own energy. Pull it towards you. Carefully.” He watched the water. Part of the shoreline crept towards them, until it was nearly touching the edge of Ienzo’s towel. “Open your eyes, Demyx.”

He did. He saw the seawater nearly touching them and gasped; at his surprise, the water surged forward more, higher, and slapped them both. It was like ice, soaking Ienzo through. “Shit, I--I’m sorry, I--”

He laughed a little. “Very good. Now let’s go get changed.”

Back inside, they both dried off and put on warmer clothes. Aeleus was nowhere to be found; he left them a note saying he was patrolling the perimeter and would not be back for some time. “Ugh, why couldn’t I get my powers in, like, the summer.” Demyx shivered somewhat theatrically. He sat on his bed. This room was more plainly decorated than the other; its wallpaper was light blue stripes, the comforter a soft, pale yellow. He popped open a small instrument case and took out a ukulele. “Was kind of cramped in the car for my sitar.”

Ienzo sat down next to him. Even in a sweater, he thought he could still feel the cold water. “You should be proud of yourself. You came pretty far in a few hours.”

Demyx strummed a few chords idly. “Did I? I mean. I got us drenched.”

“Only because you reacted emotionally. We can work on that tomorrow, when we have all day.”

The song Demyx began  playing was mournful, delicate.

“Is that how you feel?”

“No,” he said. “It’s how the ocean feels today. I sensed it, I think.”

“It’s great that you could.”

He hummed distractedly. For a few minutes Ienzo just listened to him play. The melody was surprisingly complex, making the fine hairs on Ienzo’s arms rise. For the first time he completely understood that Demyx was a siren. Too soon, it stopped.

“Why’d you--”

Demyx set the ukulele aside. “You’re shivering,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled Ienzo into his arms and they eased back against the bed; Demyx tugged the comforter up over them.

“It smells different,” he remarked.

“What does?”

“The bed. I’m used to yours.” The warmth helped greatly.

“It’s hard for you to sleep, isn’t it?”

“It can be, yes. I… think too much.”

“Are you thinking now?”

“Not really. Not quite.” He could hear the beat of Demyx’s heart, steady and vital. Slowly, he looked up. Demyx leaned down and kissed him.

They hadn’t done much else than kiss chastely since that initial attempt; very quickly Ienzo realized this was different, and moreover, that he’d missed it quite dearly. Demyx threaded his hands through his still-wet hair and slid his tongue into his mouth. No; now Ienzo was no longer cold at all. He slid his hands down Demyx’s back, pulling away his sweater to feel at skin. Demyx moaned a little and eased him down onto the bed.

For a long while they just kissed and touched, a sort of reacquaintance. Demyx traced small circles along Ienzo’s sides, gently working his shirt off. He kissed at the bare skin. Ienzo’s clit began to throb, faintly, and then less faintly when he could feel Demyx’s hard dick pressing against his thigh. He reached to take off Demyx’s shirt as well and slid his hands over his ass, smooth muscle. “Ienzo, I--”

“What?” he asked.

The color was bright in his face. “Aeleus… he’ll be gone a while, right?”

“That’s what he said.”

He took a quick breath. He got off of Ienzo and shut the door. Seeing him in the fading light of day made Ienzo’s heart beat a little faster.

“Take your pants off,” he said.

“...What?”

“Did I stutter?”

Something sparked in his eyes. He did as Ienzo said and crawled back under the covers. Without another word, he slid off Ienzo’s, taking the underwear with them. Ienzo pulled him close, kissing his throat, his collarbones, sliding his hand down along Demyx’s side to his dick. The small sound he made only turned Ienzo on more. He felt the scratch of fingers along his inner thigh and gasped out loud. Ienzo tugged at Demyx’s underwear, and while it was awkward the way they were tangled to remove them, they managed it at last. Demyx laughed a little.

Ienzo took his dick into his hand, gratifying at the way it hardened more. He moved slowly, gently.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered. He brought his palm up between his legs, quickly finding the clit, rolling his thumb along it in a way that was equally teasing. Ienzo kissed him harder, pressing against his hand, so Demyx stroked him a little more earnestly, sliding a finger into him. “You’re really wet.”

“Demyx?”

“What?”

“Can we try again?”

This seemed to break his haze. The question startled Ienzo as well. “Are you… sure? I mean, it was painful for you last time--”

“I don’t think it will be any more.”

“I didn’t even bring any--”

“It’s alright.” Ienzo pressed his lips against his throat. “You still taste like the ocean.” He ran his tongue along his jaw; Demyx made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “I’ve been taking birth control for close to a month now. It’s plenty safe.”

“You… did that?”

“I like to be prepared.” He brushed his fingers along Demyx’s cheek.

“If you’re… sure. I… don’t want to hurt you.” He eased another finger inside of Ienzo. Unlike the last time, there was no pain; he was actually at the point where it nearly made him squirm.

Ienzo opened his legs a little more. He stroked Demyx a few more times; he struggled for breath, his head bowed. He pushed away Ienzo’s hand.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to last for you.” He leaned down and kissed Ienzo’s nipple, teasing it with his tongue, a sensation so overwhelming he thought he might faint. He felt the fingers disappear, too soon. Demyx’s voice dropped. “Tell me if this is too fast, or…” He trailed off and kissed him once more on the mouth. He had to guide it, with his hand, until again Ienzo felt the tip of it against him.

There was a little anxiety, still. He wanted this to work so badly, to make Demyx feel even half as good as he so often made Ienzo. He pressed into him slowly; to Ienzo’s intense relief, it didn’t hurt at all.

“You’re okay?”

“It’s really okay.”

A smile flitted across his face. Demyx took him a little more, and while Ienzo gasped, it wasn’t from pain. “You feel so good,” he whispered.

“So do you.”

“It’s really working.” A soft laugh. “That’s, um. All of it.”

For a moment Ienzo just let himself adjust. Demyx kissed him again, and while it was a little complicated, Ienzo felt his other hand reach down to stroke his clit. He moaned against Demyx’s shoulder.

“Just tell me what feels good, okay?” He began to move, gently. Ienzo grasped at his shoulders. The gentle push and pull of their bodies was like the tides outside. It took him a minute or so before he was able to fall into a rhythm with him, resting his legs against Demyx’s thighs so he could move more easily.

This was what he’d hoped their first time would feel like, the beauty of their bare skin. His thoughts were losing cohesion. Ienzo pulled him closer. “A little deeper.”

Demyx shifted his weight, his cock sliding out more with each thrust, and Ienzo could feel each little movement so distinctly. “Like this?”

A small sound left him. “Maybe faster?”

He took a shaky breath. Demyx’s fingertips were still working Ienzo’s clit, a lush tightening forming in his belly, his thighs. The same hand moved away, up under his back, helping him bring them back together. Ienzo ground his hips a little against Demyx’s and felt his dick quiver a little. Demyx kissed him hard. “That’s so good,” he gasped.

This felt like losing and getting lost. He’d hoped for this time not to hurt; he hadn’t anticipated actual pleasure , every part of him just getting more and more sensitive. They were moving against each other with more urgency now, eager and raw, both of them breathing hard; Ienzo could barely open his eyes.

“I… I’m sorry,” Demyx said against his shoulder. “I’m getting really--”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Demyx laughed a little, and Ienzo did too. Ienzo was able to kiss him once more before he lost control.

It was so… odd, to fall apart so wholly. It rocked through him, leaching into his magic, and considering Demyx was still inside him he felt every wave of it. “Ienzo,” Demyx moaned, and a moment later he felt a flush of warmth, the slight twitch of Demyx’s dick. He leaned against him more heavily for a moment before he was able to ease out of him. “Are you okay?”

“More than.” He was breathless. Demyx lay down against his chest. “I’d… hoped it would get easier.”

“Me too.” He kissed Ienzo once. “God, that was--”

“I know.” His clit was still tingling. More than anything, he realized, he felt relieved ; not just from the sex, but from the anxiety that they wouldn’t be physically compatible.

“I was… worried.”

“As was I. I think I just… simply wasn’t used to having anything there.”

Another kiss, this time against his shoulder. “Well. I’m happy to take care of that any time.”

Ienzo laughed.

[justlightthefirstspark]

United vs Chelsea - Conti Cup Semi Final - 29/01/2020

So the line up and bench for this one was interesting. Aimee Palmer was cup tied for this one, having already lined out for Sheffield United earlier in the season, Ella Toone is currently serving a 3 game suspension following a (questionable) red card vs Spurs, and both Kirsty Hanson and Leah Galton are out injured, which led to a very sparse bench, and pretty much the same XI as vs City. Lauren James started in place of Jane Ross, which was very clearly a good idea.

First half:

This game was a little cagey to start with, but ultimately a lot better than Saturday’s showing vs City. LJ had a decent shot around 6 mins, after some great build work from Groenen.

Abbie’s constant back passes to Earps returned, as did my anxiety. To be honest, Earps never looks completely comfortable to be on the receiving end of back passes so I don’t understand why the majority of that back 4 insist on playing that way so often?

Aside from those back passes, I though Abbie had a really good game. At least until she was forced off injured deep into the second half. She played an absolute stormer from the first whistle, and she was literally everywhere. Had a decent chance to get the first goal too around the 25 minute mark, very unfortunate to have that header go straight at Telford. She really, really redeemed herself after that performance vs City at the weekend.

‘27 - some Wales on Wales crime. Sophie Ingle booked for an almighty challenge on Hayley Ladd. Fair enough, the way Hayley fired herself into Ingle may have made it look more than it was. Entertaining tho. I’m also gonna take this opportunity to confess that I may be a little bit (a lot) in love with Hayley Ladd. I gotta be honest, I didn’t really know much about her before she signed in the summer, but she’s really, really great. I feel like she’s kinda underrated a little bit? Anyway, I genuinely don’t think this girl feels any pressure, like at all. A little bit like LJ I guess. She just gets her head down and does her job - calm and cool 100% of the time. I would very much like her to stay forever. I’m definitely gonna have to start watching more of this Wales team aren’t I?

‘34 - Earps with a cracking save. I feel like she’s more of a shot stopper than anything else, her distribution can be a little off sometimes, but she did really well to deny Chelsea there.

I think James and Arnot linked up quite well last night, especially around the 40 minute mark, unfortunately Lizzie was called just offside. She’s really impressed me (whenever she gets a shot) this season tbh, I hope she manages to get herself in the XI more often from now on.

‘42 - Jess Sigsworth pulling double shifts again. She’s constantly down around that back four, helping out and sometimes doing other people’s jobs for them and I’m kinda terrified that she’s gonna run herself into a brick wall at some stage? Like I think it’s fairly clear that we need to reinforce and add depth and quality defensively but I also think it’s pretty clear that Jess isn’t the answer to that particular problem, as impressive as her drive and her work rate is.

‘43 - United should have been clear and away on the counter there. There was an earlier challenge from Ladd (I’m pretty sure) that the ref took an age to make up her mind on, and by the time she decided to call it back, Groenen (again, I’d have to rewatch to be 100% certain) was up and over the halfway line on the break. Annoying af.

Halftime:

Tbh I thought United did really well to not have conceded and to still be in the game at the half. The first half as a whole was pretty decent, Chelsea ultimately had the better chances and were the slightly stronger team. I just wish we could have taken the few chances we had in the first half and made something from them, Telford isn’t the world’s best keeper and I feel like we could have tested her more and I was kinda disappointed we didn’t.

Second half:

‘47 - a fairly decent (surprisingly. It’s no secret we’re pretty piss poor at set pieces) from Zelem resulted in Amy heading just over, which hurt my soul. (I wanted her to score so bad youse have no idea)

‘52 - Arnot had a decent chance, and was 100% in cause Telford came about 82739 miles off her line, but unfortunately it was cleared away. (Sidenote: I HATE when keepers come off their line and out of their box like that, even opposition keepers. It just really shits me out. Anyway)

‘53 - a decent Chelsea opportunity goes wide. I saw somewhere (twitter probably) that it took a deflection, but I’d have to rewatch to be certain. FA Player get your shit together and upload the game so I can double check challenge 🙄

The game really started to come to life around the 50 minute mark. Both teams had decent chances within about a minute of each other, and United’s intensity really stepped up - they came out guns blazing in the second. Both teams pressing and passing really cleaned up around this time too.

‘61 - decent chance for Sigsworth. Angle was just too tight, but I think the build up was massively overworked. She passed it off the Zelem who held it for a little too long imo, before sending it back to Jess who lashed it into the side netting. Think Jess could have made something of it first time but hey, what’s done is done now.

Game started to get a little scrappy heading into the last 20 mins - back to the rushed and mismatched and intercepted passes of the first half.

‘70 - Chelsea free kick saved well by Earps.

‘71 - Goal - Chelsea. Really tight angle, just about squeezed home. Really good work from Mjelde in hindsight but I feel like Earps could have saved that one. I hate to blame her entirely but she really should have done better with closing that one down.

‘72 - almost an instant response from United. LJ had a fantastic chance to equalise but unfortunately scorched it over the bar. I’m not gonna lie, I expected a little better from her there, but I understand the urgency.

‘73 - pretty soft yellow for Sigsworth

‘74 - Ross 🔁 Arnot.

Seemed like all the wind was sucked out of United after that goal, approaching the 80 minute mark. Most of that intensity and urgency was still kinda there and evident in small bursts, but was mostly lacking.

‘80 - United forced into a change. Harris (don’t talk to me) 🔁 McManus. Abbie took a bit of a blow around 20 minutes in, committing a challenge she was ultimately booked for. Fair play to her, she played through it, but she was definitely struggling for a while there. Apparently she was on crutches after the game, so I hope it’s nothing too serious. Also interested to see what Casey does with that back 4 if she’s out for a while. Amy obviously goes back in and CB but it would appear Martha is higher than Ökvist in the pecking order, which is annoying. I get that Casey is more defensive minded and might not want to play two more attacking FB’s at once (Ökvist & Smith) but Martha... 🤐

‘84 - James had a great ball in that forced a corner that - you guessed it - nothing came of

‘85 - Earps had a great block to deny Chelsea a second (and really and truly kill me off)

‘88 - Harris decides to try her luck from a little way out. It was a decent shot to be fair, given the circumstances, just couldn’t get the dip it needed and never really troubled Telford on it’s way over the bar.

4 minutes at the end of the 90 but United couldn’t get anything to stick, which was massively unfortunate.

Two semi final defeats in a row is absolutely gut wrenching, and very hard to take, but last night taught me a lot about this team. I personally thought that this game was miles better and such an improvement on Arsenal away last season. They were much better all round, in every position than last weekend vs City. To come so close against the 3 best teams in the league 5 times now and walk away with nothing is hard, and I feel so bad for those girls. They give their all everytime they step out on that pitch, and they deserved more. This week in particular. Seeing them all in literal bits at the final whistle nearly broke me tbh.

But it’s becoming more glaringly apparent as the season goes on that we are in desperate need of a more clinical, stone blood killer up top. I’d also be open to giving Mikalen a run in goal to prove herself - I think Earps has been a bit off lately.

Galton and Hanson were massively missed last night, and I think we could have done with Toone as well, but oh well.

I had my issues with the ref as well last night, I have to say. I thought she handled the knocks and (most of) the bookings correctly, as well as the penalty shout (which was not a penalty, sorry Jess) but she missed a clear foul on Jackie (59 mins) as well as a clear tug on Arnot (64 mins) in the second half. I also thought LJ was very lucky to get away with just a yellow for her foul on Ingle at the end of the first half, looked a little more like a red to me 😬

Hopefully Galton will be back for Sunday - she absolutely tore Reading to shreds the last time out and I would very much like to see more of that 🔥, but I’m kinda worried about that midfield trio too. The last thing we need is three defeats on the bounce, but they must be dyinggg cause they literally never, ever stop.

I know this one is a little later than usual and the format is slightly different too, but I was watching the men (for some reason) as well, and it was kinda hard to keep track of two games at once lol. Plus I just wasn’t really in the mood to try and to this last night. Also - if anyone has critiques or corrections or questions about my opinions or anything else pls don’t hesitate to drop them in my ask and I’ll edit things and answer whatever as best as I can ✌🏽

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Ten

“She threw back the curtain once more, to ask Drew how he felt about the tank-top, somewhat bemused by the way his blush had gotten darker each time she’d asked for his opinion. ‘Joan Jett,’ he said, with a nod, before she spoke. ‘Very cool.’ ‘If you’re saying it’s cool I probably shouldn’t believe it,’ she mocked. Instead of getting flustered, his eyes went wide. ‘You… you don’t know who she is?’ ”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Nine

Dwelling Chapter Eleven

Drew informed her, minutes after they put the groceries away and left the apartment yet again, that she had about twelve dollars to buy clothes with. At least she’d remembered to plunk a toothbrush and some other cheap toiletries into the cart before they left the store. She couldn’t do much more than give a nod in response as she tried to mull over how much that would actually be worth.

Ever since she and her brothers had become Team Go her clothes had been designed specifically for her. Even her t-shirts and jeans, which she’d rarely gotten to wear before running away, had been sewn to her exact measurements. Her parents had been adamant that heroes needed to look presentable at all times, which meant wearing her brother’s hand-me-downs was no longer acceptable. They’d been furious when she put up a fight against her uniform being a dress instead of a one-piece like her brothers - they only relented when she pointed out that accidentally flashing a crowd of onlookers would look bad for the team. Shea personally thought that putting her in a flowery green and white dress looked bad for the team on its own. 

She had no idea how much her clothes were actually worth, but if she had to bet, the cuff of her sleeve probably cost more than what Drew was able to provide for an entirely new wardrobe. It wasn’t that she cared about getting the best clothes, but she did have to wonder if she’d be able to afford more than a t-shirt or two. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Drew asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She’d been nodding along while he ranted and raved about… something.

She shrugged apologetically. “Not really.” She had stopped listening the moment he mentioned the money, too entangled in a vehement debate about how to politely ask how much twelve dollars would get her.

“Well, I was saying,” he snipped, “that we should wait until it starts getting cooler out to buy you a jacket. People donate nicer ones when they realize their children don’t fit into last years any more.”

“I’m not-”

“Teenagers still count as children of their parents, Shea.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching as he added in a mutter, “That’s all I meant.”

“Fine, whatever,” she mumbled back, unsure of why she was getting more and more offended each time he called her a child. It hurt a little, in a way she couldn’t quite identify. Not that she assumed getting defensive and angry made her look particularly mature. 

She forced herself not to scuff her shoe along the pavement as they walked. The silence between them felt like a pressure pushing on her from all angles, worse somehow, than the silence of the apartment without him. His incessant babbling after he’d gotten back had become some sort of a comfort, especially after having been alone for most of the day. The whole walk back to the apartment after they’d gotten groceries he’d rambled about some new show airing on the cooking channel later that night, practically begging her to watch it with him. Then, while they put the groceries away, she’d listened to him babble on and on about how a bar by his school was advertising a karaoke night on Friday. She’d barely been able to get a word in, but she had actually listened to him the whole time. Of course, he only noticed her the one time she distracted herself.

She lingered behind a step, watching the way he shuffled his feet while he walked, and the way he fidgeted with a penny he’d pulled from his pocket. He must have been annoyed with her, she figured, to have fallen silent for longer than it took to pull in a breath. Did that mean she should apologize? Or was it on him to just get over it? She loathed her parents with a white-hot fury just then… or, well, green-hot, really. If they hadn’t pulled her from school and every other social activity she’d been in as a child, maybe she would have known the answer to that. Maybe it wouldn’t have even been a question.

Even if she should apologize, she couldn’t force the words out without feeling insincere. She wasn’t all that sorry, truth be told, she just didn’t want him to be angry with her. Which was ridiculous. Normally she delighted in pissing people off - granted they were perverted creeps or weirdos who really thought the entire population of the city should bend to their will. Instead of speaking she slipped back into her place beside him and after a few more steps, snatched the penny from his hand. 

“Hey!” Drew protested immediately, trying to grab it back.

Mockingly she asked, “Does the school normally give you your allowance in coins?”

“It’s not an allowance it’s - nngh! Give that back!”

Ignoring him, she tossed the coin into the air. He tried to catch it, managing only to swipe fruitlessly at empty air as the coin landed heads-up in her palm.

“Heads, you have to answer any question I ask,” she said, showing him the coin. He reached for it again, and she slipped it between her fingers as she pulled it away.

“No way!” He shook his head, his hair bouncing. “I’m not agreeing to that.”

“Aw come on, Drew.” She nudged his arm with hers’ gently. “Humor me.”

“Humor yourself,” he muttered. She stared, unblinking at him until he looked at her. “Nn - fine! Just… You have to agree to answer questions when it lands on tails, first.”

“Wanna play would-you-rather?” Shea offered, as she realized he’d probably utilize her saying yes to ask for her last name. Which, if he did, she’d have to hit him for. She didn’t love the idea of that - he’d probably start crying again or something, and she didn’t think she could deal with it.

