#just difficult and i need to relearn a few things and some timings and tighten my timings and stuff p much

[aeiiopus-a]

.

[in-tua-deep]

consider an au where five fucks up the equations again and when he successfully transport all of them to the past he has absolutely no recollection of the future. now that theyre adults the sibs get to see five protect them live and realize that holy shit five cared for them more than they thought. so now five is like holy shit my sibs are recognizing my efforts and are visibly showing that they care and the poor boy is clueless cos???

oh man can you just picture their alarm when they realize that this is baby actually thirteen Five just like surprisedpikachu.jpg

also i’m 100% going off on my lessons learned ‘verse here so I’m gonna reference some stuff from that eyyy

They end up in the past, they’re all freaking out and Five is passed the fuck out with blood dripping from his nose and looking like death warmed over. They ended up like uhhh maybe a month after Five left the first time so they just kind of carry Five up to one of their rooms to hide him while he’s unconscious because it’s the middle of the night and thank GOD their dad doesn’t happen upon them

Vanya wakes up first and they managed to calm down that freak out and there’s a lot of hugging all around especially with Allison and Luther awkwardly apologizes for locking her up and turns the whole atmosphere awkward

“If he doesn’t wake up in a few hours I’m getting Mom” - Diego, probably

and Five blinks awake and they’re all immediately crowding him, and he swipes at them half heartedly and they’re all like “Five what the FUCK did you do can you get us back” and he’s just like “…did Dad make me jump too much again? Why am I in Klaus’s room?”

cue surprisedpikachu.jpg

They ask him what he remembers and Five is like?? Did I hit my head when I collapsed again? He swipes at his face and grimaces at the blood but doesn’t look surprised

(”What the fuck does he mean, again?” Ben hisses at Klaus towards the back of the group, “Why isn’t he freaking out more?”)

They do tell him that he brought them back from the future. They tell him everything after a quick argument about communication and the chance of him telling Dad (Five, on the bed, is unimpressed - as if he would tell Dad fucking anything he didn’t have to) so they tell him everything. They have proof as well! Because Vanya has powers

Five believes them, because the last thing he remembers is planning to time travel and he’s missing a wholeass month of memory when they locate something with the current date on it and is like “i fucking gueSS” and is probably pissed about the fact that he doesn’t remember the future tbh

and they’re all planning to camp out in Klaus’s room for the night but Five is the one who reminds them all that they’re thirteen and on a schedule now and they have to act like normal while Five tries to figure out,,, how to get his memories back he guesses? They don’t want to leave him alone and he’s really confused and like “i’ll be fine guys??” but is pretty confused at how concerned they’re being (”Your nose is still bleeding!” “i have tissues in my room for it don’t worry” “this has happened before?” “sometimes when i overexert myself, yeah”)

nobody except Five realizes that hey, they’re back and according to the rest of the world Five disappeared for a whole month. So Five doesn’t bat an eye when he arrives at breakfast and Reginald yells and demands he attend special training and everyone else is horrified. Klaus makes a snarky comment and Five practically hurls himself across the table to make a scene and cover it up by yelling something readiness to try time travel again and gets his special training time doubled

after breakfast he turns on Klaus with flashing eyes because Klaus is apparently an adult and should know better!! He literally whisper yells that thirteen-year-old Klaus knew how to keep his head the fuck down and does he want to get extra training? No! No he doesn’t! Just growling about how his siblings need to relearn the status quo or they’re going to make his job so much more difficult - 

“Your job?” They ask, alarmed and confused and Klaus has wilted entirely because he’s suddenly remembering just exactly what his special training looked like (not that he ever forgot but for a moment he’d still thought he was in a world where Reginald had no power over him) but Five deflects and says he has to go to training and for fucks sake to keep their heads down and not to let Dad know that they’re hanging out with Vanya or act overly attached with each other because that’s just asking for trouble 

they look confused and Five just sighs and is like “We’ll go over camera blindspots together later I guess, meet in Luther’s room”

“Hey,” someone asks, “What was Five’s special training?”

