#it was an unexpected addition but oddly enough I think it works better than I thought

[turtleblogatlast]

Okay back on my Pokémon thoughts- forget the teams for a second that stuff takes longer than expected to narrow down.

Been thinking what types the boys would be and I think I’ve narrowed them down to a select few for each of them.

For Mikey, I’m thinking Electric, Fire, and Fairy. Electric because he just has so much energy, and I feel like his razzmatazz is akin to how Electric types typically are + Electric types are very chaotic and Mikey is also Very Chaotic. For Fire, well I feel like that one is self explanatory with not only how his first weapon operated but also how his ninpo works in general + how he’s generally a very warm-hearted boy. For Fairy, I tend to associate Fairy types with magic, and considering how Mikey is the most tied with mystics, I think this goes well with him + he’s a smol guy. I’m leaning Fire/Fairy though.

For Donnie, I’m thinking Electric, Steel, and Psychic. Electric because TECHNOLOGY. Steel because TECHNOLOGY. Psychic because of how his ninpo works primarily revolving around TECHNOLOGY. Okay but to be more in depth- like I mentioned with Mikey, Electric is a chaotic type and I think Donnie aligns with chaos a lot. For Steel, yes because of technology, but also because of how Donnie tries to portray himself as “emotionally unavailable” so the defenses he puts up in that regard are very Steel like. For Psychic, let’s be real that’s the “smart” type for the most part (plus it’s purple). Donnie could be any combo of these to be honest but I’m leaning Steel/Electric.

For Leo, I’m thinking Steel, Dragon, Dark, and Water. Steel because of his swords (and like I said with Donnie, the defenses that Leo puts up to mask his feelings and true self.) Dragon because I find that to be a big “leader-ly” type, and him having that type works well with his eventual position as team leader. Dark because let’s be real, he is a schemer, and Dark types in general tend to be very scheme-y and misunderstood. Water because he’s a lackadaisical character who goes with the flow a lot of the time, even against his better judgment. This boy makes it a mission to be hard to figure out, so I genuinely have no idea what he’d be. EDIT: I have been successfully convinced to lean Water/Dark for Leo! EDIT 2: HMM maybe flying and ghost now as potentials???? Why is Leo so hard to figure out.😭 EDIT 3: I cannot believe I’m saying this but I’m actually leaning hardest to Dark/Ghost now. Dark is all but confirmed in my mind but Ghost is very quickly making itself make sense here ironically.

For Raph, I’m thinking Fighting, Fire, Ground, and Dragon. Fighting because he LOVES fighting, he’s good at it, and he’s the one who strives to get the actual moves down most + this goes with his protective personality. Fire because he DOES have a temper to him, however much he wants to keep it pushed down, but also he, like Mikey, is a very warm-hearted boy. Ground because he’s the tank!! And he’s solid in his strength and his duty. Dragon because he’s the eldest, the one the boys look to for strength, the one who was the initial leader and-! He looks the most like a dragon lol. Like Leo, it’s kinda hard to have a favorite combo for Raph, but I think I’m leaning Fighting/Dragon. EDIT: I have been convinced that Fighting is a definite for Raph but Ground may work better for his secondary!

This was a lot harder to think of than I thought haha. Please if you have any ideas let me know (especially since I’m not totally convinced or tied to anything in particular quite yet)! While it’s hard to pin down perfect typings, it’s also very fun.

[honeydjarin]

KISS IT BETTER

REX X READER

Rex’s feelings for you have been steadily growing for a while now, but he believes they’re his own burden to bear. When he gets injured, he thinks you might feel the same. When you get injured, he knows for certain.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: blood and injury

word count: 2,600

a/n: this wip has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I finally got around to finishing it. I’m excited to be writing again!

Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, not when he leads the rest of his life with such level headed strength, but it does. He doesn’t notice the way it settles into the cradle of his ribs, the way it blinks into existence. It falls into place like the stars after a sunset, small bursts of light piercing the dark a handful at a time until there is no question that the sky is full—near bursting. 

The sun seems to set quicker each time Rex sees you, the stars in his heart brighter with every passing day. If it weren’t for his practiced composure and unwavering respect for your position on the Resolute, that affection just might spill out of him, tearing him apart at the seams, his body alone no longer enough to contain his feelings. 

But his emotions are his own, and you haven’t asked, nor offered, to help bear them. 

You’re a medic on the Resolute, one of the few faces onboard that doesn’t match all the others on the Star Destroyer. That distinction alone was enough to spark gossip among the men when you were first assigned to work alongside the 501st. 

Rex didn’t think much of it at the time. Gossip rarely holds weight, and he’s never put any stock in it. A new medic, nat-born or clone, is simply something the 501st was in need of. He didn’t think much of the matter beyond the benefit of having additional hands in the medbay. Maybe he would have paid more attention to the gossip if he had met you before the talk died down. It wasn’t until later, after a particularly rough skirmish that left more men than he felt comfortable with on bed rest, that Rex finally met you. 

You were bouncing around between beds, checking in with the men still on bed rest, when he first saw you. Easy smile, mellow mannered, kind—these are the things about you that stood out to Rex. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Captain,” you greeted as you stepped by him. Of course you already knew of him. His position on the Resolute made it near impossible to not be involved in at least some rumors, just as your status as a non clone made you stand out.  

“Likewise,” he said, the word feeling oddly heavy on his tongue. He had no way of knowing at the time that the first seeds of attraction were already starting to take root. Admiration and attraction can feel a lot alike in their early stages. Maybe it was a mix of both that caused words to fail him. 

“Is there anything I can help you with?” you asked, pausing what you were doing to give Rex your full attention, gaze boring into him with an unexpected weight—like a tractor beam pulling him into your eyes. The steady hold of your gaze was nearly too much to handle. Rex dragged his own eyes away from you then, choosing instead to take in the scene around him, needing a distraction. Most of the beds were full, but enough time had passed since the skirmish that all of the men still in the medbay were stable, and many almost ready to leave. 

“I just wanted to check in on them,” Rex said, nodding at the beds behind you.

“Of course.” You smiled.   

The interaction was brief. You had things to do, and Rex wasn’t in the medbay just to see you—that would come later. But, despite the brevity of the meeting, it was enough for him to get a sense of who you are, enough for you to wiggle your way into his heart—just a little. 

Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. By the time he finally realizes just how much of him you really hold, it is too late to change course.  

—♡—

The blood spills from his side slowly. Ever-slipping time allowed the wound to begin clotting, but it’s too big, too deep to heal fully on its own. The blood sticks to his blacks, the still wet stain difficult to see on the already dark colored cloth. 

He was hit by a piece of shrapnel during the last battle. An exploding tank sent pieces of the vehicle and broken droids his way. For the most part, he managed to escape injury, but something managed to nick his side in one of the places his armor fails to cover. Only his now ruined blacks stood between the shrapnel and his skin. 

It will hurt to pull the fraying fabric from torn flesh, but when the time comes, he will grit his teeth and bear it. Rex has been through worse, no doubt, and he surely will again in the future. It’s why he waited to seek out treatment. There are others who need it more, those who might not survive without immediate attention. He doesn’t want to be a hindrance when doing so could harm others. 

Instead of seeking out a medic, he distracts himself. He focuses on what can be done, takes steps that will result in the closest thing to a positive outcome after a battle. He doesn’t expect a medic to seek him out, especially not you.

You walk over to him without hesitation, like you’re singularly focused on reaching him, and Rex wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. The scowl tugging at the corner of your lip and creasing your brow, an unfamiliar expression on your usually smiling face, is aimed directly at him. He has never seen you angry like this before. Even with the harsh look that will inevitably be accompanied by a scolding when you reach him, the sight of you sends his world spinning. 

Maybe he lost more blood than he thought.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You speak as you approach.

“My job,” he responds. This whole conversation seems wrong. While your question was delivered with a tone that made the words sound more like a scolding, his own statement, which should have held an assurance fitting for a Captain, sounds unsure. 

“Kix mentioned you might be injured,” you say. Rex’s hand raises to his side in reflex, cradling the air above his injury but not making contact with the laceration beneath. You hum knowingly, stepping closer to get a better look. 

You swat Rex’s hand aside as you bend down, taking in the injury without actually touching the wound. It’s difficult to see the full extent of what happened with Rex’s blacks still in the way, but the still wet blood soaking into the fabric tells you plenty.  

“I wish you had come to me,” you admonish, pulling out a medkit from your pack. The supplies are reduced from when the battle started—Rex tries not to linger on the implications of that reduction. 

“I had things that needed to get done, just as I’m sure you did.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” You pause what you're doing, looking him in the eye while you talk, as if doing so can make your words sink in. There’s a pained look in your eyes as you speak, like the thought of him being injured makes you hurt with him. It's a look you hide well, but Rex still catches the way you seem to bite your tongue to keep from saying something more.  

You turn your focus back to the injury, setting out to do what you can to ensure it heals as thoroughly and efficiently as possible. If you were petty, you just might tug a little harder than necessary while pulling the fabric of his ruined blacks from the wound. You might use more force than needed to eject the stim into his system, or press the bacta patch onto his skin a little firmer than the adhesive calls for. You would remind him of why it’s important to seek out medical treatment as soon as possible. Maybe next time he would come see you sooner. 

Instead, you’re gentle with the gash.  

You may be unhappy about the fact that Rex got injured, but you’re disinclined to make him hurt anymore than he already does. You can understand why he avoided seeking medical attention, that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it—not when, of all people, Rex is the one who is hurting. 

“Please try to be careful,” you say as you finish. You stand up, looking him in the eye once more. Your next words slip out before you can stop them. It’s a quiet, almost confession. “I hate seeing you hurt.”   

Before Rex can respond, you step away, off to hunt down others who tried their best to avoid medical attention. Rex is left to wonder if your words were said as a medic, or as something from the heart, something personal. His cheeks warm at the thought. 

Is it wrong for him to hope for more? 

—♡—

“KARK!” The expletive is followed by a series of quieter grumbles and moans. You pull your hand from the drawer to cradle near your chest, eyes burning with unshed tears as you attempt to take in the damage.

Blood bubbles up from your palm, welling for just a moment before spilling over. It drips down your wrist and onto the once sterile floor below.

“Who in Sith Hells keeps a vibroblade with the notepads?” You grumble. 

“Surely not a medic.” You startle despite the familiarity of the voice, turning around to see who has entered the medbay. Rex is taking your hand in his own before you fully process who is standing beside you. His touch is gentle against the delicate skin, his calloused hand nearly as warm as the now throbbing wound on yours. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say. “Nothing a little bacta and a bandage can’t fix.” 

He doesn’t seem to believe you, his frown deepening as you brush off the cut like it’s nothing. Despite the guilt that settles in your gut for being the cause of his displeasure, your cheeks warm at the thought of his concern. 

“Can I help you? Will you let me?” He is already herding you towards one of the beds, guiding you to sit on the edge so that he can gather the necessary supplies. You sigh, not wanting to trouble him any more than you already have, but concede. 

“Fine. But clean your hands,” you demand before telling him where the necessary supplies are kept. 

Rex does as you say without a fuss.

“Are you sure you don’t need stitches?” he asks, brows furrowing as he takes in the wound. He doesn't shy away, used to seeing much worse on a regular basis. It makes your heart sink to think about how much he has seen—how much he has lost. 

“Yes, fortunately. The bacta will be enough.” 

Rex works silently, apologizing when you hiss at the touch of bacta to the wound but not breaking his concentration from the task at hand. He works with the diligence of a soldier. With his attention directed solely on your injured hand, you are given a chance to admire him. 

It’s a habit that started the first time you met him and has only gotten worse with time. You had heard about the Captain of the 501st. His loyalty unwavering, his mind steady and well balanced while his General is so fond of taking risks. You didn’t expect the softened look in his brown eyes. Falling for him was easy.  

“Hey Rex, did you need something from the medbay?” you ask, needing something to distract yourself from his steady hands, from the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, from his singular focus on you—even if it is just because you’re injured. 

“Hmm?” He looks up for the first time since he started treating the wound. It’s fully bandaged now, and the pain has all but subsided thanks to the soothing cool of bacta. “Kix said you were in here.” 

His eyes flick away from yours and he clears his throat. It’s not the first time he’s sought you out in the medbay for the simple reason of enjoying your company, but still the decision seems to leave him embarrassed. 

He switches the topic before you can respond. 

“You need to be careful. How can you patch me up if you don’t have any hands to work with?” Rex jokes, a small smile stretching across his lips, eyes gleaming. 

“You know I’m always careful. Of the two of us, you’re the reckless one.” 

You reach out to shove his shoulder, laughing as you do. There isn’t any strength behind it, it’s just a teasing gesture, but you reach out with your injured hand. The aching sting of a cut sets your nerves alight immediately, and you hiss as you pull the hand back to your chest. The bandage holds strong, no blood leaking through, but that doesn’t stop the pain.

Rex pulls the hand back to him, his grip feather light as he traces the edges of the bandage. His brow furrows in concern and it takes an effort not to reach out and smooth the evidence of his worry. You can’t help but think: It’s the perfect spot to place a kiss.    

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, growing serious again.

“Just a little.” The thought of kissing Rex must still be stuck in your brain because, before you can stop the words from slipping out, you add, “Maybe you can kiss it better?”    

Rex’s eyes go comically wide, lips parting but no words coming out. Your words surprised him, more than either of you thought possible. You go to pull away, to come up with some excuse about why he doesn’t have to. You try to think of a way to tell him that you didn’t mean it like that (you did), and that he can just forget about it. It was a joke (it wasn’t). The two of you could laugh it off. But Rex’s mind catches up with your request before you can brush it away.

He takes your hand, still cradled gently in his own, and presses his lips to a spot on your palm that wasn’t sliced open by the vibroblade. They linger there for just a moment before he pulls back, keeping your hand by his heart.  

You haven’t offered to help bear the weight of Rex’s feelings for you, but your question is a request for him to see your own, and a hope that he might reciprocate. He can hardly believe it to be true. 

He needs to be sure. 

Rex brings a hand up to your cheek, his fingers barely brushing against the skin there, and it's your turn to be left in shock. Eyes wide, lips parted, a mirror of Rex just moments ago. 

“Does it feel better?” he asks. He leans in closer, merely waiting for permission to kiss you properly. 

“I don’t know. I think you should try it again.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s all the answer he needs. 

Rex’s hand finds a proper place against your cheek, and then he kisses you. His lips are soft against your own, and any worries either of you might have had slip away. 

The kiss is short and sweet, merely testing the waters, but it’s enough to leave you in a daze. You’ve wanted to kiss him for a long time. You wonder if he has wanted it for just as long (you think, maybe, he has).  

You hum, a smile growing wide across your lips, and say, “I’m definitely feeling better now.”

[leviiattacks]

Seven minutes in Heaven with Physics Major Levi

author note :: i lost the ask but anon i do not know what this is. reading it sounded better in my head but physics major levi with reader who likes him is that a good description???? HM ANYWAY enjoy it’s not too great i’ve been revising nonstop for exams but i might as well have finished this off for the anon who requested it :-)

word count :: 2.5k probably... hm who knows maybe 3k

when you and levi become friends it’s definitely unexpected to say the least. everyone is naturally very confused by the peculiar pairing. levi doesn’t really... go out of his way to befriend anyone really??? so for him to approach you in the middle of the library and start talking about how he noticed you shared a class together was out of the ordinary

the flow of the conversation is a little awkward at first, you’re revising for a final exam and don’t really appreciate the disruption but you’re not confident enough to tell him to leave.

at one point an awkward silence drifts between the two of you until he points out you’ve completely RUINED your notes and have been looking over the wrong lectures for the up and coming physics exam

later on into the night levi’s stood sighing next to you. he tells you to take your pick from the pot noodle section — “hey, i know we literally just met but i’m telling you a chicken pot noodle is gonna make you feel better.”

you’re so distraught that he has to pick it up for you and pay

and that is how you and levi become friends !!!

if it’s of any relevance yes you passed the final (all because of levi giving you his organised binder full of notes and telling you to make use of it)

you know it just sorta happens but through all of the all nighters you’ve pulled with levi by your side you become used to his presence nearby. in fact most of the the time it’s difficult to even find you anywhere without him. you’re both practically joined at the hip

levi’s pretty protective of you, hates the whole party scene but is willing to tag along if you’re going. at first you think it’s because he feels more comfortable stepping out of his comfort zone if you’re there with him but his intentions become more evident later on

any time someone makes you uncomfortable he’s by your side, if you happen to get into any sort of trouble he’s the person people call to help you because who else knows you the way levi does?

currently you and levi are at another party, you tend to keep to yourself and only ever talk to your close friends. it’s also not like you to partake in games, you’re far too nervous to play anything like seven minutes in heaven but for some reason you find yourself wanting to take part JUST this once

maybe it’s the fear of never making fun memories to tell your future children about

then again why on earth would you be telling your children about your experience kissing a random man in a closet??

either way, participating shouldn’t hurt!!! you’ve got to loosen up a little!!!

levi’s a little surprised you agree to play nevertheless he still sits next to you, the both of you have your legs crossed on the floor, your knees are touching and you aren’t sure if he feels the same warm sensation that you feel. it bubbles in the pit of your stomach – you feel oddly content

“levi!! anyone you want the bottle to land on ???” hange a mutual friend of yours leans in handing him the glass bottle

levi gives the bottle a disgusted look before his gaze flicks over to you.

“i’m only here because of y/n, i ‘m not playing.”

that doesn’t satisfy hange and they begin to groan complaining that he can’t stay unless he spins the bottle

“look you don’t have to do anything in the closet, okay??” hange’s begging him at this point, he’s still holding up pretty well and for some reason you’re disappointed. it’s almost like you hoped he’d spin the bottle just so it would land on you

levi takes notice of your frown and guesses you want him to be included, he isn’t one for games like these but if it’ll make you happy so be it. there’s still the chance it’ll land on you and his thought process falters for a second.

he thinks he really wouldn’t mind if the bottle landed on you and so he ends up nodding and agreeing to play.

anyway it’s not as if he isn’t guilty of imagining the two of you being a little more than friends

ok wait!!!! it’s completely innocent HE SWEARS!!!!

he’s never told you about it but sometimes he thinks if he was a little more straightforward that day at the library and asked for your number MAYBE just MAYBE his intentions would be clearer and he wouldn’t be stuck in the friend zone for this long

he should’ve used a stupid physics pick up line he knows you love those

something like – “i’m attracted to you more than an electron’s attracted to a proton.”

or maybe — “i’d fall for you even in the absence of gravity”

ok... maybe you wouldn’t have got that one considering you were revising the wrong content and probably forgot about that topic

he can’t imagine himself saying those things but if it would make you finally see him as a potential love interest and not a best friend he wouldn’t mind having to force it out

but still it’s not really a secret that levi has a soft spot for you, literally everyone can see it. when has he ever gone out of his way to save a seat for anyone? when has he ever willingly gone to a party? WHEN has levi actually let someone lay their head on his shoulder??

he only ever let’s you do that stuff

let’s actually discuss the head on his shoulder thing!!!

whenever finals approach you’re always sucked in by huge amounts of work and barely get to sleep, levi’s always hovering over your shoulder reminding you to catch a few hours but of course you don’t listen. you think you’ll be just fine if you rely on an energy drink and two hours of sleep to get by

but levi knows you better than you know yourself. it’s hour seven into the day and you’re already dozing off in your seat. slowly but gradually your head tilts forward. levi’s sitting across you contemplating whether or not he should prop your head back up like a nice friend would or if he should wait for you to smack your forehead right into the solid oak table.

he ends up making his decision last minute, your head flies towards the table and if it were anyone else he’d just let them jolt awake from the harsh impact but it’s you and his body won’t let him ignore you.

on reflex his hand flies out and in the matter of a split second he’s holding your head back. he’s surprised you haven’t woken up and he’s even more surprised he bothered to help you

before that happens levi knows he likes you, he knows he enjoys your company, he’s aware you make him happy but he thinks he’s willing to just be friends with you because clearly you don’t want to pursue anything.

you haven’t even flirted with him before aside from the witty “you remind me of an exothermic reaction” joke that you made one time

oh and there’s also the additional fact that you had a boyfriend up until quite recently so he’s sure you don’t see him romantically

honestly he’s fine with not dating you but something about seeing you overwork yourself like that has him simmering in anger. if he were your boyfriend he would have forced you into bed whether you liked it or not

if he were your boyfriend he’d never break up with you because he “found someone better.” he can’t even manage to imagine anyone better than you.

levi shuffles into the seat next to yours and places your head onto his shoulder. a few students shoot him questioning looks but the deadly glare he sends back is enough to deter them from coming any closer

it’s a little funny actually, by the time you wake up you’re rubbing at your eyes, you don’t even notice how close levi is to you until his hot breath fans across your neck. it seems like he’s dozed off whilst trying to make notes on fluid dynamics

wait

levi. right. next. to. your. neck.

should you move????

no, he might wake up he barely sleeps and you don’t want to mess up his schedule even more

that day you choose to drift off back to sleep as if you never woke up to his breath against your neck.

“OHHHH LEVI LANDED ON Y/N????”

your head shoots up NOW you’ve completely been dragged away from your thoughts.

“lucky for you both. guess you won’t have to do anything and stand there for seven minutes. told ya levi there was nothing to worry about B-)”

hange without warning pulls you both up by your arms, you’ve yet to see levi’s reaction, you’re too stunned to have noticed his slack jaw or wide eyes

“HAVE FUN!”

and with that said and done you and levi are shoved into the cleaning closet

“well, i’m glad it landed on you. i won’t have to do anything.” levi seems happy as can be, you don’t really know why but it stings a little

he doesn’t even seem to stop for a second to wonder if you’d maybe want to do anything

are you just not his type ????

hange once told you levi liked organised people and well,, you’re anything but organised. you’d probably pass out from the work load of your physics lectures if not for levi always helping you out

scowling to yourself you try to ignore just how awkward the situation is until levi plops down on the floor in front of you

“you okay?” he asks looking genuinely concerned

“i- yeah i’m good.”

your eyes dart away trying to look at anything but him. you can’t deny he looks good today, you actually helped him slick his hair back - the entire time he complained about the hair gel feeling weird but he looks great and now you can’t even stare at him for more than a second

“i’m guessing you’d have preferred if the bottle landed on someone else.”

leaning forward without even noticing it you aggressively deny what he says. “NO!!! i like being stuck here with you.”

levi looks stunned by your outburst but nods “oh, did you feel pressured to join the game? we can leave if you want—”

“no, no i– you aren’t– oh god i mean, look. i can explain– do i need to explain???”

completely choking up in front of him and sputtering before slamming your lips shut and saying absolutely nothing is probably one of the most awkward things you’ve done in your ENTIRE existence

levi reaches out for your knee, something that’s usually seen as him being friendly only feels intimate tonight. his thumb strokes comforting circles into your skin. the situation doesn’t make it any better, essentially you’re meant to be making out with him right now

“is something bothering you?”

there it is again. that look. he only seems more concerned than before and you hate yourself for not even thinking about your friendship before you open your mouth.

“do you not want to kiss me because we’re best friends or is it something else?”

there it is. you’ve said it.

you see levi’s face contort from a mix of confusion to what looks like disgust then shock. screwing your eyes shut you know you’ve ruined everything now. he’s never going to speak to you, never going to approach you again. you’re mentally preparing for him to ditch you at this party right here right now

but then you notice his hand still steadily placed on your knee, he’s now stopped with the circles, his grip is bruising

“do you want me to kiss you?”

his question isn’t really expected, it helps you find the courage to look your best friend in the eye.

it’s pretty dark but you can still make out the familiar shadows of his face. the butterflies rush up from your stomach all the way to your throat.

mild regret fills you, usually his curtains obscure his piercing gaze but the way you’ve styled his hair gives him a better view of you, there’s nowhere for you to hide

not even stopping to think about the possibility of him teasing you right now, all you care about is telling him the truth. you’ve come all the way here you may as well finish off what you’ve started

“would you be mad if i said i’d like it if you did?”

levi doesn’t need any more confirmation than that, he swoops in yanking you by your waist. his knees are still pressed against the floor and so you find yourself leaning down into his mouth and craning your neck downwards

his chest is completely pressed against yours. the drumming of your heart is so loud you feel self conscious but levi’s soft lips moving against yours distract you from that

not even ten seconds in and you feel out of breathe but not in an overwhelming way. levi’s pace isn’t at all what you imagined it to be like. he’s soft and slow yet calloused and rough around the edges, some how he still manages to make the kiss sweet

his left hand leisurely travels to the small of your back, the other hand now caresses your cheek. his fingertips are anything but soft but the way he handles you is tender and endearingly delicate.

you smile into the kiss and almost instantly levi’s lips tug upwards too. his take on seven minutes in heaven is quite easily the most romantic thing you’ve been subjected to. instead of a passionate make out you’ve been given a honeyed introduction to a new side of him

the kiss ends much quicker than you anticipate, you open your mouth to whine and convince levi that the two of you should still have a solid minute left before hange returns but he presses his index finger against your lips

“later. i promise.” his voice is heavy and if his blushed cheeks are anything to go by he’s thoroughly enjoyed your session together

at his reassurance you comply and take the time to have a better look at him

his lips are wet – some of your lip gloss has clearly stuck to him. his hair isn’t as well styled as it was before, seeing him like this makes you feel a surge of confidence. you know you did that to him.

so... what is someone to do with a sudden boost in confidence?

hit your new possible love interest with a pick up line :-) !!!

“heyyy so i know the spring constant of my mattress, would you be interested in taking some data with me?”

slapping your shoulder lightly he’s yet to gain his composure back, levi’s genuinely out of breathe now trying to steady himself and your comment doesn’t do him any favours that’s for sure

“my god you have no sham–”

without warning the door to your left swings open you and levi flinch trying to scramble away from eachother only to fail, hange marches in before stopping dead in their tracks.

all they see is levi knelt in front of you, hair disheveled huffing like his life depends on it

then their focus shifts to you, you’re sure some of your makeup has smudged and the entire scenario looks suspicious

levi seems as if he’s about to warn hange to not tell anyone and keep this a secret for now but they sprint away before any of you have the opportunity to ask for some privacy

not even ten seconds later a collision can be heard alongside a series of thuds and then hange’s yelling towards the end of the hallway “GUYS??? THEY ACTUALLY DID IT???”

for some reason the cheers coming from the living room warm your heart

you guess your friends figured out the direction of your relationship long before you and levi did :-)

[duskholland]

Zip It || Peter Parker

prompt ↠ “oh, you want to kiss me so fucking bad, don’t you?” / “... what if I do?”

summary ↠ you didn’t think it could get any worse than the shared bed at the hotel, but then you find out you have to pretend to be peter’s girlfriend for the duration of the mission. it really feels like the universe is laughing in your face. ↠ enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au. word count ↠ 6.3k. warnings ↠ alcohol + a college party, brief use of needles, all the teasing and cursing that comes with an enemies to lovers, and some suggestive tension! this is sfw! a/n ↠ I love this prompt. I’ve wanted to write something based off it for ages, and what better scenario to explore it than in an enemies to lovers fake dating situation lmao? :’) it’s been a while since I wrote anything long with pete so I’m a lil rusty, but this was still a lot fun! I hope you like it

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Are you falling asleep right now? Seriously?” Your voice is scathing, your face pinched into a scowl as you stare across the hotel room. “Peter, we have to go in an hour.”

There’s the sound of the duvet rustling as Peter Parker very slowly looks up to glare at you. He’s sprawled beneath the covers of the large double bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin. The heat he carries in his eyes as he hears your accusation is considerably softened by the oversized burgundy hoodie he’s being swallowed by, and the fact his hair is wild and unkempt.

“No,” he says, voice cracking from its high pitch. He clears his throat immediately, cheeks flushing a little darker as he grimaces and looks away. “I’m just...chilling, Y/N.”

“Sure,” you reply. You shift around in the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room, feeling pain shoot up your back from the hunched position you’ve been in for far too long. “Liar.”

Peter sits up a little straighter, pulling a face. It’s quick to shatter as he yawns suddenly, and loudly, the sound so brash and unexpected that it makes you jump. Amusement mixes with his annoyance as he looks at you, brown eyes glinting almost amber beneath the light from the bedside lamp.

“I’m not lying. I’m just enjoying this really comfy bed,” he says. His pink lips quirk into a smirk, and he looks so fucking smug as he buries himself back beneath the covers. “It’s so warm. I think the, uh, the sheets are satin. Feels like a cloud, or something. And the pillows…” Peter releases a strangled sound, hitting the back of his head off one of the feathery pillows for dramatic effect. “So nice… Um, unrelated, Y/N, but… how’s that chair? Looks pretty uncomfortable.”

You scowl. “Shut up,” you snap. “You’re completely insufferable. I can’t believe I have to be here with you right now.” You drop your voice, speaking in mutters as you add, more to yourself, “why couldn’t it be Cap? Or Natasha? Why’d it have to be you?”

Peter releases a mirthless chuckle. You glance back, watching as he combs a hand through his fluffy brown curls, messy and wild from so long lounging around. He looks a little bit like an angry teddy bear, wrapped up in such a large hoodie, tucked up in bed. You’re quick to push down that thought. There is nothing cute or inoffensive about Peter Parker.

“Do you think I’m any happier than you about this?” he responds, voice dull. “This is the worst mission I’ve ever been assigned to, and that’s saying a lot. Do you remember that one we did, with the, uh, the… The chemicals? In the lab? Or the time that we had to go and deal with all those freaky alien snakes?” he breaks off, shivering, then recomposes himself enough to shoot you a sour look. “This is worse than all of those times.”

The ache in your back from the chair grows too much to bear, so you stand up slowly, trying to hide your expression of pain.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll get this over with soon,” you reply, voice a mutter. You cast him a distrustful look. “I might kill you if I have to spend much longer with you.”

Peter just smirks, rolling onto his side as he snuggles back into bed. “Feeling’s mutual, baby,” he calls out, looking back at his phone.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you stalk over to your suitcase and pull out your outfit for tonight, followed by a bag of makeup and hair products. You don’t bother to say anything more as you stride into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you for effect. The moment it’s shut, you throw everything down on the counter and grab at the cool porcelain of the basin, staring yourself in the mirror as you try to calm down.

Peter makes you so frustrated. Since high school and the cramped hallways of Midtown, he’s been an irritant to you. Back then, he was always hanging around, crowding your space, infiltrating your friend group. You understood it, at first. He was a new addition to the Avengers, a team you’ve been a part of since you were 14. Maybe it was to be expected that he clung to you like he did back then, and stuck to your side like glue. Maybe you’d liked it at first.

But then he’d grown up. Peter had become cockier, bolder. The biggest transformation was when you both went to college and somehow ended up on the same course, sharing 90% of the same classes. You got to watch as he was scouted by the college lacrosse team, and thus his ego inflated. To most people, you know he appears charming. He’s polite, considerate, compassionate, and those qualities have awarded him both the attention of your entire college population and the acclaim of the citizens of New York. They herald him, repeatedly, as their saviour, and whilst you’re not jealous of the attention he gets, it irritates you.

Peter does stupid things, all the time, and everyone just lets him get away with it. Like when he accidentally webbed you down during a mission or tossed a bomb your way assuming you could magically diffuse it within the five seconds left on the timer. He steals your food from the fridge in the Avengers’ compound every single time, despite the notes and the padlocks you’ve resorted to using. It’s as if Peter is intent on ruining your life, and when he’s not doing it by fucking up a mission, he’s always just...there. Hanging around, with a sly smirk on his lips or a witty remark laying at the tip of his tongue, trying to get a rise out of you.

You can’t stand being around him.

To add insult to injury, you’ve both been roped into working this mission together. It’s an odd pairing—usually, you’d have at least one other member of the team to act as a buffer between you both. This time, though, with the objective being the infiltration of a college party, apparently you and Peter are the only people who look the right age. You think it’s just some elaborate ploy to get you to work better together, but your complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

You sigh as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

As you do your makeup and fix your hair, you try to let go of some of the frustration you feel. You’re jumpy and shaking, feeling like an uncontrollable livewire. You always feel oddly unsettled whenever you’re around Peter, and it’s only been growing worse recently.

A weight rolls from your shoulders when you finish painting your face and fixing your hair. All that’s left is your dress, and you pick it up with a smile on your face. It’s short, one of your own, and a pretty shade of red—the perfect number for a college party. You slip into it, wriggling as the silky material slides up to press against your soft skin. It’s going well, but then...

You can’t reach the zip.

“Fuck,” you mutter, scrunching up your nose as you reach back and paw helplessly at the undone zipper. You’d forgotten when you’d packed it that the high rise of the zip on this particular dress always gives you trouble. “Peter!”

“What?” he yells back.

You grimace and try a final time to grab the zipper yourself.

“Can you come here?”

“Is that how you ask for something politely?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, clenching your fists as you glance up at the ceiling. Through tight, irritated lips, you call back, “Peter Parker, oh generous and kind saviour of New York City, could you please come here and help me?”

You hear the sheets of the bed rustle very slowly, followed by the heavy set sounds of footsteps stomping over the carpet. You wonder if he’s being purposefully annoying, or if he’s just like this. A moment later, Peter opens the bathroom door, sticking his head around the doorframe with a scowl on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, only for the words to catch as his eyes bulge and take in your figure. You stand a little straighter, arching an eyebrow as you watch him swallow, deeply, taking in the tight fit of the dress and the way it clings confidently to your form.

“Uh- oh, uh, what?” he mutters, cheeks burning red.

“Can you get my zip? Please?” you ask, biting back a smile as you see how flustered he’s become. It gives you a rush of confidence that you can’t quite explain to have him looking at you like that. “It’s uh, just too high for me to reach.” You turn so you have your back to him, glancing into the long bathroom mirror to watch him tentatively step forward.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice gentle. He shuffles nearer, still shrouded in that soft hoodie.

You bend down slightly and make sure he’s got open access to the back as you stand still. A small pulse of electricity crackles down your spine when Peter perches one of his warm hands on your bare shoulder, fingertips brushing up against the thin strap as the other curves down to your back.

“You, uh… You look nice,” Peter murmurs. He’s gentle as his fingers tug the zip, and you have to look away from the mirror, something in your chest tightening as you observe how delicate he is with you. It’s a stark contrast to how haphazardly he treats you out on the field when you’re both protected by your suits.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

It’s tense. You can feel his breath coming out across the back of your neck, and you’re entirely aware of the hand resting on your shoulder. As the sound of the zip slowly being pulled up fills the small space of the bathroom, you find yourself holding your breath.

“There,” Peter mutters. He steps back, immediately pulling away all contact with your body, and your skin feels cold without him. You glance in the mirror, seeing that he’s fixed it perfectly, and give him a short nod.

“Thanks,” you say again, lacking any better words. Your brain feels fuzzy.  

Peter’s phone buzzes and you watch as he digs through his front pocket to find it. “Oh!” he exclaims. His nimble fingers pad over the front screen. “They’ve sent through our fake identities.”

“Ooh,” you say, suddenly feeling excited. This is your favourite part of going undercover—the fake names, the fabricated social media accounts, and the backstory you get to spin. Whoever HQ designs for you becomes your character for the night, and it’s thrilling. Makes you feel a little bit like a movie star. “Let me see.”

Peter’s brows furrow and you watch his jaw drop as his eyes widen. He glances at you, nervousness mixing with his frustration.

“You’re not going to like this,” he says.

“Why? What are you talking about? What have they done? Why—”

He passes you the phone with a roll of his eyes, and you snatch it from his hand.

“Oh, yeah, no problem, Y/N, you don’t need to say thanks,” Peter says sarcastically.

Entranced by the phone, you sit on the marble bathroom counter, continuing to scroll through the fake social media profiles as Peter faffs around in front of the mirror. You’re numbly aware of him pulling off his hoodie, then inspecting his teeth and uncapping his tub of hair gel.

The profiles seem fine. You can’t see anything wrong with them. You’ll be Fi Hardy, Peter as Ben Beckerman. You scroll down your own orchestrated instagram feed, seeing photos of you, pictures of typical college things, then…

“Wait.” You feel your breath catch. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smirk in Peter’s voice. “I know.”

The tech team back at HQ is incredibly talented. One of their freakiest and most irritating skills is their ability to photoshop photos that look so real it’s disconcerting. Their latest feat seems to be a series of photos of you and Peter together, except, it’s not really you kissing his cheek, and it’s definitely not him with his arms wrapped around you and his face nuzzled into your neck.

“They...want us to be a couple?” you mutter, voice tight.

“Mmm. Gets worse than that, though. Look at the caption on the newest one.”

You scroll back up, eyes catching on the small, almost insignificant detail of the photo. It’s you both, again, standing together at a party that never took place. Your left-hand rests on Peter’s shoulder, and though some of the details are blurry, the presence of a ring is not.