“I don’t see why not,” he sighed. 

Shea grinned at him, then looked around to find inspiration for her first question. “Would you rather,” she began slowly, as a small bakery caught her eye, “be an average, unknown scientist, or a world-renowned baker?”

Drew hummed in thought, running his hand through his hair. “As a scientist, I’d have no way of making myself known? I wouldn’t do anything significant?”

“You could help someone do something, but you couldn’t do it yourself. And you could never get recognized for your help.”

“Well, I’d like to be a scientist, but given the parameters… World-renowned baker.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re in it for the attention?” she teased, nudging his arm again. 

“No! I just— I’d like to do something that’s worth it, you know? Something that will actually make a difference. And if I can’t do that as a scientist, at least I could as a baker.” Jokingly he added, “The attention is just a perk.”

“I don’t think I believe that.” 

“Believe what you want.” Drew shrugged and pointed to a shop across the street. “That’s where we need to be.”

While they waited for the crosswalk signal to change, Shea flipped the coin again. “Heads. Would you rather… cook breakfast foods or dinner foods?” The question sounded stupid even in her head, but it was the best she could think up on the spot. It was her fault for asking him to play this game. She could have gotten away with pestering him about his past if she hadn’t been so scared of him trying to dig into hers. 

Drew still mulled it over, as if it were worth the effort to think about. “Dinner, I suppose. Mostly because I have time to cook decent meals for dinner. I normally have to leave too early for a good breakfast. And besides, I can explore more options with dinner.” 

“I need better questions,” she muttered while they crossed the street. 

“Flip the coin again, maybe it’ll be my turn to ask.” Much to her disappointment, it landed on tails. While she was struggling to come up with anything worthy of asking, she worried more about what he might ask her. She expected something goading her into telling him her last name, or an equally unanswerable question. Instead, he asked, “Would you rather drink an entire gallon of iced tea, or eat an entire watermelon in one sitting?” The words left his mouth before she could properly manage to tell him the coin had landed on tails. Surprised by the question, she started to laugh.

“I’ll go with the watermelon, I guess.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’m just not a huge fan of iced tea. I like it and all, just not enough to drink an entire gallon.” There had only been one iced tea that she could have drank an entire gallon of, and ever since the comet struck her mother refused to make it. She’d tried to remember the exact mixture, but the times she managed to sneak the supplies into Go Tower, it had never turned out quite right.

“My father, when I was a child,” Drew said, as he held the door open for her, “used to bring home a watermelon on the last day of school every year. We’d eat the whole thing that night, as proof summer had begun.”

“I bet you were the kind of kid who got scared and cried about how a watermelon was going to grow in your stomach if you accidentally swallowed a seed.”

“I was not! I mean– nngh! I was four!” 

“I knew it,” she laughed, slipping past him to step inside. Her eyes widened as she took in the interior of the building. 

A bell above the door rang as Drew closed it. He chuckled quietly as he saw her expression, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome,” he said imitating a game show host, “to the wonderful world of thrift stores.” Stuffed into one corner was a stack of movies that rivaled hers and Drew’s combined. Next to it was shelves full of books that made her want to sit down and read every single one, and made her all the more grateful for Drew’s library card. Knick knacks and toys lined the back wall. The rest of the building was filled up with rows and rows of donated clothes.

“That was terrible,” she said, turning to look at him. A billboard on the wall next to the door caught her eye. 

“Thank you. Now, come on,” he urged, nudging her forward. “Your size is going to be over here. 

“Wait!” Shea brushed Drew’s hand off her shoulder and pointed out, “Job advertisements. Maybe somebody needs a dog walker or babysitter or something.”

Drew glanced behind him, and when his gaze shot back to hers she thought he looked oddly panicked, the way he had during the movie before he freaked out. With unexpected speed and force his hand smacked back down on her shoulder. “Don't— Don't worry about that right now,” he said in a rush, jolting her back around and shoving her forward. “Next time, maybe. I um… I have to get back and do work, so let’s hurry it up.”

“Yeah, but—” She started to protest, but Drew interrupted her with an almost urgent, “Not now.”

She threw her hands up, stepping out of range of his insistent shoving. “Fine! Jeez. I was just hoping to pitch in, you know.”

Drew made a strangled sort of sound. “And I do appreciate the sentiment, but if we could get going!” 

With a huff, Shea made her way over to the section he’d pointed her towards. “What’s got you so grumpy?” She muttered under her breath. 

He either didn’t hear her or decided to ignore her. “Pick out anything you want. There are dressing rooms over there. Just be sure to check the price tag. I’d suggest avoiding anything that costs more than fifty cents, but sometimes you can convince them to bring the price down.”

“I’d like to see you trying to haggle,” Shea scoffed. In truth, she could picture it pretty easily. After all, it had only taken one flash of his dopey grin and she’d agreed to watch some lame cooking show with him. 

He shrugged at her. “I got… um, something, from here for less than a dollar. It was worth eight. I’ve got my ways.” When he winked at her - more smooth than she ever would have expected from him - she felt her stomach twist in a strange way - a way she couldn’t decide if she liked or disliked. 

She gave his arm a swift punch. She hadn’t meant for it to hurt, but he yelped, wincing, and she took that to mean she’d probably hit him harder than she meant to. She needed to watch her strength, she decided, before she hurt him too badly.

“Something?” She teased anyway, “Real specific, Drew. Not at all suspicious.” He grunted and shot a glare in her direction but otherwise didn’t respond. 

She couldn’t tell if it was force of habit or the knowledge that it looked best on her, but she found herself gravitating towards anything green. She plucked shirt after shirt off the racks, examining them.

“Oh, that’s perfect for you,” Drew laughed, as she pulled out a t-shirt bedazzled with a large purple butterfly and tiny colorful little flowers. 

Sticking her tongue out she faked like she was going to be sick and nearly threw the shirt back onto the rack. “Am I really that small that kids stuff is going to fit me?” She asked without meaning to. 

“Drat!” He exclaimed. “I meant to make you eat some food before we came here.”

She’d all but forgotten about the hunger working a pit into her stomach and the temptation to hit him, for real, came on as strong as the hunger pangs did. “I’m not that little,” she decided, grumbling to herself.

Drew shook his head. “Yes, you are. You wouldn’t be if you’d eat food.”

“I eat!”

“Not enough, clearly! You look like nobody has fed you in years! You’re all bone!”

“I’m just not normally hungry!”

“You’re eating two servings of dinner tonight, at least, since I forgot to make you have a proper lunch.”

“Fine! As long as it’s good.”

“I’m making cantaloupe fruit salad,” he teased, then sighed as she glared at him. “Chicken fried rice sound better?”

“Much.”

“It’s not the most nutritious meal, but it’s cheap. And easy to make.”

With a snort, Shea started walking in the direction of the dressing rooms, figuring the stack of clothes split between her arms and Drews was more than enough. “I didn’t think you’d be into easy to make meals.”

“Oh, it isn’t easy to make because of me,” he said. Something about his tone made her pause, and she turned slowly to face him. 

“I’m not helping,” she stated, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh, no way.”

“Come on, Shea! Everyone should know how to cook. I’ll teach you.”

“I don’t need to be taught how to burn down a building!”

“It’s easy and I’ll be right there the entire time in case something goes wrong!”

“Yeah, and you’ll be right there fighting over the toilet when we both end up with food poisoning. Not happening.”

“You know you already helped me with the first step.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

Drew hummed affirmatively, “Did too. You helped buy the ingredients! So, now we both know none of it has gone bad yet, which means you can learn to cook.”

“I’m not doing it,” she insisted one final time, snatching the clothes from Drew’s arms and marching into the small closet-sized room to try them on before he could argue. 

After half a dozen t-shirts were discarded on the floor with increasing amounts of annoyance, she heard a knock on the wall. “Having trouble choosing or did you get stuck?” Drew’s disembodied voice teased from behind the curtain.

“I’m too small to get stuck,” Shea grumbled, glaring at her body in the mirror. He was right. She’d never really noticed, with how much her parents shoved the idea of the perfect image in her face, but she really was just… far too skinny. Two pairs of jeans, the smallest ones she’d found, both dangled far too loosely around her hips, and the only other pair had slipped right off when she’d finished buttoning them. One t-shirt had been so baggy she looked like a child wearing their parents’ clothing, another had clung to her skin, showing off every rib and ridge of her spine. Something wasn’t right and she knew it, she just couldn’t explain why.

The pit in her stomach seemed to grow, for reasons far beyond hunger. Her parents had done something to her. They had to. Or maybe those creeps at the lab where she had woken up and lived for seven months of her life after becoming a glowing freak had done something. 

She was tempted to put her own clothes back on, and tell Drew to keep his money but tears started welling up in her eyes at the thought, and she knew if she actually said it he’d know she was upset. She swiped at her eyes and chucked another shirt - this one with long sleeves that dangled down like loose skin on her boney arms - into the growing stack of discarded clothing.

Another knock on the wall and Drew asked, “Shea? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, snatching up a black tank top from the few shirts left for her to try.

“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”

Shea dragged in a deep, breath, forcing herself to calm down before she snapped at him again and made things worse. At least the tank-top, while still awkwardly too big on her, didn’t actually look horrible. It just looked like it was a little too big. Drews’ clothes didn’t fit right either, some part of her brain reminded which was dumb but a little comforting. She sniffled a bit, and wiped at her eyes again, reaching for a green and black flannel. 

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Just a lot to try on.”. She thought maybe the bagginess of the flannel wasn’t so bad if she left it unbuttoned. It still looked like she was borrowing someone else’s clothes but… She smirked to herself, as she imagined how the flannel kind of looked like it could have been snagged from a boyfriend, rather than from her dad. That wasn’t so bad, she decided. Girls stole their boyfriends’ clothing all the time, didn’t they? Maybe people would assume she was one of those girls instead of a super- ex-superhero - wondering if her genetics had been tampered with to keep her nauseatingly skinny permanently. 

“Found anything you like yet?” Drew called quietly, clearly trying not to upset her again. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” She spun around trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror. With a sigh, she yanked the too-big jeans up with one hand and pushed the curtain to the side with the other. “How does this look?” she asked before she could convince herself not to. 

Drew audibly gulped, as he looked her up and down. “Looks– looks good,” he stammered. She raised an eyebrow at him and he averted his gaze, the tips of his ears turning pink. “We can get you a belt so you don’t have to hold those up all the time. There’s a ton to choose from.”

“Okay,” she said, admittedly a bit confused by his weird reaction– was he just trying to get her to hurry up? She rolled her eyes at the weak smile he sent over his shoulder and shut the curtain again as he turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

She found three more shirts that she liked, and another tank top with the words, “I love rock and roll” in messy graffiti-style print on the front. It wasn’t much but could get her through a week for now. 

She threw back the curtain once more, to ask Drew how he felt about the tank-top, somewhat bemused by the way his blush had gotten darker each time she’d asked for his opinion.

“Joan Jett,” he said, with a nod, before she spoke. “Very cool.”

“If you’re saying it’s cool I probably shouldn’t believe it,” she mocked.

Instead of getting flustered, his eyes went wide. “You… you don’t know who she is?”

“Drew, my parents got mad at me for reading books. I wasn’t exactly allowed a radio.”

“But you were allowed a television? How does that make any sense?”

She glanced around and grabbed the front of his shirt. He yelped, stumbling as she pulled him into the small room with her. She shut the curtain behind him.

“What are you–”

“My parents gave me a television to watch horror movies on to train me not to let this,” she explained in an almost angry whisper as she lifted one glowing hand up to his face - he pressed himself flat against the back wall, wide-eyed, “flare-up every time I got scared.”

“Oh,” he squeaked out. “I– I’m… Sorry. I– We– I have some of her music on tape. We can…” His shocked expression faded into a small, nervous, smirk as her hand dropped back to her side. “We can listen while we cook dinner.” She realized then how close she had been standing to him. Unnecessarily close, even in the cramped space. She’d had another half foot to step back, and yet she’d decided to take up as much of his personal space as she could. 

“You mean while you cook dinner,” she snipped and gave him a shove back out of the room.

“Not if you expect a meal I don’t,” she heard Drew mutter.

“Says the guy freaking out about the fact that I didn’t eat a big enough lunch.”

He didn’t respond until she walked out, back in her old clothes. “Got everything you need, chef?”

“Don’t start that,” she warned. “And no. Belt, remember?” 

“Don’t start what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he grabbed her elbow to steer her in the right direction. 

“You know what!”

“Well, why not? You are the one cooking tonight, after all.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Four brothers, Drew. I can do this a lot longer than you can. I am not.” Actually, she was usually the first to quit those kinds of nonsensical arguments, quick to turn the fight physical, but he didn’t need to know that. He fell silent again, and she could only hope that was the end of it. 

Drew helped her sift through the belts, pulling ones at random to offer to her. Well, helped was generous. More than anything he picked up the gaudiest, awful belts he could find - a pink one with plastic rhinestones, a Mighty Martian belt, which she was surprised he cared that it was for kids enough to leave behind - she wasn’t even sure he was actually offering them to her, or just offering them up for her to laugh at. Which she found herself doing more earnestly with each terrible fashion choice he showed her, especially once he gave in and began laughing along with her.  

“Look at this one,” he called. She peered around the rack as he flashed a faux-snakeskin belt at her. On its own, she could have seen the appeal, but the previous owner had apparently taken the liberty of tie-dying it with purples and yellows and reds that made her loath having eyes.

“That is…” The word ‘repulsive’ died on her tongue and she pushed him aside, a neon green belt catching her eye. 

“Find something you like?” He chuckled, evidently not at all upset at being shoved. She nodded absently, pulling the belt down. Another came with it. When she made to pry them apart she realized they were meant to be a package deal. The green one that caught her eye was completed with a black buckle, and the slightly larger one attached was a perfect inverse. 

She debated putting them back, but decided against it, wrapping the green one around her waist. 

She glanced up at Drew. “Thoughts?”

“I think you like green.”

“Yeah, kinda got a flare for it,” she joked, immediately hating herself for it.

“That was terrible,” he said, though his laughter belied him. “But the belt works. You should get it.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “but it’s three dollars cause it’s a package deal. See?” She showed him the other belt.

He shrugged. “So, I’ll get the price down. And take that belt. I could always use more.”

Something in her stomach flipped at the thought of wearing matching belts, but she found it wasn’t because the idea particularly bothered her. She shrugged back and tossed the belts into his arms.

“I guess we’re done then?” Shea asked. Drew nodded and she gave his shoulder a pat. “Let’s see you work that charm, bargain-boy.”

“No, no, no! Stop that. Don’t start calling me things like that.”

“Aw, but it’s so much fun. Is barter-boy better?”

“Nngh! Shea! Just–” Drew sputtered out a series of incoherent sounds at her, until a strangely calm look took over his face. “Would you rather… have to cook dinner with me tonight or stop calling me things like that?”

“You didn’t flip the coin, dork.”

“Just answer it!”

“Does calling you a dork count?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy flop of hair. “I suppose not.”

“Then I’d rather stop calling you things like that. Cause I’m not cooking.”

Drew hummed innocently. “If you say so. Let’s go.”

Straightening his glasses, he took the bundle of clothes from her arms, placing them gently on the desk of the cashier, an older woman who glanced up at him through glasses almost as thick as his. Her wrinkled face shifted into a smile as she saw him. 

“Drew,” the woman croaked happily. “How lovely to see you again, dearie!”

“It’s lovely to see you too, Lorraine,” Drew replied. “How have you been these last few weeks?”

“Busy, busy,” she laughed, glancing around the near-empty building. “Not that you would guess right now. I’ve missed the company of good boys like you. Where have you been?”

“Busy myself,” Drew said. “Summer courses have just ended, and now the fall semester has just begun.”

“Did you ever find yourself a roommate to split the cost of that apartment of yours?”

Drew pulled her by the shoulder to stand next to him, and she smiled awkwardly at the old woman. “This is Shea,” he introduced. “She’s taken the second room” 

The woman, Lorraine, squinted at her, looking her up and down scrutinizingly. The woman hummed, seeming displeased. 

“A girl, Drew? Are you sure that’s appropriate?”

“We share entirely separate rooms,” he assured her, adding with a shrug, “I’m sure you understand how I couldn’t possibly leave her on the streets.” 

“You always are such a good boy, Drew,” Lorraine chortled. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

The woman didn’t offer her a hand to shake and Shea didn’t offer hers either. “Likewise,” she managed tersely. Drew squeezed her shoulder. She could only assume he intended to convey some sort of message, and she stared up at him, hoping for some help understanding it.

Lorraine looked back to Drew as Shea floundered to figure out what he wanted her to say or do. “I take it you found everything you needed, Drew?”

“We actually came to find clothes for her,” he explained. “I don’t think she’d be particularly fond of having to continue wearing my t-shirts.”

“Well, I should think not. She’s quite the little thing.” Being talked about like she wasn’t there shouldn’t have been comforting, but a sense of normalcy washed over her nonetheless. 

“We tried to stay within a twelve dollar budget but… Well, I needed a new belt as well. We grabbed that joint pack, but even that puts us out of our price range…”

“Drew, I never mind giving you a deal, you know that. But most of this isn’t for you, it’s for her.” Lorraine’s tone held none of the grandmotherly affection towards her as it did towards him, and she found herself simultaneously wanting to step away and stuck where she was.

She settled on looking down, muttering, “I can put things back.” She’d be content to put everything back if she’d stop watching her. She couldn’t decide if she was more freaked out by the idea that the woman would suddenly realize who she was, or by how much the way the woman eyed her reminded her of her mothers constant commentary on her every move, be it how she threw a punch in a fight or how she ran six miles instead of seven during morning warm-ups. 

“How did you meet Drew?” Lorraine suddenly asked her.

Shea found herself stammering before answering as honestly as she thought worth it, “I met him at a bus stop.”

“Are you homeless?”

“If he decides to take away my key, then yes.”

“What are you going to do if he does?”

“I’m not going to,” Drew cut in, looking almost as flustered as she felt. She didn’t particularly appreciate being interrogated over bargain bin clothing. 

“Do you contribute to the financial situation?”

“Well, I was going to look at the job advertisement when we came in,” she grumbled. 

Drew squeezed her shoulder again, far more gently than the first time. “She helps with pretty much everything else, including my work, so yes, in a way she does.”

“That’s quite nice. But I am still curious as to what you would do if he did ask you to leave… Darling?”

Shea’s stomach twisted at the idea. She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Then I leave. If he really wanted me gone, then I’d leave.”

“Are you quite happy with having her live with you, Drew?”

His brow furrowed as he watched the woman, the familiarity and comfort gone from his expression. “I– yes?” His gaze darted to her, and she stared up at him, silently begging him to just forget the clothes so they could leave. “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I didn’t want you to.”

Shea couldn’t help but look away, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she felt her face heat up. 

When she next spoke, Lorraine’s voice had gone back to the voice of a bubbly sweet old lady. “Very good, very good,” she crooned as if she’d just witnessed a spectacular show. “How much of this can you afford, dears?”

Drew blinked, clearly as stunned as she was at the sudden switch. “Twelve dollars worth,” he answered, almost robotically. 

“How about this dear; you give me eight for all this and spend the leftover on ice cream cones for the two of you, while it’s still warm outside? My treat for such a sweet couple.” 

Shea opened her mouth to point out that they weren’t a couple, but Drews nudge - because she couldn’t justify calling something so weak a kick - to her shin told her loud and clear to shut up. 

“Are you sure, Lorraine?” Drew asked, pulling the bills from his wallet. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to drop the price so low.” 

“Don’t you argue with me, Drew Lipsky,” Lorraine lectured, waggling a finger between them. “A sweet boy like you doesn’t often find a girl like her. You take care of her and don’t you ever let her go.”

Shea couldn’t believe the woman hadn’t noticed she was green, with how flushed her face felt. Drew, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink through his hair, was playing it much cooler than she felt. 

“If you insist,” he laughed, passing over the eight dollars. “We’ll even get double scoops, as an extra thank you to you.”

“That’s my good boy. Lovely to meet you, sweetie!” She waved at them as Drew pulled her out the door, shifting with her to block her view of the billboard on their way. He waved back at the old woman and Shea reluctantly did the same.

“Fifteen dollars worth of clothes,” Drew stated as he passed one bag over to her, “for eight. I told you I had my ways.”

“You have one way,” she protested, laughing, “and that’s being a suck-up.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Thanks for the clothes. Although, a heads up about the questioning would have been nice.”

“I didn’t expect that either,” he told her. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Well, of course, you haven’t you’re such a sweet boy,” she teased. 

He glared at her. “Yes, well. Oh,” he exclaimed suddenly, breaking into a grin, “guess what?”

“What?” She asked hesitantly.

“Are too,” he stated simply.