“He never talked about it,” Ben whispers back, “But sometimes he’d be hurt afterwards.”

“Fuck,” is the general sentiment shared by everyone, even though they have all 100% been hurt in this household before

They don’t see Five for the rest of the day and get progressively more antsy when he doesn’t show up at lunch or dinner until they’re all crammed into Luther’s room and there’s a blue flash and Five is on the floor gasping, there’s blood dripping on the floor and they watch in horrified silence as Five pops his thumb back into its socket with a grimace and a familiarity that alarms everyone

and without letting anyone speak, Five launches into where the cameras are, where the blindspots are, going over their daily schedules just in case his siblings have forgotten, and basically telling them that if Dad notices how attached they are to each other then he’ll do something about it “ - so keep a low profile and don’t piss him off for fuck’s sake”

“you literally purposefully pissed him off at breakfast” one of them points out

Five rolls his eyes, “if i didn’t then klaus would have gotten special training, wouldn’t he? and you know his training leaves him a fucking mess”

Klaus is all teary eyes and Five is uncomfortable and the others are just like,, hey,,,, we’re older that you, you don’t need to protect us,,,, and five rolls his eyes and is like ‘apparently i’m 58 and you guys suck just as much at self preservation as you did before you came back i though being a grownup was supposed to make you smarter but clearly you live to prove me wrong’

Five pulls some bandages out of thin air and starts wrapping his wrists with an air of practiced competence which brings attention back to them

Allison is quiet for a beat before thoughtfully saying “you know, we could just kill dad” which makes half the room choke on their own spit and the other half it kind of like you know what?? hell yeah 

“We can’t kill Dad.” Five says with a confidence that says he’s thought about this before, at length, which makes everyone turn to him, “If we kill Dad then we go into the foster system and get split up, Mom and Pogo don’t have any legal existence so can’t claim guardianship. But we could… run away.”

Before anyone can say anything, Five has jumped away and a minute later he’s back with a shoebox and a hopeful look and everyone is shocked when he opens it and provides fake IDs and cash and there is literally no way Five could have gotten this box between them coming back in time and this moment which can only mean that he had this before he left the first time which has all sorts of sad implications

Klaus at the very least bursts into tears and hugs Five who frowns and looks confused as though he can’t fathom a reason why his brother would hug him over this and no one is really dry eyed, Ben 100% gets on Five’s other side to join in this hug

“I know it’s not enough money,” Five says, shifting uncomfortably as Klaus’s grip tightens, “But the IDs were expensive and in a couple of months I’ll have it back anyway - ”

“Can’t Allison just rumor him?” someone says, but Allison frowns and lets them know that Grace is programmed to do… something if Allison rumors Dad, because Allison’s rumors won’t work on her. And no one wants to hurt Grace…

“It’ll have to do” Someone says, because honestly they aren’t going to stay under the roof for a moment longer than they really have to because Ben DIED here and they already had a breakdown over his existence and Five turned up injured after training, and Klaus’s training traumatized the living fuck out of him, and there are a lot of reasons to get out of the house

why do all my recent aus end up with them running away though

BUT YEAH that’s what I have they spend like, a whole day and half in the house before deciding there is no possible way they can do this again and Five is a baby and they’ve already learned a whole lot of terrible things about their brother that no one bothered to pay enough attention to the first time because they were all dumbasses caught up in their own little worlds

just a whole bunch of teenagers on the run while Five attempts to figure out an equation to fix his memory issue (is it just repressed?? did his older self’s consciousness perish? is there a block?) while the siblings have to deal with Commission agents (when the commission can find them that is, without trackers they have to rely on field agents spotting them) as well as avoiding notice by the authorities, training Vanya, and getting food/money

(and also actually get to know each other all over again, because future them weren’t close and clearly they’ve never really known Five)

just a good family adventure with occasional murder and dealing with their individual traumas and issues

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit This is Bad…

… New discovery. If you try to edit a ‘read more’ post on mobile? Tumblr erases the whole post.