@fi_hardy: feel like the happiest girl in the world. can’t wait to have you as my husband <3

Beneath the post is hundreds of likes, and a stream of comments from fake accounts congratulating the two of you on your engagement.

It makes sense, you suppose. You’ve read the file. You know that the man you’re trying to bug tonight has a history of pursuing taken women, and you suspect that your engagement ring might give you access to him that you might otherwise not get. On a basic level, you understand it, and if it was anyone else assigned as your fiancé, you’d be fine with it. But it’s not. It’s him.

You throw Peter’s phone on the counter angrily.

“Hey!” he yells, quickly snatching it up and cradling it close. “Careful!”

You slip down from the counter, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms as you pace the short space. Peter jumps out of your way, eyeing you with amusement in his eyes.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?” you quip, needing to direct your irritation at someone.

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. You’re being really dramatic.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that I don’t particularly like the idea of walking around a party pretending to be engaged to you.” Your eyes widen as you start to think about what this actually entails. “Clearly, these people are gross and affectionate. Have you even thought about what that might mean?”

Peter loses a little bit of his confidence, his cheeks paling slightly. “Well, uh, we don’t have to play into it that much—”

“Yes, we do,” you challenge. “They’ve clearly set it up like this for a reason. If we don’t follow it exactly, then we’ll fuck up the mission.” You meet his gaze, nostrils flaring. “I’m not going to fuck up this mission, Peter, and you better not either.”

“Woah,” he mutters, throwing his hands in the air. His fingers glint beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, still partly sticky from the hair gel. “I’m not planning on messing up the mission.” He tilts his head to the side, chuckling. “I’m gonna be the most convincing fake fiancé you’ve ever had.”

You pause, crossing your arms. “Oh, really?” You raise a brow. “You know, that means you’re going to have to, like… Hold my hand.”

Peter nods, gelled hair staying in place. He copies your movements, biceps bulging against the thin white t-shirt as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. He steps a little closer, smirking, and you breathe in the scent of his cologne. “Might even have to kiss you, too.”

Something inside your chest rebels against your irritation, and you find yourself puzzling as an odd combination of emotions strikes you.

“You will,” you say, narrowing your eyes. You look away, trying to shake off the odd feelings in your stomach. “I, uh… I’m going to go and find the rest of my jewellery.” You walk towards the bathroom door, glancing back just in time to catch Peter’s eyes admiring your form. His cheeks flush again, and you raise a brow. “Hurry up,” you mutter. “We need to go.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

An hour later, you’re there, thrown thick into the fray of a Chicago house party. From the outside, you’d been sceptical—the house looked to be a normal building, smack bang in the centre of a residential street. Inside, though, it wears all the marks of a college party: tacky red cups, a terrible DJ, and a persistent level of noise that makes your ears ache. As a student yourself, you usually love parties, but you will admit it’s a little disconcerting to be at one where you know no one. Undercover and knowing no one but Peter, you find yourself in the back corner of the room with him, his arm thrown easily around your shoulders as the two of you scout the room.

Peter’s presence at your side is merely for protection, and both of you know it. With neither of you in your suits and your skills leaning more towards the pick-pocketing side than his, the plan is simple. You’ll both work together to identify your target, then you’ll discreetly take his phone and pass it off to Peter who will make a copy of all the files. Hopefully you’ll be able to return it to Harry Osborn, the son of the elusive CEO of Oscorp, before he notices that his phone, which contains precious information about illegal scientific experiments, has been taken.

It should be simple.

“Where the fuck is he?” you murmur, squinting your eyes as you survey the crowd. It’s Harry’s party, yet the host hadn’t been on the door, nor does he appear to be in the living room.

“Don’t know,” Peter responds.

You glance up at him, biting back a snarling comment as you get distracted by the sight of his face. It’s quite… It’s quite cute.

Peter’s pulled a blue plaid shirt over the top of his white t-shirt. The cuffs obscure the web shooters he’d refused to leave behind, and the material clings tightly to his torso. He’s buffed up considerably since joining the lacrosse team, and though you despise the way he’s now able to press more than you in the gym, you will admit he looks good with his chest full and muscular.

“Um, Fi?” Peter’s looking at you, eyebrows arched. His thin lips twitch into almost a smile, and he tugs you a little bit closer. You squeak as you fall into him, having to reach up and grab at his shoulders to steady yourself. The glint of the golden band, sitting on your ring finger, draws your attention. “Are you okay, baby? Looking a little bit… Distracted.”

He doesn’t know you were checking him out. There’s no way. He doesn’t.

...Does he?

You smile sweetly, trying to look at him like you’re in love. “Sorry, babe,” you respond. There are people all around you, chatting and swaying to the music, so you have to maintain the rouse. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Peter coos, reaching up to pat your cheek softly. You have to press down the urge to bite his finger.

“‘Course you do,” he soothes. His eyes flitter around your face, then back to the rest of the room as he surveys the crowd. Peter’s expression suddenly clears, and he pats your cheek softly. “He’s here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Eleven o’clock.”

You turn in his arms, sinking back into Peter’s form as he adjusts to hold you in a loose hug. His chin presses into your shoulder, slick hair brushing up against the bottom of your face. His warm grip on your waist makes you gulp.

Harry Osborn has entered the room. The blond is surrounded by a group of his friends and wearing a long, green and purple checkered jacket. Even from across the room, he emanates the stench of old money and thick charm.

“Alright,” you say. You pull away from Peter, having to fight for a few moments to break free from his firm grip. You turn back to look at him, blinking a few times as you take in his unreadable expression. “I’m going in. Stay close.”

Peter gives you a curt nod. “Gotcha,” he says. He drops his voice, eyes darkening. “Be safe,” he adds, voice a little quieter.

You swallow, nodding in return. “You too.”

Before he can say another word, you take off, melting into the crowd with ease. You’ve got a vague game plan building in your mind, but you won’t know the best way to get close to Harry until you get a better read on his character. You know a few things from his file, such as his naturally outgoing personality and a supposed affinity for taken girls, but beyond that, he’s a mystery.

You find a cup of cheap beer and stand fairly near Harry and the rest of his friends. There’s a few of them, standing in a circle, laughing loudly and talking in obscenities. You sway with the rest of the partiers, making direct and focused eyes towards him until he glances up and spots you. His eyes caress your figure, then he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you slap on your best I’m interested face.

Harry excuses himself from his friends, walking over to you, intrigued.

“Hey,” he calls out, falling to a stop in front of you. His wavy blond curls complement the icy depths of his blue eyes. “Do I know you?” His tone is light but curious.

You nod immediately, slapping on a bright smile. “Yeah,” you reply. “We were in the same chem class last semester? I’m Fi.” Your words are instilled with so much brash confidence that Harry accepts them. He leans into you as you step closer and place your free hand up on his shoulder, fingertips feeling the soft material of his jacket. “I always had a bit of a crush on you, if I’m being honest.”

Harry chuckles, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes. You match his movements, doing it under the guise of checking him out, but really, you’re trying to locate the position of his phone. A frown finds your lips as you begin to suspect it might be in one of his inner pockets. Your brain starts to spin, running through a variety of different actions you could pull that might give you closer access to him.

“You’re cute,” he decides. Harry smirks, then he plucks the red solo cup from your hand and raises it to his own lips. After draining it, he haphazardly throws it behind him, and your eyes follow it as it soars through the air and bounces off someone’s head. A snort slips past your lips as the figure jolts up, and you recognise the bed of brown curls as Peter. “D’you want to dance with me?”

You nod immediately, forcing a smile as you bring your eyes away from Peter, and back to Harry.

“I would love that,” you respond. Harry grins, then reaches forward to take your hand, only to halt as his beady eyes fall on your ring. Your breath hitches as you hope and pray the intel on his romantic tendencies is correct.

“Are you getting hitched?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrug, trying to pass it off as a mere inconvenience. You distract him with fingers in his hair, stroking through the ends of his strands.

“Does it bother you?” you coo, stepping up to whisper in his ear. “He isn’t around at the moment, and I really want to dance with you, Harry.”

The blond’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head. “No problem with me, sweetheart,” he bounces back. He tugs you further into the room, and from the corner of your eye, you see Peter following.

You dance together for a while and slowly, you inch closer to Harry. What starts out as a casual exploration of his form with your hands quickly turns into a full-body pat-down, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. As you slide your fingers beneath the heavy material of his jacket, his lips tickle your neck, kissing your skin harshly. You hide a scowl as your fingers shift lower, lower, and finally, you feel it—his phone.

Harry coaxes you away from his shoulder, and you feel disappointment dampen your excitement as he glances at you, slightly flushed.

“D’you want to go upstairs?” he asks, voice sultry.

You pout softly. “Can we just dance? For a little bit longer?” You know if he gives you one more shot at it, you’ll be able to snatch his phone.

Harry nods, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His palm is cool and calloused, and it feels alien on your face.

“Of course,” he responds, voice soft. His eyes slip down to your lips, and you know what he wants. You think that it’d be a small price to pay for completing the mission. “You’re so pretty.”

He starts to lean in, his touch on your face encouraging you to do the same. Your eyes flutter shut, but before you’re able to seal the deal, something very large crashes into you.

You yelp, being pushed back from Harry. Your eyes spring back open, and nothing short of volatile irritation burns across you as you see that it’s Peter.

“Woah, man, what the fuck?” Harry snaps. “Look where you’re going.”

Peter snarls at him and reaches down to grab your hand. Your eyes widen, and you squeeze his fingers hard.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should watch where you’re putting your hands before you try and make a move on my girl.”

You jolt up, staring at him, horrified. Before Harry can get in another word, Peter’s jerking you across the room, pulling you in the direction of the patio.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaim, voice high. “What did you do that for? Eh? I was so close to getting the fucking phone, Peter!” you drop your voice as you speak his real name. You try to shake yourself out of his grip, only for him to squeeze you tighter.

Peter doesn’t say anything—not until you’re outside, standing away from the rest of the party, shielded in the trees. He drops your hand and starts to pace in front of you, eyes wild, face scowling.

“You weren’t,” he says, pointing at your left hand. “We’re supposed to be engaged. You were going to blow our cover.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Excuse me? That’s bullshit. Both of us know that this,” you pause to throw your hand up and point at your ring, “is part of it. He likes taken girls, idiot. He found it hot. What the fuck is your problem?”

Peter stops pacing, and he stands in front of you, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. His eyes trail across you, and he jumps forward a few steps.

“He was...sleazy,” he says, scrunching up the tip of his nose. “We’ll just take him out another way. Like, we- we can just wait until he’s alone, and jump him. You’ve still got those, uh, those unconscious injection things, right? We’ll just jab him, steal the phone, use the memory wiping ones, and it’ll be fine.” He’s sputtering and stammering over his words, and you press both hands into your waist as you stare at him, incredulously.

“I understand now,” you say, speaking quickly. “You’re jealous.”

Peter’s expression shifts into one of horror. He opens his mouth to speak, but you jump in first.

“No, I’m talking,” you interrupt. You step closer, finding yourself drawn to the fierce anger churning in his eyes. “You want to be the one who gets all the credit for the mission. You can’t stand the thought of me doing the hard work, can you? You’d rather sabotage the whole thing than let me do my job.”

Peter shakes his head roughly, a few strands of his hair bursting free from the confines of the gel.

“No,” he stresses. “That’s not it at all, Y/N. How self-centred do you think I am?”

You laugh coldly. You’re so close now, you can almost feel his warm breath coming out over your face.

“Incredibly self-centred, Parker,” you respond, not even bothering to use his code name. You’re too far away from anyone else for them to hear you, anyway. “You’re selfish, and volatile, and you do whatever the fuck you want to do. You’re no better than a child.”

He blinks a few times, pursing his pink lips. “Well, fuck you,” he replies, voice dancing with irritation. “You think I’m a child? You’re the one who never fails to throw insults at me, or make fun of all the things I like to do. You’re always, always, hanging around me, watching me like I’m about to trip up. You’re the one who’s self-centred and doesn’t let anyone help you. You’re stubbornly independent, infuriatingly curious, and you- you- you make me so mad.”

Peter’s glowing, his cheeks bright pink, and his eyes a rich shade of brown that takes your breath away. You don’t know how to respond, so you fall back to the thought that’s been bouncing through your head since he’d tugged up your zipper.

“Oh, you want to kiss me so bad.”

“...What if I do?”

There’s a tense silence as you meet his eyes. Your chest is heaving, Peter’s too, but in sync, you seem to surge together. His hands go to your waist, and you wrap yours around his neck, and he kisses you, suddenly. You moan from surprise, but you push back into it, twirling your fingers into his hair as you kiss him fiercely. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, but they make you feel warm inside, and you realise in a quick moment that you love the feeling of them moving over yours. When he breaks off to gasp for breath, you’re quick to smother him again, craving the sensation, rejoicing in how nice it feels to be held in his strong arms.

You kiss him, and suddenly you understand why it annoys you so much every time you see him playing lacrosse and being cheered on by the crowds in the stands. It becomes clear why you couldn’t stand the sight of him with MJ. The way your skin crawls and your heart seizes in your chest every time Peter looks at you become explainable.

You kiss him, and it all makes sense.

When your lungs burn for air, you fall back. As you inhale the fresh air instead of his lips, your mind starts to clear.

“Peter?” You whisper.

Peter’s holding your waist, forehead pressed against yours as his ragged breath comes out across your face. When you open your eyes, you see the way his eyes are similarly wide with shock.

“I, uh…”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from inside the house. Peter jumps back, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s listening to something.

“Gotta go,” he mutters. “Spidey sense. Stay here.”

You try to reach out to grab him, but he slips away.

“B-Ben!” you call after him, but it’s already too late. Peter’s vanished, and your eyes have little more to grasp but the sight of him running over the patio and vaulting into the room.

You decide to follow him, head spinning.

When you reach the house, you see that one of the tables has been pushed over. You suspect that was the source of the loud noise, but a glance around the room gives you no sight of Peter, nor Harry. Your eyes flutter around the sea of people, and where you draw up blank, you decide you’ll need to comb the house.

Using your intuition, you quickly run up the stairs, dress flapping around the bottom of your thighs. It’s quieter upstairs, but you have to push through a few entangled couples. Worry hangs heavy in your heart. There’s a selection of rooms up here, but the one at the end has its door flung wide open. You squint your eyes and stare into it, gaze widening. It’s the master, and it leads out to a large balcony. On the balcony are Peter and Harry, engaged in what seems to be hand-to-hand combat.

You groan as you run into the room, but the sight of Harry’s jacket strewn across the floor makes you pause. You bend down, rummaging through his pockets and grinning as you feel his phone. After pulling it out, you dig into your slim black bag and pull out the transmission beacon. Whilst keeping half an eye on the fight out on the balcony, you use the other to slot Harry’s phone into the device. As the machine absorbs the intel from Harry’s phone, you stand up and hurry out, digging through your bag as you go to join the fight.

It’s a lot worse now that you’re out here. You’d thought Peter was in control, but now you’re closer, you can see that Harry is holding a sharp, thin knife. Usually, in his suit, Peter would be able to hold his own easily. Yet, it seems that Harry is exceptionally good at close combat, and you find them sparring on an equal level, one of Peter’s sleeves slashed and red blood staining the material.

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry sneers, breathless as he dodges a kick from Peter.

“None of your business,” your partner snaps back. Peter sees you, his face clearing with relief, but it knocks his concentration. You gasp as Harry manages to punch him in the side of the face and Peter goes spiralling back, grunting as the force behind it pushes him onto the cement floor.

“Well, if you won’t identify yourself, I’m sure the coroners will,” Harry snarls. He bends down to kneel on Peter, pinning him down with his wrists and legs.

Panic courses through your veins, but you’re finally able to shake it as you realise the fight has tilted very seriously out of Peter’s favour. You grab one of the syringes from your bag and vault across the large balcony, jumping onto Harry’s back. The man grunts, trying to turn around and take you on, too, but you jam the fast-acting needle into his arm, and he immediately slackens. You fall to the side, crashing onto the patio beside Peter as both of you watch Harry pass out. You wince as the blond falls back, slumping onto the balcony with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” Peter murmurs. He sits up, rubbing at his arm. “Thanks.”

You bring your gaze back to him, uncertain and nervous.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” you say. You swallow deeply. Peter’s eyes are dark but kind, glinting like stars beneath the night sky. “You’re my partner, so, uh… I had to protect you.”

“You saved me. He was this close to gutting me.” Peter holds up his fingers, showing you a tiny space as he smiles shyly.

You shrug bashfully, enjoying the way he’s looking at you.

“I couldn’t let you die,” you whisper.

Peter crawls over to you, and you melt like a candle against his lips as he reaches up to cup your face and kiss you, gently. It’s warmer this time and lacks the frenzied anger that’d tainted the last one. You sigh into it, and relax back, letting him press you down against the cool ground as he chases your lips. Peter shifts over you, planking above you, and the hand messily sprawled over your cheek holds you in place, allowing him to kiss you again and again.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back, brows furrowing. The sight of him above you, messy hair falling out around his face makes you smile. “What about your arm?”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Super healing,” he mutters. “Worth it.”

You swallow, ghosting your lips over his again.

“But… But don’t you hate me?” you find yourself asking.

“Nah.” Peter’s smiling, his expression warm. “I think, uh… it was more frustration. I think I… I think I feel the opposite of hate. If you… If you know what I mean.”

Your lips twitch into a wide smile. “I know what you mean,” you reply. Teasingly, you press a very light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You drive me mad, but… in a good way.”

Peter chuckles, the sound vibrating through the air. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles between kisses. You play with his hair, aching in every single way to feel more of him. The attraction you feel towards him is consuming and fulfilling, and you wonder why it took you so long to get to the root of your feelings. “I, uh… I couldn’t stand the sight of you two together. That’s why I interrupted you guys. Sorry for, uh, blowing the mission.”

You giggle. Finally, Peter shifts away, standing up with a grunt and offering you a hand up.

“It’s fine,” you say. You curl into his side, his hand resting comfortably on your waist as the two of you look down at Harry. He’s snoring loudly. “It was a memory tranq. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” There’s a beeping sound coming from inside his room, and you nudge Peter’s side. “That’ll be the data transfer complete, too.”

Peter hums. He looks back to you, handsome eyes flickering over your face.

“So… Mission complete?” he asks, squeezing your waist.

You nod, smiling. “Mission complete.” You step closer and kiss his cheek, your grin widening as he blushes. “You want to, uh… Get out of here?”

Peter quirks an eyebrow, understanding fluttering out across his face. There are a hundred different things you know you’ll need to talk about and work through, but you don’t feel scared about that. You have a feeling that communicating with Peter is about to get a whole lot easier.

“What, to our very exciting hotel room with that really comfy bed?”

You giggle. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Mhmm.” Peter grabs your hand and squeezes it, then returns your kiss with a brief scattering of light pecks, stretching from cheek to cheek. “Can’t think of anything better, baby.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks aching from the stretch of your smile.

“Me neither.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

woooh yay :’) we lov college peter

lmk what you think !!!

m-list and taglist are linked in my bio <3

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

BESTIES!! PART 10 IS A HOT ONE!! Enjoy reading it as much as I did while writing it (and re-reading it because its probs one of my fav parts of the whole series) Love Always, Steph xx

Part 10 | parte dieci

warnings; heavy-petting, almost-smut, and a hot jack grealish - read at your own risk ;) word count; 2469. writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Monday 16/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

Longing glances and shy smiles. That  was how Amelia and Ben both spent the next morning at Cobham together, prior to travelling to Stamford Bridge for the fourth match of the season against Aston Villa. The two had spent the rest of the evening relaxing on the couch; no additional kisses were shared between them as they had both agreed to keep things friendly, and no matter how hard Ben tried, Amelia had no intentions of going any further just yet. She had admitted to him something that she had never uttered out loud before: she still needed to work out how to exist without Fede.

While their situationship had been as unconventional as it was, it was still something that Amelia had grown to live with and love. Fede’s personality was unlike no other she had come across, perhaps closest to that of Jack Grealish. Friendly, flirtatious, charming, to the point where she found herself blushing sometimes - not many people had been able to make her shy enough to blush, but Fede had, and now Jack was too.

hot boy grealish

mornin mils, can’t wait to see ya today.

I’ll be the hot one with the good hair and even better ass.

hot gal mils

morning my dear jacky, looking forward to seeing you too.

Is Tyrone not playing?

His bum has always been my fav bum to stare at.

hot boy grealish

cut it out, you.

Banter-filled texts had been a constant stream of entertainment throughout the days leading up to the match. Jack has been preparing Amelia for the possibility of her losing, constantly picking on the girl for being an overachiever and saying that she needs to be brought down a few pegs, having been quite some time since her team had lost a match. Amelia however, with enough self-confidence to rival that of the villa boy, wouldn’t even let him finish his sentences. Far too superstitious for that to happen.

The girl believed in superstitions, and she was not about to tempt her fate. She even went so far as to have her family name and a small Italian flag embroidered onto the inside of her collar of every polo shirt she would wear for match days. She did it at Juventus and organised for it to be done to her new Chelsea uniform. It was a personal choice, something that happened to run in her family also, her father and brother also having the White family name stitched to the inside of their kit. It was a way of keeping them all tied together, no matter what side of the pitch they were on. The Italian flag was there to remind her of all that the country had given her: her grandparents and a chance to be brilliant at what she loves most.

Arriving at Stamford Bridge off of the team bus, Jorgi had insisted she sitwith him and they spoke exclusively in Italian for the 30-odd minute drive from Cobham. Despite Amelia purchasing a new car a few days prior, Jorgi insisted they continue to carpool. It worked out well because now Amelia wouldn’t have to catch the team bus back to the training ground after the match. She had spent the better part of an hour out on the pitch with some of the boys, running through the plays she had in mind before she ushered them back into the changeroom, allowing the Aston Villa men to have their time out on the grass.

______________________________________________________________

“I would know that bum anywhere.”

“Hello Jack, nice to see you too. I’ve been well thanks, so has my bum. I’ll let my face know you said hello, too,” I spoke as I stood up from my crouched position, where I had been tying my laces.

“Just kiddin love, actually no I'm not - I love your bum. But I am happy to see your beautiful face too!” Jack spoke, as he pulled me into a hug - wrapping both of his arms around my head, effectively pushing me further into his chest.

“You saw my face a couple days ago when we were on FaceTime!”

“I saw your bum a few days ago on FaceTimetoo, doesn’t mean I'm not happy to see it!”

“So that's why you like helping me do my laundry, so you can see my backside as I reach into the machine!”

“Now I’m not a religious man, but I have prayed to God a few times that you drop a sock or two riiiiiiight in front of the camera.” He laughed back at my shocked expression.

“Jack! You are ridiculous! Stop being such a perv! No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend” I play-shouted at him as I smacked him with my rolled up matchday program.

“I’m holding out for you, my love.”

“Always the joker, Jack. Get out there and prepare for the worst match of your season.”

“Dream on Mils, we’ve got this in the bag.”

“Sure thing Jacky, sure thing.”

I walked further up the tunnel towards the changeroom, getting ready to deliver my strategy talk to the boys.

“Stop looking at my ass, Grealish!” I shouted without turning around. The boisterous laugh that followed my exclamation was enough to know that I was correct. I didn’t need to turn around to be able to predict what the laddish lad was already doing.

60 minutes of football later.

Amelia was correct in saying that Chelsea were going to win the match, her quiet confidence only getting louder and louder as each premier league match went on. She was apprehensive at first to see if her tactics were going to work in the Prem, or if there was to be some compromise on skill due to the fast-paced nature of the game. So far, however, the Chelsea men were quick learners and even quicker to execute.

One thing she wasn’t prepared for, however, was the absolute worldie that Jack had scored just before half-time at the Bridge. There was an element of familiarity in his goal, recognising the play as one of her own. A small smile crossed  her face after he scored, running to celebrate with the away fans before jogging down past the bench and mouthing a quick “all you baby” at her as he moved back into position. She must have told him about it back when she was in Italy, knowing that there was no chance she would have exchanged her trade secrets to an enemy in the same league. It warmed her to know he paid enough attention to her to be able to practice that on his own with his team and execute it flawlessly in a live game.

What Amelia also wasn’t prepared for was for anyone else to recognise the play. Behind her on the bench sat an oddly-inquisitive Ben. He saw the tactic as it was playing out, recognising the run that Jack had to make to put himself in the box at the exact moment that John McGinn crossed the ball. Better yet, he saw Jack run down the sideline, nowhere near where he should have been, and mouth those words to Amelia. He wanted to know what was going on, was that why she wasn’t ready to commit to him?

Later that same evening.

After a hot shower, Amelia was curled up on the couch, ready to continue the docuseries she was watching the night before when she had an unexpected visitor pop round and confess his feelings to her. Thinking back on the night prior, she was happy that things ended up working out the way they did. Of course she wasn’t exactly thrilled with just how they happened but she could forgive the sweet boy. His intentions were pure and that's not something she was used to. It made her giddy to think about him, and about where things may go in the future.

A ring of her doorbell, almost to the exact hour that it had the night prior, made her get off her couch and walk down the small hall to the front door with a smirk on her face. Expecting to see the same brown-haired, blue-eyed boy that seemed to enjoy ringing her bell after hours. What she saw on the other side, however, was not what she was expecting.

“Jack, what on bloody God’s earth are you doing here?! You should be halfway back to Birmingham by now!”

“Are you gonna let me in love, it’s bloody cold out ‘ere tonight. Come on, shove over,” The slightly-less-than-6-foot-tall footballer commandeered her hallway, shutting the door behind him and locking it. This,  coupled with his overnight duffle bag hanging off his shoulder let Amelia know that he had no other plans but to stay with her.

“Sure, Jack, I suppose you can come in and spend the night crashing in my spare room.”

“Now now, don’t pretend that you’re not happy to see me, love. And a spare room? I believe you promised me a cuddle.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but smile at the charming young man. Feeling the blush start to spread from her chest up her neck and across her cheeks, she quickly turned and walked into her kitchen, calling out over her shoulder to ask if he wanted a cup of tea. Feeling a sense of deja vu from the night before, she shook her head and reminded herself that this is nothing like the night before. How could it have been - there was no kissing involved.

“Was that a blush I saw? Do I make you nervous, Amelia?” Somehow, Jack had moved to be right behind the girl at her kitchen counter. Hands on her hips, chest to her back, lips to her ear. Amelia felt herself freeze, and then relax into his hands.

“Jack, please, I don’t think we should do this.”

“Why not, Mils? You can feel it, too. The tension through the screen’s enough to force me into a cold shower most nights.”

And just like the night before, the whistle of the kettle was the only piercing sound resonating around the townhouse. Whilst all she saw was truth behind Ben’s eyes, Jack's eyes were clouded with lust and affection. Just once, she could give in, right?

Leaning her head back to rest on his right shoulder, he attached his lips to the left side of her neck. Hands rolling from the side of her hips, to underneath her shirt, feeling the small navel piercing between his fingers and smirking.

“Didn’t take you for being the kind of girl to have a piercing, Mils,” He spoke into her collarbone, a small nip to the sensitive skin as the girl continued to focus on her breathing.

“Piercings, Jack. I have more than one” She breathlessly spoke, knowing exactly what she was doing now. The admission of having more than one piercing that he could not see was all of the consent Jack needed to continue his exploration of her body.

“Are you going to let me see them, darling?”

“If you’re lucky.”

“I’d say I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now, especially in this position.”

She was unsure how it had happened, but Jack had pressed her further into the countertop. With her back still to his chest, his waist was at the perfect height to press into the small of her back. His leg had settled between both of her own and his hands had found the bottom of her bralette and were gently caressing her rib cage, desperate to get closer to where he presumed her other piercing was.

“We shouldn’t be doing this Jack,” she breathed out into the air, hot air escaping her lungs to resemble what she felt brewing in the pit of her stomach. Desire.

“Why the bloody hell not?” he mumbled into her sweet spot, where her jaw met her neck.

“Because I've been here before. This is bad.” With her eyes shut, he continued his way down her neck. The fabric of her top shifted so he could slide one of her straps down her arm.

“If it's bad, why does it feel so good? '' Whilst his lips got to work on her collarbone, and his hand was busy toying with the elastic line of her bralette, his other hand began to fiddle with her fingers. Entwining them with his own, the kind of strength she needed to feel to make her next decisions.

Pushing back off of the counter, meaning her ass had pushed right into the part of his body where he wanted her most, Amelia turned around and faced Jack. The two stood there, slightly panting, staring at each other. Amelia being the kind of girl that she is, decided that she wanted to have a little slice of the dominance pie. Maintaining eye contact, she lifted the bottom of her t-shirt over her head and dropped in on the floor, that second piercing now very clearly visible through the sheer fabric of her bralette.

“Come on Jack, aren’t you an athlete? What’s got you so out of breath? I thought you’d be able to last a little longer than some heavy petting.” She taunted at the smirking man, wanting nothing more than to mess up his hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. That's exactly the position that they found themselves in not more than 5 minutes later, this time upstairs in her bedroom.

Throughout the multiple rounds of passion that the two so-called friends shared that night, not once had their lips touched. Of course, her lips had touched parts of him and he had definitely been all over a completely different set of lips a few times (and from a few different positions), but face to face, eye to eye, nose to nose - their lips had never met. That told Amelia enough to set her anxiety on fire. Had she just gotten involved with a carbon-copy of the man she left behind in Italy?

The regret seeped through her bones and settled into her heart by the time that the Villa boy had fallen asleep next to her. What had she done? This was not the girl Amelia wanted to be anymore. She was done being the girl that was loved only when the lights went out. She wanted love under the sun, she wanted breakfast by the river, double dates, family parties. She wanted the kind of love that you could never try and hide even if you wanted to. She knew that this wasn’t what Jack was able to offer her. She was grateful for their friendship, she truly was, he made her laugh more than most people but for the first time in a very long time, she was certain that that's all she wanted from him.

Part 11. | parte undicesima

[vore-scientist]

Like A Good Neighbor (sfw safe vore)

[M/nb vore with fearplay. safe soft oral non-sexual]

A tale of the Mystic Woods! Featuring Yonah HaEsh and Myran the Dwarf Witch and many other fun characters!

A story of bad first impressions and making new friends! Lots of GT, and a cute little adventure at a magical farmer’s market!

Warning: Careful there are references to Fa.tal! An example would be “ogres are far more likely to eat smallfolk than giants!” (implying that said actions are deadly). That is the extent of such references!

Other warning: mild harm during the immediate post-vore scene. Yonah just goes a little too far in scaring Myran.

——/——////——

“Did you hear?”

“Have you been told?”

“A new resident!”

“I haven’t checked it out myself! But Ms Zukkar told me-”

“A wizard!”

“Didn’t there used to be an old sorcerer there?”

“-new guy’s a witch!”

“So, hear about that new giant!”

“A giant wouldn’t fit in that tower! And wizards is all human!”

“A criminal, on the run they say”

“Maybe a magician? They like towers sometimes!”

“His Majesty wouldn’t hire a criminal!”

“-supposed to be evil?”

There were so many rumors being flung around that the dwarf witch Myran Gamadin decided to see for themselves and set out to investigate. Undoubtedly there was a new resident. The story was that he was a Mage, and a criminal, but also just expelled from The Academy of Wizardry. And a giant? That was strange, the old tower was much too small for a giant! Even if it was magic it was only 10ft taller than your average giant in the first place. However… they did hear about the trial of a giant recently… stuff that happened in the civilized court didn’t really concern those in the Woods.

“Why would you go to see a villain? You’re not evil!”

The World’s Largest™ Maine Coon cat trotted alongside the handsome young dwarf, looking more like an oddly fluffy pony than a cat.

“It’s important to know your neighbors! Even the evil ones!”

Siv flicked his tail up into his witch’s face.

“And he’s got to be just a young man! So young and the expectations on evil mages is so high! He will appreciate a friendly face!” Myran had done the math. If this Mage hadn’t even graduated from The Academy, he was at most 23. Unless he started his education late. But they doubted this.

“Why are we walking! You have your broom!” the cat complained.

“That’s for the tower, Siv. It’s one of those designed by assholes who think it’s clever to have the only entrance be the window at the top.”

“Hrfff,” said Siv.

“Do you think he will appreciate the house-warming gift? I didn’t really spend much time on it…”

“Fresh fish would be better.”

“Maybe if he were a cat. This is for a Mage.”

“Clippings of magical plants? Maybe for another witch. This is someone who was studying Wizardry.”

“Wizards use magical plants too!”

“Yeah, they buy them from witches!”

As the pair stepped out of the trees, they froze.

“I think he’ll like the gift,” Siv admitted as he And Myran stood in awe at the largest magical garden either of them had ever seen.

It wasn’t even finished yet! Plots of earth were freshly turned, and piles of wood, half built into beds that lay in patterns across the clearing. And massively spread apart. At least 3 meters between plots. And the finished ones. Well. They already had some amazing specimens. Even if they were just sprouting. Myran noticed the Twisted WyrmFern and harpy’s breath; delicate, but common magical plants that were being used to test out the soil. It was working great.

The garden did make Myran worry a bit.

Maybe this wasn’t a wizard at all! It could be a witch. And he could be very evil indeed. Even evil witches treated their gardens with the utmost care and attention.

But they had come this far. And the tower that looked over the garden was calling to them. Well. Not really. The green-black thorny vines screamed “STAY AWAY!” But when one had a flying broomstick, one didn’t need to heed such warnings.

Flipping their broom around like a baton, they sat side saddle and Siv hopped on the end, somehow managing to balance his prodigious fluff. They took off. And flew into the window.

“WOAAAHHH!”

It was like hitting an unexpected and large wave on a boogie board, but a magical one that flowed through the body! And Myran had never been to the ocean, so it made their brain swim.

The room, which from the outside looked normal, was anything but. The rumors of this being a giant were not just rumors.

This place was HUGE!

And yet, it was much too small.

Growing up, Myran had visited some giant villages with their family. They hadn’t been THAT much smaller then, but the houses and items in the village were definitely much larger. While giant mages certainly existed, they had their own traditions and made their own supplies.

This looked exactly like the workshop for a young wizard, with additions for the wizard being a giant. It was wild to see some of the common arcane tools at such an immense scale.

Flying over, Myran saw that the resident Mage had an ancient book under a magnifying glass, and had been translating it, with notes and commentary. Spell equations and diagrams were additionally copied in a dedicated smaller notebook.

While it was surely a fascinating read, they could tell at a glance the notes were somewhere in the middle of an involved spell, and they didn’t want to be the reason the Mage lost his place. The workbench had plenty of other diverting materials.

Siv had no interest in such things and curled up against the base of the magnifying glass. The sun hit the metal through the window, making it quite warm.

Myran put their broom down and explored the desk. There were several magical tombs! Rare ones! They flipped through and saw fresh handwritten notes tucked inside. Smart, this mage did not want to tarnish the original pages. There was also an open notebook and a few spell components laid out.

They stepped carefully back onto the notebook to get a better idea of what this wizard was up to. The notebook was written in giant, which Myran wasn’t fluent in but got the gist of. So this was indeed a giant wizard. Fascinating.

That’s what they were thinking until...

FEE FI FO FUM!

Myran nearly jumped out of their boots.

No longer fascinating. Very bad. Very dangerous! They’d heard stories that quoted these lines, classic, even amusing. However, hearing them bellowed by an actual giant nearly stopped their heart. These words were so loud and so immediately panic-inducing, especially when accompanied by thundering footsteps.

I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE-

There was a pause and maybe a stutter

DWARVEN KIND!

The trap door off center in the room burst open and a giant with a mane of black hair, a trimmed goatee, and a wizard’s hat, climbed out. He was smiling, snarling, showing off impressive fangs.

USELESS TO FLEE, USELESS TO FIGHT, FOR YOU WILL BE MY MEAL TONIGHT!

Eat them!? Oh No. Myran scrambled to their feet as the giant advanced.

Siv had gone catatonic, or nearly, and fled behind the mirror. But Myran just stood there. The next thing they knew, they were in the giant's fist… AND THEN IN ITS MOUTH! There was a brief moment where they thought the giant was going to bite them in half… but no. Worse than that, the giant fulfilled his promise to make a meal of Myran by swallowing them whole.

Never had Myran imagined themselves in this predicament. Witches, as far as they knew, were not prone to being eaten by giants! Giants ate thieves, slayers, adventurers! Though... giants were known to occasionally eat random people that happened to be rude to them as they went about their business.

Myran had not been rude! They just hadn’t had a chance to be polite! This giant had no business eating them.

Not that any of this was actually going through Myran’s mind. Oh no. Myran’s thoughts were preoccupied with panicking about their impending doom!