It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about her cooking dinner with him again - enough time that he’d slipped out of range for her to hit him. “I am not,” she protested yet again. “If I’m going to burn down your apartment I assure you it won’t be by accident.”

“You’re going to help if you want a double scoop!”

“Are you… are you really planning on using that money to get ice cream?”

“I promised I would,” he said, shrugging as he fell back in step with her.

“What a sweet boy,” Shea teased again.

“Be quiet before you get no ice cream at all.”

Stifling a laugh, she mimed zipping her lips shut. 

He found her silence worse than her teasing. By the time they made it back to the apartment, he had practically begun to beg her to talk again. 

She smiled at him but didn’t say anything until he said, halfway up the stairs, “Will you talk to me again if I say you don’t have to help cook?”

She didn’t pause to consider as she blurted out, “Sure.”

Drew barked out a laugh, “You spoke! And I didn’t actually promise anything yet! You still have to help.”

He sprinted through their door as she lunged at him, and didn’t stop until he reached the kitchen, clearly prepared to run no matter which direction she came at him from.

She almost gave in and chased him, but the thought of what she would do when she caught him - which she knew was absolutely nothing except tell him again that she would do anything but cook - gave her pause. Instead, she smiled with false calm and composure and sat down on the couch. 

“Food poisoning will work well enough.”

“You’re not going to give me food poisoning!”

She turned her deliberately creepy smile back towards him. “Oh,” she chuckled darkly, “yes, I will.”

Drew paled but didn’t waver as he repeated once more that she was helping him cook and that was that. Damn him. She should have given in and chased him. At least cornering him would have given her something more satisfying. She forced herself to keep up the act, leaning back against the couch to shoot one final eerie smile in his direction.

[siribear]

old man stockton’s moniker fits more than skinny malone’s did, as she finds the old man sitting behind a counter scattered with paperwork. other caravaners have filed into the area, stocking their own counters with wares in contrast. deacon stands back again, blending in with the other caravan guards as she approaches their contact.

stockton nods his head. ‘tell me, friend, do you have a geiger counter?’

whisper shrugs. ‘mine is in the shop.’

he squints, looks her over. ‘you’re with our mutual friends, yes?’ he speaks slowly, low and careful. ‘then you know that i have a... package that’s been in my possession too long.’

they talk shop, their conversation entirely covert. she does get their pick up location out of him eventually: a church last seen occupied by raiders. returning to deacon, she relays the location. and that they’ll have to wait until nightfall to make their delivery.

‘we can do each other’s hair while we wait,’ he says as she leads the way. he gives her ponytail a playful tug, like they’re children back in kindergarten. at her look, ‘it suits you. you look more like a spy, now.’

she shakes her head, lets her hair smack his arm. ‘glad you approve.’

the outskirts of the city are quiet as they make their way to the church. the sun rises high over head, but a cool wind chills the air. it should be colder this time of year, she thinks. much colder. as it is, beginning of november, she can barely see her breath.

they take cover in a building next to the church. voices drift through the quiet, too low to be made out but just loud enough to be heard. two - three voices. deacon pulls out his rifle and counts the figures in the church. ‘i see five. maybe six. hard to see from this angle.’

‘the roof?’ she suggests, pointing up to a hole to the second floor.

‘because of course the stairs are broken,’ he sighs. he kneels so she can step into his cupped hands then lifts, heaving her toward the edge of the hole. ‘thank goodness you’re not that heavy. i don’t know if these old bones could handle it.’

whisper hauls herself up with some effort. when deacon jumps, she grabs a fistful of jacket and yanks - ‘those old bones are heavy,’ she says with exaggerated panting.

deacon pouts. ‘all muscle,’ he says, defensively.

to get to the roof, or the half of the roof that’s still standing, they climb out the upstairs window, deacon first. at the top, deacon pulls out his rifle again, counting the raiders through the blown open roof of the church. ‘only five. we could pick them off from here.’

further up the street, something catches her eye. ‘just past the church. look.’

he does. ‘pack of ferals. gr-eat. the sound will draw them over.’ whisper hums, then makes to drop back to the second floor. ‘where are you going?’

‘i have a dumb idea. cover me?’

sunlight glints off his sunglasses as he grins back at her. ‘of course.’

back on the ground floor, she quickly makes her way up the street, avoiding the church’s line of sight. she only looks back once to see deacon down on one knee, following her through his scope. it’s... comforting. in a way she’s never needed to be comforted, on the other end of a scope.

how her life has changed.

the pack of ferals hasn’t moved since she spotted them. they’re gathered around the hollowed out shell of a car, climbing over and under, looking for food. one silenced shot from deliverer takes off the arm of one and draws their attention.

two of them take off after her first. the others have to drag themselves out of the car first before they sprint toward her. and they’re faster than she thought. shit. she turns and runs back down the road. on the roof, she notices deacon raise his rifle to fire, but she waves him off.

‘what the fuck - ?’ is all she hears from the first raider before she all but barrels into him.

‘help, please,’ whisper gasps, out of breath. ‘they’re coming - they killed everyone - ’ before the raider can grab her, she pulls away. ‘oh god, they’re here,’ she yells and sprints back toward the house.

‘she brought fucking ferals!’ she hears another raider yell behind her, and ducks away when one of them takes a shot at her. the bullet skims her arm, cutting through the thin fabric of her flannel shirt. it stings, but it’s not enough to stop her from jumping through the open window of the house.

the raiders scream. gunshots are fired. the ferals howl in pain and fury. eventually, the noise dies down, and all she hears after are the muted shots from deacon up above, cleaning up whatever’s left. he joins her on the bottom floor with a low whistle.

‘two birds, one stone. and i didn’t even have to break a sweat. nice job.’

‘who won?’ she asks with an effected lightness.

‘ferals. and they left quite a mess.’

they did. the front of the church is painted with blood, and whisper tries not to think about the symbolism behind it. ‘that’s that. and now we wait?’

deacon looks to the front window of the church and the small, unlit lantern sitting on the ledge. ‘and now we wait.’

-

sitting still. she is not good at sitting still.

‘we could clear the way?’ she asks. 

deacon shakes his head, leans back against the pew they’ve come to share - the only one not broken in half or covered in blood. ‘i have an idea of where we’re taking this one, but we can’t risk being seen.’

the sun creeps across the sky. an affront to her, personally. she gets up to wander the church. deacon watches, still sprawled out on the pew. behind the pulpit at the head of the church is a burned book whose pages crumble to ash when she attempts to pick it up. toward the back, she climbs the winding staircase to a second floor, finding a small loft with sleeping bags laid out in a row. whisper pockets the handful of stimpaks and ammo she finds in a bag lying near one of the sleeping bags.

another door leads to the balcony overlooking the ground floor of the church, so she follows the staircase up to the steeple. at the very top, she only finds a single chair surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol and the bell missing its clapper.

‘find anything good?’ deacon asks when she finally heads back down.

‘ammo and stimpaks,’ she says, and divides them between the two of them. a glimmer of silver on the floor catches her eye. she tears off the ruined part of her sleeve and uses the fabric to pick up the silver bracelet lying half in a pool of feral blood.

it’s oddly, impossibly familiar. she rubs the blood off the other half of the bracelet, to reveal a name. rosa. like the name printed on the mailbox across from her house -

she drops it. coincidence, she tells herself. even if the ghoul is wearing the same pink dress from two hundred years ago.

defeated, she sits back down next to deacon. ‘weren’t we going to do each other’s hair?’

he chuckles. ‘only if you want me to shave your hair off.’

‘hm.’ she pokes his wig. ‘i don’t know if i’d look as good.’

‘i think this face pulls it off better than my others,’ he says, rubbing his chin.

‘your... others?’

‘i go under the knife every couple months. give myself a new face. extra security, you know?’

she squints. ‘extra security? you already have code names, secret codes, railsigns - what more security do you need?’

he’s silent for a moment, before he sighs. ‘you don’t have any family here.’ whisper stiffens. he continues. ‘you’re lucky. everyone else in the railroad - they’ve got to be extra careful. if the institute finds out who they are, they put their families at risk, not just themselves.’

lucky. she frowns. ‘i’ve never thought of it that way,’ she says, dully. after a moment, ‘you said ‘they.’ what about you?’

‘that,’ his near-trademark grin slides back onto his face with a snap, ‘is a story for another day.’

‘no trading of tragic backstories just yet then?’ she fakes a pout. ‘okay.’

the smile he gives her looks almost genuine.

-

it’s hours until their contact arrives and night falls. hours they spend playing a game on her pipboy that she found in her boredom. a small vault boy avatar bounces over mini-nukes traveling horizontally across the screen, all while travelling to the top of the screen to rescue vault girl from the titular red menace. whisper has to cross over to deacon’s left when it’s his turn to play. if she bobs her arm at an opportune moment (’what? my arm got tired.’), then it’s purely coincidence that he falls just short of her high score.

besides, it’s fair play for when he poked her in the side and distracted her when she was about to beat his.

‘well, i see you two agents are hard at work,’ stockton says, stepping over feral and raider corpses to enter the church.

‘we could have sung show tunes, but that might have drawn more attention,’ says deacon, drawing a quiet laugh out of a young man standing behind stockton, until now unnoticed.

deacon nudges her in the side, so she stands and walks up to the man. short cropped, messy hair hides under a news cap, and he shrinks into his too-big patchwork jacket. ‘this, agents, is h2-22. say hello, h2.’ stockton sounds as if he’s talking to a child.

‘h-hello,’ h2 mumbles, barely audible.

whisper smiles. ‘nice to meet you.’ a small smile breaks across his face, which he smothers soon after, looking to stockton.

‘they’ll take care of you from now on. i’m going to light the signal.’ the small flickering light of the lantern on the windowsill barely casts any shadows. stockton spares them a moment’s glance before he leaves. ‘take care.’

h2 waves, but it goes unseen to stockton’s retreating form.

‘so, now how long do we wait?’ whisper asks.

deacon speaks up behind her. ‘not long. he’s coming down the road now, actually.’

just over h2′s shoulder she watches someone jog their way, and soon another man stands in the entrance of the church in an outfit mirroring deacon’s. ‘deacon,’ he calls, breathless, ‘good to see you. still with the same face? it’s been months, man.’

deacon sidles up next to her. ‘hey, high rise. things have been crazy, you know, not enough time to go back to the surgery center.’

whisper looks between the two. ‘you were serious about the face changing?’

‘should have seen him back when he was a woman.’

she laughs. ‘wh-what? i missed that? deacon - ’

‘he-y. maybe beatrice will come back some day.’

whisper shakes her head. ‘anyway.’ she turns her attention back to high rise. ‘do you have a geiger counter?’

high rise smiles and nods. ‘there we are. mine is in the shop.’ he and deacon share a look. ‘so, you’re whisper, then? walked the freedom trail and everything?’

‘how fast does news travel in the commonwealth?’ she sighs. ‘but, yeah, that’s me.’

‘we’re all a bunch of gossips,’ deacon pipes up at her side.

‘something like that. stick with deacon. he’ll take care of you.’ before whisper can respond, high rise turns to the quiet young man standing just outside the group of agents. ‘speaking of taking care - how are you, friend? doing all right?’

h2 clears his throat softly. ‘y-yeah. the man who brought me here... said i shouldn’t talk too much.’

high rise’s smile is sad. ‘good advice.’ he returns his attention to the other agents. ‘we’re bringing him back to my safehouse, ticonderoga. only thing is: there’s a group of raiders between us and there. not to mention some super mutants have set up in the neighborhood.’

‘not a problem,’ whisper tells him.

‘you should have seen her earlier.’ deacon gestures to the cooling bodies on the ground. ‘all her.’

high rise finally seems to notice the bodies around them. ‘all right then. stay between us, okay?’ he says to h2. and to her and deacon, ‘let’s do this.’

[infinitehours]

From Dusk to Dawn, an Elder Scrolls Online short fic

Rivenspire spoilers and Daggerfall Covenant questline spoilers (specifically Stormhaven and main quest).  I did like the ideas behind the Rivenspire storyline, even if I did not always like the execution.  Author notes are first, then the story.  Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed! 

Author notes before the story:  I’m actually not done with this story.  It’s still got another part to it that I just haven’t had the inspiration to write yet.  

This is my character Elyssa.  She's the youngest of my line-up *(only 18), and that distinction is important.  Naive and more than a little too trusting. She's also probably the only one who would purposely go out of her way just to coax a bunch of vampires into letting her stay the night, if only for the "coolness" factor of getting to stay the night at a vampire castle.

Once upon a time, I had plot bunny idea of a conversation concerning my traumatized Vestige about Molag Bal. I say traumatized because...let's be honest here.  The amount of stuff the Vestige goes through is alarmingly dark at times. It wasn't until I got to Rivenspire that I recognized the perfect situation this conversation could take place, and that the Count's status as a vampire who received his vampirism directly from Molag Bal (only to turn around and embrace morality) added an extra layer of meaning here. I hope that explains why I did this in the specific way that I did.  That vampires, and their abilities, are they themselves almost representations of Molag Bal's whole concept of domination and submission.  I like that bit of symbolism.   I don't think this particular story would have had as much of an impact otherwise.

It's canon that there are different strains of vampires and that they can do different things depending on the strain.  What's not entirely clear to me is how those mechanics always work (because we don't always see them in game), so forgive me for making a few things up. Additionally, ZOS confirmed they were changing how the feeding animation looks to something "more traditional" so I'm assuming we're going to get people biting necks in the update. Which is a lot better than the weird ridiculous looking funnel of blood, if I’m being honest here.

(one of the other reasons I wanted to write this was to come up with an explanation for why the Count is kind of...irritated all the time, lol)  

Content warnings: A little bit of Molag Bal torture going on here. Vampire biting.   Otherwise I can’t think of anything.  