Okay. Let’s try this again. I still blame this on @thornstone8773 for giving me the idea.

This partially heavily based on a scene from Killjoys. Yes, I am still thinking about Killjoys.

This is set in the ‘human Jin raised by HumaGear Horobi’ AU, and deals w/ after the end, so I kinda inserted general, hazy epilogues for everyone:

In this version, Thouser was the big bad, so after they took him down, Yua took over ZAIA. Fuwa started working w/ Aruto as part of Hiden’s security (partially bc of a comment I saw about him becoming Aruto’s bodyguard and it stuck). Aruto keeps running Hiden Intelligence. Jin and Horobi kinda help him out/are both in rehab/are under his supervision. The promise Horobi mentions later in this essentially boils down to ‘stop trying to cause human extinction/killing humans = BAD.’

You know, the usual.

This comes across as pretty sad… Kinda. Maybe it is.

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For a while after, things were difficult.

He found himself answering the same questions over and over, weathering the same suspicious stares. He didn’t like how people looked at Horobi—like he was was a bomb that they expected to go off at any moment. Aruto had to remind him often that the transition was as hard for everyone else as it was for them. Trust was hard to relearn, for both sides.

For his part, Horobi made an effort. He was generally indifferent to his infamy, already long accustomed to suspicion and coldness from humans—but for his adopted son’s sake, he made deliberate attempts to assuage their fears and fit in. Even when it was clear to anyone who knew he’d rather be in the company of Fuwa—one of the few to whom he felt he had nothing to prove—he’d put on a face to try and keep others at ease. He even tried to smile a  few times, though that rarely went over well.

As time went on, however, people stopped staring so much. Months fell away, turning into years. Memory didn’t exactly fade, but altered. There was less fear and more marvel. But that wasn’t the only things that changed.

People who didn’t recognise them would ask if Horobi was his brother, starting at some point in his thirties. Horobi had never paid much mind to such questions to begin with, so Jin often found himself recounting the explanation multiple times, while Horobi hovered like a ghost at his elbow. Out of all of them, Horobi and Izu remained the same; timeless while the humans around them steadily altered. Aruto had to politely force Fuwa, the eldest of them, to retire from his new position as Hiden’s security head when it was clear the demands were too much for him—even after that, though, Fuwa stayed close, watching the Hiden CEO like an unofficial bodyguard. Yaiba was up and about even longer, rustling around ZAIA’s offices like a queen, not slowing down at all. She laughed and said it was because women lived longer—Fuwa shot back that it was because it was her.

Horobi said nothing about the expanding differences in their appearances, merely retuning his hyper awareness of his adoptive son to look for new things, always already offering help before Jin would even know he needed it. He even offered to carry Jin a few times, like he had was Jin was small, but Jin put a stop to that in his early fifties. Horobi was strong enough, but it didn’t seem right anymore. Around then, he also stopped giving proper answers when people misinterpreted their relationship.

When he was in his sixties, he slipped on the sidewalk, and though some passersby rushed forward to help, it was, as always, Horobi who caught him instantly, gently pulling him back up.

“Such a dutiful son!” A woman nearby had exclaimed.

Horobi ignored her, but Jin couldn’t resist glancing over and giving her a small smile. “Yes.” He said, “I am.” Her eyes had bugged out. Later, Horobi hadn’t understood why it was funny—but Horobi never understood why anything was funny.

As he got even older, there was an unspoken tension in the air. For the first time, they were both confronting something neither had considered before; being separated. Horobi, he knew, wouldn’t say anything, still so afraid of accidentally pressuring Jin into something, constantly doubting himself. That meant it fell upon Jin to broker the conversation, something he made plans to do.

Until he started getting sick, and their balance shattered.

The doctors the others dragged him to concluded it was some sort of delayed response to exposure to radiation. Something that had been building in his body all those years at Daybreak that was finally breaking free as he got older and weaker. He considered trying to hide it from Horobi, until Izu looked him in the eye and informed him that if she had noticed, there was no way Horobi hadn’t.