First, they tried to stop the giant from swallowing. But the teeth threatened to crunch their limbs if they dared to try and find purchase! So, failing that, they tried to slow their progress down his esophagus.

The problem was the walls were too damn slippery! They knew that their slow progress was merely due to the tight fit, as they couldn’t stretch out. The flesh was too tough.

Right before they started to worry about suffocating, they were deposited into a large chamber, sliding into a puddle of nasty smelling fluid. They took a regretful breath of the rancid air.

Yonah sighed as the dwarf left his throat and settled into his stomach. Small yet still filling.

He patted his stomach lightly. “A bit disappointing. Dwarves don’t taste nearly as good as most other smallfolk, but I’m not complaining.” His prey thrashed and yelled but didn’t seem to be coherent.

YEOWCH!

Something bit his hand and he waved it violently. Whatever it was released and smacked into the wall that the desk was up against, crumpled into a motionless pile. Curious and momentarily forgetting his snack, Yonah investigated.

A cat!? And still alive but unconscious. Why had a cat attacked him? Then he saw the abandoned broom next to his notebook. And his stomach twisted.

“You’re— not a thief!” Technically, he could eat anyone he wanted, he wasn’t restricted to adventurers. He was still figuring out what kind of villain he wanted to be. Such self exploration would take time, time the person he ate didn’t have.

“I’m a witch!” He heard them squeak.

“A witch? Invading the lair of a wizard? Are you stupid!” He poked at them. They didn’t like that.

“Let me out!!”

So Yonah spat them up, sooner than he would have liked to, and leaned over them with a frown and glowing eyes.

The moment the witch hit the desk, the cat woke up and was between him and the witch as it hissed.

The witch was shaking and coughing, glancing at him with wide fearful eyes.

“If you’re a witch then what the fuck were you doing in my tower?” Yonah demanded.

The witch was still in shock but recovered enough to speak. “I’m… Myran! I wanted to introduce myself!”

“A likely story! Why would anyone want to introduce themselves to me?” Yonah wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but figured he could use the practice at evil banter.

“You’re… new to the forest” they coughed.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m your neighbor!” they said,

Yonah narrowed his eyes, “The forest is constantly moving, no such thing as neighbors.”

“I figured I’d try to be friendly!” they continued as if he hadn’t replied. “Everyone was talking about the new mage in the tower, but no one had any definitive stories.”

Another mistake. The giant snarled.

“You are a fool then! I don’t want any friends!” He hesitated briefly as he said it, not sure of the truth, but recovered fast. “But I don’t want you spreading rumors about my mercy either…” he picked them back up. Gripping them hard and getting their right arm between his teeth. He didn’t bite their arm off, but broke the skin with a fang and pinched their hand. They yelled.

“Stop! Stop! I won’t tell! I won’t tell!”

He dropped them and they sat, crying, holding their bleeding arm and hand which was turning a plum purple.

“Good,” he hissed steam in their face, scalding the skin red as his eyes glowed bright orange. “Now get the fuck out before I eat you for real!” He flicked the broom at them. “And if you ever show your face around here again, I will.”

Finally, they listened to him. They got onto the broom along with their cat and with a burst of magic kicked into the air and fled out the window. Yonah watched until they disappeared, then sat down. His hair hadn’t been smoking before but it was now. Additionally, his eyes still glowed.

His first visitor in months wasn't an adventurer and he’d eaten them without a second thought! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Maybe this was his destiny. For years he’d trained himself to be restrained. Keep his anger in check, Keep his half giant identity a secret and become a wizard. But that had all gone to shit when he’d been discovered not as just a half giant, but as a half fire witch. Chased out of the academy but captured by the authorities of Orr.

Forced to sign a contract with King Ben to become his new pet monster! So why not be a monster!?

But he still wanted friends… his friends from the academy weren’t allowed to visit him. His tower of magic and wonder was so empty. He put his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

~chink~ his elbow brushed against something.

He looked down and saw a broken clay pot, the soup spilling out and a seedling now helpless and exposed on the desk.

Quickly yonah dipped his fingers into a pouch at his side and licked it, saying a spell. With a puff of smoke he stood on his desk, a mere 8ft tall, and he knelt down.

With his more appropriately sized hands he gathered the soil and with a wave of his hand and another mutter the pieces of the pot shook and flew back into their original places. The pot was… functionally repaired. The proper repair spell required materials to fuse the pieces properly. So it wouldn’t hold water, but it could hold soil.

As he scooped it back in, a piece of paper fell from the loose soil. Curious he dug it back out of the pot and cleaned it off enough to read:

“Welcome to the Mystical Woodlands new neighbor! This seedling is from my own garden. A special cultivation of Frozen Thyme.”

The moment he read it he was instantly planning where this would go in his garden. But… this gift. Did he deserve it? He’d eaten the one who brought it. He chased them away!

He couldn’t accept this gift but he couldn’t just let the seedling wither and die. It didn’t deserve that. And thus, his brain rationalized a way for him to keep the gift. So now what?

Yonah’s brain was too full of rage to do any proper work, so he decided to take it out on the garden, which was still in a state of construction. He’d already torn up old dead pieces of the overgrown mess left behind by the predecessor. Now he was digging spots for flower beds and what would hopefully be an orchard. There was even a designated spot for herbs.

The reason this was slow going was he refused to use magic. For the most part. Thankfully, being giant made digging and construction easier. Now that he had the thyme, he prioritized the herb beds. It was with a sour pride that he completed one as the sun started to go down.

A large wooden box that curved in a lovely arc close to the tower. The wood was specially imported from his The Blue Sky Mountain Giants Tribe in the Implausible Mountains, the smell of it reminding him of home. The frozen thyme seedling was given enough space to grow. He even gave it some friends that he knew would be compatible.

With his mind a little more at ease, he managed to get himself to sleep.

And awoke the next morning with an ache in his heart and a new plan in his brain.

For the first time since he arrived in this prison of a forest, he ventured beyond the boundaries of his clearing. Yonah knew he was allowed, a certain distance from his tower, to walk the forest. It had just seemed pointless. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he wore his gardening outfit: a pink plaid button up and light blue overalls. He had a straw hat that he recently wove to be a wizard hat, as well as his wizard staff. He couldn’t really leave that behind.

The trees in the forest were shorter than back home, but still very large. Thankfully he didn't have to duck so much to avoid branches. In his mind was a list of ingredients he needed to find. Foraging in the forest might seem like a fruitless endeavor, but when you have the keen nose of a giant, tracking down wildberries was a simple feat.

What a bounty! A huge patch of bramble with perfectly ripe berries. He didn’t need a giant’s amount and they would just get squashed if he tried to pick them at his normal size so once again he shrank down. He retrieved a basket from his hat and started to pick berries.

About ten minutes in, the bush began to shift! A section opened up and out ran a gnome with a garden spade. It smacked into his hand mid berry pick.

“Stop! Thief!”

SMACK SMACK!

Yonah was so startled he backed away and returned to his normal size, the basket of berries spilling over.

The gnome yelped. “Giant!” They dropped the spade. “Don’t eat me! Take berries! Don’t eat me or family!”

There was something satisfying about the gnome’s fear and Yonah grinned, “While you would make for a nice little snack,” he said, “I’m not in the mood for gnome today.”

The gnome shook and took up the spade again, pointing it at him as if that would help. From inside the bushes, Yonah heard rustling, and smelled more gnomes. This must cover their burrow.

“Put that away, or I might change my mind!” Yonah growled, showing his fangs. The gnome complied, tossing it aside.

“But you are also in luck. I am not interested in being a berry thief. I have more honor than that. If you would permit me to buy some of your berries, at a discount for me not making a meal of you and your family, I will leave you in peace”

The gnome gulped and nodded, “Am… sure we can make a deal.”

“Pick up the ones I already picked, will you?” Yonah ordered.

The gnome scrambled. “You will need more?”

Yonah nodded. The gnome whistled. And a troupe of younger gnomes carefully came out of the bramble.

“Kind giant has offered to buy some berries. Exchange for not eating us!”

The kids looked nervous and their fear didn’t spark the same kind of joy as the adults. But Yonah had a reputation to build! And he had to admit, it was still a bit fun.

He watched as the gnomes gathered berries until the basket was full and the adult gnome put it down in front of where Yonah had sat down. He picked it up and took off his hat, dropping it in and noticed the gnome’s eyes get wide. Storage space items were not uncommon, but storage hats were tools of professional mages, not common folk.

“That all?” the gnome asked.

Yonah stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes. I think so.” He reached into this hat. While he didn’t have a lot of money, Ben had supplied him with funds should he need them, and he had distributed the rings between his various pocket spaces. He got out a large wooden dowel upon which hung many metal rings. Small ones and large ones. With a pair of tweezers, yonah removed a few silver rings and one gold ring and put them into his palm, placing it up in front of the gnome.

Who did not take it.

“Do not insult me by refusing my payment,” Yonah insisted but the gnome did not move.

“More than we charge normally… You wanted discount: berries, a silver a pound!”

Yonah blinked. He still wasn’t good with smallfolk money. When purchasing as a giant, you purchased such large amounts it always cost at least a gold.

“Oh? Er-” he didn’t want to actually exploit these gnomes. “I'm not taking it back! Take the money Or I’ll eat you!” his voice faltered and the gnomes looked a little confused, and a little more relaxed.

“Leave us alone then, yes?” The gnome reached out a hand. Yonah nodded. The gnome finally took the money, giving each of the kids a silver ring. Any fear the kids had was gone as soon as they studied their rings and looked at Yonah with excitement. It was hard not to let the warmth in his heart at their expressions show on his own face.

“Actually!” Yonah announced as the gnomes started to back away into their burrow.

The adult stopped and looked nervous again. Yonah huffed. “I’m not going to eat you, I never was. I just have a question.”

The gnome ushered the kids away, not trusting Yonah, before turning back to the giant. “And if don’t have a good answer, you won’t eat… right?”

With a sigh Yonah shook his head, “No. I won't.”

“Then ask.”

Yonah took a breath, “I am... looking to get some ingredients. I… lashed out at someone recently and I very much regret it, and want to make some amends. I have giant ones back home but… giant sized ingredients do not taste as strong as small ones. Do you know where, or who, I might be able to look for?”

The gnome smiles, “Yes! Mystical Market. Sell our berries there. Open today, also gnome holiday.” They gave Yonah the instructions on how to find the market.

“Thank you- er…” Yonah put a hand to his chest and bowed.

“Kalle” said Kalle.

“Yonah,” said Yonah. The gnome bowed as well, “Don’t be flaunting riches, mysterious half giant. Marketeers take advantage”

Riches!? He did not have endless funds. He would have to be more careful with his spending.

“I am also looking for… Er... Shit!” he exclaimed and was glad the kids were no longer outside, “I don't know their name. Dwarf witch.”

Kalle considered, “Know them. Likes almond cookies. Sorry. Market easier find than people. That all?”

From their tone of voice, Yonah knew the gnome desperately wanted to get back to their family. It was a holiday after all. Yonah stood up and nodded, leaving without subjecting them to any more conversation.

Almond cookies? That changed things. He had only made almond cookies once! He needed a little more help. However, he did not backtrack to the tower. He knew that if he went back, he would lose motivation. Locating the market was his current task.

Unfortunately, it took some luck. According to the gnome, it was a special place that one happened to come across, just by wanting to be there. The more familiar you were with it, the better chance there was of that happening. Yonah really really wanted to be there. So he gathered his will and set off in a random direction.

After an hour of walking yonah felt a weird tingle all over his arms and legs. Like his hair was standing on end and all pointing in the same direction. Had he entered some magical field? No matter, he was fairly immune to passive magic.

Then he took another step and a jolt of magic electricity surged through his body, causing him to freeze up. Before he could collapse, he felt as if a giant hook had caught around his middle. There was no physical hook, but it still yanked him back, pulling in through the forest.

Eventually it stopped and finally Yonah fell over, breathing shallowly as his heart raced. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the trees.

“What’s the big idea!?” Someone kicked him in the side and he sat up. “You’re blocking the way!”

An elf!

Yonah frowned. “You’re so bold for someone I could crush with a finger!” To tease the elf, he poked them in the chest.

“YEOWCH!”

For the second time that day, Yonah got bitten. This time, it was the elf who sank their fangs into his finger, letting go before Yonah pulled away.

“Don’t get sassy with me! Messing with smallfolk isn’t allowed in the market, you'll be banned!”

Yonah looked around “The market?”

He had assumed it was the Mystical Market because it was in the Mystical Woodlands. But now he realized that the name was rather accurate. An entire marketplace incorporated into the forest itself. Stalls and restaurants built into the trees, with carts parked in between. The trees here were also… there was no other word for it: majestic. Larger and older and, compared to the forest he had been exploring before, more deliberate spacing. He couldn’t even see all of it. The forest stretched on for a while, and thus was obscured by the very trees that made up the shops.

There were even buildings in the branches so that ogres, trolls, and giants did not have to bend down to make transactions. He even spotted a few trolls. Amazing! Trolls (and ogres) were much more likely than giants to eat smallfolk. Giants mostly threatened unless the person in question did something really, really stupid.

And yet, there was a troll, large with brown fur and green spots, purchasing a roll of fabric from the elevated section of a gnome shop.

“Yes you idiot, the market! And my cart won't fit through any other path! Move your giant ass or I’ll get the guard to move it for you!”

His elation at having found the market was in conflict with his pride that was being so insulted by this little creature.

“Apologize for biting me, and I’ll consider it!”

The elf looked indignant. “You threatened to squash me! MAGEN!!” they yelled.

Thunderous footsteps were heard and Yonah turned as a proper, full blooded giant, made her way through the shoppers, somehow avoiding stepping on anyone. She was maybe 17, but full grown and taller than Yonah by at least ten feet. Her skin was a light greyish pink and her eyes were a dark red. She wore a lovely headpiece of woven flowers and vines to look like hair, which full giants do not have.

She knelt “This man bothering you?”

The elf nodded. Yonah threw his hands up, “Hey! I don’t mean any trouble!”

“He threatened to squash me!”

The giant glared at Yonah, who glared back.

“How largefolk deal with smalls outside of the market is their own business,” she said. “But inside the market we do not even threaten to squash, or kick, or stomp, or eat!”

“I did not intend to and I did not know I was in the market! I have never been before!” Yonah stood up so that he was not at such an extreme height disadvantage. Magen was a rather short mountain giant, only 35ft tall.

She nodded, “I can believe that.” She stood up. “I would have remembered you for sure.” She sniffed and said in implausible Giant: “You are from the blue sky tribe?”

“Yes! I am.” he answered, also in Giant. “I just moved to the forest. I was looking for the market but… I must have… hit something magic. I sort of fell into here”.

The elf took the opportunity to weave their cart around the giants’ feet, disappearing into the market.

“Ah, the seller seems to no longer push this issue. My name is Magen.” she introduced, bowing.

“Yonah HaEsh,” Yonah answered in return.

“HaEsh! I know the name. Fire man who helped save the Implausible Mountains from the Society of Wizards!”

“That’s my dad,” Yonah said, a little embarrassed.

“Mom told me the story! How exciting!”

Yonah brushed himself off and glanced around, “So... What are the rules here, then?”

Magen shrugged, “Just don’t start fights, alright? All sales are final, so don't go making a fuss if you haggled wrong or think you got cheated unless you believe your items are defective. There are ways to deal with fraudulent goods, but we cannot risk collateral damage.”

“Does that happen often?” Yonah asked, “I only mean to buy food, I can tell if that’s fresh”

“Oh, you have a giant’s nose then. Good. It does not happen often. Makes my job easier. And I usually manage to break up confrontations before they get out of hand.”

Knowing he could likely sniff out the stalls he needed, Yonah asked if Magen could show him around and help him find all the items on his list. She happily agreed. He had to walk behind her as there wasn’t room for two giants to be side by side.

As she carefully led him, she took glances back and down Yonah who was getting a little nervous. It had been a while since he encountered other giants. He was watching his feet to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and he was stopping constantly to look into the shops and stalls and carts.

“What is it like, being half giant?” Magen asked, who somehow managed to walk without looking at her feet very often at all. Maybe Yonah was being too careful and people here knew to stay out of the way of largefolk's feet… Still, he didn't want to take chances.

“Er… I have hair, I guess?” he said.

“I was wondering if that was natural or a wig.” Magen brushed the vines spilling from her head.

“But mostly, things were just a bit inconveniently large for me. I still managed.” Then he countered. “What’s it like being a guard in the market?”

“The shopkeepers pool money to have me stand around, mostly. Smallfolk behave when an angry giant is within earshot.” She grinned with all her fangs.

“I thought you said giants couldnt mess with smallfolk here?” Yonah inquired.

“You can’t. It’s my job to interfere,” Magen retorted. “I haven't hurt anyone… badly. I’ve only worked here for a year. But I know everyone and everyone knows me!”

They stopped at a stand selling nuts and Yonah purchased the almonds he needed. The seller seemed a bit disappointed that he bought so few.

“Shopping for someone small?” Magen asked.

“Er- yeah.” Yonah said. They both had to back between trees to let a trio of trolls go by. One was only 10 feet tall and barely came up to Yonah’s waist, but another was nearly 20 feet! They carried baskets and bags on their furry backs, and even had some tied to their tusks!

Before they continued, two elves leapt from the tree nearby and onto Yonah’s shoulders! He was about to brush them off when Magen stopped him.

“Don’t! They are just hitching rides!” At that, he spotted more elves on her head. “You need honey, yes? I know the best shop!”

He followed Magen around the market, which was much larger than he had realized. The elves had no qualms about leaping on and off him and other largefolk shoppers and eventually he ignored them. Magen even helped him avoid making a bad deal for oat flour, saying she couldn’t believe the nerve of the shopkeeper trying to take advantage of a new resident.

Before Yonah left, he wanted to properly thank Magen. “If there is anything I can do to show thanks. Perhaps er-” he looked around.

“You know, the juice stand behind that tree has new flavors I’ve wanted to try. How about you buy me a drink? You should get one too. It’s very refreshing!”

“They make them giant sized?” Yonah asked.

“Oh, they are made by ogres!” Magen replied, rounding the indicated tree.

Ogres, kin of trolls and even more dangerous due to their magical powers. Typically smaller than trolls, but that was not the way to tell them apart.

An entire family of ogres were operating a massive open storefront. Jugs hung from branches or were strapped to the trunks of trees and fruit swung in baskets. Behind the counter was an elaborate prep station operated by two large ogres. Around the entire display were platforms sticking out from the nearby trees. Smallfolk sat on stools enjoying drinks and food at an elevation that made it easy to be served by the ogres. Magen walked up to the counter, which was not at an ideal height for her but was easily manageable. She spoke to an ogre with straw colored fur, blue spots, and large horns.

“Edna! I’d like two passion fruit smoothies please! One giant sized and one…” She glanced back at Yonah. “Full Troll sized!” She stepped aside and pointed at Yonah. “He’s paying”

Edna nodded and passed on the order.

Yonah stepped forward. Bowing “Yonah HaEsh”. She bowed back, “Edna Baneclaw. That will be a gold bracelet for the giant and half for the full troll”

Yonah’s heart nearly stopped. A gold bracelet and a half !? He looked at Magen who flashed her fangs mischievously then back at Enda.

Edna smiled as well. “We don’t have enlarged passion fruit, not in high demand by largefolk.”

With another glare at Magen, Yonah fished into his hat. He didn’t have gold bracelets but he had rings. 10 silver to a gold. Rings to Rings. Bracelets to Bracelets… 10 gold rings to a silver bracelet… 10 silver bracelets to a gold ring. That’s 100 gold rings to a gold bracelet (he had really overpaid the gnomes for the berries... A holiday gift he supposed), but this was not money to spend on frivolous fruit drinks!

Too late, however. The drinks were ready, and he carefully removed golden rings from silver bracelets. 50 gold rings and 10 silver bracelets exchanged for two smoothies. They came in wooden cups with bamboo straws.

This better be fucking worth it. Yonah took a sip.

His eyes widened as the cool icy tart concoction hit his taste buds and he took a long drink. Finally, he looked at Magen and then Edna. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed. Magen grinned and sipped hers as well. “Yeah. Too bad we’re the last two to have some for at least a month!”

“What do you mean?”

“That took all the passion fruit we had,” Edna informed. “Won't get more for a while”

“Worth it! Suck it smallfolk!” Magen teased the people on the platforms, a few looked a bit annoyed, but most didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care either.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Yonah. I hope to see you again. Oh, and by the way, you can return your mug to the ogres for a silver bracelet, even if you take it home today!”

Yonah glanced at his drink. “Oh! Thanks for letting me know. But where are you going?”

Magen sipped at her smoothie loudly before answering. “This was my break, silly, I need to go back on proper duty now, and you have all your things.” Magen held out her free hand and Yonah shook it, bidding her goodbye. It was getting late in the day now and he wanted to get to work on the almond cookies.

Wait… which way was back to the tower? How could he be so stupid wandering off like this!? His mom taught him better than that. Forest ranger rule number 1: DON’T GET LOST. ...okay, so that wasn’t really a rule. It was supposed to imply that you paid attention to where you were going so you could get back. This was not so easy in the Mystic Woods.

The moment he had walked far enough away from the market, he turned forward and then back, and it was already gone. He had nowhere to go but forward.

It was to his great surprise that only a minute later, he exited the dense trees and found himself in the clearing. The tower was on the opposite side. While he was elated to have made it back safely before dark, there was a distinct absence of any gladness to be home. This was not his home, after all. It was his prison.

Yonah HaEsh climbed up the tower and back into his prison. He took off his hat and sat down at his desk in the workshop, staring into the reflection on the large, ornate mirror that rested upon it.

To do this right, he needed help. Professional help. So he activated his mirror. Or at least… tried. He stared at his own reflection, then spoke. “Mirror Mirror on the desk,” he faltered, “Could you please connect me to Shoshana at the academy?”

The mirror snorted. “You think politeness will work after all this time? I don’t make exceptions. This is why your friends think you’ve forgotten about them! Put in the effort! Ask me properly or don't at all.”

“They’ve called me!!” Yonah insisted, but the mirror said nothing in response. Just like he would do when he got calls from his friends. Yonah growled and snorted back at the mirror, fogging it up. “Mirror Mirror, oh magical vanity, I wish to call Shoshana, at the wizard academy”

There was a whistle from the mirror. “Now that’s how you do it!” it praised. The fog cleared and for a brief moment, he saw his own face again before the reflective surface turned grey. Another moment and the face of his friend Shoshana emerged.

“Yonah!!!” she exclaimed. “You called! I cannot believe it!”

Yonah’s face turned a bit red. “I’ve… been distracted.”

Shoshana waved her hand, stopping any further excuses. “You’ve been through so much! I was worried! Since we graduated, you haven't called at all!”

/I never called before either... / Yonah thought. /It was always you.../ When Grand Master Sean reinstated him as a wizardling student, his friends would call regularly to work on homework and their theses, as he wasn’t allowed to actually attend the school in person. And while he attended the graduation…

That wasn’t a happy memory at all and he didn’t want to think about how he sat behind all the students in the amphitheater in magic chains looking more like a beast one of the adventuring tract students had wrangled for their final than a student.

“I need a recipe!” he said.

Shoshana raised her brows “That’s it!? First call in over a month, and it’s to get a recipe! You don’t want to catch up at all?!” Yonah’s eyes flickered and Shoshana backed off. “Alright, I can see you’re not in the mood. But please, we’re all missing you so much. We’d assumed you embraced the evil hermit wizard life.”

“I… haven’t meant to. But it’s surprisingly easy,” he admitted, grinning awkwardly. “I’d rather not go full hermit, of course.”

“Well, then dont go a month without calling your friends!” Shoshana chided. “Or make some new friends! The forest is full of interesting people, right?”

Yonah looked away, but his eyes were probably glowing orange now.

“This… is for that.”

“Oh!” Shoshana exclaimed, “I should have figured! Of course, I will give you whatever recipe you’d like.”

Yonah got out his ingredients to show Shoshana and explained what he wanted to bake. She nodded and made some suggestions for ingredients and spices to really make these cookies great. He did not have all the supplies she suggested, which led to some back-and-forth as Shoshana pointed out some substitutions for what Yonah bought or already had in his tower.

“Got that all down?” she asked, as she watched Yonah scribble out the final lines to the recipe.

“Yes!” Yonah exhaled in relief. “Thank you so much, Shosh!”

“Next time, we will catch up properly, but I had fun designing this recipe!” Shoshana chirped. “What a challenge. I wish you had called first, before just buying random ingredients.”

“I was already in the forest, Shosh.”

“I know, I know.” Shoshana blew Yonah a kiss and the mirror flickered back to his reflection.

It was time to bake! Which he did after shrinking down.

By the time he was done baking his jam print almond cookies, it was past midnight. He needed sleep and didn't think finding the witch at night was a particularly wise idea, especially since he was getting tired. That meant he was extra likely to be grumpy and irritable. So he placed the cookies in a special cooling rack to keep them magically fresh, then went to bed.

It was right after breakfast that Yonah HaEsh left the tower and, for the second time, entered the forest.

Once again, he had no direction, not that one could in the Mystic Woods. It wasn't even possible to have a map unless it was incredibly magical. Still, he was determined and willing to wander the forest for days if he must! But he’d do so at his full size, which would allow him to cover more ground.

That’s… That’s a witch’s hut! He hoped it was the correct one. It was more of a mound than a hut, with one side covered in rocks and moss and the other a more sheer side with windows, plus a flatter side with a door.

As he approached, a garden came into view and he heard a yelp before watching a small figure dart into the hut and close the curtains. The door opened briefly and a hand hung a sign that read “NO SOLICITORS”

That was the evil giant! Why was he here!? Why did the forest let him find the hut!? Was he here to eat them?! To finish the job!? Could they take on a giant fire witch?! Myran was a damn skilled witch, and at least 15 years the giant’s senior by their estimate, but they were quaking in their boots.

A knock sounded at their door. It didn’t sound forceful enough to be a giant. Siv was in front of them, hissing at the door. Thinking it better to be safe, they peeked out the window, then ran to open the door. Just a crack.

Red faced and holding a basket was… the giant. Only he wasn’t giant. Not exactly. He now stood at about twice Myran’s height. A little less actually. Right. Wizard. Giant wizard.

“May I come in?”

“Depends… what’s in the basket?” They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

The wizard’s face got redder as he removed the cover. They opened the door and stood aside. They took the basket with their right hand… Yonah hesitated. Their arm had a massive scar from shoulder to elbow, but the hand was unbroken. The Dwarf noticed and gave him a hard look as he crouched low to get through the dwarf sized door, Siv still hissing at him in warning.

Myran put the basket on the kitchen table and motioned to the couch. “Please, sit.” Yonah did. The couch was small for him but it took his weight. “I’m going to be honest.” Myran leaned against the kitchen table and crossed their arms. “This is quite the unexpected visit.”

“Oh?” Yonah said. Of course, it made sense. He chased them out. Why would he then try to find them again?

“You bit me!” Myran reminded him harshly. “You broke my hand, and you said if you saw me again, you would eat me. Again. And kill me.”

/Ohhhh/

Yonah’s breath caught before managing to say. “I did… didn’t I?” He looked down at his feet.

Myran. sighed. “Yep. Though eating me at your current size would be an impressive feat. So... What the fuck are you doing here? Besides bringing me cookies to fatten me up.”

“I’m not-!” He looked back up to defend himself and saw their cheeky grin. “I didn’t come here to eat you…” They raised an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief. “I want to apologize. For what I said… What I did. After I ate you. I was so angry. I still am, though mostly at myself. I shouldn't have hurt you. It wasn’t right.” He was almost crying. Dammit, he’d gone nearly a month without crying!

“And for eating me?”

“Huh?” Yonah was thoroughly confused.

“You’re sorry for what happened after you ate me, but what about eating me?”

Yonah bit his lip, “I’m… I’m not sorry about that.”

The witch raised both eyebrows now, genuinely curious as to the workings of this monster’s thoughts.

“I’m supposed to eat people! Especially those who enter my tower unannounced. It’s part of my job! And… And I like it!” He startled himself with that statement. He liked his job? He didn’t even want this job!! He was forcefully employed by the King under threat of death! Being evil had never been his plan and he didn’t want that. Did he?

The witch didn’t look completely satisfied with this answer. But they didn’t get to inquire further as Yonah’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Er- your hand…”

Myran smiled “It was rather mangled by your jaws yesterday. Luckily, I am a very good healer, and well-known in this forest. If you had killed me, you would have had a lot of angry forest residents after your head.” Myran began preparing a pot of tea as Yonah Processed that statement. “You’re a lucky giant aren’t you?”

“What?” Yonah voiced. “For not killing you and putting a target on my back?”

“Yes, exactly. And that was curious. It is rare that evil giants are merciful.”

Yonah looked away, “I’ve only been evil for a few months. I… you’re the third person I’ve eaten at all. And I dont… I haven’t yet… killed anyone.”

That surprised Myran. “I guess I do not know the frequency that giants normally encounter adventurers… but what I meant was you’re lucky that you even get to eat people. Most giants like the taste of smallfolk but they don't actually eat them. It’s rather rare.”

“You said it yourself. Evil Giants eat people,” Yonah pointed out. “Which I am one. I guess it’s… nice that I get to eat folks. But it comes with a cost… It’s only a matter of time before slayers come after me.”

“Most evil giants kill their victims, right?” Myran asked.

Yonah shrugged “I met another one once. Said it depended on his mood.”

“Fascinating… though if you keep up your more merciful streak, perhaps you are less likely to attract slayers?”

“Perhaps…” Yonah had not considered that. He just felt he wasn’t ready to kill anyone yet, but maybe there were other perks than just a clear conscience in continuing to let his snacks go.

“Cracked some sort of code then?” Myran inquired. “Getting to eat people without attracting too much attention? Not that this would stop all slayers,” they added. “I expect you would kill a slayer?”

Yonah nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose. In that case… Guess he was lucky. Indeed, he’d gotten to taste plenty of smallfolk. Plenty of giants did. It was unique that he’d had his human dad while growing up. But all of the smallfolk in the village knew that when giants kissed their hands, the giants were getting little tastes. Sometimes giants would lick a friend playfully or freak someone out. He’d had a few elvish and human friends growing up, and they sometimes let him and the other giant kids lick them during games of Jacks and Giants. And his academy friends were quite amused by his affections. He very much missed them. It had not taken long for him to get used to living amongst human friends, not just because he got to taste them. And so quickly, that was taken away from him. Friends…

As tears welled in his eyes he couldn’t look at Myran any longer. He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Should he keep talking? Shit, how much of that had he said out loud!? The words continued to come out regardless.

“I know I said I didn’t want any friends. But I do! I need them. And I know I can’t be your friend. You came to me and I fucked it up. But I beseech you to not tell everyone else in the forest to avoid me. I already went to the mystical market and-“

“You… how did you find out that I liked almonds!”

Yonah looked up. They weren’t looking at him but reaching into the basket for another cookie. They munched on it thoughtfully, not a crumb falling into their beard. The tea was ready and Myran poured it with magic, leaving their hands free to hold more cookies. They walked over to Yonah, the tea cups floating with. He took the larger one out of mid air. It was very hot! And he drank. It was… It tasted like tea he’d had at home. His village had alway gotten various teas from the dwarves. New tears came to his eyes.

“You alright?” Myran asked, offering a handkerchief. “You’re a very emotional evil giant.”

Yonah took it and dried his eyes. “The tea is… really good.” That wasn’t the real reason but right now he couldn’t process all of his emotions.

“It’s my grandma’s blend,” Myran said. “I’ve tried to replicate it using my garden, but you just can’t replicate those tunnel grown fungi.”

They dipped one of the cookies into the tea. From their expression, it wasn’t really a mistake but likely didn’t improve the experience. Still they munched thoughtfully.

“I’ll be your friend.”

Yonah’s jaw nearly hit the floor and he almost dropped his tea. It was a few seconds before he managed to pick his jaw back up. Were they serious? They walked over to him, placing their much smaller hand over one of his. Then they smiled most disarmingly.

“Just don’t eat me again.”

Yonah smiled.

“I think I can manage that”

[FIN]

——

(You can imagine that Yonah got to hug Myran before he left, probably a little too tight but dwarves are tough!)

THANKS FOR READING! PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED MY STORY!

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big thanks to my amazing editors @j0hnnymouse and @vixen525

[gt-adventures]

Like A Good Neighbor (sfw GT story!)

A tale of the Mystic Woods

Featuring the “Evil” Giant Wizard Yonah HaEsh and Myran the Dwarf Witch and many other fun characters!

A story about bad first impressions and the start of new friendships! Lots of GT, and a cute little adventure at a magical farmer’s market!

Warnings: intense fearplay and mild harm involving an intimidation tactic with biting (no loss of limbs!). Yonah is a Fee Fi Fo Fum kind of “Evil” giant but it’s all an act. He’s just very convincing. And in this story he is still new to his Evil job. Also casual mentions of man-eating monsters/giants (no scenes).

For more detailed warnings go to THIS POST

---

“Did you hear?”

“Have you been told?”

“A new resident!”

“I haven’t checked it out myself! But Ms Zukkar told me-”

“A wizard!”

“Didn’t there used to be an old sorcerer there?”

“-new guy’s a witch!”

“So, hear about that new giant!”

“A giant wouldn’t fit in that tower! And wizards is all human!”

“A criminal, on the run they say”

“Maybe a magician? They like towers sometimes!”

“His Majesty wouldn’t hire a criminal!”

“-supposed to be evil?”

There were so many rumors being flung around that the dwarf witch Myran Gamadin decided to see for themselves and set out to investigate. Undoubtedly there was a new resident. The story was that he was a Mage, and a criminal, but also just expelled from The Academy of Wizardry. And a giant? That was strange, the old tower was much too small for a giant! Even if it was magic it was only 10ft taller than your average giant in the first place. However… they did hear about the trial of a giant recently… stuff that happened in the civilized court didn’t really concern those in the Woods.

“Why would you go to see a villain? You’re not evil!”

The World’s Largest™ Maine Coon cat trotted alongside the handsome young dwarf, looking more like an oddly fluffy pony than a cat.

“It’s important to know your neighbors! Even the evil ones!”

Siv flicked his tail up into his witch’s face.

“And he’s got to be just a young man! So young and the expectations on evil mages is so high! He will appreciate a friendly face!” Myran had done the math. If this Mage hadn’t even graduated from The Academy, he was at most 23. Unless he started his education late. But they doubted this.

“Why are we walking! You have your broom!” the cat complained.

“That’s for the tower, Siv. It’s one of those designed by assholes who think it’s clever to have the only entrance be the window at the top.”

“Hrfff,” said Siv.

“Do you think he will appreciate the house-warming gift? I didn’t really spend much time on it…”

“Fresh fish would be better.”

“Maybe if he were a cat. This is for a Mage.”

“Clippings of magical plants? Maybe for another witch. This is someone who was studying Wizardry.”

“Wizards use magical plants too!”

“Yeah, they buy them from witches!”

As the pair stepped out of the trees, they froze.

“I think he’ll like the gift,” Siv admitted as he And Myran stood in awe at the largest magical garden either of them had ever seen.

It wasn’t even finished yet! Plots of earth were freshly turned, and piles of wood, half built into beds that lay in patterns across the clearing. And massively spread apart. At least 3 meters between plots. And the finished ones. Well. They already had some amazing specimens. Even if they were just sprouting. Myran noticed the Twisted WyrmFern and harpy’s breath; delicate, but common magical plants that were being used to test out the soil. It was working great.

The garden did make Myran worry a bit.

Maybe this wasn’t a wizard at all! It could be a witch. And he could be very evil indeed. Even evil witches treated their gardens with the utmost care and attention.

But they had come this far. And the tower that looked over the garden was calling to them. Well. Not really. The green-black thorny vines screamed “STAY AWAY!” But when one had a flying broomstick, one didn’t need to heed such warnings.

Flipping their broom around like a baton, they sat side saddle and Siv hopped on the end, somehow managing to balance his prodigious fluff. They took off. And flew into the window.

“WOAAAHHH!”

It was like hitting an unexpected and large wave on a boogie board, but a magical one that flowed through the body! And Myran had never been to the ocean, so it made their brain swim.

The room, which from the outside looked normal, was anything but. The rumors of this being a giant were not just rumors.

This place was HUGE!

And yet, it was much too small.

Growing up, Myran had visited some giant villages with their family. They hadn’t been THAT much smaller then, but the houses and items in the village were definitely much larger. While giant mages certainly existed, they had their own traditions and made their own supplies.

This looked exactly like the workshop for a young wizard, with additions for the wizard being a giant. It was wild to see some of the common arcane tools at such an immense scale.