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

~~~~~~~~~~

“Difficulty sleeping?”  

Those were the first words out of his mouth the moment she stepped lightly into the study.  Even without turning around, even without her making a sound, he seemed to be keenly aware she was there.  It might have been unnerving if she didn’t know anything about him.  

“Nightmares,” was her reply, the shadow of a sad smile coming and going on her lips.  

He nodded silent acknowledgement as she took one of the carved wooden seats available.  For a moment, she watched him as he stood with his back to her; he was stock still, almost statue-like, save for the occasional instance in which he turned the page.  He wore a different set of mage’s robes than he did earlier.  It was similarly a deep, dark grey, but this one had a few threads of red woven in a delicate pattern across the length of it.

“I suppose it quite normal for a mortal to have those when staying in a place like this.”  

He said it flatly, and it was difficult for her to work out whether he was irritated at the idea or resigned to it.

“I assure you, my lord Count,” she responded carefully in turn.  “I’ve been having nightmares long before I accepted your very generous offer to spend the night.”

Platitudes.  That was surely the best way to handle a noble, undead or not, right?

“But if it is at all upsetting to you that I’m here,” she continued, hastily, “It would be a simple thing to pack my affects and travel to Shornhelm.”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I am not bothered.  And it is likewise too dangerous to travel the roads at this time at night.”

His eyes still never seemed to pry themselves away from his research as he propped open another tome on top of a large pile of books that conveniently reached his height.  

“Vampires hunt best at this time, I’m sure.”  she said, off-handedly, her fingers dancing through the length of her reddish brown hair that was now free of her usual, careful braid.    

“There’s no sun to burn our skin, and our eyes are much better attuned to the dark than a mortal’s.  The bloodfiends, who are nothing more than feral members of our kind, operate much the same.  So long as the people stay indoors and within the city walls, they should be safe.  But a lone traveler, even on horseback, may offer up a too tempting target for them to resist.  You’d be snatched in the gloom and none would hear of it until the morning.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, though in her mind’s eye she played out a scene with her own mangled corpse lying by the side of the road.  Pale, glassy-eyed, bite-ridden and completely drained of blood.  She scowled at the thought, and shifted in her chair.

“It may not come down to that,” She said, her voice lacking the confidence she’d hoped for, “I’d say I’m pretty good at fighting bloodfiends; and, in fact, I’ve already fought some of them at night...”

“I don’t doubt that, Elyssa.  But is there any real reason to risk yourself unnecessarily? Stay here for the night, and I promise you can leave in the morning.  As early as it takes the sun to rise to the sky and offer you its protection.”

Her scowl deepened.  Did he think she was scared to spend the night at his home-castle-place-thing?  She knew that he was probably used to being a little bit defensive when it came to dealing with others (and that it was kind of her fault for somewhat insisting on staying to begin with), but he can’t honestly think she’d lost her nerve, could he?

“Count Verandis. I seem to have accidentally given you the impression that I’m uncomfortable here or that I desperately wish to leave if only you’d allow me.  Trust me when I say, if I was that desperate or felt like I was in that much danger, I would have already broken one of your pretty stained glass windows and JUMPED myself to freedom.”

She gestured towards the entryway.  “Although I’d probably just try the front door first. Something tells me you wouldn’t stop me, even if you do think it’s foolhardy for a mortal to be prancing about in the dead of night.”

He still didn’t turn away from his books, but from the angle of where she sat she could see the edge of his mouth twitching into, what she’d hope, was something akin towards a smile.  Or maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“I appreciate your consideration for my family home.  Stained glass is difficult to procure these days.”

She smiled at that (he HAD made a joke, right? That was meant as a joke, wasn’t it?), and adjusted herself so that she was lounging a bit in the chair.  Difficult to do, since the wood wasn’t exactly comfortable.  Her plain beige dress, what she usually wore to sleep, wasn’t padded enough to act as a cushion either.   She frowned for the third time that night, and straightened back up.  

“Do you want me to leave you to your studies?” She asked politely, just as the thought occurred to her.  It would act as an excuse to go back to the upstairs bedroom; one of the few rooms that actually had a bed in the entire castle.

“It’s not necessary.” He stated.  

She waited a moment.

“…May I ask a question?”

“If you insist.”  Again, in that flat, dull tone of his that never seemed to hold much emotion.  

“Are you always thirsty?”

This gave him pause, and she could see a few of his fingers ghosting over the latest text he held open before committing to turning another page.

“At some level, yes.  But if you’ve practiced for as long as I have and feed regularly, it’s barely noticeable.”

“So me being in this room for you is, thankfully, not distracting?”

“Your presence isn’t, no.”

Her eyes narrowed in on the back of his head. He was possibly, in a roundabout way, implying that her comments were distracting. It was another one of those statements that made it hard for her to figure out whether he was pissed off, slightly annoyed, or just bored.

“Would you like a bite?” She suddenly asked.

“What?” This time, he DID look up.  Even more, he turned to stare at her with something akin to surprise.

She sat to attention with a triumphant smirk. “Finally, a normal emotional reaction!”

And with that proclamation, his expression hardened and he returned to his books.

“I do not have time for childish endeavors, Elyssa.”  He said sourly.

“You just seem so….I don’t know. Detached.  Either that, or irritated at everyone all the time.  It’s hard to tell with you.  I think that may be the bulk of the reason why a lot of people may be uncomfortable around you.  It’s rather nice to see you actually have some…well…life left in you.”

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have, my child, and watched just as many of your friends age and die…short-lived humans, no less…people you’ve formed attachments to and cared for, again and again…You find ways of…removing yourself from all of it.  If only to ensure that it need not affect you as hard each time.”

Elyssa considered this.  “So…when you say you ‘care’ about the people of Rivenspire—“

“I do care,” He snapped his latest book shut and spun to face her. “I may not be able to feel as deeply as a mother who lost her first child, but I do care about what happens to the people of Rivenspire. I still remember what it was like to lose family, to lose loved ones, the depths of that pain.  Even if I cannot experience it fully for myself anymore, I remember enough to never wish it upon anyone else.  This is why I detest the idea of ever sharing this gift of mine; inflicting it upon others so that they would have to spend decades just learn how to control their despair enough to function.  Can you fathom, can you even imagine, the maddening realization that most everyone you love will soon wither and fade except yourself?”

He approached her at her chair, and though his voice still held that air of mild detachment, his glowing red eyes seemed to burn all the brighter with an inner light.

“You’re correct in the sense that I do have difficulties expressing this.  That I no longer have the capabilities to show others, in any genuine way, the measure of my desire to help.  Mortals rely so much on interpreting emotions through body language and tone of voice, and I am far beyond the point where I can easily weep in the presence of those who are weeping…or even do a decent attempt at trying.”

As he came to stop in front of her, he actually knelt to the ground. To her level.  Eye to eye.

“There’s a reason, in my belief, why the divines would dictate life to be so short and sweet.  Those of us who are cursed to live longer than normal risk…losing things in the process.  I often find myself wanting to socialize with mortals just to get some of that back.  A sense of personhood and direction.  Passions and strivings.  It’s truly remarkable to see reminders of how easy it comes to you.”

He carefully reached out his hand towards her cheek, as though she represented this.  As though she were a symbol of this very discussion.  Just as the tips of cold fingers brushed against her skin, she turned her head just a tad in an attempt to see it in her peripheral.  It was difficult to say whether he interpreted that as a flinch or he suddenly remembered himself, but he withdrew his hand again.  

“I apologize.” He said, getting up and returning once more to the bookshelves.  “I did not mean to touch you without permission.”

“What?  My cheek? That’s not a crime.” Elyssa replied, still trying to absorb everything he just told her.  

“Countess Tamrith would likely disagree with that assessment.”

“Countess Tamrith isn’t here.  And before you go back to your no-doubt riveting literature, I should tell you that I was genuine in offering my blood to you.”

He turned once more to her, an eyebrow delicately raised in questioning.  

“Is that so?  I believe the good Countess would now consider you to have committed a sin.” He asked, and his eyes stared straight at hers for a good measure.

For her part, believing that he was testing her resolve, she sat up straighter and met his gaze head on.

The room was silent for a moment.  

He took a tentative step towards her, and she was a little ashamed that the unexpected movement caused her to flinch. He stopped at the sight.

“We do not usually find people who willingly volunteer so soon after finding out about our condition. Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You certainly do not sound it.”

Elyssa huffed out the breath she’d been accidentally holding.  “Well…it isn’t as though I get bitten by a vampire every other day.  I’m not sure what to expect.  Does it hurt?”

“It’s a bite, Elyssa,” And this time, she was sure those glowing eyes of his were laughing at her even if his mouth didn’t show it. “Pain is usually involved in those.  I can, however, promise that it is certainly not excruciating.”

“Well that’s a relief…I think.”

He carefully stepped towards her while she sat stock still and staring straight ahead.  For every moment that he moved closer, she grew more and more uneasy.

“Should I stand up, then?” She said, trying to distract herself from imagining the pain too much; she’d a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion.

“It would be much preferable if you remained seated...Else the dizziness may cause you to fall.  It may even be better if you were to lie down…”

“Sorry, but there’s no way you’re going to get me onto your dining room table.  That would just be too…”  She recalled to mind an earlier scene of stumbling upon them whilst they sat around a half-naked Dark Elf “….awkward.  Awkward and probably uncomfortable.  For me, that is.  No idea if you feel a hundred percent comfortable with people just casually laying on-”

Her spiraling commentary came to a screeching halt when she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder.  The very same shoulder twitched, of its own accord, and he removed his hand shortly after.

“That’s the third time you’ve flinched,” he accused.

“No it’s not!” She blurted out.  “That’s barely the first!”

“Elyssa…”

“I can do this!  I’m not a coward!” She insisted, finally turning to face him as he stood right next to her.

“Nobody is calling you as such.  But this is also not necessary, and I believe I made it quite clear that my household only feeds on the willing.”

“I am willing!  I just….I…” Her resolve withered a bit in the midst of staring him down.

His eyes glowing red and unnatural.  A sign, perhaps from the Divines, as to dangers that could lurk behind them.  The same kind of red eyes on the bloodfiends she’d been fighting ever since she came to Rivenspire.

“…I…I just need a moment,” she finished, knowing full well that it was an admission of defeat.

He sighed and walked back to his books.  “Go back to bed, Elyssa.  I need to focus on figuring out what Montclair’s next movements may be.”

She sat there for a few moments longer, but he was firmly encased back in his notes and didn’t turn around again to acknowledge her again.  The obvious signs that the conversation was over.

He thought she was just being childish.

It stung a little, the obvious disregard. Ignored and brushed aside so casually. It almost felt a lot like the time her papa had caught her ruining one of his prized books even after she promised she wouldn’t touch it.  Except this was pretty much a stranger, and she couldn’t discern whether that made it somehow worse.

The feeling, the blatant disregard, threatened to stifle the little study they were in, and it became too much for her to bear that she did decide to leave.  

Slowly taking the steps back upstairs to the bedroom.

She passed a dead mouse and thought idly about it; one of the things that Adusa had done to help the servants prepare the room for her was to take out a couple of live mice.  They didn’t get many guests, or so Adusa said.

But she wondered if the mice weren’t just the natural result of vacancy; the bite mark on this one suggested they were also kept around as a midnight snack.

She chuckled a bit at that as she crept onto the double bed.  The fresh sheets had been thoroughly washed with soap, she had been told, and seemed so very new that they did not even have the usual frayed threads at the end or faded patterns.  And they were just a little bit stiff.

The mortal servants didn’t stay here; there were additional rooms downstairs beyond the storage alcove.  This was purely a guest room.  ….And it almost felt fake.   Like the immortal Count of the castle had attempted to make something seem homely, only for it to just perceptively feel off.

Perhaps the room had seen such rare usage that it failed to ever take on the personalities of those who had used it.

It might have even just been the fact that there were three very obvious coffins resting in the main hall, visible from the guest suite balcony.

It wasn’t bad...it was just…

“Comfy yet, little sweetthing?” The Dremora playfully poked her with the end of a very sharp and very pointy rod.

Elyssa struggled yet again, but the bars of the humanoid shaped cage held fast.

Cadwell…

Lyris…

The Prophet…

The only three kind voices in that entire prison, and they were screaming in agony right behind her.

“What are you doing to them?!  Stop it!”  She cried out, trying, in vain, to turn her head to look at them.

“Now now.  We assure you, they’re being WELL taken care of.” The Dremora poked her again right at her collarbone.  “Just as you will be!”

The screaming behind her increased, as if to prove a point.

“But ooh. Oooh.  It seems you have a guest, sweetling.  Someone is here. Just.  To see.  You.”

More Dremora came, dragging a human alongside them.  The woman was pushed in front of Elyssa’s cage.

“….I asked you for help…” The woman said, tears falling freely as she looked up.  

A shiver went down Elyssa’s spine as soon as she realized she was staring at the face of Duchess Lakana.

“Y-your Grace…”

“I asked you for help…and what did you do?”  The Duchess pointed an accusing finger. “You left me!  You left me alone with that man, that murderer!”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to….I didn’t mean to, I swear.  I didn’t know it was him…”  Her eyes began to water up, a mirror of the Duchess’ own face.

“How could you?  You said you would help me!  Why didn’t you do everything you could? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

“And you spared him!  You spared that monster!  How could you do that after he killed me?!”

“That’s enough of that!” The Dremora interrupted, prodding the Duchess to move along. “Put her Gracious Grace alongside the rest of them!  You’re starting a nice collection here, my little sweetling.”

And as soon as the Duchess was dragged out of sight, Elyssa could hear her start to scream as well.  

“Stop it!!  Let them go!!”  She rattled the cage as hard as she could.  

“Ooooh.  Making demands, are we? Do you truly think you’re in any position to save them? Look at you. You couldn’t save the Duchess.  You couldn’t save that family of that poor werewolf Duke. You couldn’t save your darling dearest father…”

The Daedra leaned right into her face, its teeth pearly white and crooked.  And the smell coming from its breath was positively putrid in an indescribable way that had no easy comparisons anywhere on Tamriel.

“…In fact, you can’t even save yourself.”

And with that, the Dremora rammed the rod straight into her shoulder, causing her to jerk back and scream.

Scream.

And Scream.  And fall back onto the…

….

…sheet covers…

Elyssa was shaking.  Her eyes darted back and forth as she ascertained that yes, those were indeed sheet covers.  She was in a room with a bed and nice looking wooden furniture.

In a room made out of stone.

A house.

No, a castle.

That’s right.  Ravenwatch Castle.

There were no Dremora in sight.  No screaming.  No water tainted blue with an eerie light.

No crags filled with bleakest rocks that spread out like daggers.

No distant tundras with nothing but dead plants the eyes could see.

No cages….

Elyssa took one, long, swipe of her hand against her brow, pulling away the sweat that had collected there.  She must have dozed off just then, only to be faced with yet another nightmare.

She tried to push it straight out of her mind and attempt to go back to sleep, but her legs demanded to wander.  That, and she was sure that if she closed her eyes again, the Daedra would return to haunt her.

Her feet took her back downstairs.  The shaking ever present in each and every one of her steps.  Soon enough, she found herself back at the study.  The doorway leading outside, the dining table, the whispering quiet of the night; it all gave the comforting confirmation that the horrors she’d just seen really were just dreams.

Adusa was out scouting the nearby towns and municipal villages.  Melina was out gathering supplies.  The mortal servants were likely fast asleep in their own quarters.  Gwendis was….well, Akatosh only knows where Gwendis went off to.   But sure and steady, Count Ravenwatch was still working in his study.  And the nightmare was fresh enough that she felt drawn to sticking around with the only conscious person she had easy access to.

The scratch of a feather quill paused only briefly as she stood at the threshold.

“Contrary to whatever you may believe, Elyssa,” The Count stated, never looking up. “The sun does not, in fact, rise every twenty minutes like you seem to do.”

Her shaking died down just enough to allow her the dignity of a glare in his direction.  Now she was convinced: the real reason people were uncomfortable around him had absolutely nothing to do with his status as a vampire.

“Bite me,” She seethed back at him.

She’d meant it as an insult.  A come back.  But she realized her mistake when he stopped writing to give her back one, long, unamused look.  Complete with an eyebrow raised.

“Did we not just have this conversation?” He said, turning to another page.

“I don’t care.  I’d rather have conversations all night long if it means I don’t have to go back to sleep.”

She started pacing a bit around the study’s doorway, if only to give her mind something to focus on and her legs something to do.

But as she made a few passes, she noticed he had stopped working and was watching her.  This time with a far more unreadable expression than the blatant apathy.

“What are your dreams about that has you so terrified?”  

“Coldharbour,” She whispered, just barely under her breath.  It must have been loud enough for him to hear her, because his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve…actually been there?”

The moment she stopped her pacing was the moment her shaking started up again.   She looked him in the eyes, but found she couldn’t stand to do that for long and had to look towards the floor.

She could hear him whisper something unintelligible; cursing, perhaps, under his breath in Aldmeris.

“You carry a much heavier burden than I initially thought.” He said, “You’re far, far too young for all of this…”

“I can help!  I know I can!” Elyssa insisted, “I’m not afraid of Coldharbour!  I’m not afraid of the bloodfiends!  I’m not afraid to get bitten!  I can prove it! You can have my blood; take it!”

It was supposed to be a reaffirming statement, but her protestations almost made her sound even more childish.

“Elyssa…” he spoke calmly.  Carefully.  “Why is it so important to you that you give me your blood?”

“Because you need it, don’t you?”  She said, frustrated.  She began her pacing again.

“That’s not the reason.”

“Because I want to be helpful!”

“That’s also not the reason.”

This time, she stopped pacing and got angry.

“Because if I don’t give everything I can, and something happened to you, or the High King, or the people of Rivenspire, it will be all my fault again!!”

She yelled it out, and her body feeling a little lighter as she did.  Even as her eyes had begun to water just a bit.

“There it is…” Verandis said softly.

And he left her a moment to go over to the cabinet by the door.

“One of the greatest strengths…” he said, and she could hear him fiddling with something. “…Of the Daedric Prince of Domination is not just in his talent to forcefully suppress a person’s free will or inflicting their greatest fears, but in his capacity for making them feel guilt.”

He returned with a glass of a deep red liquid.  “Physical pain may fade with time, but guilt has a habit of remaining.  What���s worse, it’s often the sufferer that fosters and grows it.  Is there any torture more perfect than that which the victim inflicts upon themselves?  Sit down, Elyssa.”

“What…?”  She glanced from him to the glass as he sat it down at the table between the two chairs in the study.

“If you still insist that I taste your blood, then I must insist that you sit down first.”

Her eyes grew wide a moment, but she clenched her fists out of resolve and held fast as she cautiously took the seat to the right.  He maneuvered the chair opposite to rest closer to her, taking a seat himself.

Her fingers were still trembling as she reached up and undid the top button at the back of her dress, but she hadn’t a clue whether they were trembling because of this or if they were simply leftovers from her fitful sleep.  It may have been both.  

“I don’t...need to take off my clothes completely, do I?”  She frowned in disgust at the thought. She hadn’t considered that part, but the Dunmer from before had been…well…half-naked.

“No,” He said, firmly.  “A shoulder is all that’s required.  Are you ready?”

She glanced at the filled glass.

“Do you always take a shot after you’ve already had a drink?” She joked weakly.

“The wine is for you, Elyssa.  I think you should drink at least a little of it when I’m done.  Now, are you prepared?”

Her hand reached up to pull down one of the shoulders of her dress, just enough so that her collarbone showed.  Her fists clenched and unclenched themselves as she rigidly held them in her lap.  If she were ever bitten by a vampire, this is what it would feel like….

Finally, she nodded.

A touch at her shoulder caused her to flinch again, but they were only fingers.  He was gently moving a strand of hair out of the way.

“Tell me.  I saw you speaking to Melina earlier and it caught my attention.  Did she find a particularly interesting rune?”

She brightened up a little at that.

“Oh!  Well not exactly; we were just talking about this one-ow.”

She was simultaneously a little irritated and a little grateful.  The skeever only asked her that as a distraction… and she actually fell for it.

Vampire fangs were apparently large enough that it felt a little like someone had just happily jabbed a pair of sewing needles into the tender part of her shoulder.  She’d had worse injuries before, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.

…And it was just a tad bit awkward.  For obvious reasons.    

Did the servants really do this on a regular basis?  

Just as she considered the pain, a wave of a new sensation came with it.  He was right; it did have the effect of making a person dizzy.  Dizzy and…a little hazy.  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that she’d self-induced upon herself for the past couple of days, but she was actually starting to feel…calmer.

Numb.

After a few seconds had passed, it no longer hurt.  And she was no longer sitting up straight in the chair, but rather lounging.  The hard wood had suddenly felt a lot more comfy.

She could still feel him there.  It was hard to ignore his mouth (although she valiantly tried anyways, if only to make it a little less awkward), but she couldn’t really feel any blood actually going out of her (probably a blessing).  One of his hands helped to hold up her neck, and the other right at her upper arm to hold her steady.  It was just as well; the numbness had the effect of making her feel like a puddle of water.

She could also feel him pull away.  Replaced with the feeling of cloth at her shoulder.  Elyssa turned to look and found him softly pressing either a handkerchief or a napkin to the wound (for her sanity’s sake, she decided it was the former rather than the latter).

“That didn’t seem like much,” Her speech was a little slurred.

“Do you still wish to fight the bloodfiends while conscious? If so, then this is all you can afford to lose.  You already run the risk of injury on the battlefield.”

He motioned for her to hold the handkerchief there.  “It will stop bleeding in a moment.  How do you feel?”

“Rather nice…” She said with a slightly loopy smile.  But then she frowned. “Am I supposed to find it nice?”

“All vampires have some level of hypnotic ability.  Some use it to effect of creating slavish thralls.  Mostly, I suspect it’s there to ensure that any prey doesn’t try to escape our grasp.  For this reason, I think it tends to show up often in mortals who have been recently fed upon.”

Elyssa thought about Kallin and the almost eager way he introduced himself to her so soon after the Ravenwatch vampires had dined upon him.