He was quickly confined to a hospital—moving hurt, and he was tired all the. Horobi was, s always, never far away, and the others came to visit often. Yaiba had finally retired—partially, Fuwa would always add with a chuckle until she smacked him with something. Aruto was starting to ease out of his duties as CEO, needing to lean more and more on Izu just to get around. Jin didn’t know what Aruto was planning to do—but he knew the idea he had had, even before the illness set in, and he knew Aruto still had the power to make it happen.

“… It’s possible.” The Hiden CEO admittedly, slowly. “My father…” Aruto trailed off there, and Jin waited patiently for him to find his voice again. Aruto didn’t really talk about his father—at least, not to anyone other than Izu or Fuwa—and it was better not to push him. “… It’s possible.” He finally continued, sighing slightly. “And we’ve made even more advancements in the field. But…” He looked sideways at Jin then. “Are you sure? It’s not exactly something you can take back.” Speaking was effort, but Jin carefully met Aruto’s eyes and nodded. Aruto studied him, then sighed again. “Alright. But there’s someone who wants to talk to you first.” The Hiden CEO shifted his seat to reveal the doorway.

Horobi was standing by Izu’s shoulder, looking distraught, for him.

Jin looked back at Aruto accusingly, dragging his voice out to demand, “You told Horobi?”

A small smile flitted across Aruto’s face. “Well, see, I need parental permission on the form…” He stopped when he saw Jin’s incredulous look. “… You should have told him.” Turning his head, Aruto signalled Izu, who came over and helped him up. “I’ll let you two discuss this,” He told them, “Call me if there’s a decision.” Then he and his secretary made their way out, with his arm around her shoulders, slipping past Horobi and out the door.

For a long time, silence filled the room. Then, slowly, Horobi crossed the floor, sitting beside his bed, and taking Jin’s nearest hand in both of his.

“You don’t have to do this for me.” Horobi’s hands were actually warm on his, unlike the usual room temperature, the HumaGear putting conscious effort into trying to make him as comfortable as possible. “I will stay by your side until the very end, hold your hand when you pass on.” The hold on his hand tightened, though the pressure was, as always, carefully measured so as not to hurt him. “I will remember my promise—I will watch over them, guard them. Justice will be done, cities built, and a future made in your name.” One of the perfectly temperature-controlled hands moved to tenderly touch his cheek. “You are my son. I will be your legacy, and you will not be forgotten.”

He looked back into the HumaGear’s eternally weary eyes. It was hard to remember his younger days, when Horobi had been so hard to read, all blank and ominous. Now detecting the sorrow in those eyes was as natural as breathing—perhaps even more so, by this point. There was also something else there, hiding just behind the thick curtains of forlorn affection; guilt. The like of which he had seen before. “But…?” He prompted softly, voice even hoarser than usual.

Horobi’s gaze faltered, flicking downward.

A laugh bubbled from him, one that even almost sounded like his old childish giggles, just a little more breathless. Even as tired as he was, his lips pulled into a smile. Slowly, he freed one arm from the blankets, reaching over to cup Horobi’s face and gently lift it back up to meet his eyes again. “… But if I leave…” He whispered, running his thumb across the HumaGear’s cheek, “… Horobi will be lonely again.”

Horobi still couldn’t weep—but Jin knew for certain he heard his adoptive father’s breathing hitch.

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… Or, maybe it isn’t.

At least, that ending is supposed to be kinda hopeful. Kinda.

Hopefully it’s also at least kinda clear what Jin’s idea is. I may have made it rather obvious. ^^;

[sweetlangdon]

From Eden: Chapter 6

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence.

This is one of my favorite chapters.

Chapter One     Chapter Two    Chapter Three     Chapter Four     Chapter Five     Also Available on AO3

Years’ worth of memories flooded back all at once, filling up gaping holes that she never realized had been there in the first place. So much of her had gone missing for so long; she’d felt such a void inside and never knew why. She broke from her reverie with a shaky, tearful gasp, overwhelmed by the swift onslaught of emotion. It took her a few moments to return to the private suite in the outpost and let the recovered fragments of herself sink in.