Flying over, Myran saw that the resident Mage had an ancient book under a magnifying glass, and had been translating it, with notes and commentary. Spell equations and diagrams were additionally copied in a dedicated smaller notebook.

While it was surely a fascinating read, they could tell at a glance the notes were somewhere in the middle of an involved spell, and they didn’t want to be the reason the Mage lost his place. The workbench had plenty of other diverting materials.

Siv had no interest in such things and curled up against the base of the magnifying glass. The sun hit the metal through the window, making it quite warm.

Myran put their broom down and explored the desk. There were several magical tombs! Rare ones! They flipped through and saw fresh handwritten notes tucked inside. Smart, this mage did not want to tarnish the original pages. There was also an open notebook and a few spell components laid out.

They stepped carefully back onto the notebook to get a better idea of what this wizard was up to. The notebook was written in giant, which Myran wasn’t fluent in but got the gist of. So this was indeed a giant wizard. Fascinating.

That’s what they were thinking until...

FEE FI FO FUM!

Myran nearly jumped out of their boots.

No longer fascinating. Very bad. Very dangerous! They’d heard stories that quoted these lines, classic, even amusing. However, hearing them bellowed by an actual giant nearly stopped their heart. These words were so loud and so immediately panic-inducing, especially when accompanied by thundering footsteps.

I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE-

There was a pause and maybe a stutter

DWARVEN KIND!

The trap door off center in the room burst open and a giant with a mane of black hair, a trimmed goatee, and a wizard’s hat, climbed out. He was smiling, snarling, showing off impressive fangs.

USELESS TO FLEE, USELESS TO FIGHT, FOR YOU WILL BE MY MEAL TONIGHT!

Eat them!? Oh No. Myran scrambled to their feet as the giant advanced.

Siv had gone catatonic, or nearly, and fled behind the mirror. But Myran just stood there. The next thing they knew they were in the giant's fist.

Never had Myran imagined themselves in this predicament. Witches, as far as they knew, were not prone to being eaten by giants! Giants ate thieves, slayers, adventurers! Though... giants were known to occasionally eat random people that happened to be especially rude to them as they went about their business.

Myran had not been rude! They just hadn’t had a chance to be polite! This giant had no business eating them.

Not that any of this was actually going through Myran’s mind. Oh no. Myran’s thoughts were preoccupied with panicking about their impending doom!

They tried to get themselves free of the giant’s grip but like the giant said, it was useless to fight. Then the giant LICKED THEM IN THE FACE. Ugh it was so gross!! They sputtered.

Yonah sighed and pulled the dwarf away from his face just a bit. “It is rather disappointing, dwarves don’t taste nearly as good as most other smallfolk, but I’m not complaining”

He briefly loosened his grip and Myran took their chance to get an arm free. Big mistake. The giant hissed and caught the arm between his fangs!

YEOWCH!

Their arm was free but the giant still held them. Myran was barely paying attention, for the screams of the giant rattling their brain and the giants grip had intensified making it hard to breath.

Something bit his other hand and he waved it violently. Whatever it was released and smacked into the wall that the desk was up against. And crumpled into a motionless pile. Curious and momentarily forgetting his foe he investigated.

A cat!? And still alive but unconscious. Why had a cat attacked him? Then he saw the abandoned broom next to his notebook. And his stomach twisted.

“You’re— not a thief!” Technically he was a villain to anyone, he wasn’t restricted to adventurers. He was still figuring out what kind of villain he wanted to be. But now was not really the time for self exploration.

“I’m a witch!” He heard them squeak.

“A witch? Invading the lair of a wizard? Are you stupid!” He poked at their face. They didn’t like that.

“Let me go!”

The witch was shaking and wheezing, glancing at him with wide fearful eyes. Yonah loosened his grip to allow them to breathe properly.

“If you’re a witch then what the fuck were you doing in my tower?” Yonah demanded.

The witch was still in shock but recovered enough to speak. “I’m… Myran! I wanted to introduce myself!”

“A likely story! Why would anyone want to introduce themselves to me?” Yonah wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but figured he could use the practice at evil banter.

“You’re… new to the forest” they coughed.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m your neighbor!” they said,

Yonah narrowed his eyes, “The forest is constantly moving, no such thing as neighbors.”

“I figured I’d try to be friendly!” they continued as if he hadn’t replied. “Everyone was talking about the new mage in the tower, but no one had any definitive stories.”

Another mistake. The giant snarled.

“You are a fool then! I don’t want any friends!” He hesitated briefly as he said it, not sure of the truth, but recovered fast. “But I don’t want you spreading rumors about my mercy either…” he picked them back up. Gripping them hard and getting their right arm between his teeth. He didn’t bite their arm off, but broke the skin with a fang and pinched their hand. They yelled.

“Stop! Stop! I won't tell! I won’t tell!”

He dropped them and they sat, crying, holding their bleeding arm and hand which was turning a plum purple. The cat instantly got up and ran to his witch. Alternating between purring and hissing.

“Good” he hissed steam in their face, scalding the skin red, as his eyes glowed a bright orange. “Now get the fuck out before I decide to actually eat youl!” He flicked the broom at them “And if you ever show your face around here again, I will”

Finally, they listened to him. They got onto the broom along with their cat and with a burst of magic kicked into the air and fled out the window. Yonah watched until they disappeared, then sat down. His hair hadn’t been smoking before but it was now. Additionally, his eyes still glowed.

His first visitor in months wasn't an adventurer and he’d traumatized them without a second thought! Stupid stupid! Stupid!

Maybe this was his destiny. For years he’d trained himself to be restrained. Keep his anger in check, Keep his half giant identity a secret and become a wizard. But that had all gone to shit when he’d been discovered not as just a half giant but as a half fire witch. Chased out of the academy but captured by the authorities of Orr.

Forced to sign a contract with King Ben to become his new pet monster! So why not be a monster!?

But he still wanted friends… his friends from the academy weren’t allowed to visit him. His tower of magic and wonder was so empty. He put his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

~chink~ his elbow brushed against something.

He looked down and saw a broken clay pot, the soup spilling out and a seedling now helpless and exposed on the desk.

Quickly yonah dipped his fingers into a pouch at his side and licked off the powdered fungus before saying a spell. With a puff of smoke he stood on his desk, a mere 8ft tall, and he knelt down.

With his more appropriately sized hands he gathered the soil and with a wave of his hand and another mutter the pieces of the pot shook and flew back into their original places. The pot was… functionally repaired. The proper repair spell required materials to fuse the pieces properly. So it wouldn’t hold water but it could hold soil.

As he scooped it back in a piece of paper fell from the loose soil. Curious he dug it back out of the pot and cleaned it off enough to read:

“Welcome to the Mystical Woodlands new neighbor! This seedling is from my own garden. A special cultivation of Frozen Thyme.”

The moment he read it he was instantly planning where this would go in his garden. But… this gift. Did he deserve it? He’d terrorized the one who brought it. He chased them away!

With a thump he sat on his desk, looking around him, trying to imagine what this experience had been from the witch’s perspective. Tried to imagine what it would be like to have a snarling giant loom over you and snatch you up, when all you wanted to do was say hello...

He couldn’t accept this gift but he couldn’t just let the seedling wither and die. It didn’t deserve that. And thus, his brain rationalized a way for him to keep the gift. So now what?

Yonah’s brain was too full of rage to do any proper work, so he decided to take it out on the garden, which was still in a state of construction. He’d already torn up old dead pieces of the overgrown mess left behind by the predecessor. Now he was digging spots for flower beds and what would hopefully be an orchard. There was even a designated spot for herbs.

The reason this was slow going was he refused to use magic. For the most part. Thankfully, being giant made digging and construction easier. Now that he had the thyme, he prioritized the herb beds.  It was with a sour pride that he completed one as the sun started to go down.

A large wooden box that curved in a lovely arc close to the tower. The wood was specially imported from his The Blue Sky Mountain Giants Tribe in the Implausible Mountains, the smell of it reminding him of home. The frozen thyme seedling was given enough space to grow. He even gave it some friends that he knew would be compatible.

With his mind a little more at ease, he managed to get himself to sleep.

And awoke the next morning with an ache in his heart and a new plan in his brain.

For the first time since he arrived in this prison of a forest, he ventured beyond the boundaries of his clearing. Yonah knew he was allowed, a certain distance from his tower, to walk the forest. It had just seemed pointless. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he wore his gardening outfit: a pink plaid button up and light blue overalls. He had a straw hat that he recently wove to be a wizard hat, as well as his wizard staff. He couldn’t really leave that behind.

The trees in the forest were shorter than back home, but still very large. Thankfully he didn't have to duck so much to avoid branches. In his mind was a list of ingredients he needed to find. Foraging in the forest might seem like a fruitless endeavor, but when you have the keen nose of a giant, tracking down wildberries was a simple feat.

What a bounty! A huge patch of bramble with perfectly ripe berries. He didn’t need a giant’s amount and they would just get squashed if he tried to pick them at his normal size so once again he shrank down. He retrieved a basket from his hat and started to pick berries.

About ten minutes in, the bush began to shift! A section opened up and out ran a gnome with a garden spade. It smacked into his hand mid berry pick.

“Stop! Thief!”

SMACK SMACK!

Yonah was so startled he backed away and returned to his normal size, the basket of berries spilling over.

The gnome yelped.  “Giant!” They dropped the spade. “Don’t eat me! Take berries! Don’t eat me or family!”

There was something satisfying about the gnome’s fear and Yonah grinned, “While you would make for a nice little snack,” he said, “I’m not in the mood for gnome today.”

The gnome shook and took up the spade again, pointing it at him as if that would help. From inside the bushes, Yonah heard rustling, and smelled more gnomes. This must cover their burrow.

“Put that away, or I might change my mind!” Yonah growled, showing his fangs. The gnome complied, tossing it aside.

“But you are also in luck. I am not interested in being a berry thief. I have more honor than that. If you would permit me to buy some of your berries, at a discount for me not making a meal of you and your family, I will leave you in peace”

The gnome gulped and nodded, “Am… sure we can make a deal.”

“Pick up the ones I already picked, will you?” Yonah ordered.

The gnome scrambled. “You will need more?”

Yonah nodded. The gnome whistled. And a troupe of younger gnomes carefully came out of the bramble.

“Kind giant has offered to buy some berries. Exchange for not eating us!”

The kids looked nervous and their fear didn’t spark the same kind of joy as the adults. But Yonah had a reputation to build! And he had to admit, it was still a bit fun.

He watched as the gnomes gathered berries until the basket was full and the adult gnome put it down in front of where Yonah had sat down. He picked it up and took off his hat, dropping it in and noticed the gnome’s eyes get wide. Storage space items were not uncommon, but storage hats were tools of professional mages, not common folk.

“That all?” the gnome asked.

Yonah stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes. I think so.” He reached into this hat. While he didn’t have a lot of money, Ben had supplied him with funds should he need them, and he had distributed the rings between his various pocket spaces. He got out a large wooden dowel upon which hung many metal rings. Small ones and large ones. With a pair of tweezers, yonah removed a few silver rings and one gold ring and put them into his palm, placing it up in front of the gnome.

Who did not take it.

“Do not insult me by refusing my payment,” Yonah insisted but the gnome did not move.

“More than we charge normally… You wanted discount: berries, a silver a pound!”

Yonah blinked. He still wasn’t good with smallfolk money. When purchasing as a giant, you purchased such large amounts it always cost at least a gold.

“Oh? Er-” he didn’t want to actually exploit these gnomes. “I'm not taking it back! Take the money Or I’ll eat you!” his voice faltered and the gnomes looked a little confused, and a little more relaxed.

“Leave us alone then, yes?” The gnome reached out a hand. Yonah nodded. The gnome finally took the money, giving each of the kids a silver ring. Any fear the kids had was gone as soon as they studied their rings and looked at Yonah with excitement. It was hard not to let the warmth in his heart at their expressions show on his own face.

“Actually!” Yonah announced as the gnomes started to back away into their burrow.

The adult stopped and looked nervous again. Yonah huffed. “I’m not going to eat you, I never was. I just have a question.”

The gnome ushered the kids away, not trusting Yonah, before turning back to the giant. “And if don’t have a good answer, you won’t eat… right?”

With a sigh Yonah shook his head, “No. I won't.”

“Then ask.”

Yonah took a breath, “I am... looking to get some ingredients. I… lashed out at someone recently and I very much regret it, and want to make some amends. I have giant ones back home but… giant sized ingredients do not taste as strong as small ones. Do you know where, or who, I might be able to look for?”

The gnome smiles, “Yes! Mystical Market. Sell our berries there. Open today, also gnome holiday.” They gave Yonah the instructions on how to find the market.

“Thank you- er…” Yonah put a hand to his chest and bowed.

“Kalle” said Kalle.

“Yonah,” said Yonah. The gnome bowed as well, “Don’t be flaunting riches, mysterious half giant. Marketeers take advantage”

Riches!? He did not have endless funds. He would have to be more careful with his spending.

“I am also looking for… Er... Shit!” he exclaimed and was glad the kids were no longer outside, “I don't know their name. Dwarf witch.”

Kalle considered, “Know them. Likes almond cookies. Sorry. Market easier find than people. That all?”

From their tone of voice, Yonah knew the gnome desperately wanted to get back to their family. It was a holiday after all. Yonah stood up and nodded, leaving without subjecting them to any more conversation.

Almond cookies? That changed things. He had only made almond cookies once! He needed a little more help. However, he did not backtrack to the tower. He knew that if he went back, he would lose motivation. Locating the market was his current task.

Unfortunately, it took some luck. According to the gnome, it was a special place that one happened to come across, just by wanting to be there. The more familiar you were with it, the better chance there was of that happening. Yonah really really wanted to be there. So he gathered his will and set off in a random direction.

After an hour of walking yonah felt a weird tingle all over his arms and legs. Like his hair was standing on end and all pointing in the same direction. Had he entered some magical field? No matter, he was fairly immune to passive magic.

Then he took another step and a jolt of magic electricity surged through his body, causing him to freeze up. Before he could collapse, he felt as if a giant hook had caught around his middle. There was no physical hook, but it still yanked him back, pulling in through the forest.

Eventually it stopped and finally Yonah fell over, breathing shallowly as his heart raced. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the trees.

“What’s the big idea!?” Someone kicked him in the side and he sat up. “You’re blocking the way!”

An elf!

Yonah frowned. “You’re so bold for someone I could crush with a finger!” To tease the elf, he poked them in the chest.

“YEOWCH!”

For the second time that day, Yonah got bitten. This time, it was the elf who sank their fangs into his finger, letting go before Yonah pulled away.

“Don’t get sassy with me! Messing with smallfolk isn’t allowed in the market, you'll be banned!”

Yonah looked around “The market?”

He had assumed it was the Mystical Market because it was in the Mystical Woodlands. But now he realized that the name was rather accurate. An entire marketplace incorporated into the forest itself. Stalls and restaurants built into the trees, with carts parked in between.  The trees here were also… there was no other word for it: majestic. Larger and older and, compared to the forest he had been exploring before, more deliberate spacing. He couldn’t even see all of it. The forest stretched on for a while, and thus was obscured by the very trees that made up the shops.

There were even buildings in the branches so that ogres, trolls, and giants did not have to bend down to make transactions. He even spotted a few trolls. Amazing! Trolls (and ogres) were much more likely than giants to eat smallfolk. Giants mostly threatened unless the person in question did something really, really stupid.

And yet, there was a troll, large with brown fur and green spots, purchasing a roll of fabric from the elevated section of a gnome shop.

“Yes you idiot, the market! And my cart won't fit through any other path! Move your giant ass or I’ll get the guard to move it for you!”

His elation at having found the market was in conflict with his pride that was being so insulted by this little creature.

“Apologize for biting me, and I’ll consider it!”

The elf looked indignant, “You threatened to squash me! MAGEN!!” they yelled.

Thunderous footsteps were heard and Yonah turned as a proper, full blooded giant, made her way through the shoppers, somehow avoiding stepping on anyone. She was maybe 17, but full grown and taller than Yonah by at least ten feet. Her skin was a light greyish pink and her eyes were a dark red. She wore a lovely headpiece of woven flowers and vines to look like hair, which full giants do not have.

She knelt “This man bothering you?”

The elf nodded. Yonah threw his hands up, “Hey! I don’t mean any trouble!”

“He threatened to squash me!”

The giant glared at, Yonah who glared back.

“How large folk deal with smalls outside of the market is their own business,” she said. “But inside the market we do not even threaten to squash, or kick, or stomp, or eat!”

“I did not intend to and I did not know I was in the market! I have never been before!” Yonah stood up so that he was not at such an extreme height disadvantage. Magen was a rather short mountain giant, only 35ft tall.

She nodded, “I can believe that.” She stood up. “I would have remembered you for sure.” She sniffed and said in implausible Giant: “You are from the blue sky tribe?”

“Yes! I am.” he answered, also in Giant. “I just moved to the forest. I was looking for the market but… I must have… hit something magic. I sort of fell into here”.

The elf took the opportunity to weave their cart around the giants’ feet, disappearing into the market.

“Ah, the seller seems to no longer push this issue. My name is Magen.” she introduced, bowing.

“Yonah HaEsh,” Yonah answered in return.

“HaEsh! I know the name. Fire man who helped save the Implausible Mountains from the Society of Wizards!”

“That’s my dad,” Yonah said, a little embarrassed.

“Mom told me the story! How exciting!”

Yonah brushed himself off and glanced around, “So... What are the rules here, then?”

Magen shrugged, “Just don’t start fights, alright? All sales are final, so don't go making a fuss if you haggled wrong or think you got cheated unless you believe your items are defective. There are ways to deal with fraudulent goods, but we cannot risk collateral damage.”

“Does that happen often?” Yonah asked, “I only mean to buy food, I can tell if that’s fresh”

“Oh, you have a giant’s nose then. Good. It does not happen often. Makes my job easier. And I usually manage to break up confrontations before they get out of hand.”

Knowing he could likely sniff out the stalls he needed, Yonah asked if Magen could show him around and help him find all the items on his list. She happily agreed. He had to walk behind her as there wasn’t room for two giants to be side by side.

As she carefully led him, she took glances back and down Yonah who was getting a little nervous. It had been a while since he encountered other giants. He was watching his feet to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and he was stopping constantly to look into the shops and stalls and carts.

“What is it like, being half giant?” Magen asked, who somehow managed to walk without looking at her feet very often at all. Maybe Yonah was being too careful and people here knew to stay out of the way of large folk's feet… Still, he didn't want to take chances.

“Er… I have hair, I guess?” he said.

“I was wondering if that was natural or a wig.” Magen brushed the vines spilling from her head.

“But mostly, things were just a bit inconveniently large for me. I still managed.” Then he countered. “What’s it like being a guard in the market?”

“The shopkeepers pool money to have me stand around, mostly. Smallfolk behave when an angry giant is within earshot.” She grinned with all her fangs.

“I thought you said giants couldnt mess with smallfolk here?” Yonah inquired.

“You can’t. It’s my job to interfere,” Magen retorted. “I haven't hurt anyone… badly. I’ve only worked here for a year. But I know everyone and everyone knows me!”

They stopped at a stand selling nuts and Yonah purchased the almonds he needed. The seller seemed a bit disappointed that he bought so few.

“Shopping for someone small?” Magen asked.

“Er- yeah.” Yonah said. They both had to back between trees to let a trio of trolls go by. One was only 10 feet tall and barely came up to Yonah’s waist, but another was nearly 20 feet! They carried baskets and bags on their furry backs, and even had some tied to their tusks!

Before they continued, two elves leapt from the tree nearby and onto Yonah’s shoulders! He was about to brush them off when Magen stopped him.

“Don’t! They are just hitching rides!” At that, he spotted more elves on her head. “You need honey, yes? I know the best shop!”

He followed Magen around the market, which was much larger than he had realized. The elves had no qualms about leaping on and off him and other largefolk shoppers and eventually he ignored them. Magen even helped him avoid making a bad deal for oat flour, saying she couldn’t believe the nerve of the shopkeeper trying to take advantage of a new resident.

Before Yonah left, he wanted to properly thank Magen. “If there is anything I can do to show thanks. Perhaps er-” he looked around.

“You know, the juice stand behind that tree has new flavors I’ve wanted to try. How about you buy me a drink? You should get one too. It’s very refreshing!”

“They make them giant sized?” Yonah asked.

“Oh, they are made by ogres!” Magen replied, rounding the indicated tree.

Ogres, kin of trolls and even more dangerous due to their magical powers. Typically smaller than trolls, but that was not the way to tell them apart.

An entire family of ogres were operating a massive open storefront. Jugs hung from branches or were strapped to the trunks of trees and fruit swung in baskets. Behind the counter was an elaborate prep station operated by two large ogres. Around the entire display were platforms sticking out from the nearby trees. Smallfolk sat on stools enjoying drinks and food at an elevation that made it easy to be served by the ogres. Magen walked up to the counter, which was not at an ideal height for her but was easily manageable. She spoke to an ogre with straw colored fur, blue spots, and large horns.

“Edna! I’d like two passion fruit smoothies please! One giant sized and one…” She glanced back at Yonah. “Full Troll sized!” She stepped aside and pointed at Yonah. “He’s paying”

Edna nodded and passed on the order.

Yonah stepped forward. Bowing “Yonah HaEsh”. She bowed back, “Edna Baneclaw. That will be a gold bracelet for the giant and half for the full troll”

Yonah’s heart nearly stopped. A gold bracelet and a half !? He looked at Magen who flashed her fangs mischievously then back at Enda.

Edna smiled as well. “We don’t have enlarged passion fruit, not in high demand by largefolk.”

With another glare at Magen, Yonah fished into his hat. He didn’t have gold bracelets but he had rings. 10 silver to a gold. Rings to Rings. Bracelets to Bracelets… 10 gold rings to a silver bracelet… 10 silver bracelets to a gold ring. That’s 100 gold rings to a gold bracelet (he had really overpaid the gnomes for the berries... A holiday gift he supposed), but this was not money to spend on frivolous fruit drinks!

Too late, however. The drinks were ready, and he carefully removed golden rings from silver bracelets. 50 gold rings and 10 silver bracelets exchanged for two smoothies. They came in wooden cups with bamboo straws.

This better be fucking worth it. Yonah took a sip.

His eyes widened as the cool icy tart concoction hit his taste buds and he took a long drink. Finally, he looked at Magen and then Edna. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed. Magen grinned and sipped hers as well. “Yeah. Too bad we’re the last two to have some for at least a month!”

“What do you mean?”

“That took all the passion fruit we had,” Edna informed. “Won't get more for a while”

“Worth it! Suck it smallfolk!” Magen teased the people on the platforms, a few looked a bit annoyed, but most didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care either.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Yonah. I hope to see you again. Oh, and by the way, you can return your mug to the ogres for a silver bracelet, even if you take it home today!”

Yonah glanced at his drink. “Oh! Thanks for letting me know. But where are you going?”

Magen sipped at her smoothie loudly before answering. “This was my break, silly, I need to go back on proper duty now, and you have all your things.” Magen held out her free hand and Yonah shook it, bidding her goodbye. It was getting late in the day now and he wanted to get to work on the almond cookies.

Wait… which way was back to the tower? How could he be so stupid wandering off like this!? His mom taught him better than that. Forest ranger rule number 1: DON’T GET LOST. ...okay, so that wasn’t really a rule. It was supposed to imply that you paid attention to where you were going so you could get back. This was not so easy in the Mystic Woods.

The moment he had walked far enough away from the market, he turned forward and then back, and it was already gone. He had nowhere to go but forward.

It was to his great surprise that only a minute later, he exited the dense trees and found himself in the clearing. The tower was on the opposite side. While he was elated to have made it back safely before dark, there was a distinct absence of any gladness to be home. This was not his home, after all. It was his prison.

Yonah HaEsh climbed up the tower and back into his prison. He took off his hat and sat down at his desk in the workshop, staring into the reflection on the large, ornate mirror that rested upon it.

To do this right, he needed help. Professional help. So he activated his mirror. Or at least… tried. He stared at his own reflection, then spoke. “Mirror Mirror on the desk,” he faltered, “Could you please connect me to Shoshana at the academy?”

The mirror snorted. “You think politeness will work after all this time? I don’t make exceptions. This is why your friends think you’ve forgotten about them! Put in the effort! Ask me properly or don't at all.”

“They’ve called me!!” Yonah insisted, but the mirror said nothing in response. Just like he would do when he got calls from his friends. Yonah growled and snorted back at the mirror, fogging it up. “Mirror Mirror, oh magical vanity, I wish to call Shoshana, at the wizard academy”

There was a whistle from the mirror. “Now that’s how you do it!” it praised. The fog cleared and for a brief moment, he saw his own face again before the reflective surface turned grey. Another moment and the face of his friend Shoshana emerged.

“Yonah!!!” she exclaimed. “You called! I cannot believe it!”

Yonah’s face turned a bit red. “I’ve… been distracted.”

Shoshana waved her hand, stopping any further excuses. “You’ve been through so much! I was worried! Since we graduated, you haven't called at all!”

/I never called before either... / Yonah thought. /It was always you.../ When Grand Master Sean reinstated him as a wizardling student, his friends would call regularly to work on homework and their theses, as he wasn’t allowed to actually attend the school in person. And while he attended the graduation…

That wasn’t a happy memory at all and he didn’t want to think about how he sat behind all the students in the amphitheater in magic chains looking more like a beast one of the adventuring tract students had wrangled for their final than a student.

“I need a recipe!” he said.

Shoshana raised her brows “That’s it!? First call in over a month, and it’s to get a recipe! You don’t want to catch up at all?!” Yonah’s eyes flickered and Shoshana backed off. “Alright, I can see you’re not in the mood. But please, we’re all missing you so much. We’d assumed you embraced the evil hermit wizard life.”

“I… haven’t meant to. But it’s surprisingly easy,” he admitted, grinning awkwardly. “I’d rather not go full hermit, of course.”

“Well, then dont go a month without calling your friends!” Shoshana chided. “Or make some new friends! The forest is full of interesting people, right?”

Yonah looked away, but his eyes were probably glowing orange now.

“This… is for that.”

“Oh!” Shoshana exclaimed, “I should have figured! Of course, I will give you whatever recipe you’d like.”

Yonah got out his ingredients to show Shoshana and explained what he wanted to bake. She nodded and made some suggestions for ingredients and spices to really make these cookies great. He did not have all the supplies she suggested, which led to some back-and-forth as Shoshana pointed out some substitutions for what Yonah bought or already had in his tower.

“Got that all down?” she asked, as she watched Yonah scribble out the final lines to the recipe.

“Yes!” Yonah exhaled in relief. “Thank you so much, Shosh!”

“Next time, we will catch up properly, but I had fun designing this recipe!” Shoshana chirped. “What a challenge. I wish you had called first, before just buying random ingredients.”

“I was already in the forest, Shosh.”

“I know, I know.” Shoshana blew Yonah a kiss and the mirror flickered back to his reflection.

It was time to bake! Which he did after shrinking down.

By the time he was done baking his jam print almond cookies, it was past midnight. He needed sleep and didn't think finding the witch at night was a particularly wise idea, especially since he was getting tired. That meant he was extra likely to be grumpy and irritable. So he placed the cookies in a special cooling rack to keep them magically fresh, then went to bed.

It was right after breakfast that Yonah HaEsh left the tower and, for the second time, entered the forest.

Once again, he had no direction, not that one could in the Mystic Woods. It wasn't even possible to have a map unless it was incredibly magical. Still, he was determined and willing to wander the forest for days if he must! But he’d do so at his full size, which would allow him to cover more ground.

That’s… That’s a witch’s hut! He hoped it was the correct one. It was more of a mound than a hut, with one side covered in rocks and moss and the other a more sheer side with windows, plus a flatter side with a door.

As he approached, a garden came into view and he heard a yelp before watching a small figure dart into the hut and close the curtains. The door opened briefly and a hand hung a sign that read “NO SOLICITORS”

That was the evil giant! Why was he here!? Why did the forest let him find the hut!? Was he here to eat them?! To finish the job!? Could they take on a giant fire witch?! Myran was a damn skilled witch, and at least 15 years the giant’s senior by their estimate, but they were quaking in their boots.

A knock sounded at their door. It didn’t sound forceful enough to be a giant.  Siv was in front of them, hissing at the door. Thinking it better to be safe, they peeked out the window, then ran to open the door. Just a crack.

Red faced and holding a basket was… the giant. Only he wasn’t giant. Not exactly. He now stood at about twice Myran’s height. A little less actually. Right. Wizard. Giant wizard.

“May I come in?”

“Depends… what’s in the basket?” They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

The wizard’s face got redder as he removed the cover. They opened the door and stood aside. They took the basket with their right hand… Yonah hesitated. Their arm had a massive scar from shoulder to elbow, but the hand was unbroken. The Dwarf noticed and gave him a hard look as he crouched low to get through the dwarf sized door, Siv still hissing at him in warning.

Myran put the basket on the kitchen table and motioned to the couch. “Please, sit.” Yonah did. The couch was small for him but it took his weight. “I’m going to be honest.” Myran leaned against the kitchen table and crossed their arms. “This is quite the unexpected visit.”

They leaned against the kitchen table and crossed their arms.

“Oh?” Yonah said, of course it made sense, he threatened them, bitten them, chased them out, why would he then try to find them again.

“You bit me! You broke my hand! And You said if you saw me again you would eat me!”

/Ohhhh/

Yonah’s breath caught before managing to say “I did… didn’t I.” He looked down at his feet.

They sighed.

“Yep. Though eating me at your current size would be an impressive feat. So- What the fuck are you doing here? Besides bringing me cookies to fatten me up.”

“I’m not-!” He looked back up to defend himself and saw their cheeky grin. “I didn’t come here to eat you…” they raised an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief.

“I want to apologize. For chasing you away like that. I was so angry. I still am, though mostly at myself. I shouldn't have hurt you, you weren't an adventurer. It wasn’t right.” He was almost crying. Dammit, he’d gone nearly a month without crying!

The witch raised both eyebrows now, genuinely curious as to the workings of this monster’s thoughts.  “Youre sorry for chasing me away!? You threatened to eat me!”

“It’s my job! It’s my job to terrorize people, Especially those who enter my tower unannounced. It’s part of my job! And… and I like it!” He startled himself with that statement. He liked his job? He didn’t even want this job!! He was forcefully employed by the King under threat of more conventional imprisonment! Being evil had never been his plan and he didn’t want that. Didn’t he?

The witch didn’t look completely satisfied with this answer. But they didn’t get to inquire further as Yonah’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Er- your hand…”

Myran smiled “It was rather mangled by your jaws yesterday. Luckily, I am a very good healer, and well-known in this forest. If you had killed me, you would have had a lot of angry forest residents after your head.” Myran began preparing a pot of tea as Yonah Processed that statement.  “You’re a lucky giant aren’t you?”

“What?” Yonah voiced. “For not killing you and putting a target on my back?”

“Yes, exactly. And that was curious. It is rare that evil giants are merciful.”

Yonah looked away, “I’ve only been evil for a few months. I… you’re the third person I've faced as my er… villainous self. And I haven’t… I dont plan on... eating anyone.”

That surprised Myran. “I guess I do not know the frequency that giants normally encounter adventurers…”

“You said it yourself, Evil Giants eat people…” Yonah pointed out, “But it comes with a cost… I am worried… even if I don't... It’s only a matter of time before slayers come after me.”

“Most evil giants kill their victims. Right?” they asked more directly.

Yonah shrugged “I met another one once. Said it depended on his mood.”

“Fascinating… though if you keep up your merciful streak, perhaps you are less likely to attract slayers?”

“Perhaps…” Yonah had not considered that. He just felt he wasn’t ready to kill anyone yet, but maybe there were other perks than just his own conscience to continue to let his victims go.

“Cracked some sort of code then? Getting to be a villain without attracting too much attention?” Then they added “Not that this would stop all slayers. I expect you would kill a slayer?”

Yonah wasn’t really listening to Myran any longer. There were other things on his mind. Things he had spent the entire walk over here mulling over, and he had to voice them sooner rather than later.

As tears welled in his eyes he couldn’t look at Myran any longer. He closed his eyes and turned his face away.

“I know I said I didn’t want any friends. But I do! I need them. And I know I can’t be your friend. You came to me and I fucked it up. But I beseech you to not tell everyone else in the forest to avoid me. I already went to the mystical market and-“

“You… how did you find out that I liked almonds!”

Yonah looked up. They weren’t looking at him but reaching into the basket for another cookie. They munched on it thoughtfully, not a crumb falling into their beard.  The tea was ready and Myran poured it with magic, leaving their hands free to hold more cookies.  They walked over to Yonah, the tea cups floating with. He took the larger one out of mid air. It was very hot! And he drank. It was… It tasted like tea he’d had at home. His village had alway gotten various teas from the dwarves. New tears came to his eyes.

“You alright?” Myran asked, offering a handkerchief. “You’re a very emotional evil giant.”

Yonah took it and dried his eyes. “The tea is… really good.” That wasn’t the real reason but right now he couldn’t process all of his emotions.

“It’s my grandma’s blend,” Myran said. “I’ve tried to replicate it using my garden, but you just can’t replicate those tunnel grown fungi.”

They dipped one of the cookies into the tea. From their expression, it wasn’t really a mistake but likely didn’t improve the experience. Still they munched thoughtfully.

“I’ll be your friend.”

Yonah’s jaw nearly hit the floor and he almost dropped his tea. It was a few seconds before he managed to pick his jaw back up. Were they serious? They walked over to him, placing their much smaller hand over one of his. Then they smiled most disarmingly.

“Just don’t eat me!”

Yonah smiled.

“I think I can manage that”

[FIN]

——

(You can imagine that Yonah got to hug Myran before he left, probably a little too tight but dwarves are tough!)

[THANKS FOR READING! PLEASE REBLOG/GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I CRAVE IT!]

Big thanks to my editors @j0hnnymouse and @vixen525

[thepetulantpen]

Two Librarians in Armageddon

(Day 5 of @shadowgastweek! Only had time for one fic this week, but after I read this prompt my brain said Pacific Rim AU and would not leave me alone until I wrote this. It’s pretty long, so here’s the ao3 link.)

(Pacific Rim AU, featuring the wizards as scientists!)

Caleb would not say he’s fond of working with others, let alone sharing his lab.

Solitary work is more in his nature, but after years of sharing close-quarters with Veth- and after getting adjusted to Jester, in general- he’s learned to tolerate, even enjoy, having company while he’s working. His friends have more than prepared him for anyone else he’ll have to work with; they’ve ensured that he’ll be hanging onto his habits of keeping anything important secured, in the event of an unexpected explosion, and of guarding his coffee with his life, in the event of poorly-timed pranks.

He does not think his new lab partner will be bringing any unstable explosives, or sugary abominations to replace his coffee with.

From what he’s been told, the new addition to their little pre-apocalypse team is a physicist working on tech for a competing company, someone far outside Caleb’s scope. The fact that they still have competing companies of mech-developers while there are aliens bursting from the sea to eat them is a nightmare all its own, but the writhing horrors of capitalism are a beast that science, and the Kaiju guts strewn across the table before him, has proved ineffective against.

The truce between them, in the interest of allowing powerful Jaegers to work together, is an uneasy and temporary one. Caleb, personally, doesn’t think it’ll last beyond one or two failures. He just hopes they won’t fall back into the slew of sabotages that plagued them at the beginning of their downward spiral, before everyone realized the world may actually be ending.  

The rather small detail of imminent Armageddon has made his preference, or lack thereof, for company inconsequential. In the long run- or short, if they don’t manage a major breakthrough soon- his opinions as an introvert are insignificant.

It’s not all bad- as an innately curious person, the opportunity to meet someone just as experienced as him in the field of Kaiju is fascinating. Particularly considering that their specialization is so different; he’s almost looking forward to the new insight. He’d even be excited if it wasn’t for the subject matter.

It can be challenging to be enthusiastic about the driving force of the apocalypse.

He digs deeper into the partially collapsed chunk of Kaiju ribcage in front of him, no longer bothered by his poor choice of distraction. It’s a misnomer to call it a ribcage, given that the Kaiju do not have bones in the classical sense, but it’s close enough in location to approximate. He’d rather have a brain to work with, though he’ll settle for what he can get. Storing Kaiju is difficult, with their accelerated rate of rot once exposed to the air- if he’s not careful, his work could be reduced to ash in an hour.

He needs to catalogue the differences between this corpse and the last, pinpointing patterns in organ placement. The work is dull, while still requiring his full concentration to avoid puncturing any of the many, many inexplicably acidic organs. If he wasn’t already good friends with the base’s medics, he would’ve been taken off this job long ago.

Once he’s elbow-deep in a Kaiju, he stops paying attention to the door. He does not notice the knocking, nor the quiet greeting, nor the faint whir of machinery as his new colleague hovers through the doorway.