“So…do you influence your servants to give you their blood?”

“I do not always willingly inflict this effect, Elyssa.  Think of it more as a side effect than something I always have a conscious command of.  Anyone I feed on could potentially feel like this.”

“But you have some control of your hypnotic ability, don’t you…?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me.  Here.” He gestured for the handkerchief back and for her to fix her outfit.  

“If you’re implying that I somehow force or coerce my servants to give me their blood, the answer is ‘no’.  I made no such demands of them, nor would I need to.  There are plenty of people in Rivenspire of the unsavory variety; bandits, cutthroats, and the like for whom death would be deserving.   So it would be no trouble to us if Kallin should ever wish to seek employment elsewhere.  I would not stop him. Only ask that he keep the secret of our gifts to himself.  Not everyone in Rivenspire knows of our nature.”

She adjusted her dress back to normal after looking at the mark.  The wound had stopped bleeding; only two pinpricks of red against her skin to mark that anything had actually happened.

“I don’t oversee a prison here in my home.”  He said.

With it being so fresh in her mind, it was difficult to keep her thoughts away from her dream; the bleakness of Molag Bal’s domain and how it contrasted with the Count’s own castle.  In spite of the coffins (and questionable décor)….this was practically paradise compared to Coldharbour.

Then again…wasn’t anything paradise compared to that place?

“You should have a few sips of wine.” He said, interrupting her reverie.  

She nodded and took the glass, letting the liquid swirl within before bringing it to her lips.  It was a tad sweet, and something she must have needed because she took in a large gulp of it.

“The numbness is wearing off…” She said, contemplating the glass in her hand. “…And I have to face my dreams once more…I don’t want to go back to sleep and see Duchess Lakana again…”

“The Duchess of Alcaire…I understand that it was you who thwarted the Daedric plot behind her murder.”

“But I couldn’t save her!  She was so….she was so scared. And she said she was all alone there.  The soldiers wouldn’t even allow her to see most of the entourage that came for her from her father.  I said I would help her and then…then…”

She tried not to get too emotional by taking another large gulp of wine “…I should have stayed right next to her instead of running around…”

“We are all bound by our limitations, my child.  In your case, you cannot possibly be everywhere and save everyone all at once…”

“No.  But I could have made sure I brought her murderer to justice…”

She finished the glass and set it back on the table, balling her hands into fists again.

“…I let him go.  He looked so guilty…and his mind had been manipulated by Vaermina…I thought it was the right thing to do.  At least, that’s what I told myself at the time.”

Elyssa looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, staring at them as though she’d hoped they would somehow provide a better thought process.

“Now I’m wondering if I was really right.  The Duke seemed a little bit angry at my decision…”

“He was likely grieving.”

“And the knight in question - the one who killed her? – he himself said that he felt guilty and deserved to die.”

“Those who feel guilt are not always guilty of anything.  And he, as a knight, was likely considering the strained political relations going on within the Covenant.  His duty to preserve the alliance may have weighed heavily on him to the point where he thought sacrificing his life should be a consideration.”

“But he seemed so…I don’t know.  He was acting so normal when I met him; when he supposedly was under Vaermina’s sway.  I have to wonder if he didn’t secretly want the Duchess to die after all…”

“Now you’re being a bit unfair.”

“But…He could have resisted.”  She said, finally.  “He must have been able to resist.  He should have tried.  He was acting so normal most of the time that he had to have some control of his senses. If he had put a little effort into fighting back, maybe she wouldn’t be dead.  Maybe I would have been able to stop him.  Or maybe I wouldn’t have even had to stop him.  If only he’d considered alternatives…He could have just kidnapped her instead, but no.  She just had to die!  He should have been punished for that...He should have died, and I should ha—“

His hand was at her shoulder again, and that numb feeling came back with such a vengeance that she had instantly slumped back into the chair.  Her anxiety laced rambling put to a halt with a slack jaw.

Her breathing steadied.  Her eyelids drooped.  Every muscle in her body had completely and utterly given in to a state of soothing relaxation.  

“Stand up, Elyssa,” he commanded.

A floating, freeing feeling washed over her as she did as she was told.  The room had gotten brighter, the hallway lighting almost dancing in front of her eyes.

“Come with me upstairs,” he commanded again.

And she felt compelled….no, she felt like it was wonderful to move forward.  He followed behind and caught her by her arms to direct her around the dining room table.

They walked, slow and steady.  Elyssa was sure that if she hadn’t been held by the mer behind her that she’d fall flat on her face.  The numbness took all anxiety away….to be replaced completely with contentment and a calm sort of happiness…It was the most relieving feeling in the world.  

“Molag Bal,” He said, “Would certainly love to have you convinced that weakness is a sin.  That people with weaker wills, much like the knight you speak of, deserve to be punished and tortured.”

They began to ascend the stairs, and Elyssa swayed a bit.  She had been trying her best to focus on walking, but the comforting numbness was making her a bit sleepy.  Besides, her feet and legs appeared to find themselves all on their own, without any effort on her part.

In the back of her mind, there was some measure of concern that something was wrong here.  But any attempt at trying to grasp what exactly was amiss slipped right out of her thoughts.  

“But we all have our weaknesses, Elyssa,” Count Verandis continued.  “There is not a person in all of Tamriel who is devoid of them.  For me, it is the sun.  For you?  Right now, it is your generous acceptance of others who are different than you; the trust that you easily form with strangers in spite of how unusual they may be or, in this case, whether or not they are a vampire.  Acceptance and compassion are very much virtues to be exalted, but in the hands of the wrong people they can become weaknesses to be utilized against you.”

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way into the guest parlor.  Each step forwards made her feel like a leaf on the wind; dancing across the floor as though her body was lighter than air.  The furniture danced alongside her, swimming in her vision.  She heard every word that he said (in fact, it held the bulk of her attention, as if she couldn’t ignore him even if she tried), but finding a response was difficult as she couldn’t formulate the thoughts to say anything.      

“I am grateful for your trust, Elyssa.  Far too many have unfairly scorned or judged us for our condition without ever trying to become acquainted with who we are as people.”

He stopped her just as they reached the table.  She frowned with disappointment; she wanted to keep moving around.  It felt nice.  

“However, imagine for a moment,” He whispered lower, closer to her ear. “How disastrous this would be if I had a more destructive desire.  What would happen if we had met on a dark, lonely night and I had no code of conduct to dictate my thirst?  I would beckon you, entrap you just like this.  How easily you would come to me, following me out of sight of any living person who might help you. Can you imagine what I would do then with such a feast all to myself?  This feeling, this enthrallment, would be the last sensation you ever felt; helpless to do anything as I gorged myself on your life’s blood.”

Fingers appeared at her throat, ever so gently pressed against her skin, against the pulse beating there.  And almost automatically, she found she had lifted her chin even more to better allow them.  She felt a tinge of fear break through the numbness; fear of the mer at her back, at the way her own body rebelled against her wishes to expose her own throat… and a growing, frightening consideration at the back of her mind that he might, just might, take the offer.  In spite of whatever he may have said about their feeding habits before.  

“Tell me,” He said, “Many members of my kind would insist that they have the right to feast on mortals because their prey is weaker than them. Would it be just and proper for me to rip your throat out all because you are powerless right now?  Do I have the right to murder you just because I can?  Because I’m stronger?”

A small bubble of panic managed to sober her up enough to try and wiggle free.  But the movement was half-hearted; she still did not feel like she had complete command of her body.  Even though he did not hold her very firmly, her little movements seemed insufficient to loosen his grasp.  Attempting to maneuver limbs felt like trying to wade through dense tar. And as the words died in her throat before they had the chance to pass her lips, she was met with the horrific realization that she was trapped at his whim without so much as the ability to scream.  

She had never been so terrified of him before that moment.

He removed his hand from her throat to grasp both arms in an attempt to hold her steady; her struggling had given her an awfully dangerous sway that threatened to cause her to hit the table.  Or the floor.  Whichever unfortunate hard surface she reached first.

“It’s all right, Elyssa.” He said, his voice kinder. “I give you my word; your life is safe within my home and among myself and my household.  I’ll release you very soon, I promise.  Relax now, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

As if that was also command, a new, fresh wave of numbness and calm settled in, and she felt too exhausted from her last struggle to resist it.  It took over once again, and the world went fuzzy.

“Sit down,” he commanded, releasing his grip on her arms to pull out a chair. And she obeyed, taking the offered seat.

He went to stand before her with crossed arms.  They remained like that for several minutes before she began to notice that she had feeling back in her legs.  The calm was dying down.  Her fingers could twitch at her will.  Her arms now moved unimpeded.  And with her newly re-acquired control of herself, she immediately proceeded to do the thing she wanted to do the most:

Look up and glare at him.

(Punching him was actually the first option, but she was tired and felt that it required more effort than she thought he deserved)

“How are you feeling?” He asked, unphased by her expression.

“Pretty pissed.”

“As well you should be.  But recognize that it is my fault for exerting my power over you.  It is not your fault that you hadn’t the strength to resist back.  You can’t hold yourself responsible for my actions or the actions of any others…Just as you should not hold other people responsible for the actions of Vaermina.”

Her glare lessened as she contemplated this.  “Do you…suppose that was a taste of what Sir Hughes felt?  The same sort of influence he may have been under?”

“I cannot guess what sort of Daedric magic Vaermina used, but I can almost surely guarantee it was potent.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. So she looked down to fiddle with her fingers.

His demonstration made an impression.

“Never doubt that you made the right choice to spare that knight’s life,” He said, softly.  “He was not a cultist, nor did he willingly implore Vaermina for any of this; she forced her influence upon him by taking advantage of the little bits of doubt that we all experience when it comes to change in our lives. No mortal deserves death all because they were weaker than a Daedric Prince.  If we should go by this logic, then all but a potential handful should be summarily executed right here and now.”

“…Yeah.”  Elyssa sighed, avoiding his gaze. “I think a part of me realizes that.  That I don’t actually blame Sir Hughes, I just…”

“…You still feel a little guilty because you happened to be there.  And you’re desperately trying to look for an excuse to assuage that guilt.”

“Yeah,” She winced to hear it aloud, but he had put it very succinctly.

“Her death wasn’t your fault, Elyssa. You cannot hope to control what a Daedric Prince decides to do; you can only hope to try and stop them.  Even then, such foes are so formidable that it isn’t a guarantee that you will be successful.”

He leaned against the table. “I would consider it impressive that you were even able to save the poor soul manipulated by Vaermina.  He may be punished in exile, but that is a far better, far more appropriate fate than what the Daedric Prince of Nightmares had in store for him, I can promise you that.  I don’t think I need to remind you that Daedra often treat mortals as toys, and are known to mercilessly toss aside those that have passed their usefulness.”

“I guess…” She sighed again, gaze transfixed to the floor in front of him.  But then she remembered what had just happened, and she snapped her head back up to glare at him. “I’m still angry at you, though.”

“And I apologize that I frightened you.  I do regret that.  Make no mistake, it is wrong to affect people’s minds in such a way, and I apologize for that as well.  But I thought it would give you some perspective as to what it feels like to be influenced in such a manner.  At the very least, I would hope that it proved to you how difficult it is to escape.”

“How do you escape?”  She had a terrible thought pass through her head about having to face a much more sinister vampire who would use this technique.

“Different strains of vampirism, different capabilities.  But in this particular case, there were several factors working against you.”

He gestured to her.

“First, you had allowed me to feed off of you, which, I believe, actually helps with this.  Second, you trusted me.  At least, enough to stay the night without any discernible fear for your own safety.  I was able to take advantage of that to exert a much more potent sway.  If you recall, you had regained some ability to fight back the moment I lost that trust and started to frighten you.  Unfortunately, you had, by that point, been under my control for a bit too long that it was difficult to break through.”

“So…Feeding, length of time, and trust.  Did I get that correct?”

“For my particular type of vampirism, yes.  You’ll likely meet many others whose abilities operate under a different set of rules.  It does, however, take no small amount of effort to inflict such hypnotic influence, so it is doubtful that you’ll meet very many opponents who would consider using it against you in the heat of battle.”

She nodded.  “That’s comforting a bit…I think.”

Silence settled over them.

This time, it was Verandis who sighed.

“I cannot speak for the Duchess,” he said, “But I am quite familiar with both the High King and his brother, the Duke of Alcaire.  And I can assure you that neither of them would want you to be this distraught over Duchess Lakana’s death.  Especially not to the point where it is affecting your sleep.”

“Yeah, about that.  I still really don’t want to close my eyes.  So do you have anything you need that I can help with?”

“Blood loss and exhaustion doesn’t strike me as a particularly brilliant plan for fighting off blood fiends.”

“I can’t.”  Elyssa stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep the twitching of her mouth from grimacing too much, “I really, really can’t do this.  I can’t go back to sleep right now; it’s just going to be the same nightmare again.  Like it was yesterday.  And the night before that.”

He stared back at her without comment at first, but eventually uncrossed his arms to head towards his alchemical table in the corner.

“How about,” He said, “I brew you a sleeping draught.”

“But—“

“You needn’t drink it if you don’t want to.  But I’ll leave it here with you, just in case.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Is this going to be like the last potion you made for me, where I wandered about in your memories?”

“No memories.  Just a typical sleeping potion.”

Her nose rankled at the undesirable scents and burning smells that were already coming from the station as he worked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I didn’t really mind stepping into your past.  It was kind of fun being someone else, actually.  Just not sure I’d want to do it on a regular basis, because it was also kind of disorienting.”

“Considering everything you’ve told me, I believe we shouldn’t have a repeat of that.  I’m already beginning to regret what little I’ve shown you; I think you have enough worries without me adding more of my own to your pile.”

She could hear sounds of him pouring liquid into a container, and soon enough he approached her with a bottle of something blood red.

He held it out for her and she reached for it, but his grip held fast.

“Please look at me, Elyssa.”

Her blue eyes looked up to find contemplative red.

“Never let Molag Bal win by accepting his ideology,” He said, resolve in his expression. “Believe me when I say, he would cherish such a submission from you.  Weakness is not a sin…and the powerful should always strive to protect, not abuse.  Remember that.”

She nodded slowly in response to the seriousness in his words, and he released the bottle to her grasp.

“….Vampires fall under the realm of Molag Bal, don’t they?” She asked, holding tight to the vial, “To the point where I even heard that Coldharbour is where their souls go when they die.  Is that one of the many reasons why you have an honor code?  Not just to be a good person, but to fight back against him, even if a little bit?”

The flickers of a very sad smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“…Have a good night, Elyssa.  May your dreams bring you a much-needed and well-deserved rest.”

And with that, he left her to go back downstairs.

She stared at him as he went.  And stared at the potion he left her when he was gone.

After crawling back to the bed, she pulled out the stopper to take a little sniff of the concoction.  It smelled awful, like most potions do.  And she winced as she pulled back to take a tiny taste of it.

Fortunately, the taste wasn’t half as bad as some of the magicka brews she’d had before; this one only had a faint note of rotting eggs and cabbage, instead of an overt one.  That was an improvement.  

After much staring and much consideration, she held her nose and downed the rest of it in one swallow, smacking her lips with a sour expression as she finished.

But the taste lingered, and soon enough she crept out of bed to go back to the parlor. Rustling through the pantry next to the alchemical vials was a bottle of unopened wine.  She silently gave a prayer of thanks to the Divines that bottles of wine were so readily available in a house full of vampires just as she popped out the cork and took a long swing of it to try to drown out the disgusting rotten eggs.

With the taste gone and her thirst satiated, she made her way back to the bedroom.  A wave of dizziness and exhaustion had quickly crept up on her, and she mumbled her discontent under her breath; apparently it was a very, very potent sleeping potion.

Just before she came upon the bed, all the furniture in the room performed perfect backflips.

Her whole world spun around…

…And faded to black.  

[fidothefinch]

Dick and Dami Week 2019, Day 3: Injury

Read on Ao3

Dick had to stop with his mask halfway to his face, grimacing as the movement caused his ribs to scream at him. He set the mask down again to steady himself.

The mirror was cool against his forehead, and he watched his reflection until his breath fogged the surface in slow, even gusts. Then he steeled himself and straightened his back again.

When he checked, he could only see the faintest of bulk around his ribs through his Nightwing costume, and he was looking for it. If he was careful, Damian would have no idea of the extensive bandaging during tonight’s patrol. It was imperative it stayed that way.

The brothers were in separate cities again, living their own lives. Damian didn’t want space, but he needed it if he was going to have any chance to bond with Bruce. So far, things had been getting better, from what Dick heard. But tonight was a rare night, planned a few weeks in advance. Bruce was out of town for a Wayne Enterprises conference; Tim and Cass were back in town to keep Gotham sane in Batman’s absence. Robin wasn’t allowed on patrol without a partner yet.

And, well, Nightwing was available.

After checking that the spirit gum was still tacky, Dick lifted his mask to his face again. This time he ignored the twinges of pain in his ribs. Under the bandages and the topical anesthetic, there were a smattering of deep purple bruises up his left side, hip to shoulder. Getting thrown from a moving vehicle into a concrete wall would do that. Nothing was broken; he had checked. Bruised, maybe even fractured, but nothing serious.

Didn’t mean he was going to tell Alfred.

As if on cue, there was a soft tap at his bedroom window. Dick couldn’t help his grin as he slid it open. “Hey, kiddo. You’re early.”

Robin shrugged. “The others wanted to get a head start, so they dropped me off early.” He stepped inside, gracefully but with a bit of bounce in his step. There was a bag in his hands. “Agent A insisted I bring you food.”

Dick laughed. “Can you put it in the kitchen for me? I have one last thing to do before we set out.”

Damian tutted. “Burning moonlight,” he muttered.

Dick hesitated before he returned to the bathroom. “Hey, Robin?”

Damian stopped halfway through unpacking homemade bread and were those cookies? “What?”

Dick couldn’t help it, bending down and wrapping an arm around him. “Missed you.”

The corners of Damian’s lips lifted, and he leaned slightly into the embrace. Dick hid his wince behind Damian’s shoulder. “Tt. Of course you did. Who else would keep you on track during patrol?”

Dick rolled his eyes teasingly. “Yeah, yeah. Just a minute, okay?”

Damian waved his hand dismissively, frowning at the cupboard full of cereal and protein bars he opened.

The second Dick shut the bathroom door behind him, he took a deep breath. Immediately regretted it. He ran some water through his hair, pulling it back out of his face in the Nightwing style, and used it as an excuse to splash some of the excess in his face.

He was still fixing his escrima to his back when he opened the bathroom door, only to almost run into Damian. The boy’s brow was furrowed, and he held up a prescription bottle. “What is this?”

Shit. Dick didn’t need to read the fine print to know it was his painkillers. Feigning nonchalance, he asked, “Where’d you find those?”

“They were sitting on the counter.” Damian rolled the bottle in his hand. “You’ve been injured.”

Dick took the bottle from the boy’s hands. “Nah, Jason was here a few nights ago. I told him to put it away, but you know him.”

Dick put the bottle away, in the hidden medicine cabinet behind the fake wall under his sink. Damian watched his actions, eyes narrowed. Dick fought the urge to hold his breath. Finally, after what felt like forever but must have been only half a second, Damian shook his head. “Todd is an imbecile.”

Dick bit his tongue as he rose back to standing, ribs and back aching. “You ready?”

Instantly, Damian’s posture shifted into something excited. “I’ve been waiting on you.”

Dick grinned. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

They both slipped out the window of Dick’s top-floor apartment.

And if Dick’s breath caught when he ducked through, Damian didn’t notice.

It became very clear, very quickly, that Dick’s goal of making it through the entire patrol was a fantasy.

“He’s headed to the alley by Finnley’s,” Robin huffed, somehow keeping pace with the much taller vigilante.

Nightwing squinted at the man they were chasing. Would-be mugger, wielding a knife and terrible breath. They had been chasing him for nearly five minutes now, and every time either of Dick’s feet hit the pavement his ribs jarred, making him short of breath faster than would be normal for him. “Yeah,” he said, eloquently. Then, he was struck with an idea. “We can cut him off—”

“You follow, I’ll go ahead,” Robin said brusquely.

“Wait, Robin—” Nightwing protested. But the kid was already grappeling up the nearest wall, out of earshot.

Dick rolled his eyes. Maybe he had been spending too much time with Bruce.

As predicted, the mugger stumbled as he changed course toward the diner. Dick had no choice but to follow, hoping that Robin was being smart with his poor choices.

He wasn’t expecting to round the corner at the end and get a stomach-full of knife.

He gasped, reacting on instinct to knock the attacker back. The man had a wild look in his eyes, and he yelled as he swung the bloody knife toward Nightwing again.

Dick dodged, managing to disarm the mugger in the process.

The man, fueled by adrenaline, swung his fist out, landing it squarely over Dick’s left ribs.

Dick’s vision went white, and he fell to a knee, clutching his left side like he would split in half if he let go.

The man took the opportunity to turn and continue down the alley. He didn’t make it far. Nightwing opened watering eyes at the soft thud of flesh on flesh, watching Robin dispatch the mugger with unfamiliar smoothness. Even gasping for breath as he was, Nightwing smiled at the nostalgia of it. Robin’s form had improved.

“Nightwing!” Booted feet ran up next to him, then knees were dropping into his vision. “Nightwing, status?”

Dick, still clutching his side, shook off a hovering hand and rose to his feet. “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“You’ve been stabbed,” Robin grumbled.

Dick looked down. There was a slightly darker patch around a slit in his uniform. He was bleeding. “Oh, right.”

They stumbled back into Dick’s apartment, Dick smearing blood all over Damian’s cape where the smaller boy supported him.

“I don’t understand what happened,” Damian said. He dragged a towel off a rack and laid it out on the floor. Dick only half-protested as he was gently but forcibly told to lie down on it.

Dick shrugged (with one shoulder; the other was still keeping his left side from falling off). “He got the jump on me.”

Damian cursed as he pulled Dick’s first aid from beneath the sink.

“Hey,” Dick reprimanded. “Language.”