“Should you be touching that? It looks toxic.”

Caleb jumps at the voice beside him and the scalpel in his hand jerks, cutting into the mystery organ he’d been considering removing. Something vaguely liquid hits his wrist above the glove and he waits two seconds to see if it’ll burn, before deciding he probably doesn’t need to run screaming to the nearest med station.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, partially in response and partially to himself. “I know what I’m doing.”

He looks down, towards his new colleague, who, at first glance, is thoroughly unimpressed at that lie.

He sits in a wheelchair- minus the wheels, as it hovers gently off the ground, coming to about the same height the wheels would give it. Clearly a new model- hovering technology aside- it’s a sleek, minimalist white, matching his equally sleek, swept back white hair. The high turtleneck and overly formal coat allow Caleb to immediately peg him as somewhat uptight. Near-apocalypse has made formality rare.

Caleb hurries to wash his hands, finding the nearby sink labelled for nasty, potentially lethal chemical disposal. “I was told you’d arrive today, but,” he glances up at the dingy lab clock, the glass cracked from Veth’s last visit, “I didn’t imagine it’d be so soon. It’s, uh, a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, unconvincingly, and changes track, “That desk is mine, yes?”

There’s only one other desk in the room, moved there sometime yesterday after Caleb, under threat from his superiors, managed to shift away some of the boxes that line the walls. It’s only a small space, but it’s the cleanest part of the room.

The question, he reasons, is rhetorical, but Caleb nods anyway. He considers that answer enough- though the other man doesn’t move, staring at him expectantly. He’s oddly expressive, his attempts to keep a completely straight face only making any slipups, like the annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, more obvious.

It makes it easy to see the exact moment his patience runs out.

“I’m sure you were informed, but,” here, he looks to the side, dodging Caleb’s returning attention, “for the sake of introductions, I am Essek Thelyss.”

Ah, so that’s what he’d forgotten. Caleb thinks it’s unfair that he had to fail miserably at one of the last introductions he will have made before the end of the world- surely, he could’ve had just one go smoothly.

“Oh- I’m Caleb,” he reaches out a hand, meeting Essek’s already extended one for a brief shake- his hands may be clean now, but Essek doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of touching Kaiju guts, even  indirectly, “Caleb Widogast.”

Something unidentifiable passes over Essek’s expression- disappointment or judgement, perhaps, at not recognizing the name. Widogast is not printed on any books, nor is it associated with anything high-profile like Thelyss; strictly, it doesn’t exist at all.

That, or the smell of the rotting Kaiju getting to him.

As he watches Essek pause halfway across the room to clear his path, and again to widen the space around his desk, Caleb is hit with the vivid realization that this isn’t going to be an enlightening, academic experience, nor an uncomfortable few days of socialization. It’s going to be more than a bump in the alien-fueled crisis that is his current existence.

This is going to be a disaster.

…

“Widogast, do you have any idea where my notebook’s gone?”

It has only taken Caleb three days to be able to identify the various tones for annoyed in Essek’s voice. There’s this is a minor inconvenience and this is a major inconvenience and this is one of many annoying things I haven’t pointed out yet today, including, but not limited to, the ever-present stench of Kaiju flesh.

He can say, with relative confidence, that this falls into the latest category.

“Have you tried all your desk drawers?” he calls over his shoulder, knowing the question is unnecessary but stalling for time as he heaves the last of the Kaiju parts- partially burned and fragmented limbs, today- onto his work table.

Essek, unlike Caleb, is meticulously organized, never misplaces anything and files according to system that escapes Caleb, no matter how many times he tries to decode it. From Essek’s perspective, the rest of the lab is a dangerous no man’s land of abject chaos- though Caleb has never lost anything. He knows, precisely, where everything is, no piece of preserved alien fading from his memory. An organization system is pointless, when one has a photographic memory.

That is, until one has to share a lab with someone who bothers to keep track of their belongings.

He doesn’t wait for a response, already able to picture Essek behind him, sitting with his arms crossed and looking deeply disappointed by Caleb’s suggestion, which amounts to did you turn it on and off again? Leaving the still sealed Kaiju parts where they are, he turns back to his own desk.

After exonerating himself and Essek, the list of suspects for meddling with their desks is very short. The base, these days, is not the hub of activity it used to be, back when there were far more Jaeger pilots alive and far better morale. Their lab is typically empty, aside from Caleb and Essek, as few people are inclined towards the smell of dead Kaiju. Even the corporals, some of the rare higher-ups with clearance, can’t be bothered to visit more frequently than their mandatory check-ins.

He can only think of two people who clearance would not be an issue for.

“Is he handsome, Caleb?”

“I don’t think it would be professional—”

“He definitely is, Jessie.”

Before today, he’d thought that Jester and Veth hadn’t gotten around to the visit they’d been threatening; clearly, they’d taken the liberty while he wasn’t in. Veth knows better than to steal notebooks- she wouldn’t be interested in them, anyway- and Jester isn’t in the habit of taking things, only misplacing them.

Caleb hardly ever uses his own desk, preferring to leave his notebooks scattered over the lab tables, in easier reach. Only the older ones are still perched on his desk, in a precariously tall pile- but one notebook stands out from the rest, not quite as ratty and overstuffed as his own.

“Ah, here it is,” he holds it up, gesturing Essek over and trying not to look too sheepish- it is not, after all, his fault. As he hands it over, and quickly turns back to his work, he can only hope that Jester hasn’t doodled anything too embarrassing inside. “Jester must have misplaced it, while exploring the lab.”

“Jester?” Essek asks, eyebrows furrowing in something that would be irritation, if his expression wasn’t trained to be so stoic, “Is she supposed to have clearance here?”

“The medical staff have free reign, in case of incidents with hazardous material.” He glances back at Essek, who still looks confused, and remembers that not everyone is on a first-name basis with the medics. “Jester Lavorre. You might know Caduceus- that is, Mr. Clay- better. He’s the more… healing inclined, of the two.”

“Jester Lavorre,” Essek starts, slowly as he unpacks his own question, “regularly comes here to… explore? What, she just, rifles through your things?”

He is not sure how to explain the idea of Jester to someone who doesn’t know her.

Essek already looks delightfully confounded- a considerable a departure from his typical stern concentration. Caleb almost wants to thank Jester for pulling Essek away from the handheld chalkboards he spends his days bent over, lines of nearly indecipherable equations appearing and disappearing with only the smudge of chalk on Essek’s hands as evidence of their existence. Distracting Essek has proved to be a challenge- even the sounds of saws and the number of other unpleasant devices involved in Kaiju dissection don’t get Caleb so much as a glance.

He does not try to explain Jester, opting to shrug, instead. “She knows she can find me here, so she stays until I show up. Sometimes she gets bored.” It occurs to him that other people haven’t been prepped for company in the same way he has. It occurs to him that it is abnormal to brace for a scavenger hunt every time he enters the lab. “I suggest you leave your important documents in a locked drawer.”

He refrains from telling Essek that Veth can pick locks and that Jester has broken open desk drawers before (there was an incident involving a prank war, smuggling, and increasingly desperate hiding places). None of it seems particularly reassuring.

Essek gives him a strange look, but nods. “I will keep that in mind.”

“You might also find things that aren’t yours by your desk.” Caleb looks over his shoulder to see Essek still watching him. “Consider them gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Caleb pauses, realizing that none of the things he was about to list are work-appropriate, “Well, it could be anything.”

Caleb’s starting to worry that he might end up causing the rift between companies that leads to the end of the world- with his terrible first impression, and equally bad secondary impressions- but when a parasol shows up at Essek’s desk a day later, he does not ask Caleb where it came from.

He does, however, quietly ask Caleb to send along his thanks to Jester.

…

“I am not imagining that it smells particularly bad today, yes?”

Caleb has acquired, in part thanks to Veth, partial halves of two Kaiju hearts. Partial is the best they could manage, on account of the massive holes blown in the beasts’ chests. Nonetheless, he’s ecstatic- an opportunity like this, for a direct comparison, is rare.

Kaiju barbecue, as it turns out, does not smell very appetizing. It is what he would think a bucket of cleaning supplies set on fire would smell like, though it leaves the air with the unpleasant aftertaste of cheap fruit snacks.

“They’re a little charred,” he says, hiding a smile- they are far more than a little charred, “Veth’s testing out different chemical combinations for the Jaeger ammunition. I don’t think she’s quite nailed it yet.”

Essek scoffs, cautiously approaching the table with one hand over his nose and mouth, the other resting on the chair’s controls. “How many people of wildly different departments are you on a first-name basis with?”

“Just a few.” Thoroughly distracted with cutting away the burnt pieces, Caleb doesn’t look up. “There’s also, uh, Fjord. He captains one of the boats, works on deployment.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” A soft whir, as Essek hovers a few inches higher, putting him at a better height to peer over the table with Caleb. “Do you need any help?”

Caleb blinks, surprised, and almost drops the scalpel he was sanitizing. “Aren’t you busy?”

Essek, with his old-fashioned chalkboards in the place of far more convenient holograms, never leaves his desk, never so much as turns around to bounce a theory off of Caleb. It seems like there’s a new pack of chalk and fresh notebook on his desk every other day- clearly he’s making progress, but the bubble of focus around Essek is too intimidating for Caleb to investigate.

“I’ve reached a stopping point,” Essek frowns when Caleb looks at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and sighs, “I’m stuck on the particle displacement we’ve detected at the mouth of the rifts, which only seems to effect the Kaiju, not the pilots. It’s- I don’t think you’d be interested. I need something else to do, while I brainstorm.”

Caleb manages to bite back his disappointment at not getting to hear the rest and points towards the sink- the one safe for normal use, that doesn’t currently have corrosion scars from caustic acids. “I can definitely give you that.”

Essek, unsurprisingly, is incredibly helpful. He might not fully understand the process, but he’s precise in following Caleb’s instructions and doesn’t complain when he has to touch the gross, slimy parts. He generously interprets Caleb’s just put them over there to mean place them very carefully in straight lines. It only takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it, effortlessly following Caleb’s lead as they work in parallel on their respective halves of the hearts.

“I can’t say I understand the appeal,” Essek starts, after many minutes of silence, “but there’s certainly something to working with the actual thing, rather than theory.”

Caleb is working at a particularly tough piece- the Kaiju are, if nothing else, heavily armored, inside and out- the exposure to oxygen making everything harder to pull apart, to cut up and catalogue. He doesn’t look up at Essek’s words, but finds his attention easily split.

“It’s all about,” Caleb pushes down, again, and the muscles finally give, “manipulating the body, finding what makes it tick. From there, we can change it.”

“Like,” Essek pauses, hesitating, “change it from living to dead, you mean.”

Caleb huffs, almost under his breath, “In this circumstance, perhaps.”

To his side, he sees Essek’s hands still, briefly, and feels eyes on him as Essek looks up. Essek has this way of looking at him, like he’s waiting for something, until an invisible tell gives him away. He feels both studied and seen through.

Caleb can’t say he hates it.

“You don’t sound as happy about that as I’d expect. Normally, people are thrilled at the thought of dead Kaiju,” Essek gestures, with one gloved hand, over the table, “More for you.”

Caleb looks firmly down at the heart, imagining the many cross-sections and pieces still unmapped, in the burned away absence. “I just think that more can be done.”

“I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.” Essek is already looking at him when Caleb looks up, so their eyes meet, “The other side of the rifts are far more interesting. There’s no telling what we could find, how we could progress- but we need those doors closed, if we’re going to be alive to enjoy that progress.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as leaving them open or closed.”

Essek leans back over the heart, having found what he was looking for in Caleb’s expression, and mutters, almost to himself, “You might be right about that.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything else, just watches as Essek finishes with his portion of the heart. Essek’s hands, even with the borrowed plastic gloves, do not look like they belong amongst the controlled carnage of the lab table. Made for spinning chalk between fingers, and gliding across the holograms.

He lines up the scalpel again, just a bit off-target, just a bit too close to the arteries. “Ah, don’t—”

Caleb grabs Essek’s hand, stopping him before he pierces something he shouldn’t- the faint burns on his own hands are proof of this lesson learned. Essek freezes, startled by the contact, and grips the scalpel a little tighter before he catches up to what’s happened and pulls back.

Caleb lets him go, with some reluctance. “The blood is, uh, acidic. You have to cut around carefully, or it– you get the picture.”

“It’s good that you were watching, then,” Essek doesn’t smile, but his face suggests that he might have, if he possessed less self-control, “I owe you one, Widogast.”

Caleb does not possess that same control- he’s not sure what Essek hears in his voice as he says, “It’s no trouble.”

He thinks, in the end, he may have been more successful in distracting himself from his work, than he was in distracting Essek.

…

Caleb has reached the point where the crick in his neck from leaning over his work, the pages and pages of pieced together neural pathways and conflicting experiments, is threatening to make the hunch of his shoulders permanent. Essek cannot be in a much better place- Caleb glances over to catch him with his head in his hands, again, a half-filled chalkboard laying forlornly on his desk.

Caleb stands with no warning, letting his pen clatter on the table and pushing his chair away with more force than necessary. Essek looks up, alarmed and- unless Caleb’s imagining it- intrigued.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Which is how they’ve found themselves on the steel catwalk above the Jaegers, high up in the hanger and out of sight of people who know they shouldn’t be here. Neither of them are stealthy enough to pull this off for long- the equivalent of two librarians, tiny amongst the massive machines that represent their only hope against Armageddon.

“It’s always weird to see them from up here.” The giant, unpiloted mechs seem to stare back at Caleb as they’re shifted into place. Empty eyes, visors with no life behind them. “Feels like we shouldn’t be looking at them eye-to-eye.”

Essek hums, and leans forward slightly, as close to the rails as he dares. “I’m more used to seeing them in diagrams.”

Caleb had known, in theory, that there must be a tangled web of physics behind the engineering of the Jaegers, but it’s different to know that Essek holds those secrets. He’d love nothing more than to pick his brain about it, even if it’s far outside his field. It’s a shame the hanger feels like an inappropriate place to host a high-detail physics lecture.

“It must be interesting, working with us. Thelyss has been, uh,” he hesitates, unsure if this is rude to point out, “forgive me for saying, rather at odds with Dwendalian interests.”

Essek is quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Caleb to pull the ripcord and apologize, before responding, “It has been interesting. It is… an opportunity, for me, to work for something greater than I have in the past.”

“In the past?”

“We have not been as,” he pauses, searching for the word, “kind as we should have, in sharing our designs. Many have failed to consider the state of the world in our quest for progress.”

Corporate sabotage in the race for mechs is something of a well-known secret. The extent of it is hidden, mostly, behind the veil of the destruction that it coincided with. Trading the right secrets to the wrong person could take you far- it just might mean leaving burning cities in your wake.

Essek, overlooking the last of the Jaegers, the vestiges of hope for the world, suddenly looks so tired, older than Caleb had seen him before now. It reminds of Caleb of his own reflection, at night when the manic layer of end of the world is wiped away to reveal exhaustion. Essek’s formality, the organized face he presents, functions as just another mask.

“I have made many mistakes. I am hoping-” Essek shakes his head, correcting himself, “All I can do is try again. To be better.”

Caleb cannot absolve him, cannot lift the weight of things unsaid, guilt anchored deeply. He can only stand there, at Essek’s side, and carry his own guilt.

“Leave it to the end of the world to show us that we can only move forward, until we run out of road.” Caleb tries for a smile, one Essek doesn’t match. “Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s still road. Feel like I’m drifting over the dirt, these days.”

Essek’s response, agreement or disagreement, is drowned out as they start shifting another of the Jaegers, the dragging of metal and old supports strained to their limits forming a din that has passerby covering their ears. Caleb watches its pilots stare up at it, unflinching in the noise.

He finds himself talking as the noise stops, filling the vacuum of silence, “I was almost one of them, you know.”

After he says it, he immediately regrets it. In one moment, it feels like the thing to do- share something personal, after Essek had taken the first step- and in the next, it feels like an entirely unnecessary can of worms. Because, of course, the next question is-

“Under who?”

Caleb swallows and considers lying. He could do it. He could keep it vague- he should, it should stay buried like his name. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t want to.

“Ikithon.”

He sees it, the second he says it. He sees the recognition, the surprise, the fear. Essek knows that name, more than anyone in passing knows that name. To Essek, he is not simply an unpleasant teacher.

He doesn’t want to see Essek as someone who worked with Ikithon- he doesn’t want to know what it means that he would forgive Essek, in a heartbeat, but can’t do same for himself.

“I wasn’t able to drift,” Caleb continues, and almost believes that’s the whole truth, the entire, uncomplicated reason, “Dropped out of the Academy.” Not before the damage was done.

Essek looks down, studying the grimy floor beneath them. “Probably for the best.”

“I’m starting to think we should’ve put our funding into time machines, instead of Jaegers.” Caleb sighs, and feels a part of himself leave with his breath. He looks to his side, where Essek remains silent. “Should’ve gone into physics, I guess.”

People rush around below them, preparing for another Jaeger to enter. The gate is cleared, the runway lights up, and various maintenance teams stand at the ready. Caleb wonders how they can stand this, how they can keep going through the motions every day, even as less and less pilots return.

He supposes he could say the same about himself, about anyone still coming to work on this base. For the first time in a long time, they’re all working towards the same thing. They’re all looking to the pilots, spending what’s left of their lives to stack the deck in their favor.

“I know a few of them,” Caleb pauses, and clarifies, “The pilots, I mean.”

“You failed to mention that, in your list of people you know.” Essek tries to laugh, though it doesn’t quite come out right, and looks back up at Caleb, “Which ones?”

“I’m not sure you know them.” People in their position don’t generally interact with the pilots, directly. Caleb would say it’s strange for him to have friends in the Academy, but it’s not the weirdest connection he’s made recently. “Yasha and Beau on the Cobalt line. They’re only just out of the Academy.”

Only just out and making a formidable reputation for themselves. He’s only skimmed the statistics, but if there was a leaderboard, he’d say they’re pulling ahead. Knowing Beau, that’s greater motivation than the potential for saving the world.

Essek’s façade falls away completely, showing his surprise. “The two terrifying women in the Expositor?”

“Those are the ones,” Caleb leans against the railing, out of the shadows. A little more bold, now that most of the people below are distracted. A massive Jaeger, with chipping blue paint and massive jets affixed to its back, steps in through the gate, tracking in water around its heels. “Speak of the devil.”

He can imagine Beau and Yasha working in tandem, seamlessly, to bring the mech into the hanger, ducking its head slightly to make it under the doorway. One hand is occupied, clenched around a scaly leg, metal fingers dug into the fallen Kaiju’s flesh. It’s oddly small, not the fully grown beasts Caleb is used to seeing them drag through.

“Is that-“ Essek doesn’t finish his question, perhaps because he can see the answer in Caleb’s expression.

The Kaiju’s head is entirely intact, its skull spared at the expense of a hole in its chest. A full brain, no shrapnel or missing pieces. Exactly what Caleb has been waiting for, exactly what he’s been trying to piece together.

Essek follows at his heels as Caleb dashes for the stairs, stealth forgotten altogether.

…

The whirring of saws and grim, grinding sounds of bone being cut come to an end, at long last. There’s a tube prepped, filled with foul-smelling chemicals intended to preserve and suspend alien flesh. The sound, as the brain is deposited, is somehow worse than the grinding noise.

Essek looks at him, watching silently for a long moment. It is difficult, to feel his eyes on him and not look back, but Caleb manages it, keeping his gaze focused on the mass of nerves before him.

“I understand the temptation.”

Caleb laughs, with no humor. “Do you?”

The headset is light, almost flimsy, in his hands. He passes it between them, running his hands over the familiar metal and wires. It looks like it might fall apart any second now, not at all like it’s made of expensive, stolen equipment. Not all like Caleb’s been thinking about it for months, like it could save them all- if he can pull this off.

The Kaiju’s brain floats in the container in front of him, wires trailing off of it. Essek sits beside it, the filtered green light through the tube casting harsh shadows over his face. He’s not supposed to be here, but Caleb should’ve known that Essek wouldn’t stick to his scheduled breaks.

“I know more about temptation than you, Caleb.”

It’s rare to hear Essek angry- figures that he chooses a time like this to finally call Caleb by his first name.

“Then you should know that I can’t pass up this opportunity.” Caleb clicks the final pieces into place, watching the lights on the headset start to glow. He loses the fight against another temptation and glances over to Essek, who looks to be fighting fiercely not for a neutral expression, but to keep back tears. “I will not have more lives on my conscience. If this could win us the fight, I have to do it.”

He reaches for the control panel, lifting the headset with his other hand. He has to get this over with before he loses his nerve, before Essek decides to find someone who might actually be able to stop him, before Jester or Veth or anyone else stumble upon him

Essek grabs his wrist, stopping him. His eyes are wide, a little surprised at himself, but he meets Caleb’s stare dead-on.

“I don’t want to lose you to this,” he clears his throat, and looks down, away, “We all still need you.”

Even now, they can’t help but lie to themselves.

“I have to do this.”

Essek looks back at him and for once, seems frustrated to be unable to peer behind Caleb’s eyes, to get the answers he always does. He looks to the side with a heavy sigh, and Caleb thinks for a moment that he’s given up, that he’s going to agree, when Essek lets go of his hand to reach behind them, to the lab table still covered in wires and abandoned tech.

Many drafts of the headset sit amongst the wreckage, the results of late nights spent working with a collection born of Veth’s sticky fingers and Caleb’s hoarding. Essek grabs one, easily picking out the most functional of the bunch, and presses it into Caleb’s free hand.

“Fine,” his face sets, not in the neutral that Caleb’s come to expect, but in a determination that feels almost dangerous, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Essek’s eyes are a dare, waiting for Caleb to find a reason to deny him. He knows, as well as Caleb, that two of them would increase their chances of surviving this. He also knows, maybe better than Caleb, that none of that matters. Caleb would always rather take the brunt of it, than allow his friends to hurt.

This feels, distinctly, like an argument Caleb can’t win. Essek looks a few seconds away from hooking it up himself.

Caleb sighs, a faint smile escaping him. “Didn’t think you’d be repaying that favor so soon.”

Essek only pushes the headset more firmly into his hands, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s safe-guarding against Caleb losing his nerve, or losing his own nerve.

Caleb puts Essek’s headset on first, taking longer than necessary to adjust its fit, before putting on his own. They sit across from each other, in the distorted shadow of the brain. Essek’s gaze, fixed on Caleb, doesn’t waver and just before Caleb hits the switch, he holds out his hand.

Caleb takes it and turns on the machine.

The drift hits him immediately, like a weight falling on his brain as something too big climbs into his skull and pushes his mind out to the edges, pressed against bone. Everything else, outside of his mind and Essek’s mind and this new intrusion, disappears entirely. Sensation, apart from a terrible, sourceless pain, leaves him.

Essek’s mind bursts into focus like a searing light in the abyss, a star far above him. Caleb reaches for it, as the mind of the Kaiju, oppressive and all-consuming, threatens to swallow him up.

He feels their connection like entwined hands, before they collapse into each other, blurring into one. Warm and cool colors mix together in threads that wind and wind around until they are one inseparable string. Shared pain is conducted through it, a wire of strange electricity.

He is hearing a city on fire, screaming, and imagines he can pick out familiar voices in the chaos.

He is shaking a hand like a corpse, bony and terrible as its fingernails dig into his skin.

He is on a cold tile floor, aware that he is alone, alone, alone—

Somewhere, outside of himself, he squeezes Essek’s hand.

The Kaiju bears down on both of them and he finds himself standing beside Essek on a destroyed city street, its features a mashed together version of Caleb and Essek’s childhoods. It is too much for either of them, even standing together, but when he looks down at Essek, he sees only his smile, sharp and confident.

Everything begins to dissolve as the mind- the many minds- of the Kaiju falls over them.

…

Waking up is not fun.

Once, in grad school, Caleb stayed up for 52 hours, subsisting on diabolical combinations of energy drinks and pure spite for his professors. After turning in his last assignments, including a paper that served as a major breakthrough in his field but was so manic it was incomprehensible to anyone except Caleb, he crashed hard and did not wake for another day, when Veth checked to see if he was still alive.

He could’ve sworn, at the time, that the headache he felt upon seeing light for the first time that day was the worst he’d ever experience.

This headache easily doubles it.

The lights are, mercifully, left completely off, with only the dim sunlight leaking out from under the blinds turning the infirmary room a dull grey. He’s sat, partially upright, on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, a place he knows well. Outside the room, he can just make out the quiet, constant noise of their busy med station, conversation and machines overlapping.

To his right, similarly propped up, is Essek.

He wakes at the same moment as Caleb and they both turn, surprise mirrored in their faces. At seeing each other, at being alive at all- it’s anybody’s guess.

Objectively, Caleb is sure they both look absolutely terrible, but he can only see the light in Essek’s eyes and his tired smile. There’s a drowsy kind of comfort between the two of them, relief of tension being let go. They lived- they both lived.

“This is not the warm welcome to the land of the living I was hoping for.”

Caleb laughs, even if it hurts, a little. “This feels less like a welcome party, and more like breaking a window and climbing back in.”

There’s no connection between them anymore, no wires or drifts, but he still feels it faintly, a buzzing at the back of his head. Essek’s pain feels like an echo of his own, and his warmth is still there, as if he’s still holding his hand. It’s stable, an anchor to new wakefulness.

“They should’ve known better than to put two of us in the same lab.” Essek shakes his head, and winces at the movement. “It could only ever have ended in disaster.”

Caleb grins and is pleased to see Essek do the same, just as unguarded as he was in the drift.

They only have a few minutes before Jester comes in to yell at him for being stupid- possibly, the whole crew is lined up somewhere outside, lists of grievances in hand. Shortly following that, he assumes there will be a small battalion of military personnel waiting to hear what they’ve discovered.

Until then, he has time to do more stupid things, mostly unsupervised.

He drags himself out of the bed, pretending that he doesn’t nearly collapse as soon as his feet hit the floor, and wheels the bed closer to Essek’s, carefully maneuvering the wires still attached to his chest and arms. Once they’re an arm’s length away, Caleb stops and climbs back in.

This time, he holds his hand out first and knows, without a doubt, that Essek will take it.

[shoyomeow]

WINTER WONDERLAND

- a @babythotshq collaboration

❀ characters : motoya komori x gnl! reader

❀ genre : fluff

❀ warnings : mentions of alcohol, language , mentions of the pandemic

❀ wc : 2444

❀prompt : game night

shoutout to @sempiternal-amour . i got you for the secret santa event and i hope you had a wonderful christmas.

USUALLY CHRISTMAS WAS YOUR FAVOURITE HOLIDAY.

There had always been a set routine that you had adopted during this time of the year that always filled you with more happiness that you could imagine and once you had started dating Motoya, who had been just as enthusiastic as you and would not only tolerate but add on to your extreme love for Christmas, it seemed that nothing in your life could go wrong.

At least during Christmas.

That was until this year of course.

2020, the year that you hope you never have to relive again and the year that has filled you with so much pain, anguish and exhaustion that the disconnection you felt from Christmas was not even unexpected at this point.

There was no part of you that felt like it was Christmas time and you figured that the same could be said for your beloved boyfriend as well since he didn’t show you any signs of holiday spirit either. Going through the year had been hard on both of them, while neither of them were extroverts who liked going out there was something oddly stifling about being forced to stay home instead of choosing to.

As the months passed by and the virus didn’t show any signs of going away, their irritation at being forced to stay at home morphed into sheer fear for themselves and their loved ones so you suppose it was understandable that neither of you felt up for Christmas this year,

You flinched as cold and slightly damp skin came in contact with your exposed arms, the sleeves of your hoodie having been rolled up to give you more comfort as you kneaded the dough, “How many times have I told you not to hug me after working out? You smell gross babe.”

You teased as you turned your head to see your boyfriend better, his bangs were sticking to his forehead, no doubt because of the sweat but there was a bright smile on his face which even after all these years made you swoon.

“The love of my life looked so serious how could I not comfort them by bestowing my loving embrace upon them.” he pouted prompting an automatic eyeroll.

“Okay you dork,” you pecked his cheek to reassure him before pushing him away, “Now go take a shower before you stink up the whole place. I didn’t spend that much money on scented candles for you to ruin it with your sweat.”

“Whatever my love commands, i shall do.” With one last kiss to the back of your neck, Motoya walked away from you and into the washroom.

God, even though three years had passed since you started dating the volleyball player you couldn’t help but feel giddy over him. You used to think that it was only in fiction that people didn’t get completely and utterly bored with their partners.

“So i was thinking,” Motoya started as the two of you lounged on the sofa with your legs perched up on his lap as the two of you searched for something to watch.

“Oh dear, that’s never a good sign now is it?”

You laughed as he flicked the back of your feet, briefly making a quip about how you should moisturise more before looking at you and continuing his earlier sentence, “What if we have a game night or something for Christmas?”

“Hah?” You sat up at that and frowned at him, “Babe won’t that be like really irresponsible? We’re still in danger from the virus and shit.”

“No no,” he shook his head vehemently as if the very thought of breaking safety protocols was terrifying, “Like a virtual thing. I was talking to a few of my old teammates from high school and shit so they were telling me how they had a virtual party for a birthday so I dunno.”

“Look, I know we’ve both been in sort of a funk recently and you haven’t been feeling the vibe for this year either but I just thought it would be nice to go through our routine and just try to enjoy ourselves?”

“What would we even play though?” You mused as you looked at the boy who seemed to beam at the prospect of not having his idea shut down.

“I already googled that shit,” Motoya giggled as he leaned forward to press a light kiss to your lips, “You really should start moisturising babe.”

“Yeah yeah,” you pecked his nose, briefly wondering if people would hate how absolutely cringey the two of you were as a couple, “Does that mean we’re going to go through all the traditions?”

“Mm, of course. The others might not want to but we can do it ourselves right?”

“Yeah,” your enthusiasm for Christmas was still pretty much nonexistent but as you looked at your boyfriend who was showering you with kisses you couldn’t help but think that you didn’t have to be enthusiastic for Christmas at all.

Christmas Eve was surprisingly amazing.

The two of you had woken up at the same time, which was odd considering that Motoya always woke up before you for his training. A part of you wanted to stay snuggled up next to him in bed but there was a slightly bigger part of you which wanted to start with the festivities already.

Like all Christmases before today, it started with baking. Of course neither of you were that great at cooking so you had ordered the batters for everything that you were supposed to make.

The cookies and plum cake were first, considering that the mixes for them were the easiest to navigate through , the gingerbread house was next. You and Motoya had always had a certain amount of fondness for assembling the house , maybe it was because of the food fight that usually used to follow that used to prompt you to head to the backyard to hose each other down.

The second event was of course getting ready to wear the ugliest possible Christmas outfits the two of you could find. There was one Christmas, the very first one that you two spent together where you dressed up in attractive clothes taking inspiration from the Mean Girls outfit and while Motoya had appreciated that he had immediately made you swoon when he said that he would love to dress up in ugly outfits starting next year.

With your and Motoya’s nails painted with bright red and green nail polish and the two of you dressed in equally bright (and horrendous) red and green sweaters, you sat down with your laptops in front of you and logged into the zoom meeting.

Sakusa was the first one there of course, always the one to be ten minutes before the given time no matter how much he hated events like this, you and Motoya smiled triumphantly as his eyes narrowed in to look at something on the screen and his nose turned up in disgust.

“What in the hell are the two of you even wearing?”

The look of sheer disgust filled the two of you with a sense of pride , after all that was always the wanted reaction for you two. Second to horror of course.

“Are the others not here yet?”

“There are a few in the waiting room, I’ll just let them in.”

“Babe didn’t you disable the waiting room?” You questioned as you saw Motoya accept everyone individually.

He just looked at you with wide eyes with his eyebrows scrunched up, “Wait you can do that?”

You let out a snort before taking his laptop from him, out of the two of you you had always been the more tech savvy one.

“Heya everyone!” You tried to mask the awkwardness you were feeling as you greeted the handful of people who had joined in. Motoya and you wanted it to be a “small event” so you hadn’t invited many people in the first place except for a few of your mutual friends and Sakusa, “Thank you for joining us. Motoya and I didn’t want Christmas to suck so we figured something like this would be sorta fun.”

The circle you and Motoya mostly ran in was a close knit one where everyone knew each other and honestly you preferred having this than being surrounded by a bunch of fake people with whom you couldn’t be yourself.

Akira, your oldest friend and the person who had introduced you to Motoya in the first place was adorning her favourite cosplay , one of some character called Uravity and she smiled at you (well you assumed it was at you) before opening her mouth, “MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU WHORES.”

You winced at the loudness of her tone, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to connect your laptop to the Bluetooth speaker, “Akira my love, are you drunk already?”

“What’s Christmas without eggnog?” Akira grinned at you before picking up a piece of fried chicken and biting into it, “Besides, I’m exhausted as fuck this Christmas so you can’t judge me.”

“If you’re all exhausted and shit then why the fuck are you cosplaying?” Ryo, a teammate of Motoya's, grumbled as he looked at his screen. Surprisingly enough Ryo and Akira went to the same college, when you and Motoya got together it was a bit surprising to see that so many of the people you knew were somehow connected to him.

“Ryo stop being mean to Akira, she can do whatever she wants to do.” Like a true mom friend Azusa let out a soft sigh as he looked at the people on his screen. Azusa, was probably the only “new addition” you had to your group.

It was a bit surprising to say this but it was Sakusa who had introduced you and Motoya to the purple haired man who became your friend instantly. Apparently Azusa was one of the only people Sakusa respected enough to introduce to his circle, even his MSBY team members hadn’t received that privilege yet.

“Why can’t you all just shut up?” The final person in your tiny little group spoke up as he hid his face with the cloth of his turtleneck , “You guys are way too loud.”

“Now now,” Motoya intervened, “Why don’t we all start with the games already?”

Ryo’s lips turned up to form a competitive grin, “Of course, I’m going to pummel all of you to the ground.”

“Not if i pummel you first you stupid hoe,” Akira yelled at her screen but it was obvious that the declaration was meant for the only person who considered to be her rival (who she used to watch disney movies with and cried)

Sakusa had won all the games.

They didn’t play many games , just a few basic ones like Pictionary , bingo, and some trivia. They added a little spice to it by incorporating sharpies, drinks and junk food into the equation but at the end of it all, Sakusa was the only one who was fully sober while the rest were stuffed and tipsy and had drawings all over their face.

“FUCK,” you raised your head from Motoya’s shoulder and looked at the small square box where Ryo was staring at his lap? table? well whatever it was, “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THAT I WAS USING A PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FACE?”

You let out a loud laugh as you looked at his face, there were drawings all over it - a proof that he lost miserably against Sakusa’s prowess - and the fact that he couldn’t get rid of it easily combined with her tipsy state , she burst into laughter.

The kind of laughter that made it hard to breathe and was so painful that you had to clutch your stomach , despite knowing that doing so had absolutely no impact on the pain you felt. Your laughter must’ve triggered a domino as everyone who was present in the zoom meeting started cackling, except for of course Ryo who was staring at all of you angrily.

“Whatever I’m leaving you assholes,” Ryo grumbled as he moved towards his laptop before moving back, “I’m only leaving because my mother is calling me so don’t bother pestering me to join again. Merry Christmas and bye you dicks.”

“Hey guys,” Akira’s girlfriend, Sumire, popped up on her screen and smiled sheepishly at the group, “Kira’s completely knocked out so I’m just gonna tuck her in. I’m sure she appreciated this, she’s been feeling funky lately.”

“No problemo Sumire,” you smiled at the girl, “the pleasure was all ours. Merry Christmas beautiful!”

Sumire blushed at the compliment before smiling at everyone, “Merry Christmas everyone, good night.”

“Aight I’m gonna sleep. I have work to finish tomorrow , this was fun guys.” Azusa smiled at them wryly as he clutched his head , he had always been the most sensitive to alcohol in their group.

“Good night Zuzu!”

The boy blushed at the nickname before growling angrily , “STOP CALLING ME THAT.”

You and Motoya shared a laugh as he left, the only people who were left in the meeting now were the two of you and Sakusa who seemed like he was on the verge of falling asleep then and there.

“Goodbye.”

Never mind , Sakusa left as well.

You laughed at his antics , already expecting an eloquent text about how the event was fun from the MSBY player, before you moved forward to shut down your laptop and Motoya’s laptop.

“Are we gonna get up to wash our face?” Motoya grumbled as he pulled you back into his arms.

“We can wait till tomorrow can’t we?” You nuzzled into his neck before placing a soft kiss there, “Thank you for doing this love. It was really fun.”

“Mm,” he nodded slowly , “it was. Maybe next year it will be better?”