That, at least, got Damian to scowl up at him. Dick grinned, moving to sit up. “Come on, I can take care of this. It’s not even that bad; I think it just barely grazed me.”

“Tt. Don’t be ridiculous. If you try to do it from your angle, you’ll make an even bigger mess.” Damian set a firm hand against his shoulder and pushed down. “I can do this. Pennyworth taught me.”

Dick acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. He unzipped the top half of his suit and let Damian help him peel it off. Then he closed his eyes, knowing what was coming.

Damian went quiet, staring at the white bandages wrapped around Dick’s chest. His eyes flicked up to Dick’s, then returned. “What is this?”

Dick took a breath to explain. It was too deep; he grimaced.

Damian was already cutting the bandages away with the first aid scissors. When he uncovered the mottled skin, his jaw went tight.

Yep, definitely had spent too much time around Bruce. Dick rested his head back against the floor.

“You’re hurt.”

Dick flinched at the tone. It wasn’t angry, it was disappointed. “Damian—” he was cut off by Damian probing the worst of the bruises with two fingers. “Ow! You should warn somebody before—”

“They’re fractured.”

Dick blinked, looking down at his own bruising. It did look a little worse. “In my defense, it wasn’t that bad before tonight.”

Damian sat back on his heels. “You knew you were hurt, and you went on patrol? Like this? You could have gotten yourself—” he cut himself off, and Dick watched a dark cloud pass over his face. “You lied to me.”

Dick wiped a hand down his face. “This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”

Damian’s lips were pursed. “No, it wasn’t.”

And there were words to say, Dick was sure, but he couldn’t find them. Instead, he reached a hand up to rest on Damian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Damian shrugged Dick’s hand off, and Dick pulled it back like he had been burned. The smaller boy pulled antiseptic from the first aid and poured it over the bleeding cut without warning.

Dick hissed at the sting. “I deserved that.”

Damian didn’t react, only numbly wiped the remainder away and said, “You’re lucky. It looks shallow.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, Damian cleaning and patching up the cut, and, with Dick’s help, wrapping his ribs in fresh bandages. Dick watched the kid chew on his bottom lip for the majority of it, and knew that pressing would only make him shrink into himself.

It wasn’t until Dick was sitting up again that Damian voiced his thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dick blinked, trying to come up with an answer that didn’t sound juvenile after the fact.

Damian filled the quiet with his own answers. “Do you not trust me? Did you think I would think less of you because of an injury like that?”

Oh. Oh. Dick had a flashback to Damian’s first few weeks as Robin. The kid hid a sprained ankle for days before Dick confronted him about it, and then only because it was obviously getting worse. And Damian had been terrified of being found out.

Talia had taught him to be.

Dick’s stomach rolled at the thought that his own stupidity was making Damian question his place in the family. Again.

“No,” he said, with as much certainty as he could imbue in the word. “No, Damian, that’s not it.” He pulled the boy down—he yelped with surprise—into a hug. Didn’t even care how much it hurt. “I trust you with my life. I just—I haven’t seen you in a long time, and I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

Damian went still in his arms, and then abruptly snorted. “That’s stupid.” He sat up and finally peeled off his own domino to look at Dick. “I’m always worried about you, you stupid oaf. It’s my job.”

Dick couldn’t help but smile. “I guess you’re right.” He shifted, winced, and apologetically asked, “If you can help me up, I can go ahead and call Tim and Cass and have them come pick you up.”

Damian frowned. “Oh.”

Dick was quick to catch onto his hesitation. “Unless you want to stay?”

Damian looked like he was going to protest, so he continued, “I need someone to make sure I don’t do anything stupid again.”

Damian was trying to hide his smile, but Dick knew him to well to miss it. “I suppose you’re correct. There’s only one way to fix fractured ribs, I’m afraid.”

 And so that’s how Dick found himself on the couch, empty ice cream containers on the floor, little furnace of a brother curled into his good side, fast asleep.

[bee-kathony]

Meet Me in New York - Sam & Caitriona AU

October 4th, 2018

“Happy Birthday, Caitriona,” Sam kissed her slowly, letting his hands move down across her bare back, slightly warm from sleep.

“Thank you, love,” Cait smiled, pressing her forehead against his. They had both arrived to their New York City hotel late last night, and had fallen into bed only minutes later. But they were both too tired for anything more than just kissing and cuddles in bed before drifting off to sleep. It was in the middle of the night, however, when jet lag, the enemy of sleep, woke them.

“Are you awake,” Sam whispered, sliding his hand over Cait’s round hip.

A moment of silence and then a sleepy, “Yes, are you?” They both started laughing until Cait rolled over to face him, pressing her lips quickly against his chest. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Balfe. Unbearable almost… to be away from you,” he said softly, resting his chin on top of her head.

“I know. Only a little while longer,” she kissed his chest, “And we have this weekend, so let’s enjoy it.”

“I plan to enjoy every second of bein’ with ye, babe,” Sam smiled and lifted her face to his, kissing her deeply. In a matter of seconds, their clothes were on the floor, and their skin was hot — touching and giving.

Of course, they had both arranged on their social medias for it to look like they were apart and traveling on Cait’s birthday, which was today. This way they could have some privacy and some peace.

“So what are the plans, for today, birthday girl?”

“Not much of anything really, I’ve got dinner planned tonight with some girls, and you’re obviously coming to that,” Cait smiled, her fingers tapping against Sam’s cheek.

“Obviously…” he smirked. “We could go to the hotel spa, relax a bit before things get crazy this weekend?”

“Oooh, spa,” Cait sighed, “That sounds lovely.”

“And once ye get out of the shower, I’ve got a wee birthday surprise for you,” Sam pushed her bangs off of her forehead, kissing the smooth skin hidden there.

“Is that your polite way of telling me that I stink, Heughan…” she sniffed, “Cause you’re not exactly smelling too good yourself!”

Sam smacked her lightly on the arse and she jumped, “If I smell, then I smell of ye, Cait. And besides… I just need an excuse for you to be out of this room for about twenty minutes.”

“You haven’t wrapped my birthday present have you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Shower, Balfe.” He kissed her, “Now.”

Caitriona sighed, but then lazily crawled out of the bed, giving Sam the middle finger on her way to the bathroom. It didn’t take her long before she was hopping in the shower since she’d been freed from her clothing in the night.

Once the water was on, Sam turned over on his side, reaching for the hotel phone. “Yes, you can bring it up now, thank you.”

After that detail was settled, Sam rose from the bed, stretching his arms high above his head. He had already wrapped Caitriona’s present, well one of her presents, the main one. Walking over to his suitcase, he carefully pulled back layers of his clothing and pulled out the large square package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string.

He made up the bed a bit and placed her gift in the middle. Once he was satisfied, Sam got dressed in a pair of black joggers and a plain white t-shirt. They would get more dressed up to go out with Cait’s friends tonight, but for now it was just the two of them.

Ten minutes later, Cait walked out of the bathroom in a towel, her short wet hair dripping on her bare shoulders. Her eyes got wide when she saw the present on the bed and she nearly ran towards it.

“Uh-uh,” He held up one arm to hold her back, “Clothes first. Then food. Then present.”

“But it’s my birthday, surely it’s acceptable to wear my birthday suit,” her lip curled up into a coy smile.

Sam raised his eyebrows, “Hmmm, I suppose yer right. But room service is coming any minute now so I dinna think you want the hotel staff to see all yer goods.”

“No, you’ve got me there.” Cait laughed, and went to her suitcase, grabbing a plain black cotton dress that would be easy to take off later.

The minute she stepped back into the room, with a small towel wrapped around her head, there was a knock on the door, and a voice saying “Room Service.”

“I’ll get that!” Sam smiled, kissing Cait in passing before going to the door and letting the man roll in the cart. It was piled high with stacks of pancakes with whip cream, eggs and bacon, fruit bowls, and little chocolate desserts. Once the man left, Caitriona sat down on the bed, crossing her legs as Sam pulled the car directly in front of her.

“Breakfast in bed, oh how thoughtful!” She put her hand over her forehead, acting as if she was swooning. “But really, thank you darling.” Sam bent his head, placing a kiss on her lips before joining her on the bed.

“Do I have to eat everything before I can open my present?” Cait said a moment later, eyeing said present on the bed beside Sam.

Sam took a deep breath, “I suppose not. Since you are the birthday girl.” He reached for the present and handed it to her. His heart began to race as he watched her unwrap it. Was it too simple?

Cait pulled the photo album from out of the packaging, and stared down at the cover. Written on the brown leather was their initials and the first day they met.

“It’s a wee book of photos of us, and of you over the years,” Sam said a bit shyly.

She was silent as she opened the book, taking in the first couple of pictures and then looked up at Sam with tears in her eyes. “It’s lovely. Damn it…”

“Are you alright, Cait?” Sam cupped her cheek with his palm, catching a stray tear.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just,” she turned her head to place a kiss on the inside of his hand, “This is exactly what I needed. Nothing flashy, or expensive. Memories of us… it’s perfect Sam, thank you.”

He kissed her, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You’re welcome, love. Now look through the rest of the album.”

She flicked through slowly, her eyes lingering on every picture had chosen to include. There were a lot of selfies of the two of them, some the fans had seen and a lot that were just for them. He had also included several of her that he had taken in secret — one was of her sleeping, her eyes closed and the morning sun just barely covering her face. Cait’s cheeks blushed as she saw another one of her naked back, laying in the bed with the sheets around her waist.

“I love it, so much, Sam. I don’t even have words right now,” She smiled and pulled him close.

“I love you, Caitriona.”

++++++

The next day, Sam woke up early, partly because of jet lag, and hit the gym. When he got back to the hotel, Cait was just waking up, sitting in bed with her phone.

“Still have a lot of birthday messages coming in?”

“Yes, a good amount. The fans are so sweet!” Cait smiled, and continued to respond to a few tweets and messages.

“We’ve got lunch with Maril, Sophie and Rik later on before the panel, babe. And then I think some interviews for the afternoon,” Cait said to Sam as he entered the bathroom.

“Canna wait,” he smirked and then got in the shower.

++++++

“I still can’t believe you brought up that thing about hitting me in the head with your sword,” Cait laughed as they walked into their hotel room. In the hours since they’d left, they had sat on the panel, taken countless pictures, given several interviews and attended a dinner for the NYCC talent. All in all, it felt like a very successful evening, but a long one.

“I couldn’t help myself!” Sam raised his hands in defense.

“And the air quotes…” she smirked, turning to face him and wrap her arms around his waist. “You child.”

“Hey… you laughed, so you’re the child.” Sam smiled, then bent his head to kiss her.

Caitriona laughed against his lips, sliding her hand over his arse and pressing her hips against him. All night she had been craving to reach out and touch him, to feel his skin against hers. She hadn’t exactly played it cool, neither of them had — but they missed each other like crazy.

“What I need, Balfe,” Sam pulled back from her mouth, “Is you out of that sexy velvet suit. The feel of ye in it is enough to drive me mad.”

Caitriona took a step back, her hands on the buttons of her red blazer, and slowly opened them one at a time to reveal nothing underneath. Sam bit his lip, a deep noise vibrating in his chest. “Christ, Cait.”

“It’s your turn to spoil me now,” Cait said through hooded lashes and then Sam was there, his mouth on hers, his hands at the waistband of her pants. For weeks, they’d been apart and now they could finally be together in whatever way they wanted.

“I love you so much,” Sam said into Cait’s neck and shivered as she tugged his pants down and they slid down his legs. The rest of their clothing joined the pile already on the floor and Cait fell back against the bed, stretching herself out.

“Are you gonna hit me with your sword again?” Cait couldn’t help but laugh. Sam positioned himself between her legs, his body pinning her to the bed.

“You bet I am,” he smirked, bending his head to place a kiss to both breasts before settling his hands beside her head. Caitriona’s hands moved up his arms, feeling the growth of his muscles in the time they’d spent apart. The slight quiver of his body over hers, was enough to send her reeling.

Sam looked into her eyes, memorizing the way she looked at this precise moment, and then slid home between her legs. His cock filled her completely and with every thrust, she was forced deeper into the mattress.

He brought one leg to wrap around his waist, changing the angle slightly and began to push into her. It was the best feeling in the world, to come together like this, to be with the one you love.

“Fuck,” Cait moaned, letting her head fall back onto the pillow. Her hands scratched at Sam’s back, pulling him down on top of her. He kissed her roughly, parting her lips with his tongue.

“Damn it, Cait,” he groaned and rolled his hips forward. As Cait’s heart began to race, Sam slowed his movements, barely moving inside of her, and she felt the throbbing between her thighs.

“What—“

“Shhh,” he placed a finger on her lips, and then bent to kiss her. He was still a moment more, and then moved one hand to cup her round hip before he started back into his rhythm. This time he said, “I love you,” between every push forward — against her lips, her cheek, her neck. Sam consumed her in every way possible.

Caitriona cried out his name, one hand gripping around his neck and holding on to him as her body gave into him. With a final thrust, Sam’s body trembled and he came down on her gently, before rolling them on their sides still joined.

“We’re in this together,” she whispered, so soft he barely heard her.

Sam brought her hand up to his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on her knuckles, “Aye, together. It’s you and me, Balfe.”

[princess-of-the-worlds]

Well hello SOC AU that I want to know more about. Please tell me more... or give me all the snippets.

Since, I’m feeling generous, here actually is most of what I had for the drabble...

No Mourners, No Funerals

With steady hands but cautious eyes, Alaric Saltzman pullshis front door shut quietly, sliding the bolt forward until it clicks intoplace with a clink. After tugging on the door to ensure its sturdiness andsecurity, Alaric finally breathes a sigh of relief and slumps forward, restinghis forehead on the cool wood.

His family is safe for another night, his wife Josetteand their beautiful daughters Josie and Lizzie tucked into the lone bed oftheir residence.

Alaric’s spent the last week living in paranoia,constantly checking over his shoulder and hurrying through the public squaresof Mystic Falls in case of a tail; one does not steal from Dirtyhands or theDregs, especially as an employee of one of their gambling establishments, andexpect to live. But that will all end tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Alaric will march to the Abattoir, theDregs’ headquarters, under the guise of returning Dirtyhands’ money and slitthe cruel bastard’s throat from ear-to-ear.

With that last thought of satisfying revenge on hismind, Alaric turns around to face his living room and startles.

Seated on Alaric’s threadbare couch is Dirtyhandshimself, spine slumped against the back of the chair and legs flung out infront of him.

“Hello, Mr. Saltzman,” Klaus Mikaelson says with amenacing smile. “Did you think you could steal from me and I wouldn’t notice?”

Alaric takes a step forward, hand reaching inside hisjacket, but before he can produce his gun, a blur of silver flies towards him,a projectile flung by Klaus.

It pierces the skin of his chest just as Klausstretches slowly to his feet and stalks past a collapsing Alaric.

“Don’t worry about your children,” Klaus warns asAlaric once again reaches fruitlessly for his weapon. “Your life was the priceyou had to pay for their safety. The Dregs will never hurt them, but no one inMystic Falls will ever help the family of the man who betrayed Dirtyhands.Remember that.”

Then, Klaus strides out of the Saltzman home, trailingbloody footprints behind him.

Caroline’s perched on his desk when Klaus comes saunteringinto his office. Immediately, she locks eyes with him and smiles.

“Done with business?” she asks, learning forward. Hergaze moves from his face to the large and obvious bloodstain on his white dressshirt that is revealed as he strips off his dark coat and drapes it over theback of his chair.

“Alaric Saltzman won’t be bothering us anymore,” heanswers, hands slowly working the buttons of his shirt. He slips it off andballs it up, tossing it off in a corner.

Caroline snorts. “Dramatic, much? You can’t just eversay that you killed him.” She watches him shrug.

Seat on his desk, with her legs swinging freely andher hair loose and messy down her back, no one would ever suspect CarolineForbes as a spy and assassin. No, you would have to see her with a knife inhand to realize that she’s the Dregs’ deadliest weapon, the Wraith.

Water sloshes over the edge of a washbasin set on a sidetable as Klaus plunges a spare cloth into the basin, scrubbing between hispectorals and down his front to wipe away the blood crusted onto his skin. Aspare droplet leaks away from the cloth and follows down the muscular ripplesof Klaus’s abdomen, and Caroline traces that path with her eyes.

“Any update on Gilbert?” Klaus asks. In the minutesthat Caroline was distracted, he’s pulled on a new dress shirt, black to matchhis slacks and leather boots, and is doing up the buttons.

“For a businessman and merchant,” Caroline drawls,“John Gilbert doesn’t seem to leave his mansion very often. One of hispaper-pushers has been yapping around however at certain gambling houses thatbelong to the Dregs. Word got around, and apparently, a priceless collection ofart is being delivered to his mansion the same day Gilbert will be away on a tripto the neighboring city next week.”

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t respond, so Carolinecontinues, “Should I ask Marcel to put a team together? I think Davina’sfinished her training, so she might be ready.”

“Don’t bother,” he murmurs thoughtfully, so quiet thatCaroline almost thinks he said nothing.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’ll go alone.”

The tumblers in the lock click into place, and Klauspulls both his ear and his tools away from the safe door, reaching up to tug itopen.

The edges of the door scrap harshly along theweathered wood of the desk that the safe is placed on, but Klaus doesn’t give adamn. He’s here for the art and the art alone.

Besides, John Gilbert can just pay a pretty penny tohave his desk repaired; it’ll be loose change for him.

The safe finally opens completely, and he kneels totake a peak inside only to find it empty.

“Wow,” a man says from the doorway of the office. “Youare every good as they say. Even my most intelligent employees couldn’t crackinto that safe.”

Within seconds, Klaus is on his feet and facing theintruder, a wickedly-sharp knife brandished before him. He immediatelyrecognizes the man and maintains his defensive position; angled away from him,Klaus worms his other hand into his back pocket and slips on his pair of brassknuckles. “What can I say, Mr. Gilbert?” he counters smoothly. “I have a reputationto maintain.”

John Gilbert, broad and with a receding hairline ofblond, chuckles. “I was banking on that, Mr. Mikaelson, seeing as I was hopingto hire you.”

“For what?” Klaus demands, tossing the knifedramatically in the air and grasping it by the handle when it swings down. Justas he intended, Gilbert’s eyes follow the trajectory of the blade and land onKlaus’s hand as he slips it back up his sleeve.

“No need for the theatrics, Mr. Mikaelson,” Gilbertcontinues. “You’ve already proven your skill. Consider this to have been anaudition.”

Klaus’s eyes narrow. “Your most talkative employee wasintentionally fed valuable information, was he not?” He doesn’t wait forGilbert to nod; he already knows the answer. “For a wealthy merchant, you seemto know the inner-workings of the city’s underbelly rather closely.”

“I make it a point to know how my city is run,”Gilbert retorts. “We are both men of Mystic Falls and utilize the city well.”

“Wonderful,” Klaus states. “Now, why would a merchantrequire a gang leader’s help? Surely, knowing how Mystic Fall is run, you knowseveral others who would aid you?”

Gilbert ignores his second question. “Have you heardof the Ice Court in Fjerda?”

Klaus snorts. “Of course. The largest militarystronghold in the world. Accessible to only Fjerdan royalty and soldiers.”

“I have a valuable asset detained there,” Gilbertexplains. “I want it retrieved by you and your Dregs.”

“And why would we do that for you?”

“Thirty million kruge.”

Stiffening in place, Klaus whistles slowly. “Quite ahefty sum. What could be worth that much in the Ice Court?”

“Who could, you mean,” Gilbert replies. “KaterinaPetrova, a Ravkan. A Grisha.”

“No Grisha’s that important,” Klaus counters swiftly.

“She is.”

[taeliciousdaelicious]

Instagrammable || kms

Genre: Fluff (’cause I’m a sucker for this kind of toothache)

Pairing/s: You and barista!Minseok

Description: You were out to meet your friends but unfortunately, your go-to bubble tea shop was full already. You were in search of a possible place to hang out in when you found this gem tucked away in the busy city—and it comes with its own cute barista, too.

Note/s: I have no other excuse except for I was lazy to start this fic just in time to finish and post it for Minseok’s birthday. But, better (extra) late than never, right? Also, this was inspired by a café my friends and I found by chance when we had nowhere to go and were on a budget. This is gonna be an extra short drabble so don’t expect too much—

Word Count: 2,155

“I’m free later. Are we going to meet at our usual spot?” While speaking on the phone, you squeezed into a soft, pastel yellow sweater, putting it over the Mickey Mouse shirt you wore since you were lounging at home. You decided the black leggings would do as you decided to spice up your outfit with brown, high-heeled ankle boots.

Your friend responded with an affirmative and you smiled. It had been a while since the four of you last saw each other. Ever since all of you officially became working women, there seemed to have been lesser opportunities and time to meet up. This made you look forward to today.

“Alright, I’m all dressed up. Remember the rule: whoever is the first one at the usual spot should inform everyone whether it’s full or not so we could decide what would happen” you reminded her. She merely scoffed and agreed, knowing everyone would follow it since the said rule had never failed to serve your group during instances like this. You said your farewells before grabbing your purse and stepped out of your apartment.

Your usual spot was a bubble tea shop with an all-day breakfast diner. It was a popular place for students since it was right next to a university. This was where the four of you hunched over your textbooks and paperwork as you studied late into the night or early in the morning. You’ve been regulars for so long that the staff only needed to greet your group upon entering the establishment before they start making your usual orders.

Riding a bus, you sat next to the window and thought about what would happen later. Would one of you rant about their insufferable colleagues? Or maybe a date gone wrong? What kind of stories would you share later as you caught up with each other’s lives? It made you excited all over again as you considered the possibilities. Since you were merely a bus stop away, the ride was short as you got off and started walking towards the familiar building.

Judging at the amount of people sitting by the windows, you already guessed that the shop might be full today. Still, you trudged forward and went in, the windchime tinkling to signal your arrival. The lady at the counter looked up and gave you an apologetic look. You knew already that they weren’t about to empty out anytime soon.

You walked up to her and flashed a small smile as you said, “Hello. Have my friends come here before me?”

She chuckled and shook her head no, adding, “If they were here, I would have known immediately, especially with how loud your group is. All of them are loudmouths except you. Sorry, sweetie. Shop’s full today. Best of luck in finding somewhere to hang out.”

Sighing, you nodded your thanks and stepped out into the sidewalk. You fished out your phone and sent a quick message to all of your friends.

Y/N: Usual spot is full. Head home or head out? (Sent at 5:48 P.M.)

They replied right away and the decision was unanimous. No one was going to let this day pass without seeing each other’s face. So, you started moving again, now in search for a place to meet them and be able to catch up.

Y/N: I’m on the move already. I’ll text once I found a place! (Sent 6:01 P.M.)

It took fifteen minutes of walking around aimlessly before you found the right place you’ve been looking for. None of the establishments you passed by appealed to you. They were either too mainstream, too expensive, too boring, etc. They just didn’t seem like something you and your friends would all like until you found the little coffee shop tucked in a corner, a street away from the main business center. Suffice to say, it was Instagram-worthy and you were sure your friends would swoon upon seeing it.