“We can only hope can’t we?” You raised your head to press soft kisses on his face, “Besides as long as I’m with you, every Christmas is amazing.”

Motoya stared at you for a moment before the two of you burst out laughing, “That was so cheesy!”

“I know right? I almost couldn’t keep a straight face when I said it.”

“I love you so much,” Motoya leaned down to kiss you languidly before resting his forehead on yours, “I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes.”

“I know you will. Weren’t you the one who asked me to marry you on our first date?”

“That was because you gave me cake!”

“Yeah yeah,” Motoya moved in his position to make you more comfortable as you laid on his chest, “Merry Christmas love.”

“Merry Christmas handsome.”

[damienthepious]

it’s too goddamn cold&snowy here right now so i dove back into my summer-y-est fic <3

Made A Garden (chapter 4)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Rilla’s Parents, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, (categorized as ‘other’ bc arum is nonbinary when i write him bye), Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, POV Alternating, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings, edited to feature my Rilla’s Two Dads theory

Fic Summary: Rilla’s parents take her out when they do field work. She’s a smart kid, and she knows how not to get in trouble when they’re caught up with their experiments and research. This time, they’ve taken her to an enormous, beautiful swamp, and their theory is that the monstrous presence in this place should be entirely dormant- which is why Rilla is so surprised, when she meets a monster for herself.

Chapter Summary: A conversation, an argument, and an interruption.

Notes: Please appreciate these children. Please. I care them................ also idk if this needs warning for, really, but i guess chapter warning for an adult Being An Asshole to a child? yeah.

~

"Why did you decide to start actually talking to me?" Rilla asks, laying lazily back on the thick trunk of a fallen tree, her hand draped to trail fingers in the slow-moving water beneath it.

Arum looks away from her, sinking his face further into the water for a long moment before he rises enough to answer.

"Well..." he says slowly, "when I determined that you and your... kin posed nothing of a threat-"

"Which I told you the first time we met," she interrupts in a chirp, and Arum scowls up at her until she laughs. His snout twitches then, a tell she's beginning to suspect means that he's burying a laugh of his own, and then the monster sighs.

"Which I needed to have proven, for the safety of my lands and my own self," he amends, hissing. "I decided that you should have an eye kept on you."

"And..." Rilla tilts her head back, her long braid rolling off the log enough that the end dips into the water beneath her. "You decided to do that yourself?"

Arum raises an eyebrow. "Who else would?"

She shrugs, her shoulder pressing against the bark beneath her. "Mm, I dunno? I just figured- you're the Lord of this place, right?"

"I am," he says, stiff and proud.

"So, I figured you'd, like, have someone else you could send, if you wanted to keep an eye on us?"

Arum growls, though he looks more sullen than angry at the assumption. "Perhaps I simply didn't want to risk any of my subjects in the effort, just in case I was wrong about you."

"In case..." she trails off, and then she blinks. "So, what, you'd risk yourself, first?"

"I can take care of myself," he snaps, his frill flaring quick enough to splash a little halo of water around his face for a moment, rippling across the surface of the pond. "And- and a good ruler is concerned for his subjects before himself, anyway. That is my entire purpose."

Rilla tilts her head a bit more, trying to get a better look at the vague purple blush coloring the webbing of his frill. "Huh," she says, and then his words sink in a bit more. "But- if you got yourself hurt-"

"I can take care of myself," he spits again, and she frowns.

"But if," she insists, "if something bad happened, who would take care of the swamp, then?"

Arum scowls up at her, and then he ducks his head beneath the water entirely. For a second she thinks that he's just going to disappear again, and she sits up, the wet tip of her braid flicking water along her arm, but then Arum reemerges a few feet down the log. He flings himself out of the water like a salmon, then pulls himself onto the log ahead in front of her, easy and oddly elegant.

"You," he growls, glaring at her with his claws digging into the bark, "ask altogether too many questions."

"Is... is that an observation?" she asks slowly, "or do you- do you want me to-"

He exhales an exaggerated huff, then sits back on the log and lets his tail drape over the side. "You may do whatever you want," he says, not for the first time, "so long as you understand that I may do the same. Meaning that I will not answer, if I don't feel like doing so."

Rilla pulls one of her legs up, hugging her knee against her chest and letting her other leg dangle. "Yeah," she says, and then she grins. "Yeah, you've kinda made that pretty obvious by now."

"Good," he mutters, and then he flicks his tail in the water, splashing her leg.

She laughs again, surprised, and Arum's snout twitches.

"Okay," she says. "Okay, mister secrets, I'm totally and completely informed that you're not gonna answer anything you don't want to, but you have to know that I'm still not gonna stop asking." She grins, and the monster frowns at her, and then sighs in an exaggerated way and looks off towards the edge of the pond instead. "So unless you're gonna tell me to stop-"

"I rule my swamp, Amaryllis. Obviously I do not rule you. As I said, you may-"

"Do whatever I want," she parrots, bouncing her head back and forth. "You don't ask questions basically at all, do you?"

"If you wished to tell me about yourself, you would," Arum answers with a shrug, and then- he smirks. Rilla doesn't think she's seen that particular look on his face before, actually. "In fact," he continues, "you have. I don't need to ask, Amaryllis. You are perfectly content to share the bland details of humanity without any prodding whatsoever."

"Humans aren't bland," Rilla says. "Just because you're bored all the time doesn't make everything else boring, it just means you aren't looking hard enough."

"Tell me something interesting, then," he says, leaning his head back and draping himself dramatically across the log, and for half a second he almost reminds her of Marc. She buries a laugh at the idea of the two of them meeting - Tal would get along with Arum better, she thinks - and thoughtfully drums her fingers off her chin.

"What sorts of things do you actually like?" she asks. "I'll be less likely to bore you if I know that much, at least."

The monster rumbles in his chest without opening his eyes, then makes a humming noise. "Blade combat," he says simply. "Music. Pollinators. Translations and ciphers. Questions within questions."

Rilla purses her lips for a moment. "Questions?"

"Indeed."

"So- wait. No, no- we just talked about this. You don't like questions."

Arum glances up at her, then, his mouth curling into a frown. "I think I know better than you do, what I like."

"If you liked questions, you wouldn't get so annoyed at me when I asked them."

"I don't dislike your questions," he says, sitting up again. "I dislike that you assume that all of them will be answered. A decent question will only lead to further questions, and trying to neatly tie anything to a single, simple solution will only reduce a thing from its true nature to a caricature of itself."

"If you can never find the answers, then how are any of the questions useful?"

"It's not about usefulness," he says. "It's about understanding, both the nature of inquiry itself and your own small place in the infinite."

Rilla frowns hard. "Those were a bunch of big words that mostly seemed to mean basically nothing."

Arum blinks, then gives a shocked, incredulous laugh. "How- how dare-"

"Even if a question leads to a bigger question, a bigger question is still an answer, Arum. Knowing that you don't know enough is still an answer. That's just- that's all just dumb semantics."

Arum sputters for a moment, then narrows his eyes. "I would say, I think, that the argument that a question is an answer is far more a matter of dumb semantics than the assertion that not all questions have answers, Amaryllis. You simply do not know what you're talking about."

"If you're not even trying to get to the bottom of the questions you ask, then maybe you're the one who doesn't know what you're talking about," Rilla says, and Arum scowls again, more viciously this time. "I think it's better to actually know things, instead of just- making everything even more confusing. Isn't the world already confusing enough?"

"Maybe for creatures as petty and small-minded as humans," Arum growls low, but as he opens his mouth to continue-

There's a noise. Unexpected, and out of place enough that it takes Rilla a moment to recognize it.

A small whinny, not all that far off.

When Rilla meets Arum's eyes again she knows he heard it too. He looks exactly as scared as she feels.

"Hide," she hisses, and Arum's wide eyes go wider.

"You hide," he snarls, slipping off the log and back into the water. "It could be anyone, you don't know-"

"Horse could mean knight," Rilla snaps, and Arum's frill flattens against his neck. "Just hide and-"

The brush at the edge of the pond rustles, and Rilla hears Arum gasp before he slips beneath the surface entirely, and Rilla holds her breath as she turns to see whatever pushes through the foliage at the edge of the pond.

Rilla doesn't think she's ever been less happy to be correct, before. The knight frowns down at her from beneath his helmet and atop his sandy-brown horse, and Rilla tries to lean into her surprise so the guilt hopefully won't show.

"Oh!" she says, pressing a hand to her chest as she scrambles to stand on the log. "Oh, I- you scared me! I didn't hear you, and-"

The knight narrows his eyes, and Rilla realizes that his hand is resting on the pommel of his sword as his gaze sweeps suspiciously across the shore.

"What is a little girl like you doing out in the wilds all by yourself?" the knight says slowly, and Rilla-

Rilla isn't the best at reading people, but something about the way his mouth curls, the way his eyes stay suspiciously narrowed, something tells her that his tone is less concerned for her, and more concerned by her.

"Oh," she says, and she tries to smile. "Well, I'm not by myself," she says. "My parents are- they're not far."

"Hm," the knight says, and then he swings himself down out of the saddle.

Rilla takes the moment to glance down, and- and she has to hold herself very very still to keep from flinching when she realizes that Arum is still in the water beneath her. She was certain that he'd be- completely gone by now, safe and away and- and she widens her eyes at him quickly while the knight is still busy with the horse, and she jerks her head to the side, trying to tell him- get out of here, obviously, get away-

But Arum glares up at her, his violet eyes furious, and then he jerks his own snout towards the knight.

"Who were you talking to?"

Rilla jolts, wobbling on the log before she regains her footing.

"Wh-what? I- I don't know what you're-"

"I heard voices. Who were you talking to?" the knight repeats, his hand still on his pommel even after dismounting.

His eyes are icy and sharp and unsettling, and Rilla decides that she's really, really glad that she's out in the middle of the pond, instead of on the shore with him.

"I-" Rilla pauses, then lowers her eyes, shuffling her feet as if embarrassed. "I was talking to myself," she says quietly. "I know I shouldn't-"

"You were shouting at yourself?" the knight drawls, dubious, and Rilla tries to smile. If it comes out awkward- well, that'll work too, right?

"Y-yeah. I was- I was making up an argument? I- I'm not good at- at arguing for real, so I like to- to practice? Sometimes? When I'm on my own?"

"Well," the knight mutters, looking away, "I believe you're not good at talking, at least."

Rilla swallows, ducking her head, and-

And in the water beneath her, Arum rolls his eyes hard enough to make a little ripple on the surface above him, and then he makes a face as if he's gagging on a piece of rotten fruit. Rilla presses her lips together tight, choking down an almost overpowering urge to laugh.

"Your parents," the knight says, and Rilla's eyes flick back up from the water to his sullen, stubborn face instead. "They let you wander around in monster-infested wilderness all by yourself, then?"

"They- um. I mean- this place is pretty safe, and- and they aren't far."

"That's what you said before,"

"Do-" Rilla swallows. "Do you want me to- to call them? I can- I have a whistle, I can-"

The knight seems to consider this, looking her up and down as if checking for weapons and then scanning his eyes around the shore again quickly, and then he adjusts his stance, his frame tensing before he nods. "I think you had better, little girl. Go on, whistle for them."

Does he think that I'm a monster? Rilla thinks, feeling maybe just the littlest bit panicked, and then she raises her hand to her neck to lift the whistle.

They have a whole system, Rilla and her parents, for the emergency whistle. There's a call for monster, there's a call for injured, a call for someone else injured, a call for not-an-emergency-but-you'll-really-wanna-see-this-right-now-it's-cool, a call for I'm lost, among others. Rilla doesn't use any of those right now, though, because her parents don't think about magic and medicine exactly the same way that the King does, so-

Rilla lifts the whistle to her lips, and she gives the call that means that she's spotted a knight nearby.

The knight tenses further, as if he's fully expecting to be swarmed or something, and when nothing immediately jumps to attack him he glares at Rilla again. She- barely manages to fake a smile, certain that she must just look like she's showing teeth at this point, but it takes less than a minute for her dad to come bolting out of the underbrush on the far side of the pond.

"Rilla- Rilla what's wrong?" he says in a rush, and he's always been a better actor than Rilla or her papa. When he swings his eyes across the pond and 'notices' the knight, the flash of surprise on his face looks entirely genuine. "Oh- oh, I'm so sorry, Sir-"

"Sir Caradoc," he says, his expression bemused (surprised, Rilla thinks, that she was telling the truth) despite his flat, toneless voice. "The Dauntless."

"An honor," her dad says, smiling sharply, "and what a surprise to meet a knight this far from the Citadel! What- Rilla, why did you..."

He trails off, his sharp on her own, and Rilla manages a weak smile of her own. "He- he was- worried? That I was out here all on my own, so- so I wanted- I wanted to show him that I was- that you were here, if I was got in trouble."

Her dad exhales, something like a sigh, and then he nods and turns his attention back to Sir Caradoc. "Well, I'm glad nothing's wrong, at the least. Thank you so much for looking out for my daughter out here, Sir Caradoc. Please- would you come back to camp with us? I'm sure you're out here on important business, but the least we could do is get a hot meal in you before you've gotta be on your way, right?"

Caradoc raises an eyebrow, but after a moment his lip turns up into a very slight smile, and he nods.

"It'd be a pleasant change of pace," he says. "Been weeks since I've had a meal I didn't cook myself, and I'll admit I'm not as good with a ladle as I am with my sword."

Her dad's smile goes wider and more forced at the reminder of the weapon, but he laughs lightly anyway. "Great! Rilla, c'mon back to shore, now. We might not be home, but we've got company to look out for, yeah?"

Rilla nods, plastering on a smile that she hopes looks as honest as her dad's, and then she- she aims herself so she won't land right on top of Arum, and she hops into the water.

When she's under the surface she cracks her eyes open, and Arum is- closer than she expects. His eyes are narrowed and bright, even through the murk of the water, and when she makes a vague get out of here motion with her hands, he scowls even harder, and then he reaches out and grips one of her wrists. He flicks his eyes towards the surface, then back towards Rilla, and he squeezes lightly before he lets her go again, retreating further down into the muddy detritus at the bottom of the pond.

Rilla gives him one more glance (she can barely see him, obviously he knows exactly how to blend in), and then she kicks her way back to the surface, and then over to the edge of the water where her dad can reach down and lift her back out.

Her dad keeps hold of her hand when she's back on shore, and he squeezes soothingly as Sir Caradoc leads his horse around the pond to join them, trampling through the brush with authoritative carelessness.

"We'll be fine," her dad says under his breath, before the knight will be able to hear them again, and Rilla nods.

She already knew that, actually. She knows they'll be fine, because her papa is clever and her dad is confident and charismatic. She knows they'll be fine because her dad is holding her hand.

As Sir Caradoc comes closer, batting aside a hanging branch and wearing his bland, professional smile, Rilla thinks about Arum's hand, too. She thinks about the odd texture of his scales against her skin, the way he frowned when he squeezed her wrist, the intensity of his eyes under the water.

Rilla is pretty sure - pretty sure - that what he actually meant to say with that little squeeze was be careful.

Pretty good advice, Rilla thinks, if the coldness in Sir Caradoc's eyes above that smile is anything to go by.

[katedrakeohd]

Cordonia 1885

Word count: 2470

Catch up on previous chapters

Author's Note/Warnings: Rated Mature.

Mentions death, blood, violence, and nudity.

............

Drake felt cold and lifeless in Bastien's arms as he swiftly carried him down the stairs. In the parlour below a wooden bathtub lined in a linen sheet was waiting, the water steaming. In the back of Bastien's mind he was hoping they weren't too late to revive him.

Meanwhile for Drake his own confused mind was telling him he was floating. Am I dead? Am I dreaming?

In his stupor he couldn't open his eyes, but muffled sounds filtered through to his ears. His mind tried to conjure an image, a reasonable thought of what was happening, but then it drifted away like a fog.

Then suddenly the floating feeling changed and he was falling through space, and he was powerless to break his fall. His mind reeled, his stomach roiled, and his muscles clenched painfully all at once, making him flinch.

His body was suddenly enveloped in an intense heat that pricked his skin and brought feeling rushing back into his limbs, causing Drake to let out a low groan.

Bastien stepped back after lowering Drake into the bath.

In his lethargic state, Drake slumps forward, his heavy head dropping his chin to his chest and his face splashing into the water.

Mary gasps, “Bastien, fix him before he drowns!”

Bastien cursed as he leaped forward, reaching under Drake's armpits to sit him back upright.

Tipping his head back, Bastien mutters, “Time to wake up, Son.” And then gives him a hard slap on the cheek to revive him.

The impact hits Drake like a kick to the face and he gasps, coughing the water out of his throat, his eyes opening wide with surprise. Startled to find himself naked in a bathtub, he draws his knees up and grabs the walls in an attempt to get out, causing water to slosh over the sides.

Bastien shakes his head, and places a hand on his shoulder to force him to sit down again. “Now, now Drake. We can't have you running around naked with a Lady present.”

Mary giggles as she holds Drake's bundle of clothes to her chest. “Oh, I don't mind at all.”

Drake raises his hand to his stinging cheek, and then glares at Bastien with indignation, “You..you struck me!”

Mary sits down on the nearby sofa, “Well it was either knock you about or let you drown in your own bath, so you're welcome.”

Bringing both hands up to his face, he realizes he's had a close shave too. He'd lost his own razor long ago and had resolved to just let his beard grow. The newfound smoothness of his skin spoke of a practiced and steady hand, and he assumed it had been Bastien's work.

He looks back and forth between Bastien and Mary and points an accusatory finger at her as a recent memory comes rushing back, “And you..you..she bit me!”

Drake's sudden anger makes his heart start to falter, and he brings his hand to his chest. At the same time he feels a dizzying sensation in his head, “Wha..what's happening to me?” he slurs his words as his eyes close and his body goes limp.

Bastien levels a piercing, disapproving glare at Mary and then raises his thumb to his mouth, he mumbles around it as he bites down. “You're dying, that's what's happening.”

Rushing forward to wrap his arm around Drake's chest, Bastien hauled him upright to prevent him from sinking back down into the bath water. Tipping his head back against his shoulder, Drake's jaw goes slack and Bastien lays his bleeding thumb across his lips.

“Just a taste is all we'll need to bring him back.” Bastien insists.

The dark blood pools around Drake's tongue, and trickles out of the corner of his mouth. Bastien frowns at Drake's inability to swallow it, giving him a gentle shake by the shoulders, and holding his mouth shut. “Come on, now. There's plenty in your mouth, swallow damn you.”

Drake sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, and then his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He was expecting the blood to be warm, but it was cold and thick like syrup. It burned going down his throat like some awful elixir from the apothecary shop, and it stung his nostrils as he coughed. Unlike the whiskey that he’d swallowed last that brought a welcoming warmth to his stomach, the blood caused an uncomfortable chill and queasiness that sent a shock to his lower gut. He didn't want to swallow any more of it, repulsed at how the rotten taste and feel of it in his mouth had assaulted his senses. If this was what drinking blood was like he wondered how vampires could thirst for it. But as soon as the queasiness passed, he strangely felt better, and his strength began to return.

Scooping up a handful of bathwater, Drake washes the blood off his face.

“I think it's time for some answers,” he says, angrily pointing a finger at Bastien. “What the hell do you two want with me?”

Bastien hands Drake a bar of soap and cloth to clean himself. “Get washed and I'll explain the best I can.”

Mary looks on eagerly as Drake lathers up the cloth, “Do you need any help, I could..wash your back for you?”

Bastien shakes his head as Drake stares at Mary in disbelief, “No, thanks. I think I can manage on my own.”

Mary's face falls in disappointment as Bastien makes a dismissive gesture to shoo her away. “Why don't you finish preparing your father's bedroom for Drake, and dispose of his dirty clothes. Make sure the curtains are drawn so the morning light doesn't leak in. After the events of tonight he's going to need several hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

Mary sets Drake's new clothes aside with an angry huff and then leaves. “Once a chamber maid, always a chamber maid,” she mutters as she stomps barefoot up the stairs.

Drake nods his gratitude to Bastien, hoping finally they could have the man to man talk he’s been waiting for. “Ok, then. Start talking.”

Getting up from his seat, Bastien starts to pace the room, turning his back on Drake to give him some privacy as he bathed. He clears his throat and then begins his story.

“As you know, I'm employed by the Beaumont family at the Ramsford Estate.”

“Uh huh,” Drake replies, using the cloth to wash his face and neck again. The smell of his blood was finally being overpowered by the soap, and he lathered the cloth repeatedly to make sure he neutralized all traces of it on his body.

“But I'm more than just their head of security. I belong to a secret society of night watchmen and stewards that have been in service to the noble houses of Cordonia for centuries.”

Drake crosses his leg over his knee to scrub at his foot. “And have you watchmen always been, you know..”

“Vampires?” Bastien finishes, as he goes over to the window to take a peek outside through the curtains. The inky darkness of night was giving way to the weak grey light of early morning. “No, only for the last 285 years.”

Drake frowns as he continues his bath, “That's an oddly specific amount of years, you sound as if you've been around long enough to count each one.”

Bastien sighs as he closes the curtains again, “That's because I have.”

Drake pauses to look at Bastien, still wanting to disbelieve the idea of vampires despite what he's already seen and experienced. “So what's Mary's part in all of this? She hardly seems like night watchman or guard material.”

Bastien sighs, looking up to see Mary sitting at the top of the stairs. “She was an unexpected, but surprisingly useful addition to my plans.”

“Oh, how?” Drake answers, cupping water in his hands and dumping it over his head to rinse the soap from his hair.

“I needed bait to lure you in.”

Drake blinks the water out of his eyes and wipes his face with his hands. “Why me? What am I to you, a meal or a recruit? And what makes you think I want to be either?”

“Did you honestly have any job prospects or any money in your pockets?”

Drake looks down at his boney bent knees jutting above the grayish water of the bathtub, ashamed and embarrassed to be so hopelessly destitute with nothing to claim as his own. “Well, no.” he says, quietly.

“Where were you going to sleep tonight, or what was to be the source of your next meal?”

Drake shrugs, remembering the dark alley next to the tavern where he often slept among the other drunks passed out in their own filth. He recalled the cool roughness of the brick wall that he'd lean against, and the ever present smell of piss and puke.

He looks over gratefully to the fresh clothing they'd picked out for him, down to his clean hands and body and then around to the comfortable home that was being offered for the night. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had afforded him such a kindness. But his gratitude was soon tempered by the fear that they were intending for him to give his life in exchange for this brief kindness.

“Ok, fine. I admit to having nowhere else better to go, tonight or tomorrow for that matter. Which explains why I might be tempted to accept whatever life you're offering. But it still doesn't explain why you chose me over any other poor lonely guy in the tavern tonight.”

Bastien snaps his fingers as Drake answered his own question. “That's just it Drake. You were alone and not engaged in talking to anyone. I'm assuming you have few if any friends and that you would hardly be missed if the tavern patrons never saw you again.”

Drake frowns at the implication that he couldn't make friends with people if he really wanted to. He liked being alone, and only engaged in conversation with people if they had something to offer him. Getting a drink from a bartender, the company of a willing woman, or the chance to finagle a few coins from some guys in a poker game was about as friendly as he wanted to be. All were limited interactions that required no commitment to being anyone's friend. He saw Bastien's point. He was a nobody and could easily become someone else entirely if he wanted to. Totally anonymous.

Drake looks around outside of the area of the tub, searching for something to blot himself dry so he could get dressed. As he stands up, Mary gasps at seeing him naked again. Bastien hands him a sheet to wrap around himself as he steps out of the tub. After quickly drying himself under the watchful eye of Bastien and the under the uncomfortable gaze of Mary, Drake pulls on the new clothes.

“Do I necessarily have to die to become part of this night watchmen society you belong to? Couldn't I be more useful on the day shift?”

Bastien waves off his concerns, “Any man off the street could be trained and become a day guard. But the worst threats to noble safety come at night. We move silently to neutralize threats before they breach the outer walls.”

“And if the moment arises to make a criminal your next meal, then it benefits the nobles and the watchmen alike.” Drake offers.

Bastien nods, “But we mustn't be sloppy or overly obvious that we’re feeding on any intruders. Any dead bodies are to be properly disposed of with minimal fang marks.”

Drake rubs his bottom lip feeling uneasy, “So does fresh blood really taste like what you gave me?”

“Oh, not at all,” Mary interrupts as she comes down the stairs.

“Living blood is much tastier. What you had was second hand, and quite dead.”

Drake looks from Bastien to Mary, scared all over again. “So..what happens now?”

Bastien places a hand on Drake's shoulder, the dead weight and strength in his grip was far from reassuring. “Your body needs to officially die before we can give you the gift of a new life.”

Drake's eyes go wide and he tries to swallow the sudden dry lump in his throat. “Bu..but I feel fine. Do we have to do this now?”

Bastien chuckles, leading Drake toward the stairs. “You're not dead yet, but after losing consciousness three times this evening already, death can't be far away. Based on the pallor of your skin, the hollowness of your cheeks and belly, you strike me as someone who drinks his meals more often than chewing them. If we hadn't found you tonight I wouldn't have expected you to live more than a few more months at best. Your body was already failing you and you weren't even aware of it.”

As they reach the bedroom at the far end of the hall, Drake panics feeling like a sacrificial lamb and tries to get away. Bastien wraps his arm around his shoulders and redirects him into the room. “If you bolt now, you won't get far. Would you rather die in the street? You’d probably stumble and injure yourself painfully as you wait to die.”

Drake stands nervously and waits for his alternative, “And if I don't run? What happens?”

“Just make yourself comfortable in bed and get some rest. You have 12 hours left at the most to make peace with this world and enjoy whatever daylight you can after you wake up. While sleeping will rejuvenate you somewhat, don't be fooled into thinking you can return to the life you once had. By sunset you'll be dead.”

Drake sits down on the end of the bed, “And if I were to go to the police and try to explain everything that happened to me?”

“I'd avoid the police, considering that the hotel housekeeper will be discovering you're missing any moment now. You're a wanted man, even if the blood you woke up in was actually your own.”

Drake sighs, running his hands through his damp hair, “Oh right, you have a point there.”

Mary sits down next to Drake on the bed, laying her hand on his knee. “We'll leave you some coins on the dresser. Go watch a show, get a last drink of whiskey, a last meal, but don't stray too far from the house.”

“Why not?”

“You need to be back here in time for sunset, so Bastien and I can help you finish your transformation. A little bit of Bastien's blood was enough to bring you back to this life, but it will take a lot more to get you to wake up into the next one.”

:::

Tagging:

@texaskitten30 @janezillow @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @pedudley @ravenpuff02 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @indiacater @kingliam2019 @walkerswhiskeygirl @bobasheebaby @emceesynonymroll @kimmiedoo5 @sirbeepsalot @xxrainbow-princessxx @losingbraincellseveryday @princessleac1 @nikkis1983

[onwardintolight]