Its storefront was the timeless, grilled windows that were huge enough to allow passers-by to peek in to the interior of the shop. It was reminiscent of a classic, Western coffee shop found along a line of establishments. You found your feet directing you to it and your hand touched the cool handle, pushing it open to enter. There was also a windchime here that announced your entrance. For a moment, you thought you were alone—that is until a person jumped up from behind the counter.

“Good evening, miss! Welcome to Infallible!” he cheerfully greeted you. The sudden action made you yelp in surprise and stumble back for a few steps. You both looked at each other with wide eyes before you nervously laughed at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m easily surprised and, well, I thought this place was deserted or something” you said awkwardly, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Now that your brain wasn’t ringing alarm bells in your head, you finally noticed how cute the barista looked. His uniform only made him even cuter and you had to make a conscious effort of not being too obvious with the staring.

“Right. I’m sorry. I thought there was a thief because I was busy fixing some stuff under the counter” he explained, laughing a little. “Anyways, I’m Minseok and I’m your barista for today. How may I help you, miss?”

“You’re open for business, right?” you asked. Then, realizing how stupid that question must have sounded, you quickly backtracked and said, “I’m sorry. I should have looked at the front door for any sign or something—”

His chuckle broke you out of your rant and he kindly said, “Calm down, miss. It’s okay. I’m happy to answer your question. Yes, we’re open for business.”

You nodded at him, unable to look at him directly out of embarrassment and shyness. “Um, okay. I’ll just... go sit in that booth over there. I’m waiting for my friends. We’ll order later once they arrive. Yeah. Sorry for bothering you again. And what’s the address of this coffee shop again?”

After giving you the complete address, you thanked him one last time and scurried to the booth. You focused your attention solely on your phone as you typed out your text message before sending.

Y/N: Hey guys, I’m in this coffee shop called Infallible. Here’s the address. Get you asses here in ten or else. Last one is in charge of buying the snacks. (Sent at 6:20 P.M.)

After sending it, you immersed yourself in logging into your social media accounts, scrolling through your feeds to pass time. You did anything to avoid looking at the cute barista who made you self-conscious. Soon enough, your friends started appearing and finally, you were complete.

Without any preamble, one of them said to you, “Okay, girl, why didn’t you tell us there’s a cuteass barista here? My hair looks like a bird’s nest from running all the way here just so I wouldn’t pay for snacks! I’m broke as fuck but holy hell, look at that gorgeous eye candy. I bet if we take a picture of him and post it online, it would become viral. Shame on you, Y/N, for withholding this vital piece of information. Shame on you.”

You laughed merrily before crossing your legs in a sassy manner. “Of course, I can’t be the only one who should make a fool out of herself because of a certain good-looking guy. Alright, we’ve stalled long enough. Time to order food and drinks for ourselves.”

You all stood up and went to the counter to quickly give your orders. Just like what the worker said back in the bubble tea shop, your friends were all loud—except you. When it was finally your turn, Minseok gave you a bright smile and said, “Hello again, miss! May I get your order?”

You smiled sheepishly at him and replied, “Hey again. I’d like a regular-sized, iced coffee, chocolate-flavored. Oh, and go crazy on the whipped cream. I apologize for my friends’ rowdiness, by the way. It’s been said that we bring a hurricane of noise wherever we go.”

He laughed as he started getting a plastic cup and a permanent marker. “No, don’t be. It’s exactly what this coffee shop needs. Better than being as silent as a tomb. What name should I put on the cup?”

“Um, Y/N” you told him and he swiftly jotted it down in neat strokes. “Here’s my payment.”

“Oh, thanks” he said, accepting it. He looked at you with curiosity in his eyes as he punched it in. You felt a little strange under his scrutiny before he finally spoke up as he handed you your receipt and change, “I’m sorry if I’m staring too much but I was wondering... uh, was that your real name? That name you gave me?”

You blinked in surprise and laughed a little. “Yeah, that’s my real name. Why? Are you going to stalk me now or something?”

He laughed as well, his cheeks faintly reddening. He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at you through his lashes. You couldn’t help but swoon at how great his features seemed at any angle. Just then, he said, “I just thought it’s a beautiful name, Y/N. I should probably start making the coffee.”

“Oh, sure! Sorry, I’m keeping you from working” you said awkwardly. You flashed him a smile and tilted your head as you told him, “I’ll go back to my friends now. It was nice talking to you, Minseok.”

You turned around then and hurried to your seat. You missed the stunned look on his face at the mention of his name but your friends didn’t, as well as the rest of your interaction. When you looked at them, they were wearing knowing smiles.

“What?” you asked dumbly, a defense mechanism that everyone seemed to have. This just made them smile wider.

“I think I know why Y/N didn’t tell us about the barista. What’s his name again? Ah, yes, Minseok” your friends teased you. You weren’t able to control your reaction when you flushed a little. They simply laughed at your reaction, to which you groaned in embarrassment.

“Shut up. I swear, I just forgot to tell you about him” she mumbled. They still didn’t believe you and kept on teasing you a little longer before they diverted their attention to another topic. Welcoming it, you started contributing your thoughts to the conversation and the flow went smoothly after that. It was fun while waiting for your food and drinks as you were able to exchange silly stories, memorable experiences and complaints that had all piled up since you last saw each other. There was something bittersweet about the entire thing. You couldn’t help but think about the amount of time you would have to spend without them again.

Suddenly, there was a hand outstretched in front of you. You noticed how muscular the arm was and immediately, it jolted you back to reality. You were met with your friends’ amused faces and Minseok looking down at you with a small, shy smile on his face. “Hi, here’s your drink. Sorry for interrupting your train of thoughts. I guess I’ll get going now.”

You mutely accepted the drink, feeling the coldness seeping through the stack of tissue paper wrapped around the plastic cup. Unconsciously, you followed his figure until he turned around and met your eyes. You froze on your seat, making him visibly chuckle behind the counter.

“I suggest that you better get his number” one of your friends said excitedly. You blushed at that while giggling.

“Nah, if there’s imaginary sparks, I would be more than embarrassed. I don’t want to risk sacrificing this gorgeous place for a gorgeous face” you said, sipping the coffee through the straw. You made a sound of approval before commenting, “Oh my god, this is it. Whenever our usual spot is full, we go straight here, you hear me?”

They laughed before falling silent. You all made positive comments about the drinks and the food, immensely satisfied with your discovery. You were about halfway through your cup when your friend sitting beside you said, “Hey, what’s that thing peeking through the tissue paper?”

Frowning in confusion, you checked it yourself. Gently peeling it off the cup, you gasped in surprise when you saw digits written with blue ink on the white surface, coupled with a smiley face.

“It looks like there’s no imaginary sparks and you don’t have to ask for his number. Damn, I should have started a bet” your friend murmured. The girls took turns in passing the paper around to confirm it to their disbelieving eyes, squealing and probably already planning how to dress you up for a possible first date. Smiling widely, you turned around to see Minseok smiling as well, looking straight at you. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking something. You merely breathed out a laugh before turning your head away.

“Alright, give me the damn tissue paper. Now, where did I put my phone? Oh my goodness, help me find it!”

[joshversus]

... Holiday Gaming, Year 3

It’s the last game night of the year for my group, and as is now officially tradition, I prepped and ran a special one-shot using the Risus system.  Previous year’s games’ writeups can be found here and here, if you’re interested.

This year, I’d been struggling for an idea, so at the second-to-last normal session, I asked if anyone had any suggestions.  Dave came back to me after the session and pitched me one of the best ideas I’d ever heard: “Hallmark Channel Original Movie, but it’s also In The Mouth Of Madness.”  I’m not sure I lived up to the promise of that brilliant idea, but here’s what went down.

Faith Akeley is a career-minded woman running her successful event planning business in New York City.  She’s engaged to Henry Wilcox, an all-business Madison Avenue marketing exec. Two days before Christmas, Faith gets a call from one Randy West, who tells her that her father has been hurt and needs her help.  Faith has been estranged from her father, and hasn’t been back to her hometown since her mother died six years ago on Christmas Eve.  Still, the news shakes her, and she tells Henry she’ll be back before the holiday, rents a car, and drives up to Holly Hills, Vermont for the first time in years.

Wilbur Akeley runs his slowly-failing Christmas-themed antiques shop, The Ghosts of Christmases Past, where his sole remaining employee is Randolph “Randy” West, doting widower father to Lavinia “Vinnie” West, a precocious tween girl fond of all the usual things kids are into these days (fidget spinners, bottle flipping, dabbing).  Randy just wants Vinnie to have a magical Christmas, but even the extra money he makes making and selling benches on the side might not be enough.  Vinnie’s excited to play the caganer in the Nativity Play during the annual Holly Hills Christmas Revel, and has been practicing for months.  She’s also hoping her father will start dating again, and is embarrassed by her changing body, especially the patches of scales that have started forming on her legs.

Faith arrives at her father’s shop, where she meets Randy and Vinnie, and is quickly joined by Francine “Frankie” Pabodie, her BFF from back in high school.  Frankie runs local charity drives, organizes wine and pottery nights, and coaches the girl’s soccer team.  She thinks she’s the “cool mom” and the wild one of her ladies’ book club.  She’s also this year’s organizer for the Christmas Revel, a position she’s campaigned for for years.

As Faith quickly learns, however, all is at risk!  Wilbur was injured when a mysterious assailant broke into the shop, attacked him, and then stole the old six-foot-tall stone effigy of St. Nicholas, carved long ago by Randy’s great-great-grandfather from the strange green stone of the local hills.  This effigy is the traditional centerpiece of the Christmas Revel, and was stored in Wilbur’s shop during the year.  Due to a previously-undiscovered clause in the town charter, if the effigy isn’t in place in time for the Christmas Revel, Wilbur will have to forfeit the deed to his shop, Randy will thus be out of a job, the Christmas Revel will be ruined, Vinnie won’t get to live her dream of playing the caganer, and Frankie’s reputation will be destroyed!  Can her father and former best friend awaken the Christmas spirit in Faith’s hardened heart?  Can Vinnie get her widower dad to take a chance on this big-city gal?  Can they find the effigy in time for the Revel and save Christmas?

All that’s basically just the setup.  I know, that’s a lot, but hey, I don’t make the rules of Hallmark Channel movies.

So, at first, Faith’s not having it.  She’s humbugging all over the place.  Randy goes over the evidence in the store again and determines that whoever stole the effigy wheeled it out the back on some sort of dolly, and finds tire tracks of some large truck leading out the alley.  Vinnie is psyched to be part of something, and takes off on her skateboard to follow the tracks, but not before “accidentally” bumping Randy into Faith.  Vinnie loses the tracks pretty fast, but Frankie gets on the local moms’ Snapbook chat to see if anybody’s seen any strange trucks in the last couple nights.

Word comes back that someone heard a truck heading up the old northeast road into the woods that blanket the nearby hills, woods into which even the hunters rarely go - and in which Randy’s wife died in a tragic hiking accident.  It takes some debate, but eventually Wilbur’s good-natured meddling pushes Randy into agreeing to check it out, and his cardigan-wearing handsomeness softeness Faith’s heart into agreeing to take part.  Vinnie just insists, and is just so precocious.

Everybody piles into Randy’s extra-long cab new-model Dodge pickup truck, and we have a brief interlude for product placement as Faith admires the luxury-level interior touches and Vinnie points out that it even has bluetooth. 

The group drives up the road into the woods, which turns to gravel, rough and bumpy, as the trees close around them and they up and in.  At one point, the rough bumping makes Faith collide lightly with Randy in the front seat, which Vinnie gets a quick picture right as it looks as if she is resting his head on his nonthreateningly masculine shoulder.  As twilight sets in, they are stopped when they find a snowmelt washout has blocked the road with fallen trees, and they are forced to proceed on foot.  Randy finds the tracks again, and leads them on.  We get some nice scenes where Faith complains about hating Christmas ever since her mother died, and Randy relates in sympathy the loss of his wife but his conviction that you need to keep the Christmas spirit even in the rough times.  

This heartwarming growing intimacy distracts them such that faith walks directly into a panel van hidden in the underbrush.  A quick search finds it unlocked and empty, though scratches and loose tiedowns suggest that something large and heavy had been transported within.  Before they can do more, strange lights are seen flickering in the trees, coming from the direction of the old stone circle atop the hill.  These multicolored lights draw nearer with the sound of leathery flapping, and our heroes are set upon by three bizarre, hideous, man-sized things with chitinous bodies, batlike wings, terrible pincers, and globules of many waving tendrils endlessly shifting in colors in place of heads.

There is a fight.  Randy sets about himself with maglite and branch.  Wilbur draws his old bowie knife and tries to defend Faith.  Faith goes after the things with her high-heeled shoe, and Frankie likewise uses her boot as a melee weapon.  Vinnie uses her acting skills to try to distract the monstrosities to create an opening for her dad.  They bring down one abomination and wound the others before they retreat into the now-dark skies.  As the killed monster’s body dissolves into goo before their eyes, Wilbur relates the tales passed down from the native tribes, of horrible creatures that dwell in these woods and kidnap people, and the debased humans who aid them in their strange works.

Gathering themselves, the group finds tracks indicating someone had dragged something heavy and wheeled from the van, and follow the trail up the hill to a cave opening in the shadow of the hilltop, leading down and under the stone circle above.  Descending into the narrow passage, rough-hewn from the same strange green stone as the effigy they seek, they hear chanting voices ahead.

The passage opens into a round, smooth, worked-stone chamber, its walls covered in writing unlike any they had ever scene and bearing here and there deep niches holding strange, metallic cylinders.  At the opposite end of the chamber, a large brazier with a disquieting green flame stand before a statue of indefinable shape - a riot of angles, curves, and protrusions that causes headaches to witness and which seems at once to be both an explosion and an organic thing.  Before it, two red-robed figures bow and pray, and off to the side stands the effigy of St. Nick, still strapped to the dolly used to cart it away.

The robed cultists turn and attack the interlopers, screaming that “the ritual shall not happen this time!” Faith demonstrates the skills she learned taking self-defense classes in the big city, Wilbur stabs, Frankie utilizes her cool mom yoga to dodge and sweep, Randy demonstrates the efficiency of an extra large maglite as a bludgeon, and Vinnie uses the bowl shape of the room to skateboard up to speed before doing a no-comply kick right in the face.  The battle is ended when Vinnie does a bottle flip directly onto the face of the last cultist, knocking them out.  Vinnie is disturbed when, upon searching the cutlists, she finds them covered in large patches of scales not unlike those recently developed on her own legs.

Wilbur recalls that according to the earliest tales, the Christmas Revel was originally believed to keep evil spirits from harming the town, and the effigy was central to the ritual.  With time running out, they start hauling the effigy back down the hill.  It’s dawn now, and they have to get to the Revel in time, but after getting back to the truck they find the road washed out behind them as well, and they’re forced to walk the effigy all the way back to town!

It’s night by the time they get back, and they arrive at the park where the Christmas Revel is being held just as one of Frankie’s friends is sheepishly apologizing that it looks like the Revel’s a bust this year.  The crowd parts to let them through, and they wheel the effigy towards its place of honor. 

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning strikes behind the crowd, and a cloud of sickly green smoke forms, from which emerges HENRY WILCOX, Faith’s fiancée!  Henry is furious, screaming that he has worked for so long to disrupt the ritual, and this time his master Azathoth will not be denied.  As he marches towards them, his fingers lengthen and blacken, eventually splitting all the way up his arms as his limbs become a swarm of black, barbed tentacles and his face splits open into a swirling mass of inky tendrils and eyes.  The crowd loses its shit.  The light dims into a diseased red and green glow and the sky fills with tendrils of pure black.

“We’ve got to get the effigy in place!”  Randy uses his primarily bench-based carpentry knowledge to hastily construct a ramp, and Frankie slide the statue into its spot, but nothing happens.  “The ritual!  We’ve got to sing the song!” - that strange carol, unique to Holly Hills, with which every Christmas Revel was opened.

That Which Once Was Henry is killing folks left and right.  Frankie tries to get her iPod to the PA system to play the music, but the panicking crowd blocks her path. Wilbur commandeers a nearby car and plows it into Henry, who responds by tearing the front end off it. Vinnie throws fidget spinners into TWOWH’s ravenous maw.  

Faith grabs a microphone and makes a heartfelt appeal to the panicked townsfolk that no tentacle-faced bum from the big city is going to stop their Christmas Revel, and the charmed townsfolk pass Frankie’s iPod and plug it in.  The music starts, the crowd begins to sing.  Faith yells, “and one other thing!  The engagement IS OFF!” and hurls her ring into Ex-Henry’s wounded headspace.  As the chorus lifts, the effigy of St. Nick begins to glow, and two beams of pure white light shoot from its eyes, piercing the Former Henry’s eldritch form and exploding him into a cloud of silvery, sparkly lights.  A pulse of warm, Christmassy green emanates from the statue, and the lights return, the tendrils of black are swept from the sky, and all is well again.

“Vinnie, it’s time!  They’re starting!”  Vinnie rushes backstage and prepares for her big debut, as the Mayor comes over to congratulate Wilbur and let him know that his store’s going to remain open.  Randy watches Vinnie drop trou and pop a squat on stage, eyes misting over with pride and joy at the magical Christmas his daughter finally got.  Faith, overwhelmed by the Christmas spirit and Randy’s nonthreatening dadly handsomeness, calls up her business partners in the city and tells them that she’s going to be staying right here to start a party planning business with her best friend Frankie (who is being congratulated for organizing the most exciting Christmas Revel ever).  Frankie catches Faith’s eye and points out the mistletoe above Randy’s head, and we fade out as Faith embraces Randy and kisses him.

I’ve got to hand it to my players for going along with a really, really goofy idea, and embracing it.  They played with the tropes so well, and I’m mainly sorry that due to time constraints I had to really streamline the planned scenes and keep things moving and thus wasn’t able to let them just riff on it as much as they could have.  It was a gas.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Footy

International Soccer Player Star Lexa au is and forever will be my dream

The heat rolled off of the pavement in the afternoon. Stagnant and ornery, it listlessly bullied everyone in the streets until they were just as uncomfortable and oppressed, just as mad, just as sweaty and tired and beat up like the harsh summer day. The bustle of the street didn’t stop though, despite the heat, despite the heaviness. Instead, people milled about as best the could, fanning themselves with their hands or papers or ducking into stores, eating ice cream, and failing against nature itself.

Perhaps it was the summer day, but Lexa blamed her growing frustration at her inability to find the stupid coffee shop despite her GPS’ best attempts, on the ridiculous non-grid system her new city operated upon. Any normal place would just keep everything on right angles, not twisty back alleys that were full streets, or streets that suddenly turned into a park and patio of a restaurant. It was maddening.

It was in that thick, stifling kind of heat that she reconsidered every decision that led to her transfer. An ocean away from home, five time zones from everyone she loved, and very much out of her element, the sweat on her neck made her even more mad for no real reason at all.

It wasn’t as if it wasn’t her dream, to play for a top tier, elite team, to be the best, to play with the best, to change the game, to help little girls who might not have a chance to play. But something about that heat that June had in its angry fists, that was enough to make her regret it for the tiniest of shameful moments.  

Her phone once again told her she had arrived, and Lexa paused, wiping her brow, and staring at a different store front than every other time her phone gave her that answer. Behind her sunglasses, she squinted and peered and tried not to stand in the way of the current of the sidewalk too much.

All it took was twelve laps around the same few blocks. At that rate, she’d find and make it back to her apartment by next week.

The breeze of cool air was welcomed as soon as she opened the door and ventured inside the tiny café that was sandwiched between a cute little pharmacy and a cuter little bookstore. Everything in this country was cute, quaint, and about a thousand years old.

It didn’t help that people stopped her often, asked for pictures, criticized or applauded her efforts on the pitch. She couldn’t find her way to work most days without using her phone, and people already had opinions about her.

Overpriced, too slow, not defensive enough, good enough for back in the States, lucky but not talented. Lexa almost liked that more than the praise. It was a lot to hear the hopes and dreams and observations of her skills. It was easier to prove people wrong than live up to their dreams.

As soon as she caught her breath and pushed the sunglasses atop her head, she was met with the sports section on an empty table, her face staring back at her after her last goal the night before, pushing the team over in extra time. She swallowed thickly and put her sunglasses back on, careful to tug her hat back on.

A month ago, she was playing with her friends, she was in a country that believed the metric system was stupid. Now, she never knew what the temperature actually meant and the stadium was full when she played.

“You found it,” Luna greeted her after a moment, finally putting the paper down to turn the page. “And only… a half hour late.”

“I know how to get from my house to the practice field to the gym to the little diner that serves reasonably passable food,” Lexa sighed, taking the seat across from her new centre back. “Are we still in London?”

“God forbid you get out a bit.”

“My face is on a billboard outside. Kind of makes it hard to go out.”

“Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh my goodness,” her friend realized with a laugh. “You really are camera shy.” Lexa blushed and shook her head. “Top scorer in the league, World Cup MVP, Olympic medal winner, and you are literally not used to people thinking you’re good.”

“I came for coffee, not to be psychoanalyzed by my backfielder.”

“Look at you! You’re bright red!”

“I’m not,” she grumbled at the observation, despite the fact that she could feel the tingle in her cheeks.

“A little.”

With a deep breath and roll of her eyes, Lexa finally smiled at her friend. She was used to the teasing, she actually missed it. The newcomer who came in halfway through the season, it was hard to find a kind of balance with the already established team.

They ordered and chatted, and for a moment, the heat was gone and the day was theirs. They debated strategy, felt each other out. The hours ticked until it circled back to Lexa’s status as someone who had a billboard.

“You can be coy, but you’re used to it, right?”

“No. It’s not like this back home. People aren’t… it’s… No. It’s different.”

“I saw the pictures, the stories about you and Costia,” Luna reminded her, tilting her cup slightly. “You two were hot news.”

“That’s all we were. Just news,” Lexa shrugged.

“Good to know. I have the perfect girl for you.” Her friend had a devilish smile, a really kind of plotting, villainous thing.