Read it on FFN here

~~~

Leia woke up late to the sound of wailing.

Ben’s wailing, coming from the living quarters.

Karabast, she muttered under her breath. What time was it?

She checked her chrono. 1230.

Ugh. Again?

Blinking back the sleep that threatened to pull her under once more, she groaned as she sat up.

Ben’s cries came more fiercely now, mixed with a few choice babbled syllables he’d been trying on for size lately. The cold, empty spot beside her in bed told her Han was out there with him. That was a relief. Their son had an escape artist streak; at least this time he wasn’t crawling around the house all on his own, looking to see how much trouble he could get into. Still, her heart sank. They were all about equal parenting, but it seemed like Han had been shouldering the greater burden as of late.

She fixed her eyes on the light streaming through the window, trying to get them to adjust. It didn’t really help. Her head still hurt; the room was still blurry. She forced herself to get up anyway.

Han looked at her apologetically when she finally lurched into the living quarters. “I was tryin’ to let you sleep,” he said. “I guess this little ruffian had other ideas. ‘M sorry, sweetheart.” Inexplicably, Ben had already stopped crying; he was now contentedly perched on Han’s hip, tugging at his hair.

“I’m sorry, Han, I should have been up hours ago; I should never have made you take care of Ben this long—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, acting affronted. “Made me? I chose to spend time with this little guy.” He ruffled Ben’s hair. “Besides, you needed to get some rest.”

She didn’t argue; she was too tired, and it would be a losing battle, anyway. He knew she’d been staying up half the night lately, unable to sleep. For no good reason, she thought angrily. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t get any sleep when she lay down; it was that somehow, dragging herself into bed seemed like a near impossible task. She’d distract herself with pointless research or dumb holonet shows, watching the hours tick by, too weary to go through her bedtime rituals, too anxious to let her mind rest. Too afraid to face the possibility of another nightmare.

“Rest is overrated,” she grumbled. “I need some caf.”

She headed for the kitchen, but Han stepped in her way. “I’ve got it, sweetheart. You go sit down.”

She tried to step around him, but he blocked her again. Her ire spiked. “Han, stop it.”

“Go sit down.”


“Why? How incapable do you think I am? Last I checked, I don’t have the virus.”

“Leia—”

“Just let me do it.”

He raised his free arm placatingly. “Okay. Sure.” He stepped aside, frowning. She had probably pissed him off, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She stepped into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cabinets for the ground caf. There wasn’t much left in the container, she noted with alarm. She should have ordered some more days ago. The way everything was in the galaxy right now, it would take forever to arrive. Somehow, the prospect of less caf over the coming days made her feel breathless, almost dizzy. She leaned against the counter, trying to get ahold of herself.

She was almost always on edge these days. Funny how the end of her time as a soldier didn’t signal the end of that. Truth be told, she didn’t know how to stop being that way.

It had gotten better, for a time—it had taken awhile for things to settle down before she had Ben, and in the meantime her Jedi training had helped her learn new techniques to calm herself (even if it simultaneously stirred up some deeper fears). Then there was that honeymoon phase of life with their new little family, that shaky and awkward but ultimately hopeful step she and Han had taken together into new territory. It had been a deeply happy experience overall, even if hard at times. Being together was a gift, thanks to a galaxy newly at peace, and she had treasured this weird, messy, beautiful, strangely domestic era in their life. She would miss it, when it was gone.

But all the same, she yearned to get back to work. She felt in her bones that she still had more to give to the galaxy, if only she had the opportunity. Han was itching to get back in the cockpit, too. It was past time to forge a new normal with her family, where they could all be who they fully were as they found new ways to grow and love together.

Apparently the galaxy had different plans.

During her parental leave, she’d taken time off because she chose to, and she’d been okay with that. She’d never expected this pandemic to come in later and take so many choices away. When people started getting sick on Corellia, no one had guessed how quickly it would spread, stopping the whole galaxy in its tracks. They’d been quarantining now for almost a month, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. She even found herself missing the polite, insistent prattling of her protocol droid, T-2LC, who lately more often than not sat powered down in their home office with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, even if it weren’t for the pandemic, she had still been semi-exiled from the Republic government. Oh, it wasn’t as though it were official or anything—people still treated her with utmost respect, and she still counted several of those in leadership, Mon Mothma and Ackbar in particular, as dear friends. But the truth of the matter was that she had been gradually, quietly sidelined, ever since Kashyyyk. She did not regret in the slightest her actions at the time, but her angry outbursts and rogue behavior were not forgotten. The new government had truly taken off after the Battle of Jakku, right around the time Ben was born, and she had missed out on much of that formative time. After her parental leave was over, she had simply not been invited back.

That hurt.

Despite all that, she’d done her best to liason with the Alderaanian remnant, to take care of their needs and ensure they had adequate representation on Chandrila. In fact, she still had work to do on that, even if the virus had put much on hold.

But lately, she’d been doing nothing. She’d just been sitting around at home: restless, fatigued, and oddly enough, terrified.

The daylight outside the kitchen window disappeared into clouds, dimming everything around her.

It was strange. She’d been through countless battles; she’d seen so many horrors. And yet here she was, with a different kind of fear, one that seemed to have gripped her in ways deeper than she could have imagined. Not fear of the pandemic, per se, though of course she was worried about her family, about everyone she cared about, about the entire galaxy.

No, even more than that, Leia was terrified of who she was, of what she’d become. She hardly recognized the woman in the mirror anymore. The woman who was no longer consumed by the fight for galactic justice. The woman who had nowhere to channel her grief anymore, and no giant, all-important cause to distract her. She was alone with herself, now, and the longer this went on, the more she hated herself.

Swallowing, she forced herself to move. She dipped a measuring spoon into the ground caf, brought it to the caf maker. Her hand was unsteady, though; some spilled out on the counter. She muttered a curse under her breath and stabbed at the controls to get the thing running. It would do.

This pandemic had stirred something deep inside her. Instinct had kicked in—she needed to be back on the front lines, leading, making a difference. She needed to fight. But she couldn’t fight, not this time. Not when the enemy was a virus instead of an evil Empire. She felt desperate to do something besides sitting locked away at home. She’d always done something. But there was nothing for her to do now, no role they wanted her to fill. None of her skills that might be useful were needed. The true soldiers, this time, were the medics, the farmers and food suppliers, the workers providing what everyone needed.

She couldn’t fight. But she couldn’t seem to make herself back away from it, either. She was stuck.

The air felt heavy, thick. The smell of caf filled the room. She stared half-seeing as it slowly dripped into the carafe.

Why?

Why couldn’t she back down? Why couldn’t she just be content with isolating with her family? That was what was needed of her, after all. That was the way she was making a difference.

The problem was, it didn’t feel like enough.

It was never enough.

As long as she was fighting, she could at least say she was working to make Alderaan’s sacrifice count. Working to atone for her part in all that.

No, she challenged herself. That’s not how this works; you know better, now.

She sighed and turned away, shaking her head. She didn’t blame herself as much as she used to. At least, not on the surface. She’d come a long way since those first few years, in no small part thanks to Han. But still, shame had settled inside her core and refused to budge, no matter what she told it; it was shaped like a pointed finger forever turned inward, whispering of “should haves” and “should nows,” never letting her rest.

Those whispers had only gotten stronger lately, as the paralysis set in. The feeling of being trapped between fight or flight had settled on her as a heavy weight. She was depressed, she’d come to realize with a shock. It was hardly the first time, but she didn’t ever remember it being so destructive to her functionality, not even at her lowest of lows. In addition, her anxiety was hitting insane levels. Wartime levels; maybe even higher. Little things made her jump, took her right back—a sound that reminded her of blaster fire. The smell of something burning. The unexpected chime of the door. Ben’s cries.

For kriff’s sake, a slight note of anger in Han’s voice was nearly enough to make her panic and react to him in ways she hadn’t in years. Any hint of disappointment or even simple requests could send her into a meltdown, as she tried to prove to him (and even more so, to herself) that she really was capable, that she wasn’t as much to blame for everything as some inner part of her clearly still thought.

The clouds outside drew closer, and she felt, more than heard, a faint, distant rumble. For a moment, she remembered lightning on Appenza Peak, her old bedroom windows thrown open to see it. She pushed the image away.

To Han’s credit, he seemed to have caught on that something was amiss with her, moreso than normal. He’d been taking on even more responsibility with Ben lately, not snapping back (well, at least not usually), and treating her with vastly more grace than she felt like she deserved. His attempt to let her sleep in this morning warmed her heart, but at the same time, it speared her through with guilt like a blaster bolt. She should be better than this.

Where was the Leia that sucked it up and helped saved the galaxy? Where was the Leia who had commanded troops and put her life on the line again and again? Yes, that Leia had suffered greatly and had been dealing with no small amount of PTSD, but somehow she’d gotten through and fought despite it all. Perhaps that Leia would have stayed up most of the night as she’d done the night before—probably intent on the distraction of supply charts and strategies instead of wandering their flat aimlessly—but that Leia would have also forced herself awake the next morning and worked until she practically made herself sick.

That Leia had definitely not been healthy, but she was functional.

At least that Leia got stuff done.

Now, she was useless. She was just as haunted by everything that had happened, if not more so, but she had nothing to do, nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run. Trapped.

Her neck was hurting again, and her arm—the places the torture droids had once injected her. The muscles in her shoulders and back felt tense, hard as a rock. She had a headache. The room spun a little. In fact, the room seemed not quite there. Was she really here?

“Leia?” Han appeared in the doorway, Ben still on his hip.

“I… I think I need to go sit down,” she mumbled.

He nodded, brows knit. “I’ll bring you a cup of caf when it’s done.”

She stumbled over to the couch, feeling vaguely relieved as it embraced her. Idly, she watched as the sky outside grew darker, more ominous. Force, she hoped it would storm. She could hardly take the thick stillness.

Minutes passed. She heard the sound of the caf maker finishing its work, Han rummaging in the cabinet, liquid being poured into a mug. He brought it out to her, and she took it, set it on the table beside her to cool. She sat back, hands over her eyes against the pressure, and managed a nod. “Thanks, darling,” she murmured.

He was being so sweet, so caring, and she was so, so grateful for him.

She also hated it. She hated that she had put him in a position where he felt like he had to do everything for her and Ben. Where he had to take care of her as if she were another child. He was suffering, too; aching to get back out among the stars, haunted by the reports of the sick and dying in the slums of his old homeworld. She should have been able to deal with all this herself.

But… she couldn’t. Not right now. Everything hurt. She could barely even catch a good breath, for kriff’s sake. She tried breathing in and out, slowly and deeply. Did it help? Perhaps a little, but it was hard to tell. All she wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position and just… not be there. Not be her, this new, useless Leia. She started to curl in on herself, but then she remembered curling up in a ball on the floor of the Death Star cell, and she stopped.

No.

She could almost feel the gaze of the cell guards, hear the breath of Vader. Instead, she leaned forward and focused on her breathing again—how was it possible that it was even shallower than before?

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Han’s voice came through the static in her head.

She started to nod, hands still over her eyes, then stopped. After a moment, she shook her head no instead. She felt deeply ashamed, but that was the truth of the matter—she wasn’t okay. Not at all.

Vaguely, she heard Ben babbling on the floor, the sound of him handling and biting some things that were most likely toys. Han must have distracted him for the moment. She decided she didn’t have the energy to care all that much what Han had given him to play with; she’d trust his judgment for now.

“Turn around,” Han said, sitting beside her. She felt his hands start to rub at her neck, her shoulders. She let out a shaky breath. It felt so good.

His touch was also real, here, now—unlike Vader, the guards, the cell, or that room of horrors in Cloud City. She remembered the exercises Luke had taught her, and she tuned into the sensations, focusing on them, letting everything else fall away. Emptying herself of all but this moment, his hands, her muscles… she was a cup to be filled up.

Her breath finally slowed, deepened, and tears filled her eyes. Gratitude, relief, frustration, grief… it all threatened to spill out. Her breath hitched again.

“Breathe, Leia. It’s okay.”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Han, I don’t know why I’m like this, I don’t know who I am anymore….” She turned and lay her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, “you’ve been through a hell of a lot of trauma. My guess? Now that you’re forced to relax, now that you can’t fight, it’s all tryin’ to come out, shoutin’ at you to deal with it. That’s probably a good thing, you know, because it means you’re safe now. You’ve gotta take some time to heal.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She recognized the truth in his words. He’d clearly learned a lot in his own therapy sessions post-carbonite, as much as he’d complained about them. Maybe it was time to look into that for herself again, too. She could hardly be any more of a mess.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve been a terrible person to be around, lately, and I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I can’t just manage—“

“Sshhh,” he said. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know. We’re in this together, okay? Let me help you. Let me help you rest.”

“I can’t, there’s so much I should—”

“I’m serious. You need to rest.” Han sighed. “You’re already a hero, Leia. You’ve helped save the whole goddamn galaxy. It’s okay to rest now. You need it.”

Leia stared at the wall. Then, finally, in a small voice, she said, “I’m afraid if I let myself rest, I’ll never be able to rise up and do what I need to do again.” A few moments passed; when she continued, her voice was edged with panic. “What if this is actually the real me? What if I never fully deal with it? What if I just… waste away, and become someone people pity?” She blinked back tears again. “I can’t stand the thought of people’s pity. Like, ‘Oh, she fought in the war, she was a great leader, it’s a shame what she’s let herself become—’”

“Leia, stop it. First of all, no way is anyone gonna pity you like that. Again, you’re a hero. You will always be a hero. People know who you really are—” he held up a hand to stop her from interrupting—“and that person is the person I still see before me right now. Someone’s who’s incredibly strong. Someone who will always fight for what’s right. Someone who, right now, is fighting a battle inside that’s, oh I dunno, at least as big as any she’s ever fought on the outside. It’s just that now, fighting looks like rest, like sleeping in late, like letting your husband help you. Like cuddling and feeding and loving on a baby. Like muddling through the day however you can while processing all the hell you’ve been through.”

The tears were falling, now. Leia shut her eyes, burying her head into Han’s chest. She tried to let his words sink in.

“We’re a team, Leia,” Han said, his voice filled with conviction. “Things are hard right now, but we’ll get through this together. You don’t have to have it all figured out on your own.”

She exhaled, nodding silently. She’d probably need to be reminded again before long, but for now, his words were enough to fade some of the shame.

A flash came, then a low rumble. Shakily, she stood up and walked over to the window, watching as the first few drops of rain pattered against it. Han followed, coming up to put his arm around her as they looked out on the storm together. She leaned against him.

It calmed her, somehow, seeing the tumult outside. It always had. She could almost smell the rain, feel the rush of the wind. She half wanted to rush out on their bedroom balcony and let it all drench her. Unfortunately, she was all too aware that their flat was near the top of one of Hanna City’s few towers.

Maybe she would later, once the lightning had passed. She would go out with Han, Ben in her arms, and teach her son how to laugh in the rain.

Her breaths were starting to come more fully now.

“Mama,” a little voice said, and she felt a tug at her pant leg. Ben had crawled over and was holding his arms up to her. She reached down and picked him up, pulled him into her embrace.

“I love you,” she whispered, and her heart felt suddenly full. He wriggled around, untamed as always, twisting in her arms so he could look out the window along with them, mouth open wide in wonder.

“Da,” he said, pointing a chubby little finger at the wild sky.

A bolt of lightning shrieked down from the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the whole flat. She caressed Ben’s curly head, ready to offer comfort. No need; he seemed to be enjoying the show as much as she was.

Another bolt of lightning struck the outskirts of the city, spectacular in its vivid starkness. For a moment, she felt like a finger of that light was breaking through, piercing the dense, sluggish dark inside her, leaving a far deeper imprint than the silhouette still burning in her eyes.

It was right then that she knew it: this heaviness wouldn’t last forever. Someday, perhaps not as long as she feared, this time of intense processing would be over. She’d get up from her rest, get back to being her more functional self again, and work once more to heal all the wrongs of the galaxy. Perhaps by then, she’d be doing it wholler, wiser. More healed, herself. And maybe, just maybe, the galaxy would be even better for it.

But in the meantime, she would tend to her wounds and embrace the lightning as it came.

In the meantime, she would finally learn how to rest.

~

~

~

Notes:

Thanks for taking the time to read this! I hope it encourages you like it did me, especially in these uncertain times when so many of us are dealing with the trauma of our own pandemic.

I literally wrote this as part of my own therapy for PTSD, so please be kind. If you are considering leaving a comment about how this "proves" Han and Leia were bad parents or that you think Leia would never struggle like this or need time to process her trauma, please refrain and take your false and harmful negativity elsewhere. It's hard enough for anyone struggling with PTSD to take the time to heal as it is. Thank you.

For those of you who are struggling with PTSD and/or other mental health issues, I see you. You are not weak; you are strong. You are fighting an incredibly difficult battle. It's okay if you weren't productive today. It's okay to rest. It's okay to take the time to heal. You are worth so much.

[jincherie]

intermission • iii | moonchild

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 4.6k • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: rabid old ladies and tree-climbing shenanigans • ☽ — notes: another intermission! this is my last part for now, miss zee will be writing the next two and then we will see my return!!!! but until then, please indulge us n show miss zee some love!! she works hard for it :’< also because with zee’s next chapter... we see a bit of a twist arise!

— posted; 09.06.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

— some time in first year —

 The afternoon air is cool and the sun is a soft, comforting warmth against the exposed parts of Kim Namjoon’s skin, chasing away the slight bite of the cold that lingers in the breeze due the transitional season as he walks home. He’s just finished fulfilling his third ‘help wanted’ poster duty of the day, collecting the sheets, both handwritten and printed alike, from shopping mall billboards like Pokémon. He has a thick wad of them folded up and wedged in his back pocket (he’d forgotten his trusty messenger bag this morning that, despite being two snapped threads away from falling apart completely, has always managed to see him through the day) and a comparatively much smaller wad in his other back pocket, of the odd jobs his managed to complete through the week.

His rationale for being such an upstanding citizen and going out of his way to help anyone and everyone he can? Two things—experience, and references. He knows it’s a harsh world, and to succeed you have to prepare yourself as much as possible for everything to come. So when the time comes that he steps into the adult, working world after graduating… he doesn’t doubt he’s going to be one of the best prepared people they’ve ever seen.

Plus, sometimes the little old ladies and distraught pet owners he helped gave him a few dollars as a tip. Unnecessary and not something he asks for, but Namjoon isn’t one to turn away a gift when it could do wonders for his loose change jar. It satisfies him to see the little glass thing with a cork lid get fuller and fuller each weak. He blames the deep, primal part of his monkey brain that likes seeing a big collection of shiny objects like coins. It sparks joy, one could say.

The odd job he’s just completed was a little dryer than the rest, if he’s being honest. It was much simpler than the ad for it had made out— just helping some fellow uni student as clueless as him fix their broken toilet roll. All he had to do was find the screw that came out and the student gave him, like, a whole box of frozen chicken patties in return. Which… isn’t so bad but also, Namjoon considers himself an intellectual and while he may be bought by food he still longs for a mental challenge. So despite how usually he gets in about three a day, on a good day, but even thought this is his third one he’s still… hungry for more. He’s also hungry in the literal sense; the last job made him miss lunch and now his stomach is performing an acapella version of ‘feed me, feed me, you bastard’. A classic hit, one he is especially familiar with. He’ll have to rifle through the papers in his back pocket and suss out whether any of the posters seem the type to provide food for the help.

He’s still toying with the idea when he happens across an unexpected scenario that seems to have been dropped into his path by the fates themselves. Along one side of the footpath are suburban homes and their small front yards and cute little mailboxes, and to the other is the occasional tree and then the plain asphalt of the road. About a yard in front of him, just far enough that he can’t really see even with his glasses on, there seems to be a bit of a commotion occurring near one of the larger trees lining the street.

Excitement probably shouldn’t be his first reaction, but it is, and Namjoon hurries his long-legged gait so that he can reach the spectacle sooner. He doesn’t know what he looked like but walking like this, he feels a bit like those spiders with the tiny bodies and disproportionately long, spindly legs. And here he is, going to help out like the friendly neighbourhood spiderman. He slapped his thigh, eyes wide. He might be an iron man enthusiast at heart, but damn that’s a good line for his resume.

The closer Namjoon gets to the commotion he’d spotted from afar, the more he realises he might have hit jackpot. The source of the loud yelling and frantic movements seems to be a woman, a little on the elderly side, with her wild salt and pepper curls defying gravity in some places and clumping in others—it takes Namjoon a moment to realise that she’s actually attempted to tie her hair back and that’s why it looks a little bit deformed from the distance. As he draws closer, he notes that she looks a little unhinged. His reaction to such a thing should be caution, and he should feel wary, but all he can think is hell yes this woman clearly needs help and he is going to help her, damn it.

“Pudding, come down! Please! I’m sorry for calling you fat, Pudding! I didn��t mean it!”

As soon as he’s within earshot, he hears the woman sobbing hysterically as she claws at the thick trunk of the tree. She’s too small to reach the lowest hanging branch, and has taken to draping herself pitifully against the leaning trunk as she scrabbles against the bark with her nails. The woman wails, pitifully, voice piercing the air like a siren, or a banshee, “Pudding!”

Confused as he may be, he’s sure that as soon as he asks the lady what happened, he’ll be as clued in as possible. Namjoon clears his throat and composes himself, before stepping forward and speaking loud enough that the woman can hear him over her own loud weeping.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is everything alright? Do you require assistance of any kind?”

The lady spins around, a crazy glint in her eye, and belatedly, Namjoon begins to feel a little wary in addition to the wave of concern that seems to have caught up to him from where he left it in the dust.

“My pudding,” the woman wails, lurching and attaching herself to Namjoon like he is the tree she’d just been attempting to scale. Her nails dig into his arms, and the male is suddenly thankful for the long sleeves of his shirt and jacket protecting them from being punctured by her claws. “My pudding is stuck in the tree.”

A few beats of silence sound in Namjoon’s head, before finally a thought spawns into being. This woman…. Did she fling her dessert into the tree? God, it’s worse than he thought. He never expected to walk upon such a tragedy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Namjoon says, sincerely sympathetic. Being prone to trips and falls as he is, he has been victim many a times to accidentally flinging food all over the place. His heart goes out to her, his hands coming to pat her forearms with only a little hesitance (distantly, a part of him wonders if the crazed look in her eye is due to rabies, and the whiteness of what he assumes is snot all over her face and mouth makes him a little nervous). “Would you like help? I can get the pudding down from the tree, and then you can go on ea—”

“Oh, would you, dear?” the woman’s grip tightens like a vice as she cuts him off, wide, glassy eyes gleaming with hope. Is she starting to froth at the mouth a bit? Namjoon chooses to ignore that observation. “Please, please get him down. He’s the fat bastard on the second highest branch, and he -hic- must be so scared.”

Namjoon resists the instinct to make a face just barely— is she referring to her pudding as a he, and did she just call her pudding a fat bastard?— and instead follows the old woman’s shaking hand as it point to the top of the tree. Realisation slaps him in the face.

There, sitting right on the thickest part of the second highest branch near the trunk and somehow still managing to bow it, is both the fattest and the ugliest but most oddly endearing cat Namjoon has ever seen. At least, he thinks it’s a cat. It’s a cat until proven otherwise, he decides.

“Oh,” Namjoon says, staring at the cat. The cat stares back, and Namjoon gulps at the sudden goblin energy it seems to be radiating. “Pudding.”

The woman, still babbling incoherently while Namjoon creates a half-assed sort of mental plan for how to proceed and reach the top of the tree, starts shaking him slightly in her distress. Being a music major doesn’t prepare him for shit like this, he laments. This lady better have some food on the table for the trauma she’s currently inflicting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get pudding.” He gingerly brushes her grip off him, surprised she let go with such little convincing, and makes his way to the trunk of the tree. The cat stares him down the entire time, lidded yellow eyes peering into the depths of his being and pulling out his innermost fears. Namjoon feels like this cat is the kind of thing you peer under your bed as a child and see balled up in the corner, hissing, with big fangs and ominous man-eating energy. This cat looks like the second Namjoon is within reach he’s going to claw his face off or eat his ears. A shiver rolls down his spine, but he pushes on. He’s going to climb this tree, make this cat his bitch, and bring it back down for the crazy old lady who has started breathing extra heavy the closer he gets to the tree. Distantly, one of his braincells knocks around and whispers that this feels like when Hansel and Gretel got tricked by a witch and her candy house— except in this situation the candy house is Namjoon’s incredible need for good references and experience. Annoyed at the errant brain cell, he flicks it away mentally and tries to think of a way up the tree when he reaches the base.

Well, he supposes he’s just gonna have to go up branch by branch and see which ones he can reach with his long noodle legs. He has to bring his foot up past his ear to clamber onto the first branch, and amongst the pain of essentially doing the splits he feels oddly proud of himself. Kim Namjoon; outstanding citizen, academic, genius music major, now gymnast. It has a nice ring to it. Perhaps he should consider broadening his horizons and extending his athleticism.

Scaling the tree is actually much easier than he anticipated. None of the branches are too far or too high to reach, and he’s satisfied with the effortlessness this job has taken so far. This will look fantastic on his record— he can’t forget to get a written statement from the rabies lady.

Before he knows it, he’s come face to face with the cat. Up close, it radiates even more demonic goblin energy, and Namjoon feels his knees quake slightly in response. It doesn’t meow, doesn’t even growl, merely bares its teeth in greeting, and the male gulps. Alright, time to make this cat his bitch for a moment and save that old lady’s day.

“Hey puss,” Namjoon greets, a little rusty on his cat conversation etiquette. “Come here puss, here, tch tch.”

The cat, fearing neither god nor man, merely sits and looks at Namjoon as he makes kissy noises in an attempt to lure it. ‘You think you can control me?’ It feels as though the cat says to him, with its apathetic, golden-eyed stare, ‘I belong to no one, fool. I will perish before I move at your will.’

Alright, seems like he’s just gonna have to scoop him up and go. Hopefully his nature is a docile as the name Pudding implies and his intimidating outside is just a farce.

Namjoon leans against the trunk of the tree as he reaches for the cat and takes it into his arms successfully— it’s too fat to put up much of a fight, and for that the male is thankful, even if it now feels like he’s holding a boulder in his arms and they’re going to fall off if he doesn’t deposit it soon. What does that lady feed this cat?! Cement?!

Having secured the old lady’s bag, Namjoon directs his gaze downwards and goes to embark on the next step in the plan to climb the tree for the cat and then climb down with the cat— as expected, it’s time for the latter. Wait, speaking of—

A ladder? God he wishes he had one of those right now, because he’s just realised that he has no idea how to get down. The cat’s belly gives an almighty rumble and, expectedly, it throws Namjoon a little off balance. The old lady is calling out hoarsely several many feet below them, and Namjoon feels a little overwhelmed as he considers possibilities and analyses paths down.

Gulping, he makes a calculated decision— unfortunately, he was never that great at maths.

x x

An afternoon stroll through the streets surrounding your dorm is just what you need, some fresh air to sooth your tired, university student soul and refresh your mind.

At least, that’s what you decided like ten minutes ago. Currently, you’re not sharing the same sentiments as past-you so much. This is mostly due to the abundance of unhinged elderly and zombified youth that seem to have had the same idea as you and that are now milling about unchecked. You accidentally stepped off the footpath before and stepped maybe ten centimetres onto someone’s lawn. That someone happened to be a short, stout middle-aged couple that had matching outdated hairdos, and they were not happy about you ‘messing up their lawn’. Before embarking on this walk, you could have proudly said you’d never been chased down the street by some screaming woman with a broom before. Now though, you’re no longer a virgin to that particular experience. You’re not going home as the same woman you were when you left.

The street that you’ve just turned onto, on your journey back to your dorms, is remarkably less chaotic than the rest and you feel yourself letting out a breath of relief. Finally, you thought you were going to combust from the stress alone. As relieved as you are though, you don’t let down your guard; you’ve been burnt before, thank you very much.

Not even three houses down the street, your reservations are proven right. There is an elderly woman, who appears afflicted with a sickness of some sort if the fluids all over her face are anything to go by, who is sobbing and moping at the base of a tree in what you hope is her front yard. Confronted with the strange situation, a part of you instinctively wants to help her— the other part tells you to turn tail and go down another street because this could be one of those traps where they trick you with a crying child or old lady and then mug you, taking all your money and any candy still surviving in your pockets.

Ultimately, the more empathetic side of you wins out and you hesitantly begin to walk closer to the woman clawing at the tree and screaming about desserts.

“Uh, excuse me ma’am, are you o—”

You don’t even get to finish before there is a sudden series of snaps and cracks from the tree above you and a mass comes hurtling down from the foliage. You scream, the sheer blood-curdling nature making your throat ache, and just about shit yourself as you launch away. Where you stood, a shape smacks into the ground with a hearty thunk that shakes the earth a little beneath your feet. You were right, you’re about to get mugged!

“AHH FUCK WHAT THE FUCK FUCK OFF I KNOW KATANA!”

The mass on the ground groans and you blink, watching with absolute dumbfoundedness as it shifts and suddenly the fattest cat you’ve ever seen is parting from it and running towards the woman in hysterics by the base of the tree. For such an absolute unit, it moves fast, and barely a moment passes before the massive load of a cat is wrapped firmly in the old lady’s arms.

“Pudding,” she weeps into his coat, the cat pinning you and the lump at your feet with an ominous, dead-eyed stare over her shoulder. “Oh my sweet, fat bastard— don’t you ever do that again, okay? Oh my sweet baby—”

She turns, mumbling into the fur of her cat as she begins to depart from the tree and make her way back to the house that you presume to be hers. For a moment you forget about the lump at your feet, until you hear it let out a pathetic whimper.

“My reference and commendation…”

You let out another scream, for some reason not at all expecting it to speak words. When you look down, however, you instantly feel guilty.

The thing that fell from the tree was a man and he landed right on his ass.

“Oh wait holy shit are you okay?!” Now that you’re over your fear of being mugged, you run over to the man and pop a concerned squat next to his curled up form. “What the hell were you doing up there? Did you steal that crazy lady’s cat?!”

The male at your feet groaned, bereft. “No, I was helping her get the cat down. Holy shit, my buns…”

You turn your gaze to his heinie, realising that with how hard he hit the ground he very likely has broken something. God, now that you think about it, he could have broken his tailbone. You have a friend that did that in highschool— it wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t pretty. And the thought that this poor man who fell from the tree and scared the absolute shit out of you might have done the same… oh, you felt for him. He attempted to roll and let out a pathetic groan. Oh yeah, he definitely broke it.

“Wait, don’t move! I think you broke your tailbone when you fell! Don’t move too much.” You hurry to halt him, and all he can muster in response is another sad groan.

“God, I- I can’t see…” he dropped his head against the earth, eyes shut. “The light… it’s growing closer.”

“H-hang on!” You panic, hands flying into the air. “We need to get you help! We need to get you to a hospital! Please don’t go into the light!”

The male groans again, and you flounder— you have to get him to the ER! It’s more serious than you thought. Panicked, you scramble for a way to get him up and mobile. Finally, an idea occurs to you, and you survey the man’s lanky form to try and assess how well it’s going to work out. A grimace finds its way to your face.

You’re going to be so sore later.

x     x

For forty minutes, you carried the long-limbed male on your back like nothing but a pack mule. Twenty minutes of that you spent walking, feeling like that Atlas bitch carrying the heaviest thing imaginable on your back and shoulders; and the other twenty was spent taking (read: waiting for) public transport. By the time you arrived to the hospital and got the man on your back checked in (you learned his name is actually Kim Namjoon and he’s a student, much like you), you felt as though at any second you were going to pass out. You still feel like that, actually, as you sit in the chair along the wall across from the male’s bed, which has the curtains drawn as the doctor inspects him, and attempt to recover. You’re sweaty, and gross, and desperately want a coffee. You even considered slipping some of the paper from the mysterious wad in his back pocket before you realised it isn’t money. You didn’t get to see what was on the papers, since you lost interest as soon as you realised it wasn’t cash.

You don’t get to lament too much about it before the curtains are being hauled back, a brightly smiling man greeting you; the doctor appears just as exuberant and overjoyed as when he first walked in.

“Well, good news and bad news!” he chirps, tucking his clipboard under his arm. His nametag reads Dr. Lee Minhyuk, and you can’t help but think that your new friend Sera would probably be frothing at the mouth at the mere sight of him. You catch sight of Namjoon adjusting himself on the bed behind the doctor, cheeks red.

You send the doctor a probing look, knowing he is waiting for a response. He beams, delighted at your acknowledgement.

“Good news first!” the Dr. Lee clicks his heels together before shifting his stance, gesturing his arm widely to Namjoon. “His tailbone is not broken! Thanks to the uneven distribution of his ass cheeks— ahem, sorry, his buttocks— all of the force of impact was absorbed by the, uh, dominant butt cheek, if you will. His tailbone is fine!”

Namjoon chokes behind him at the words that come out, and a part of you is mortified for him but the rest of you finds that too funny to even begin unpacking everything else yet. One of his ass cheeks really pulled a hard carry and did the lord’s work and absorbed all the impact. The power… A sigh of relief escapes you at the doctor’s words, though, and you go to speak up your relief when the doctor cuts you off.

“Whoops, actually I take that back! That’s the bad news— his tailbone isn’t broken, but it is bruised.” Dr Lee clicks his tongue, taking out his clipboard to scribble something short down. He then turns to Namjoon. “I kind of have to go— since you came in through the ER but this isn’t an actual emergency— but I’ll send a nurse in with directions for you on how to manage this, and after that you’ll be free to go. I recommend not climbing any more trees for a while! Also I hope you don’t sleep on your back, that might be a bit difficult like this.”

With that, he clicks his heels once more before saluting you both, and then he’s striding out of the room, off to tend to actual emergencies, you presume. You’d gotten an earful earlier for bringing him to the ER when it wasn’t a life-or-death emergency, but you stand by your decision.

There are a few long moments of silence in the time after the doctor leaves, and you decide to break it by standing and moving to the table beside his bed, where you’d left your phone like a fool. Avoiding his face (he’s still blushing so it’s a courtesy, but also because while sitting and waiting for the doctor you’d realised he really is quite good looking and your mind is having trouble associating that with the man who fell out of the tree earlier), you reach for the phone amongst the water cups and chocolate wrappers, from when he’d emptied his front pockets. He’s a nervous drinker and a hoarder, it seems.

“Wait,” His hand shoots out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can grab your phone. Your heart jumps, perhaps in fright. You look to him with wide eyes. “I’m gonna need you to sign a non-disclosure about what you just heard.”

“I…” you give him a pained look. “Please, tell me you carry them with you at all times. Please. If you don’t tell me, I really might die.”

Namjoon lets out a great, big sigh, releasing your wrist somewhat petulantly. “I don’t… please hold your tongue until I can print some more.”

More? You’re having a field day with the implication that he has had instances where he’s needed to hand out non-disclosure agreements before, but he seems a little sombre. So instead of mocking him, as per your first instinct, you decide to try and make conversation. You know the nurse is coming soon, but you would feel bad leaving him alone until then. You feel like, having carried him on your back for miles and miles, almost an hour, you’ve really gotten closer and crossed the bridge from strangers to acquaintances.

“So…” you begin, tapping your fingers against your thighs. You search for another nearby chair before grabbing it and pulling it over, flopping down. “What do you study? Where?”

You feel like a new language learner asking questions using only the limited vocab you have, but Namjoon is unphased and answers as though you’d asked him something much more natural.

“CCU,” he says, fingers picking at the threads on his blanket, before he looks up to glance at you. “I’m a music major.”

Surprise filters through you at that, a noise of wonderment escaping before you can really stop it. “Oh! Hey, me too! I think you’re in one of the years above me, though, because I haven’t seen you in any of my classes before.”

Namjoon, who had been somewhat withdrawn and had put up a wall of sorts between you since entering the hospital and regaining control of himself (and a donut cushion to sit on), seems to do an absolute one-eighty at your words. “Oh, your major is music as well? Where are you specialising?”

You tell him with an eager smile, and he responds with one of his own. Just like that, the two of you fall into a conversation that comes much easier than anticipated, talking about your majors and music inside and outside of school. The nurse takes forever and you spend a good amount of time there, just talking to this upperclassmen who happened to fall out of a tree while you were walking past. Eventually, he confides in you about a rough draft of his, something he has really high hopes for. It’s a song called Moonchild, and it’s barely half done but he drums and beat boxes the rough rhythm out for you and you feel your cheeks heat in awe as you listen. That’s amazing, you can’t help but think, and it’s all him. You don’t think you’ve ever liked the demo of a song as much as you like that one.

The afternoon passes with the nurse eventually visiting, and all too soon you’re waiting with the long-legged noodle man at the drop-off and pick-up zone, watching with a note of sadness as a car pulls up and some mint-haired twink that looks vaguely familiar sticks his head out and calls for Namjoon. Namjoon thanks you for your help and bids you farewell, and then he’s climbing into the car with an abrupt wail of pain— he forgot to put his donut down first— before the doors shut and the car is pulling away, disappearing into the dusk and leaving you by your lonesome. You stand a few minutes, before letting out a huff and turning to leave yourself.

The whole way home, and throughout the rest of the week, you can’t help but think about the beautiful tune of moonchild and how it rings serenely through your mind when your thoughts quieten just enough. You hope you get to hear it again, someday; you hope you get to hear it when it’s finally completed and Namjoon’s name is on the credits.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

{let us know what u think!! who are u rooting for?? who do u think is the muse?? hit us up!! & thank u for reading, btw!}

[toast-the-unknowing]

What are the #thots on CDTH?

This is begging for one of those “edgy/depressed/dumbass bitch/thot/bastard” memes, but sadly you sent it to someone with no patience for slapping together graphics, so you get a lot of words instead. Behind a cut, for length and SPOILERS.

I really enjoyed this book, my reactions to most of the additions to canon were positive, it felt a wide range of emotions while reading it and upon finishing I found that it had knocked me sort of off center in that way where I don’t want to write anything ever again, or read anything, or really do much but stare out of windows. I know that feeling will pass, but I’m soaking in it for now. I haven’t yet discerned if there are going to be any substantial changes to the ways that I write these characters, when I write these characters again.

I loved Ronan in this book, which was a relief. I had been a bit worried that Maggie intended for him to end up as Lonely God Ronan, isolated and just too damn special for the rest of humanity, but it now appears that is very much not the plan. It hurt watching him be trapped at the Barns, wanting something different from life and not knowing how to get it, and it was amazing to watch him forge a connection with someone new and find the capability that he has to help other people, instead of just kind of thinking of himself as the fuck-up.

Holy Shit I felt emotions about Matthew, that was unexpected and unprecedented. Fuck did that boy make me sad. I am greatly looking forward to seeing where his story goes, now that he actually has one. I want some quality Matthew & Jordan dream duo bonding time.

I want, just, quality Jordan content in general, I love Jordan, I need more of her, she was wonderful.

Hennessy leaves me cold, but I had a very similar reaction to Ronan until most of the way through The Dream Thieves, so I am giving her the benefit of the doubt and waiting to see what happens in the future.

HOLY SHIT I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT DECLAN.

It did crack me up that it literally took one page for the book to start talking shit about him, but I also found the whole “Declan is deliberately, crushingly boring” idea interesting. It surprised me but still makes sense in retrospect, which is the best kind of surprise. I hadn’t pictured him as the kind of guy who would go to work and let people snap at him and call him by the wrong name, but I think my understanding might have been a little closer to the version of Declan that still thought he could have Senator or Congressman in front of his name. I think Declan might be the character I most have to reconsider, but I’m happy with how he was portrayed here and I’m looking forward to doing that reconsideration, and to seeing what happens to him next in canon.

God but he just continues to be the hardest working brother, and he still fucks it up, but he doesn’t want to fuck up, but he just shouldn’t have to deal with all of this shit, and ow, ow, my heart.

I adored Declan/Jordan and every moment where she delights in surprising an honest reaction out of him. “I see the real you when no one else does” is EXACTLY my kind of ship.

I had really wanted this trilogy to force Ronan to reexamine his understanding of his father, but getting to see Declan do some actual work on processing his pain is fantastic too. I love all of the moments where he admits that he hates Niall. It fucked me up so bad, because it’s like he doesn’t want to be thinking or saying it but he just cannot keep it in. It’s like his emotional nightwash, but he doesn’t get to dream it away.

@comicsohwhyohwhy​ and I once discussed the problem of Ashley, and we JOKINGLY suggested that maybe the Ashley from TRB and the Ashley mentioned in TRK are two different Ashleys, that maybe Declan has just dated a string of women named Ashley, and then we had a good laugh about how absurd that would be, and I cannot fucking believe that that has turned out to be canon. I am oddly delighted with this development.