“You can’t set me up. I just got here,” Lexa scolded, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not looking for anything.”

“Trust me,  you’re going to need someone through the cold, British winter,” Luna explained knowingly. “It’s hot for like three weeks and then it's soggy and sopping and just miserable the rest of the time.”

“How about I figure out where a grocery store is, and then we can chat about it?”

“What better way to help acclimate you, fully welcome you to the team, than to get you laid.”

She couldn’t help it. Lexa snorted into her mug at the suggestion. Her sister would like Luna. Maybe that was why she even agreed to the friendly meeting in the first place, to supplement and seek out similarities.

“I can’t even keep a cactus alive with how much I travel. I’ve moved into my apartment in the sense that the majority of my clothes still aren’t in a suitcase, but only because they’re dirty. I don’t need you to set me up.”

“Sounds like you need it more than I thought,” Luna countered.

“I don’t--”

“Excuse us, but you’re… you’re Lexa Woods?” a gaggle of teenagers approached the table warily, peering at the players cautiously. The ringleader was tall, at least sixteen. The rest weren’t much younger.

“She is, she is,” the back explained for her. “And let me guess, you guys are supporters, eh?”

“I’ve rooted for the Stags since I was a baby,” one explained. “My dad said you’re the best player he’s seen in twenty years.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Lexa smiled. “Tell him thank you.”

“I don’t… um. We don’t have anything but napkins for you to sign,” a younger boy, about twelve, offered weakly. “But do you think you could?”

“Napkins won’t do for lifetime fans,” the striker shook her head and looked back at Luna who chuckled. “How about a picture and then you give me an address and we’ll have some things sent over?”

“You don’t have to do that,” the oldest shook her head. “We just wanted to welcome you and tell you what an amazing goal that one was last night.”

“Thank you. You’re probably the best welcoming party I’ve had yet,” Lexa tried to put them at ease. “Now do you all play?”

“I’m goalie.”

“I play right wing.”

The chorus of answers continued. Both Luna and Lexa took their time with the tiny group of tiny adults. They took pictures and promised better autographs. They encouraged them and told them to practice until they couldn’t stand. It took cellphones ringing to remind them that they had parents who worried to get them to leave.

“See? You’re good at it,” Luna accused as they followed suit and decided that a few hours in a coffee shop was enough, and that a bar was a better alternative. “They liked you.”

“You’re not setting me up,” Lexa sighed, heavy and amused.

“What if she’s your soulmate and you’re passing it up for no reason at all?”

“My soulmate doesn’t even know I exist, and I like it that way.”

“On the pitch, you’re a shark. Out of the water, you’re a little puppy. As the veteran on the team, it’s my job to corrupt you, you know that right?”

Just like Anya, Lexa thought to herself as they made their way out into the night.

Even though it was nearing sunset, the park was busy and full of life. The stadium in the distance was calm and quiet after a tough loss earlier in the day. For a second, Clarke was grateful for the loss that she honestly didn’t care much about at all. If they’d won, there’d be celebrations and lingering camps and parties all through the park. Now, it was just alive with normal, with the quiet kind of afternoon that she didn’t want to end.

She filled up another page in her sketchbook, taking the time to relax, disappearing into the world so that she could convince herself that she was the only observer, that she was outside of it all.

Summer was meant to be the break, the vacation from stress. Now, she couldn’t even visit her parents without feeling the constricting hand of time and morality upon her throat. Summer was weekend trips, beach books, weekends in the country, cook outs, kisses in streets that never slept. Instead, Clarke felt like she was the only observer of the world, unable to connect to it, unable to break that plane that separated her from them.

Her father had cancer. They told her as the semester ended and her students turned in final papers, her parents sitting her down and trying to be upbeat. And Finn, the ex, the fuckboy that he was, lived up to the warnings her friends gave her. Raven disappeared for the summer, recruited for some motosport team. The season felt anything but normal, felt to be anything other than what she craved.

But here, with her pencil, Clarke disappeared, for just a moment, let June make her neck sweat, let it stifle her lungs a bit. Summer was the seasons of starts, and for the life of her, Clarke wasn’t sure where.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted her.

And just like that, the universe proved her wrong yet again.

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m terrible at directions,” the stranger shook her head.

Clarke’s pencil stilled as she followed the silhouette up, starting at the shorts hanging on the hips, up to the exposed stomach, the abs that lived there making her swallow, up to the sports bra, up to the headphones that now hung on a long, slender neck, up to the point of a chin and the edge of a jaw, up to flyaways and sweaty hair in a tight ponytail, up to green eyes and a bashful furrow.

“What?” Clarke cleared her throat and tried to find some kind of normal. She wasn’t sure of the exact time, though she did recognize that she gawked longer than polite.

“I didn’t mean to bother you, I just… this is embarrassing. My phone died, and I have been lost for the past three hours.”

“You’re not from here, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” she sighed with a small smile and unfamiliar accent. “I’ve been.” She shook her head and stuttered a bit, distracted by the girl on the bench. So out of her head and distracted, she hadn’t realized she approached a girl with eyes like that. “I work nearby. I just went for a run and got kind of turned around.”

“Been here long?”

“About a month. Can’t seem to figure out my way though.”

Clarke smiled and closed her sketchbook, unable to look at this stranger for too long without getting distracted and thinking thoughts she was baffled by having at all. She watched her abs move as she lifted her forearm and ran it across her forehead to get rid of the sweat there.

“Where are you heading?”

“Um, right, yeah,” she nodded to herself. “Uh, it’s. St. George? St. George and Thatcher. There’s a bank, and a coffee place. I don’t really pay attention well.”

“That’s…” Clarke furrowed and thought for a moment. “That’s way on the other side of the city.”

“Yeah. I kind of ran. Far.”

“I’d say.”

There was something on the tip of this stranger’s tongue, this kind of questioning gaze, this kind of willingness, like she needed Clarke to know something, to realize it.

“I like to just… keep running, so my head won’t get all jumbled,” she shrugged. “It was very needed.”

“Just take Franklin the whole way to Sixth toward the college. That should put you in a familiar area.”

“That sounds simple enough. Thank you.”

“You look very familiar. Have we met?” There it was. The flash of fear.

“I have one of those faces,” she offered, shaking her head. Clarke appraised her a little more, unable to decide if she recognized her face or if she just wanted to believe she could memorize it completely. “Thank you again.”

“Good luck.”

With a small nod, the runner took a few steps before putting headphones back into their place. She looked once more back at the girl on the bench and started to jog. And just like that, Clarke was stuck staring at the stadium in the distance and wondering how in the world someone like that could exist.

For a moment, it was a pleasant distraction.

The bar was full and loud and brimming with wasted potential and the frivolity that came from contagious joy. Laughter was a crescendo that bounced from group to group, echoing continuously from the various tables and barstools. In the warm, deep lights of the bar, the faces were shadowed in that gentle glow of cheeks and dimples and smiles.

“She was nice,” Lexa shrugged, growing self-conscious under the eyes of a few teammates. “We had a good time. What else do you want me to say?”

“We need more details,” Luna groaned.

“Come on, she’s allegedly your soulmate,” Sarah needled.

Bashful and unsure, Lexa fiddled with her glass and smiled to herself because her mouth wasn’t sure what to really do. She liked it better when everyone was debating that terrible call. Unsure how the conversation switched to her love life or lack thereof, it was dizzying.

“She was nice. We went to dinner and saw a show at a bar. I ordered her a cab and she invited me over, but we had a game, so I politely declined.”

“And you haven’t texted her back since we got back from Brussels,” Luna supplied. “Come on, Lexa. She’s perfect for you.”

“She was nice.”

“Yeah, I get that you think she’s nice. That’s all you had to say about her.”

“She never saw Star Wars. She made a few, rather colorful remarks about the band. And she kept asking me about being a recognizable soccer player. It was always about that. I don’t know. I didn’t click with her. She wasn’t fun.”

“She was nervous! You’re intimidating!”

Lexa scoffed and shook her head, grateful to take a gulp of ginger ale.

“I just didn’t really feel it,” she shrugged.

“That’s alright,” Sarah interrupted as more glasses were added to their table. “I have the perfect girl for you.”

“We have a game in three days. Can’t we talk about that?”

“We’re set for that,” Luna disagreed. “Tell me about your girl.”

As soon as Sarah started talking, Lexa tuned out, doomed to another blind date. It was nice of them to try, but Lexa wasn’t looking, she wasn’t particularly capable of thinking of much more than work, to be honest. She could take being married to her job. In fact, she’d already resigned herself to it years ago.

Costia was a fluke.

“She’s got amazing tits, too,” Sarah promised.

“On that note,” Lexa pursed her lips and smiled, pushing herself up from the booth. “Another round?”

“Yes please.”

It took effort, but Lexa made her way to the bar in hopes of avoiding all talk of her potential future wife that everyone was so sure was the One. The novelty would wear off, and deep down, she appreciated the idea of them caring enough on a personal level.

Her sister agreed with them, which was another challenge. Even from across the ocean, Lexa got lectures consisting of urging to try new things, to open up, to have fun. It was exhausting for everyone to have so many opinions about her, but she knew her sister spoke from a place of worry, especially after Costia.

“Could we have another pitcher?” Lexa asked as she leaned over the bar and asked politely. “And a ginger ale?”

As soon as the bartender went to work filling, she leaned and surveyed the crowd. Amidst all of the faces and groups, all packed tightly and impossibly close, it was a shift in the seas of bodies that led to her coming face to face with a familiar set of eyes.

As soon as it registered, the ocean shifted and she was gone despite Lexa doing her best to shift and find her.

“Here you go, hun,” the bartender interrupted the search in just enough time for Lexa to convince herself that it was a mirage.

“Thanks.”

Luckily, the group was going back to an argument over the strategy for the next game and the potential standing on the table. Still, Lexa thought about that girl who gave her directions. Such a quick and tiny interaction that impressed itself upon her memory in the tiniest ways.

Lexa was in her element when it came to talking about work. She was never good at her family, and she was never good at vocalizing thoughts and feelings. It was easier to run. For ninety minutes, she always knew what was happening.

After another hour, Lexa finally figured she’d put in enough time, made enough of an effort so that her sister wouldn’t give her too much trouble, and she politely excused herself from the group, citing an early morning and extra workouts in the morning. Sometimes, she just didn’t like the noise or the crowds and it got to be too much. After the accident with her mother, things were just different. Everything was different, but things in her head, especially.

The night air was a welcomed relief. It breezed along and soothed her warm neck, allowing her time to take a deep breath and actually hold it.

“I thought it was you,” a voice chuckled. “I almost didn’t recognize you with a shirt.”

“Me?” she swallowed and turned around as she paused just on the sidewalk outside of the newly familiar bar.

“You’re the only shirtless person I recognize.”

All at once, she knew she had seen that girl, the pretty girl who was sketching in the park, who tucked her hair behind her ear and ran her pencil under her chin as she focused. It had been that girl in the bar that got swallowed by the sea of faces.

“It’s you,” Lexa sighed and smiled for some reason.

“I take it you made it home okay?”

“I did. Thank you.”

They stared at each other and smiled for no reason at all. Clarke wasn’t even entirely sure why she followed the familiar body outside, but she caught sight and she couldn’t stay away. She wasn’t sure why, but here she was and she felt ridiculous.

Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged against the fresh air that felt suddenly so much cooler after the warmth and humidity of the bar. The eyes in the dim lighting of the street didn’t help much either.

“It’s a bit of fate for us to wind up in the same bar, isn’t it?” the artist offered, out of breath and unable to catch it.

“It is.”

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t…recog--” Lexa furrowed before smiling at the confused girl before her. “Lexa.”

“Clarke,” she held out her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They held hands and their breath and grinned like idiots because a pretty girl was touching them and for some reason it was a bit of magic, the summer kind of magic, that brought two strangers together in a city of nine million people and seven thousand bars.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have an early day at work tomorrow,” she explained, reluctantly taking her hand back. She needed another ginger ale.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again,” Clarke dared.

“I hope so.”

There was a blush, Lexa was certain, and she was the cause of it. Even though it was dark, even though they were complete strangers, even though they were outside of a warm bar and in a warm kind of night, she knew it was all her own, and it was wonderful on that girl’s cheeks.

“What brings you out?”

“Just… some colleagues. They keep sending me on blind dates.”

“Perhaps I should go introduce myself and see if they set us up together,” she offered. “How have they gone so far?”

“Just one, but it was… fine.”

“Fine isn’t a word you want to associate with a date.”

“Yeah,” Lexa scratched her neck and moved from foot to foot awkwardly. “That’s why there won’t be a second. Though apparently everyone knows someone who could be perfect for me.”

“One of them has to be right, right?” Clarke offered with a smile.

“You’d think,” she returned it.

With a look over her shoulder, Lexa looked toward the street, looked at the sidewalk, looked at the trees and the river in the distance. She bit her lip and looked back at this girl in front of her.

“Do you maybe want to go for a walk?” she offered.

“More than anything, I wish I could,” the artist frowned. “It’s my friend’s birthday. Any other night, and…”

“No, no yeah, I understand.”

“I mean it.”

“Next time,” Lexa nodded politely.

“Would it be too forward to ask your number?” Clarke ventured.

“You want… you want my number?”

“Unless you believe in fate that much,” she smiled.

For a moment, Lexa considered it. She did believe in fate. She left up most of her decisions to the will of the world. It was easier.

“I actually do,” Lexa decided. “Third time's the charm.”

“What are the odds of me finding you again?”

Oddly distracted by the girl who was an enigma and a half, who believed in fate with a faraway smile that was beautiful at best and absolutely stunning at worst, the blonde stood there and mimicked her stance, shyly slipping her hands in the pockets of her shorts.

“Better than you’d imagine,” Lexa promised, remembering all of the billboards with her face on it. “I promise I want to give you my number, but why not let the universe push us together again?”

“I’m game if you are, stranger.”

“I’ll see you then,” she promised. “Have a good night, Clarke.”

Left oddly confused by the interaction, Clarke watched the strange girl walk away again, still unsure as to why her heart felt like a hummingbird.

At first, all she could do was think about fate. June grew late and the sun really remembered how to punish. The days were longest and the nights kind of just bled into the next day, acted as slight reprieves from the intensity of the days.

The girl with the pretty green eyes and the awkward smile, she crossed Clarke’s mind every time she rode the subway or made her way out into the world, wondering if fate would play a factor or if they would never see each other again. It made the days a little more interesting, and despite herself, Clarke still believed in the magic of the summer, and perhaps even fate. She’d never considered it before, and yet there she was, trusting the universe.

“Hey kid, you’re not working today?” her father asked as she made her way into her parent’s home.

The heat tried to follow her inside, though it failed to get past the steps.

“Not until tonight,” she replied, kissing her father’s cheeks as she flopped down on the couch beside his favorite chair.

“Do you miss school?”

“I miss the kids, but having days off and enjoying the summer is nicer.”

“It’s a scorcher out there.”

“I love it.”

“You’re a weirdo, you know that?” he chuckled. “Your mom just left to go to work. Some shortage at the hospital.”

“I figured,” Clarke observed. “That explains the beer and snacks in the living room.”

“Don’t tell.”

There was always a quiet bond between them. There always had been. Where her mother was often rational and stern, Jake was full of jokes and mischievous. Everytime she visited, she chided herself for not doing it more. It was only a half hour away from her own flat, and yet it wasn’t a regular occurrence to stop by.

“Who’s playing?”

“Hasn’t started yet. But the girls are taking on Lilywall. You want to watch a bit?”

“Are you going to make lunch?” she ventured, earning a grin.

“I’ll get you a drink,” he chuckled.

Clarke sunk deeper into the couch and lazily watched the television. The fan and a/c felt nice, and frankly she’d watch pretty much anything to avoid going back out in the hot and steam that existed out there at noon.

“So how are you feeling, Dad?” Clarke called as she heard him putter through the kitchen. “You had an appointment on Monday right?”

“I’m good. Yesterday was rough.” His voice grew as he made his way back to the living room. “But I think it’s going alright. Doctors have stopped using big words, so I think I’m a pretty boring patient now, which is good news.”

“Mom said you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I sleep plenty,” he disagreed, handing over a can before taking his seat. “Plus, I get to guilt you into watching soccer with me, so I think this cancer thing isn’t the worst.”

“That’s a silver lining I guess,” his daughter rolled her eyes.

It was easy to talk to her dad. Clarke didn’t know she needed it, to just be normal. But a month into summer break, and with the weird way life seemed to be going, nothing felt real. The summer didn’t help, obscuring normal, keeping them away from reality in that way that those few months were known to do before the leaves started to fall. Clarke was oddly afraid that after his diagnosis, things wouldn’t be normal again. And then they were the same they always had been, and she was even more confused.

“Who’s that?”

“What?” Jake asked as he sipped his drink.

Clarke sat up from her languid position and stared at the girl seen in the jersey with an easy smile, stretching her hands toward her feet and joking with a teammate. A box of statistics appeared beside her face while the commentators sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, nothing but a wonky trumpet in the background despite Clarke’s eager ears.

Three NCAA championship wins. Rookie of the Year. World Champ. Olympic Gold Medalist. Hermann Trophy winner. FA Super League Champion. Born in Philadelphia. Recently acquired.

“Holy shit,” Clarke whispered.

“Oh, so you see a pretty face and suddenly you’re into sports. I’ve been coaching for twenty years and I’ve never seen you--”

“I know her.”

“You know Lexa Woods?” he scoffed.

“Kind of. I mean. Wait. You know her?” she furrowed and looked at her father.

“Of course. The entire country, and world, knows her. She’s a phenom. Had a hat trick in the World Cup Finals last year. She’s amazing.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s this all about? You swore off footballers after Finn, which if you ask me,” Jake shrugged and looked back at the screen. “Is the absolute best news I’ve ever heard in my life. Makes me less worried.”

The camera stayed trained on the soccer player and everything made sense. Of course she worked nearby. Of course she went on blind dates. Of course those girls in the bar were soccer players because people took pictures with them and bought them drinks. Of course she swore off soccer players.

Clarke stared while she caught bits and pieces of words about the match and the player.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, sorry. Wrong person,” she lied, and shook her head.

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes. “Just admit that you find her hot so we can get it out in the open.”

“Is she any good?”

“I can’t remember the last player I saw with instinct and the drive that she has. I think she’s going to be one of the best of all time,” Jake explained. “She’s fast, accurate, has vision. Seems like a good kid.”

Clarke nodded appreciatively and settled back into the couch, her beer can pushed against her chin and jaw as she furrowed and watched the game, appreciating it more than ever before. While her father spoke, she mumbled and nodded, she pretended to not be distracted by the girl running around and sweating and kicking and being tackled and getting up with vengeance in her eyes and smiling and hugging teammates when she scored.

The rest of the day was a blur, with Clarke excusing herself before it ended, still very confused about the sick game the universe was playing. She kissed her father’s cheek and staggered out into the summer afternoon in search of the small job she kept in the summer to keep busy and have money to travel.

Try as she might, she caught the end of the game at the bar, and she smiled despite herself at the girl who was alive and happy and somehow familiar who flopped on the grass as it ended with relief on her face.

At the end of the night, after her small shift at the restaurant, she laid in bed and fought it as hard as she could. And then she pulled out her phone, and she pulled up an instagram belonging to a certain soccer player she was certain was the girl fate was trying to push her toward.

The most recent picture that greeted her was just the top of her head, eyes and up, with the stadium in the distance and the giant, fifty foot poster of herself on it. Do you think she’ll figure it out eventually? She captioned it.

The next was a post workout that made Clarke gulp.

The next was a view of some woods.

The next was Lexa, covered in puppies.

The next, a plane bound somewhere.

For longer than she’d ever admit, Clarke scrolled and saw glimpses of a life. Of family and friends and things she liked. It was all too much. By the time she moved to twitter, she smiled despite herself, because below a quote about the game, was about a dozen tweets about meeting a pretty girl who had no idea who the soccer star was, and the rest of the world enjoying it.

It would seem fate has finally thrown us together again, Clarke wrote on the latest picture, clearly about her. You can thank my dad for forcing me to watch the game today.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered with a small sigh as she let her phone fall to her chest.

“So a complete and total stranger that you met in the world, and yet neither of the two blind dates we set you up on were good enough?” the midfielder complained as she stretched beside Lexa. With a grunt, she moved her fingers to her toes.

The stadium filled with murmuring, a dull, oceanic kind of roar that always existed to nothing more than white noise before a game. Until the cheering. Until the booing. Well across the world for a friendly, the national team even did their best to get Lexa out of her shell, though itwas politely declined.

“It’s nothing,” she shrugged, moving her foot over her knee and pushing her elbow against it, twisting her back lazily.

“Perfect for you, huh? Noncommittal with a touch of romance.”

“I travel constantly. I’m married to my job. And after… last time… with Costia,” Lexa swallowed and switched sides. “It just… I don’t want to do that to someone. I’m happy. I don’t know why no one believes me.”

“I think you’re happy,” Casey interrupted. “I just think you can be happier.”

“Why is everyone obsessed with my love life?”

“Because they just want you to be happy.”

“But I am happy.”

“You’re a hot commodity. Trust me.”

“Ugh,” she complained, flopping back on the grass as she stretched her hips. In a movement, Lexa covered her eyes against the sun and tried to disappear. “I’m not!”

For ninety minutes she wouldn’t have to think of any of it. She wouldn’t have to think of the pictures of the cute blonde that she stalked every night. She wouldn’t have to smile when she thought about the well-wishes for the team that came from the teacher’s twitter. She wouldn’t have to blush at the idea of fate.

“Whatever you say,” she chuckled, looking up at the signs in the stands proposing to the striker. “You might want to tell the stadium that.”

“This just isn’t a good time to go liking a girl like that.”

“Like that?”

“A pretty girl,” Lexa shrugged. “Just. Shut up.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Casey grinned and switched legs, shaking her head at her friend’s wonderful misery.

Lexa laid out on the grass and shook her head, half torn between chasing this girl and half torn between running away like her life depended on it. None of her excuses held water, and none of her worry helped. So she put her mind back to work on the game, where it was safe.

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