I am happy with the Adam content that we got and with the size of his role. I felt like the book did a good job of honoring his importance in Ronan’s life, letting him be present and matter and affect Ronan (and disagree with him in productive ways where they didn’t just argue and where he wasn’t just Declan 2.0), while still keeping him in a support role, since that was apparently the goal. I’m unclear on what kind of role he’s going to have going forward, but it looks like he’s being set up to have some kind of character arc, with the “Adam is lying to everyone who knows him” situation, so I really do want that to pay out and go somewhere, even if he does continue to be a supporting rather than featured character.

That whole Harvard situation breaks my heart: Adam’s friends think that his family is wonderful and that his boyfriend is a violent drunk. I can’t imagine any interactions around that that aren’t fucked up. Adam having to defend Ronan to his friends any time he comes up, but not being able to tell the truth, so he just sounds like he’s making empty excuses for someone that’s bad for him…which is something that he has in fact had to do, but not about Ronan, about the parents that all of his friends are “jealous” of him for having. Fuck. FUCK.

I loved every mention of Gansey and Blue. I can understand why Maggie doesn’t want to include them as characters, but that could have easily ended in a situation where they’re just…noticeably absent, and instead we got this, confirmation that they still talk to their friends and love them and are involved in their lives, plus we got A+ Gansey-texts-like-an-old-man content.

I enjoyed Farooq-Lane a lot just from a standpoint of being an ordinary normal person who gets put into a weird as shit situation and then…continues to be an ordinary normal person who has ordinary normal reactions to things. I find that kind of shit fascinating – it’s the kind of thing that makes for great comedy and improv, but it can also be very effective in drama, and we really got to see a wide range here.

What. the actual. fuck. is up with the New Fenian and Mor O Corra. Like I mean okay the Lynches have to live through all their parent trauma again, yeah I get that, okay Niall apparently made a dream double of an actual woman he’d slept with which like, wow I didn’t think Aurora could be retroactively creepier but damn if Niall didn’t find a way, blah blah I get all that. But like. What is – what is that relationship, exactly? Between them? Niall’s ex made a dream copy of him, too, but like…as a kid? Or one that doesn’t age? Has Mor O Corra out-creepered Niall Lynch? What the actual fuck is up with those two. I almost don’t want to know. I kind of love being this weirded out.

Bryde is really goddamn tiresome. I am expecting he’s going to turn out to be a villain and honestly that can’t happen fast enough for me. Although I  anticipate that we’ll see Ronan buying into his crap more before that happens, so, it looks like we get to look forward to a lot more overblown insufferable monologues about how “special” we are and how we’re better than those gross boring mundane people. Blah.

I’m kind of disappointed that this is apparently a series where the stakes are THE END OF THE WORLD and where the protagonists have to fight a SHADOWY INTERNATIONAL GOVERNMENT ORGANIZATION that can send ARMIES of WELL-ARMED HIGHLY TRAINED OPERATIVES to HUNT DOWN THE PEOPLE WITH SUPERPOWERS – this is 90% of all fantasy stories, and it’s boring, and I’m tired of it. I like that the stakes in The Raven Cycle are small but still immensely meaningful. What happens in The Raven Cycle if the characters don’t succeed? Gansey dies. Ronan dies and Matthew falls asleep. Adam doesn’t go to college. Blue doesn’t get to travel the world. The world doesn’t explode, but we still care so so much about seeing them succeed, because we care so much about those characters living and getting to build the future they want. That’s a thousand times more interesting to me than “we have to…[dramatic music, put on sunglasses] SAVE THE WORLD.” Spare me.

I’m still going to read the other two, obviously, and I’m not even really mad about this, mostly just rolling my eyes. But I expect that Maggie is going to use this plot device I don’t care about to do things emotionally and character-wise that I do care about, and that’s the important part.

There is one actual thing that pisses me off with this book, that I actively hate and wish was not a part of canon, that I will probably just ignore and pretend isn’t canon, at least once I have wrapped my head around the fact that it even happened in the first place: why the fuck does Ronan go to confession.

I was willing to accept in The Raven Cycle that Maggie had no interest in doing anything with the fact that she had made the Catholic character and the gay character the same character, because Ronan is actively figuring himself out in the course of that series, because there’s so much else going on in his head and his life that I can buy that religion isn’t his top priority, because hey, I kind of liked that the series wasn’t one more Sad Story About A Sad Gay Who Is Sad Because Homophobia. I can accept a Ronan who goes to mass every week because that’s family time, because that’s tradition, because that’s what Lynches do.

But going to confession – with some degree of regularity! – is not going through the motions. When I was a Catholic school girl and an ALTAR SERVER who went to mass twice a week, confession was still a “maybe once during Lent, if we get around to it” kind of deal. What the hell does Ronan say in confession, exactly? He’s not confessing to the shit that he actually feels guilty about, playing god and creating life, because that’s a secret. He’s not confessing to the thing that he’s getting told every week is going to send him to hell. So what is he doing there?

This ceases to be “skipping past homophobia so we can just have a nice happy gay story for once (or at least a story that’s unhappy for other reasons)”. This is firmly into “deliberately and cruelly ignoring the real pain and suffering that the Catholic Church inflicts on oppressed people every single day” and I think it was a grave, grave misstep.

So my super general #thots: loved it, largely positive, some things I’m iffy on but excited to see where they go, a couple of plot elements/characters I don’t care for but can put up with for the sake of all of the good, one big negative that will probably feature only very very sparingly in canon.

[pugoata]

Day 2 of Bumbleby Week - Meeting the Parents

(Quick shout-out to the user @rwby-party, who made the post I got the idea from.)

The humidity would dry up the further west they got. Landing in Vale, however, the summer was hot and the moisture in the air bogged them down. Yang had already ditched her bomber jacket on the airship; even in Atlas, she’d started wearing it less and less. Hot days weren’t completely unheard of in Solitas, she’d come to find out. She sighed and pressed her water bottle against her throat, grateful for its coolness.

“It’s hot,” Blake agreed, sidling up to her. She tucked her hair behind her hair, a habit that had popped up with its new length. Yang grinned at her.

“I am.”

Blake tilted her head, wry amusement twisting her smile. “I can’t tell if you’re being suggestive on purpose or not.”

“Yes.”

Blake’s laughter rang out, the sound a tickle to Yang’s ears. In spite of all the challenges that Atlas had presented, the heavy burden that Blake had carried had visibly lightened. That ever-present shadow of a madman no longer weighed her down. Laughter came more easily, smiles were wider.

They were closer than ever before, and Yang soaked up every minute of it. She slid an arm around Blake’s waist, giving her a quick peck on the lips as she did so.

“Did the pilot say how long we’ll be here?” she asked. Blake’s body brought additional warmth to the hot day, but when it was Blake, Yang didn’t mind so much. Blake shrugged.

“Maybe a couple hours. Just long enough to refuel and pick up the huntsmen.”

Their last week in Atlas had ended with a call to arms. Vacuo needed them, as well as all the huntsmen and huntresses who were able to come along. While the bulk of the Atlas military was making a straight shot for Shade Academy, Team RWBY had opted to take the more roundabout route, helping to recruit every able-bodied huntsman or student along the way. Not that they needed to beg; so many of them had rallied to Vale at the first notice, quickly filling up the airships.

It was heartening, that after so many setbacks, people were finally cooperating with them.

While Ruby and Weiss had run off to get a view of Beacon, Blake and Yang had opted to remain behind. It would have been interesting to see Ruby’s stone wyvern, but the Beacon that loomed over the shambles of Vale wasn’t the Beacon that had brought them together. The school was still a ruin, and looking at it would have reawakened too many memories that Yang would rather remain buried.

Instead, they stayed at the airship’s landing site. Atlesian military personnel were doing the quick intakes of licensed huntsmen, more for their own records than an actual vetting process. With what was going on in Vacuo, they couldn’t afford to be picky. Yang had looked through the crowd at first, hoping to catch the eye of any old teachers or classmates she might have recognized. There was Oobleck, and Port, both eager and ready to come along. Goodwitch, however, felt bound to her school, empty as it was, and chose to remain in Vale. But for the most part, the faces in the line were unknown to her. Most of these huntsmen and huntresses were strangers.

It was probably for the best. She wasn’t sure how many of them would make it out alive. She couldn’t even be certain that her own team would make it through. She bit her lip.

“Come back to me, Yang,” Blake murmured, sensing she was no longer mentally with her. Yang snapped to attention, looking at Blake with wide eyes. “I can tell you’re worrying again.”

“Oh.” Yang shrugged it off, not wanting her own fears to drag them down. She had to live in the moment, she reminded herself. She couldn’t afford to fear for an unknown future. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Blake found her hand, squeezed it. “We’ll get through this.”

Yang nodded, and for a moment, they watched in silence as the queue steadily moved. The professional huntsmen, the ones who had been at it for years, were easy to pick out. Their packs were small and light, weapons within easy reach. The newer ones and the out-of-practice ones had more luggage than was probably wise. More than once, someone would protest as they were told to leave luggage behind. There was limited space on the airships, and there was a strict limit as to how much baggage someone could bring.

“But they only brought one bag. Surely that means I can have just one extra one!” someone complained. Yang rolled her eyes.

“If I’m ever like that, shoot me,” she told Blake in a low voice. Blake snorted.

“Yang? Is that you?!”

She nearly jumped at the recognition of that voice. She whirled, staring as a tall blonde man approached. His blue eyes were wide in disbelief, mirroring her own. “Dad?!”

Blake let her go, backing off as Yang and Taiyang embraced. It was so surprising, but it shouldn’t have been, not really. Taiyang Xiao Long was a huntsman in his own right, a teacher, and someone who would always leap headfirst into a fight.

Of course he would sign himself up to go to Vacuo.

“I’m surprised to see you back in Vale,” he remarked. “The last I heard from Qrow, you were trying to get to Atlas.”

“And we made it. We’re just laying over here for a bit to pick up some more huntsmen.” Yang jutted her head to the line. “Ruby’s here, too, but she and Weiss ran off to try and see the school.”

“I see.” Only now did Taiyang’s gaze flicker to Blake, and Yang was dismayed to see the way it hardened. “So this must be…”

“Blake.” Defensively, Yang lifted a beckoning arm to Blake. After a moment’s brief hesitation, she approached, allowing Yang to hold her close. “My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Taiyang repeated, almost as if the word was foreign to him. Still, he didn’t let whatever his own impression of her overrule his courtesy. He extended a hand. “Taiyang Xiao Long.”

“It’s… nice to meet you,” Blake replied, a slight shake to her voice as she gripped his hand. His manner wasn’t lost on her, either. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Yang looked from Blake to her father, trying to figure out the unevenness of the interaction. Taiyang was friendly to a fault, and the fact that he could be so cold toward someone made absolutely no sense. She frowned at him. There were pieces that weren’t fitting together, and it made her uneasy.

“So have I,” he replied to Blake, and there it was. His demeanor suddenly made sense. Yang’s gaze softened.

“Dad… Things are cool now,” she told him, grip tightening on Blake’s waist. “We met back up in Mistral, and we… figured things out.”

Taiyang raised one eyebrow, the hairs oddly pale against his tanned skin. “Figured things out?” he asked, voice suspiciously light. Yang sighed.

After the Fall of Beacon, she had returned to Patch a wreck, only a shell of the girl she’d been. It hadn’t just been her missing arm, though losing it had presented its own challenges. Her biggest wound had been one that couldn’t be replaced by fancy Atlesian technology. Her last memory of Blake had been seeing her sprawled on the floor, a man in a mask standing over her with a sword in hand. When she had woken up, it wasn’t just her arm that was missing.

Blake was gone, too.

Yang had supposed Ruby had filled him in on the murky details of that last night in Vale, probably putting words to the hurt, grief, and the rage that vied for dominance in Yang’s heart. She’d never spoken Blake’s name to her father, nor the intensity of their bond, nor the constant ache she’d felt since that bond had snapped. But Ruby had told him enough to make the connection, and as a man who’d been broken by love before, he could understand.

So, too, could she understand his wariness now that Blake was with her again.

“Dad,” she said, determined to right this before it had a chance to warp further. “So much has happened since I left. Both of us… me and Blake… we’ve made mistakes. But we’re moving past them.”

Blake turned to her quizzically, and Yang flashed her a reassuring smile. Still, Taiyang didn’t seem convinced. He looked from Yang, to Blake, and then back to his daughter. He sighed. “Sure thing, kiddo. But listen, I need to get in line. We can talk more on the airship.”

“Right,” Yang replied, heart sinking. What he gave her then couldn’t exactly be called a hug-- it was closer to a headlock, full of the warmth that he hadn’t spared for Blake-- and then he was darting off, duffel bag in hand. Yang frowned after him, watching him go as he joined the line and clapped another huntsman on the shoulder.

“What was that about?” Blake finally asked. This was what finally broke Yang’s reverie, and she turned back to her partner, guilty.

“I think Dad might be a little… jaded.”

“You don’t say,” Blake commented dryly. Yang laughed, the sound unexpected, but she was grateful that Blake had managed to pull it out of her. It cleared her head a little. “About what?”

“Well…” She paused, trying to figure out exactly how to put it into words that wouldn’t make Blake spiral into guilt. Blake tilted her head, which always looked so cute with her haircut that it almost distracted Yang from her thoughts. Almost. “I guess… Most of what he knows about you is what he found out after everything at Beacon… happened.” Were there any words on this subject that wouldn’t hurt her? She bit her lip, and forced herself to go on. It was better to be honest. “And… I was kinda… not doing so hot. Not just the arm, but when you…”

Her courage faltered, but Blake’s golden eyes widened. She didn’t have to finish.

“Oh,” Blake said, cheeks blooming with color at her past shame. She looked down.

“Hey.” Yang stepped closer to her, resting her metal fingers on Blake’s forearm. “We’re fine. We’re more than fine, okay?” She smiled at Blake, soft and encouraging and full of the love that was the undeniable current of their relationship. “Dad’ll come around. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just… maybe a little protective, I guess. But he’ll come around. Don’t waste your time worrying about him.”

“I don’t know,” Blake replied uncertainly, still looking off after Taiyang. “I never really imagined what it would be like to meet him, but this definitely isn’t what I would’ve expected.” Her ears flattened sadly as she went on. “Maybe I should have, though.”

“Don’t even think that,” Yang said firmly, dragging her fingers down to Blake’s wrist. She caught it, and held loosely. “What’s done is done. We got through it, and now things are even better than before. It’s okay.”

She saw Blake’s gulp before she nodded. For further reassurance, she pressed a light kiss against Blake’s mouth, The important things were clear between them. They didn’t need guilt sullying their path again. So Yang was heartened when Blake returned the kiss, slightly harder than Yang’s own.

Between them, things were still okay. That was all that mattered.

Not that it prevented awkwardness later on, however, when they ran into Taiyang again on the airship. At seeing Yang, his smile was bright. Blake, he outright ignored.

“Ruby brought me up to speed,” he told Yang warmly. “And I’m telling you the same thing I told her: you need to remember to think before you jump in and do whatever this new incarnation of Ozpin tells you to do. He--”

“I know,” Yang interrupted. “We’ve figured that out already.”

“You’ve always been smart girls,” he replied with a sigh. “I suppose you already know, too, that you need to be careful.”

“Well, we’re as careful as we’ve always been… which probably isn’t saying much.” Her grin was full of humor, but it seemed to be the wrong thing to say to Taiyang, who scowled.

“And that’s what I’m afraid of.”

It wasn’t like Yang didn’t try to bring Blake into the conversation, but each time, Taiyang would find a way to interrupt, or, at worst, not even respond when she did manage to slip a comment in. It frustrated Yang, and she could see Blake’s resolve begin to crumble before her eyes. This wouldn’t do, Yang thought. Something had to give.

“Dad,” she finally said, voice wearing thin. “Enough.”

“Huh?” He had settled onto the seat across from them, and Yang leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees to look him straight-on. Even Blake looked startled; her ears pricked up at Yang’s tone.

“You’ve been ignoring Blake. For a while now.”

Taiyang blinked, caught off-guard. Maybe he hadn’t expected to be called out, or maybe his treatment of Blake had been completely unconscious. Now, though, his eyes darted back over to her.

“I haven’t been--” he began, his protest weak, but Yang cut him off. She had no time for that.

“Dad,” she said again. “I know things were… rough, after… after I came back to Patch.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. It still hurt, to think about those long, lonely months. Things could have been so different, she knew, but what was done was done. As she’d told Blake, things were okay now. Things had been fixed, hearts had been repaired. “But… it wasn’t Blake’s fault. She had… some things of her own to deal with. And we went through hell to deal with them. Together.”

She felt light pressure on her knee. Yang didn’t need to look to know it was Blake’s hand, a calm touch that spurred her on.

“So if you’re, like… holding it over her head, or something… don’t. I told you before: we’ve figured this out.” Yang held her stare, gratified when he broke it first. She let the look soften. “Dad… I trust her. Can you trust me in this?”

His astonishment almost hurt. Yang was grateful for Blake’s firm hand. It held her steady in the wake of her father’s reaction, his wide eyes and the soundless opening and closing of his mouth. She tried to imagine it from his perspective; when she’d left Patch, she’d still been so emotionally fragile. Of course he would have trouble reconciling that version of her with the woman who sat in front of him today.

“Yang,” he finally said, sounding, for once, like the aging man he was. He opened his mouth, reconsidered, and grimaced. “I suppose… I haven’t been fair,” he conceded at last, turning back to Blake. He attempted a smile, which looked even worse than the grimace.

“You haven’t,” Yang replied, voice flat.

“Mr. Xiao Long?” Blake’s words were hesitant, as if uncertain he would actually listen to her this time. To Yang’s relief, he met her in the eye as she spoke. “When I… ran away. After Beacon. It was… a mistake. I thought I… I thought I was protecting her, by doing that. The man, the one that cut off her…” Even now, months after they’d sent Adam to his grave, Blake still struggled to say the words. “The man that cut off her arm. He promised to destroy everything I loved, and I knew he wouldn’t stop till he’d finished the job. So I left and thought it would be the end of it.”

Blake inhaled, the sound ragged. “I messed up,” she added, voice softer. “And I wish I could go back and change that. Neither of us deserved that, least of all Yang.”

“And now it’s done,” Yang finished, steel in her voice. She slid a hand onto the small of Blake’s back, registering the dampness of sweat against her palm. “We’ve paid our price, it’s over, and we’re good.”

Taiyang frowned. A change had come over his face while Blake spoke, and while Yang’s words alone hadn’t seemed to hit home, Blake’s had. His brows furrowed, concern crossing over his face.

“It’s done?” he repeated, looking from Blake to Yang. “What’s done?”

At this, Blake looked away.

“We killed him.” Yang wouldn’t run away from that statement. She could own it, and she knew Blake could, as well, though perhaps not to the complete stranger that was Taiyang. “Blake… was right. He followed us, and he would have killed her. He would have killed us.”

She felt Blake shift against her, moving slightly closer on the bench. Yang let her hand drift to her waist, not out of protection, but in solidarity.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Dad, but I don’t need it.” Yang forced a smile. “I’m not asking you to adopt her, or anything. But, at least… give her a chance? That’s literally all we’re asking.”

Taiyang leaned back, letting out a long breath of air. It was… a lot of information, dumped all at once, but he was sensible. If he had thought Yang was trusting blindly, of course he would have had something to say about it. But she wasn’t, so he wouldn’t. He nodded, the movement miniscule, but as his confidence grew, the nod became more decisive. He leaned forward.

“Thank you,” he told Blake quietly. “For telling me this.” He paused. “I’m… sorry for being rude.”

Blake’s ears sagged in relief. “It’s… okay, Mr. Xiao Long. I get it.”

Taiyang smiled weakly, his eyes crinkling with the effort. “Tai, please.”

They spoke for a little while longer, with Yang telling him about her visit to the Branwen tribe and filling in any gaps Ruby had left out. To her surprise, he only nodded when she spoke of Raven. He’d already heard.

“She visited me, y’know,” he told them, stretching out against the wall. “She had some pretty interesting things to say.”

“Really?” Yang’s eyes widened. Blake must have felt her twitch, for she ran a soothing hand up her back. “What’d she say?”

“What you told me, for one,” he replied, one eyebrow raised. “But the rest… I should probably tell you guys tonight, when we’re all together. Oz will want to hear it.”

Yang groaned. “Figures,” she muttered, and she heard the huff of Blake’s laughter.

“Speaking of, I’ve wanted to see how Oz looks these days,” Taiyang remarked, smiling slightly. He stood up and shrugged, rolling his shoulders. “But I’ll see you all in a little bit. It was wonderful to meet you, Blake.”

“You too,” Blake replied with a nod up at him.

“See you soon.” Yang nodded at her father as he strode away, maneuvering through the sweaty crowd of people on the airship. She sighed, and flopped her head onto Blake’s shoulder, hair slipping into her eyes. “Well, that was stressful.”

“Parents, right?” Blake asked, amused. She kissed the top of Yang’s head.

“Y’know, you… didn’t have to tell him all of that, if you didn’t want to,” Yang told her, lifting her head back up to meet Blake’s eyes. They stared levelly back at her, the gold looking only brighter in the dim glow of the airship.

“I’m not ashamed of what we had to do,” she replied quietly. She leaned her head in, forehead resting against Yang’s. “I’m only ashamed of what I’ve done. And I wanted him to know... that I still live with that. Every day, I still live with knowing that I’ve hurt you. I know there’s nothing we can do about it now… but I wish I hadn’t left you.” Her breath was heavy, choppy, and Yang could feel its edges on her face. “Out of everything I’ve ever done… that’s been my biggest regret.”

“Blake,” Yang murmured, closing the gap with her lips on Blake’s. They were still so smooth, even after living in the chill of Atlas for months. “We’ve all done things we regret. Dad probably knows that better than anyone. But we still keep going on. We’ve picked up what we can, and we’re okay.”

“You keep saying that,” Blake said, her laugh fragile, and Yang could hear her tears in the sound.

“Because it’s true.” Yang kissed her again, now feeling Blake’s tears on her cheeks. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you,” Blake replied, a ghost of a smile curling on her lips.

“See?” Yang said, pulling her in again. “As long as we’ve got that, we’ll be okay.”

[hollymartinswrites]

Two negatives make a positive - HollyMartins - IT - Stephen King [Archive of Our Own] →

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood.

Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie.

Chapter III: Richie and Eddie discover the challenges of increasing their family of three to four.

Eddie walked through the front door, locked it behind him, and shrugged out of his jacket. He could hear Richie’s obnoxious laughter from the living room and music that sounded vaguely familiar. Placing his briefcase down on the ground, he followed the sounds and walked into Richie and Lydia both lounging on the couch. Eddie glanced at the TV.

“Wayne’s World?” he said, raising his eyebrows at Richie.

“Hi, Daddy,” Lydia exclaimed, turning and standing on the couch to give Eddie a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the top of her head.

“It’s a classic, babe,” Richie said. He looked up and pursed his lips in an exaggerated manner. Eddie leaned down to quickly kiss him.

“But it’s not exactly age appropriate, is it?” he asked, motioning towards Lydia who had turned back to the TV.

“It’s on cable, edited,” Richie explained. “You eat anything? We got some leftovers in the fridge.”

“I grabbed a sandwich before I left,” he muttered. He walked around the couch to tiredly collapse beside Lydia. Yawning, he tried to watch the movie but found his mind wandering. He briefly considered heading in for a shower and then bed but resisted. It wasn’t often that he got to watch a movie with his family and he was determined to enjoy it—though he had never quite understood the appeal of Wayne’s World. Maybe it was because he never got into metal but still, it was worth it to just hear Richie’s ridiculous laugh.

Soon enough, Eddie’s eyes grew heavy and he felt himself falling towards sleep when he was jerked awake by a kick to his side. He glanced down; Lydia had stretched out, her feet in his side and her head in Richie’s lap. She was fast asleep.

“Lemme put her to bed,” he murmured.

“Hang on, it’s almost over,” Richie insisted.

“Rich…”

“She’s asleep anyway. There’s only like fifteen minutes left, I’ll help.”

Eddie sighed and remained seated, waiting for the movie (which he suspected Richie had seen a few dozen times) to finish. He closed his eyes and suddenly, he was in his childhood home, trapped in the living room he had so hated, forced to sit still by his mother as she had the TV switched onto whatever she wanted to watch. It was stifling, the air thick with tension that his mother was seemingly oblivious to, and all Eddie wanted was to run out of the house and never look back. But he wasn’t foolish—he had nowhere to go and no one but his mother.

Eddie gasped for breath, his eyes flying open and his heart pumping wildly. He swallowed and looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to gather his daughter into his arms and yet, he resisted for fear of smothering her.

“Eds, you alright?” Richie asked, concerned.

“Yes,” Eddie gasped. “I just...need to shower and clear my mind.”

“Okay,” Richie said slowly. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insisted and carefully stood to hurry to their bedroom.

He stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling behind him. He ran a hand through his wet hair and straightened, determined to face this as bravely as he could. He looked up at Richie lounging on the bed, his phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Eddie said, clearing his throat, “can we talk?”

Richie looked up at him, eyebrows raised and Eddie inwardly winced. Fuck, he wish he was better with words.

“I don’t want Lydia to be an only child,” he said quickly, the words rushing out of his mouth.

Richie stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Eddie scowled.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said. “You’re gonna wake up Lydia.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Richie gasped, calming down ever so slightly, “I thought you were about to drop a fucking bombshell. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” he muttered before heading towards the bed and sitting down.

“It’s fine,” Richie said, wiping at his eyes and grinning. “But I do think we need to talk about this.”

“Yeah.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair again. “So, um, what do you think?”

Richie raised his eyebrows again and sat up.

“Well, this did kinda come out of nowhere,” he said. “What made you think of this anyway?”

Eddie looked down at his lap, where his hands were clasped tightly. He separated them and stretched his fingers.

“I…” he began, searching for the words. “I just...I don’t want her to be alone.”

“She’s got us, Eds,” Richie said gently.

“It’s not the same,” he insisted, meeting Richie’s eyes. “You had your sisters growing up and I know you didn’t always get along but at least you had someone on your side at home.”

“I guess so.”

“And now you guys have each other for when things get tough,” Eddie continued, his voice growing more and more strained. “I had no one.”

“Eds—”

“I mean, I had you and the rest of the Losers but it’s not the same thing. It fucking sucks going home to an empty house with just an adult waiting for you. And then when she died...fuck, I had to deal with that on my own.”

Eddie started a bit when he felt Richie’s lips against his temple.

“This isn’t just about Lydia, is it?” he whispered along his hair.

Eddie hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

“I know, I know, I’m projecting,” he muttered. “Fuck, I’m just like her.”

“Who?” Richie asked, sharply. When Eddie didn’t respond, he quickly wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and insisted, “If you’re about to say that you’re like your mom, I swear to God, Eds.”

“It’s true though.”

“It’s not,” Richie said firmly. “Eddie, you’re an incredible father and you love Lydia. And she loves you.”

Eddie took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut.

“But she’s still alone,” he whispered. “And I want her to have someone. A sibling.”

“Okay,” Richie said after a few moments. “I get it. And I feel the same way for the most part. But having two kids is a hell of a lot different than just one. I mean, we have a lot of figuring out to do.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “It’s a lot. And I don’t expect it to be easy.”

“No, but we’re a solid team.”

Eddie nodded.

“And we have to talk to Lydia,” he said. “She may not want this.”

Richie gathered Eddie into his arms.

“You’re a good dad,” he whispered against his hair. “And we can figure this out. I know we can.”

Eddie leaned into Richie’s embrace, exhaled a shaking breath, and smiled.

Going from one child to two did come with a great deal of changes. For one thing, Richie decided to cut back drastically on his career—he stopped touring, settling on doing shows only in the tristate area, and only on nights when Eddie could stay home all day with the kids.

When the Losers heard this, they were shocked and assumed, among themselves, that Richie wouldn’t last more than a couple months as a house husband. They were sort of right. It was only six weeks before Eddie declared that, in order to preserve the sanity in their house, Richie had to have a creative outlet that went beyond simply trying to make his daughters laugh. So, with the help of his agent, Richie became the very thing he had resented in his career: a comedy writer.

He wrote material for several different comics, a couple of whom were LGBTQ+, and actually, found it kind of enjoyable. Not having to perform it meant there was less pressure and it was even oddly freeing. He could say whatever he wanted and it didn’t matter; no one knew it was him. When the Losers worried that this wouldn’t be enough, Richie waved them off. The draw to performing live just wasn’t there anymore. Besides, he had a much better audience at home (and one that was more in line with his own emotional maturity, Eddie had remarked, which had gotten quite a laugh from everyone).

But Richie cutting back on his career meant someone had to support the family, so Eddie found himself working harder. The long days were difficult but Eddie was good at his job and he took pride in being able to provide for his family. Besides, coming home to Richie and the girls made it all really fucking worth it.

And one of the most unexpected changes in adopting a second child was how suddenly the previous dynamics switched. When they adopted Tess, only three years old and terribly shy, Eddie had assumed that Richie would immediately ingratiate himself with their new daughter and become the favorite. Instead, Tess had taken one look at her fathers and all but latched herself to Eddie.

She followed him around the house, cried hysterically when he went out of her sight, gripped his legs to prevent him from leaving, and only allowed him to read her bedtime stories. It touched his heart, but mostly Eddie just found it amusing—especially when her overt favoritism seemed to really confound Richie.

“I don’t get it,” he complained. “I’m the fun one.”

Mike and Ben laughed while Bev rubbed his back in sympathy. The Losers were in their dining room, picking at a half-eaten cheesecake and drinking copious amounts of coffee and tea. They had stopped at Richie and Eddie’s house en route to New York City to celebrate the launch of Bill’s latest bestseller (and for Ben and Bev to look at some townhouses) but first had to meet the latest Loser.

Lydia had delighted in being the center of attention once again but Tess had immediately reached her arms up to Eddie (who naturally picked her up) and hid her face in his chest, refusing to acknowledge any one other than her Daddy. The Losers weren’t offended.

But now the girls had been put to bed, and it was time for the grown-ups to relax and catch up. Or, simply complain about how unfair it was to no longer be the favorite, in Richie’s case.

“It’s just a phase,” Bev insisted.

“Or maybe she just isn’t a fan of your comedy,” Bill offered.

“I knew she was the smart one of the family,” Eddie replied.

Richie flipped him off and stabbed at the cheesecake with his fork.

“Well, I don’t know why she wants you to do the bedtime stories,” he remarked. “You can’t do the voices.”

“What voices?” Mike asked.

“You know, the different voices for everyone,” Richie explained, waving his hand. “The Lorax has a different voice than the Wild Things and whatnot. Eddie reads bedtime stories like he’s presenting at a fucking business meeting.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as the others laughed.

“Why can’t you just let Eddie have this?” Ben asked, grinning. “What’s the big deal?”

“Because Richie doesn’t want to be just a dad,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “He wants to be a cool dad.”

More laughter, until Ben and Mike had to admit they didn’t get the joke, which immediately launched into Richie explaining the entire plot of Mean Girls in excruciatingly minute detail. Eddie only managed to stop him by shoveling a fork full of cheesecake in his husband’s mouth, much to the Losers’ relief.

When they left for their hotel, each of the Losers congratulated Richie and Eddie on their latest foray into parenthood. Bev embraced both of them and told them how happy she was that they were both so happy. Richie told her to stop being embarrassing and Eddie merely looked away, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t like that you care more about work than your family but we all got our crosses to bear, right?” Richie snapped. “So forgive me for letting off a little steam to someone who actually cares.”

Eddie stared at him, his eyes wide and sinking feeling in chest. Richie looked away, grabbed the first t-shirt he could find in the bureau and put it on.

“I’m gonna go sit with the kids,” he muttered. “Text Bev back for me and tell her everything’s fucking fine.”

Eddie watched him stalk out of the bedroom, too stunned to attempt to stop him. How long he stood there, gaping at nothing, he had no idea. Then the phone in his hand pinged. He blinked and glanced down at it. Another text from Bev. He opened it.

Let me know when he gets home. Now you’ve got me worried.

Eddie sighed and tapped in a reply. He didn’t want to leave Bev hanging.

He’s home now. Thanks.

He threw the phone on the bed and went into the bathroom, determined to shower and clear his mind before he did something he regretted. Later, clean but drained, he walked quietly down the hallway and saw Richie carrying Tess into the kitchen.

“Come on, kiddo, you gotta try to get some medicine down,” he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

“No, no, no,” Tess wailed. “I hate it.”

“I know, sweetheart, but if you don’t, you could get sicker and then end up in the hospital or something.”

Eddie hurried into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Tess sitting on the table, tears streaming down her face and struggling to breathe through her congestion. The moment her eyes met his, she began to cry in earnest and reached her arms towards him. Richie turned from taking the medicine bottle out of the refrigerator. He said nothing, though Eddie noticed his lips tighten.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, gathering Tess into his arms. He sat down, arranging her on his lap. “Everything’s okay. I know you’re not feeling good right now but I need you to do me a favor.”

Tess hiccuped and wiped at her eyes before nodding slowly.

“I need you to try to take some of this medicine. I know it’s yucky but you gotta try. I can show you a trick though,” he continued. “If you keep your nose closed, you won’t taste it. I promise.” He turned towards Richie. “Can you get a juicebox out?”

Richie did so, stabbing the straw through the top with a little more force than necessary. He handed it to Eddie, who held it ready.

“Listen, we’re gonna do this quick, okay?” Eddie continued. “You’re gonna take that medicine and then drink this juice down. And you won’t taste it for long.”

“Promise?” Tess asked, her voice thick with tears.

“I promise,” Eddie insisted. “Then you can brush your teeth and go to bed feeling better.”

Richie crouched in front of them, holding the plastic spoon filled with thick, frankly disgusting looking medicine in his hand.

“Close your nose, sweetheart,” Eddie repeated. Tess hesitated briefly before squeezing her nose tightly between two fingers and opened her mouth. Richie quickly fed her the medicine and, before she even had a chance to fully swallow, Eddie brought the straw to her lips. She drank the juice deeply but immediately opened her mouth and began sobbing again.

“Good job, you did it,” Eddie said, tightening his arms around her.

“You did it, kiddo, all done,” Richie said, standing. He ran a hand through her hair and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. She immediately turned and hid her face in Eddie’s chest, crying. Richie’s eyes briefly met Eddie, before he turned away and dropped the spoon in the sink.

“I’m going to put Lydia to bed,” he said and disappeared.

Eddie sighed before brushing his lips along the top of Tess’s head.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispered.

“It was awful!” she wailed.

“I know,” he said, standing up with her in his arms. “Being sick is no fun. Tomorrow I’m going to get you something else to help you feel better that won’t taste so bad, okay? And if you take it, we can relax at home and watch movies.”

Tess wiped at her eyes and running nose. Eddie smiled, and briefly wondered how he had managed to get to this point in his life where the sight of someone else’s mucus didn’t really bother him. Tess smiled, too.

“Okay,” she said before laying her head on his shoulder. “Can we watch Wizard of Oz?”

“We can watch whatever you want,” he promised, carrying her into her bedroom. He passed the open door to Lydia’s room and quickly glanced in. Richie was laying beside her on the bed, quietly reading A Wrinkle in Time aloud. He made no notice of Eddie and Lydia, too enraptured with the story, did not either. Eddie continued on.

Eddie yawned and rubbed at his face as he stood in front of the coffee maker. The sun was just beginning to peek through the kitchen windows. With luck (and the drowsy side effects of their medicine), the girls wouldn’t be up for at least a couple of hours.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder. Richie was staring at him from the doorway, looking completely disheveled, with hair standing at all angles and his glasses askew. Eddie had to admit to himself, he looked cute, if not nearly dead on his feet.

“I’m making coffee, what does it look like?” Eddie replied.

“What about work?”

“I took a sick day,” Eddie answered and, taking out two mugs, poured coffee for the both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Richie shake his head in disbelief. Eddie ignored it, refusing to rise to the bait. He handed Richie his coffee before taking out the milk and sugar and placing them on the table.

“How was Lydia?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Once she got the cough medicine down, she passed out,” Richie sighed. “She avoided it the first couple hours.”

“It’s that fucking artificial flavoring—”

“Yeah, I know, you said it last night.”

The quiet anger that had been simmering in his belly since the night before started to boil inside Eddie. He briefly considered leaving the kitchen but knew, rationally, that would solve nothing. He cleared his throat.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. Richie glanced at him, a wary look on his face as he nodded slowly. “Don’t ever tell one of our daughters they’re going to have to go to the hospital again.”

Richie blinked.

“What?” he asked, a blank look on his face.

“Last night,” Eddie continued, “you told Tess if she didn’t take her medicine, she’d get sicker and end up in the hospital.”

Richie rolled his eyes.

“I was just trying to get her to listen and take the damn medicine,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean it.”

“But she didn’t know that,” Eddie shot back. “Don’t threaten them with the hospital.”

“That wasn’t a fucking threat. Jesus, Eddie, what do take me for?”

“Just don’t, from now on, okay?”

“It’s not like I’m your fucking mother,” Richie continued. “You’ve act enough like her for the both of us.”

The two men stared at one another, a tense silence enveloping them both. For several moments, neither said a thing, as if daring the other to make the first move. But Eddie had always been the brave one.

“Are we really going to do this right now?” he asked hoarsely.

“Do what?” Richie asked, his shoulders sagging.

“Act like assholes just because our kids are sick.”

“It’s not because of the kids,” Richie asserted and hid his face in his hands. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Then what it is? Fucking tell me so we can move on.”

“I told you last night,” Richie said, raising his head. His wide eyes had a desperate look to them.

“I work too much,” Eddie answered. “Is that it?”

Richie sighed and shook his head.

“I just...Eddie, work can’t be the priority.”

“And how are we supposed to live?” Eddie asked. Richie opened his mouth several times before closing it finally. “You don’t think I’d love to be home with the kids more? But someone has to support us.”

Richie paled rapidly and Eddie noticed that his hands resting on the table curled into fists.

“Don’t fucking do that,” Richie hissed. Eddie swallowed. He had never heard that tone of voice from his husband. “I gave up everything for us. I gave up my career, my life in LA, my fucking sanity for our family because I knew one of us had to be here to raise our kids. Don’t act like I’m just a fucking freeloader hanging out at home in my fucking pajamas all day.”

“I’m not saying that, Rich,” Eddie insisted, the urge to reach out and take his hand almost overwhelming him. “I know you work hard here at home.”

“I do it because you won’t. Or can’t. Either way, it’s on me.”

Something sharp pierced through Eddie’s heart, and he resisted the urge to rest his hand on the scar on his chest. For a moment, Richie looked abashed before swallowing and sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

Eddie nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You’re right, Richie.”

“Eds, I—”

“No, you’re absolutely right. I can’t do what you do,” he admitted, looking down at his half-drunk coffee. “I’m not the same sort of father that you are. I get it.”

“Eddie, don’t—”

“Shh, quiet.”

They both fell silent. From Tess’s room came a plaintive, “Daddy, Papa.”

“She’s gonna wake up her sister,” Eddie grumbled before standing and leaving Richie stunned and alone in the kitchen.

Eddie sat on the bed and yawned, grateful to finally be in his bedroom after another long day of sneezing and coughing children. The new medicine he had purchased seemed to be doing the trick, however, along with several hours of sitting on the couch watching movies so he was certain the girls would be on the mend by tomorrow. God, he never wanted to see a wadded up, used tissue again.

Richie walked in and headed straight for the bureau, searching for fresh pajamas. Once satisfied, he reached for the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked tiredly.

Richie stopped short and tensed up ever so slightly.

“Back to Lydia’s room,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“Enough, Richie, just sleep here tonight.”

“But—”

“I’m too fucking exhausted to fight with you anymore,” Eddie admitted. “So just come here.”

Richie turned and stared at him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in their bedroom at the moment. Eddie frowned.

“Look, we both fucked up,” he sighed. “And we both know Lydia could tell we were in a fight all day so let’s figure this out before she thinks we’re getting a divorce or something.”

Richie’s entire body seemed to slump downwards. He looked incredibly drained and Eddie’s heart went out to him. He took a tentative step towards Eddie and sighed.

“I shouldn’t have said that shit about you as a dad,” he admitted softly. “I was angry and tired and that’s not a fucking excuse but...I’m sorry.”

Eddie swallowed and nodded.

“And I know you weren’t threatening Tess last night,” he said. “I just...freaked out and remembered my mom pulling that shit and I guess I just...overreacted.”

Richie blinked rapidly and sniffed.

“You’re not your mom, Eds.”

“I know, you always say that.”

“Because it’s fucking true.” Richie took two long steps and sat beside Eddie on the bed, taking his hand in his. “I was being an asshole.”

“So was I. And I get it,” Eddie continued. “I know I work too much and I know you get overwhelmed with having the kids all day.”

“I signed up for it though,” Richie muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help out more,” Eddie replied. “And I do fucking hate how much I work. It’s just…” he sighed, searching for the right words. He felt Richie’s eyes on him and he took a deep breath. “It’s just...it’s the only thing I’m good at.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, his mouth falling open.

“What the fuck,” he said. “What the fuck are you talking about, Eds?”

“I have one thing that I was always successful at, one thing to be proud of, and it’s my ability to do my job,” Eddie continued, the words now spilling out of him. “I mean, of course I’m proud of our kids but I constantly think I’m screwing up. At work, I don’t have that. And it’s totally selfish of me, I know, but—”

“Eddie, Eddie, shut up.”

Eddie did. Richie took his face in his hands and gazed directly into his eyes.

“You are a fucking idiot, Edward Tozier,” he said firmly and slowly. Eddie couldn’t help it; he laughed. “I’m fucking serious here. You are not your job. That is not the only thing you are good at. You’re funny, and loving, and smarter than anyone else I know, and you’re fucking dedicated to the people you love. And you always know how to get the kids to calm down and how to talk me off the ledge and without you, this family would be incomplete. I love you. Our girls love you. And I’m sorry you’re married to such an asshole but you did say yes so that’s on you.” Eddie blinked and realized he had tears in his eyes. “Yes, you’re really good at your job and I do think it’s totally sexy that you’re the steadfast, manly provider for our family.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want you regretting how much you’re working later, you know? We just gotta...find a balance. And not be dicks about it.”

“That’s gonna be tough for you,” Eddie replied, sniffing. Richie smiled and his face brightened when Eddie leaned in to kiss him deeply.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Richie sighed against his lips.

“Me too,” Eddie whispered. “The next time we fight, we should just immediately make out.”

“The kids will get grossed out,” Richie observed. “But I guess they deserve it after all the puke and snot they just put us through.”

Eddie laughed and pushed Richie down on the bed.