“Michael.”

She reached out to where he had knelt in front of her, taking his face between her hands, her thumb catching a tear that had slipped down his cheek. She tried to relearn the sharp curves of his face with her fingertips. She studied Michael as if she were seeing him for the first time, and in a way, she was—he looked so different from that boy with the unruly golden curls and crooked smile.

They’d been apart from each other for some time and she still couldn’t figure out why. What was it that had separated them? It couldn’t have been by choice—the connection she felt in her heart, singing through her blood was too profound for that. This world had finally collapsed in on itself, and the two of them were meant to be standing side-by-side, as always.

She threaded her fingers through his long hair, searching for a glimmer of that boy who’d walked through her aunt’s front yard, took her hand, and never looked back.

His eyes were the same: soft and bright blue. She was captivated by the way he looked at her, relief mingling with adoration.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him quietly, her brow furrowed. “How could I forget you?”

Michael placed his hand over hers, guiding it from where she cupped his cheek to his lips, and kissed her palm.

“None of that is your fault,” he drawled. His tone was gentle, yet solemn.

His thumb traced over the back of her hand. “After I lost Ms. Mead, and I came so close to losing you, I tampered with your memories myself, for your own protection. To keep you safe until we found each other again. You were the last person I had left…and it was because of me that you were in danger. I couldn’t risk your life. Never again.”

“You knew exactly who I was the moment you set foot in here.”

He smiled through the quiet tears that trailed down his chin. “Of course I did.”

“Then the interviews…” She dropped her hands to his chest, her fingers finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt.

“Not all of it was a ruse.” Michael settled his hand on top of hers again, and she entwined their fingers as if it was a habit she’d always known. “I wanted to earn your trust again, and I’d hoped that our conversations would help you to remember on your own. And part of you did—I could see it, even if you couldn’t.”

“Your restraint is impressive.” Her fingers tightened around his. “All the time we must’ve spent apart… You let me go, and you never had the luxury of forgetting. I can’t imagine how awful that must’ve been, after everything else.”

“I removed myself from your memories while you slept,” Michael explained. He leaned in closer, the back of his fingers skirting along her cheek, his rings grazing her skin. “I spared us from the pain of a goodbye because I knew it would only be temporary.”

She shook her head. “I know you too well.” She untangled her fingers to cradle his face, the breath caught her throat when she saw that abandoned boy staring back at her, always so afraid that she would leave. “Even if it wasn’t meant to last forever, you still carried around enough pain for the both of us.”

“I told you before that you didn’t have to do this alone, and I meant it.” Her lips hovered over his, and Michael brushed his nose against her own, anticipating, wanting what was just within reach.

It had been fucking ages since she’d felt wanted.

Michael’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’ve missed you,” he confessed, a mere whisper into her lips, his breath mingling with hers. In his quiet confession she heard the voice of her Michael—her dearest friend, always so much more to her than the Devil’s son.

She kissed him slowly, lingering as if she’d waited for a lifetime. She tasted the salt from the tears on his lips when Michael drew her in deep, her face in the shelter his warm hands. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss, an ardent feeling of need just beneath the surface, the rush of energy between them enough to cause the candles around the room to almost extinguish themselves at once.

She grinned against his lips while they took a breath, amused at the familiarity of how Michael had kissed her. Their kisses had been few and far between; they’d proved their loyalty, their care for each other in different ways. It hadn’t ever mattered all that much to her, anyway. There had always been that hesitant, uncertain tension that seemed to stiffen Michael’s movements before he gave himself over. It had nothing to do with her, she knew that; everything about what Michael had become was there to seduce and charm, but he so rarely experienced the genuine desire to act on it.

And it appeared to have been quite a while since they’d last kissed.

They parted, and Michael rested his forehead against hers, one hand still slightly tangled up in her hair. She inhaled deep, relishing the darkness that enveloped them both, the resurgence of power that had left her as breathless as their kiss. She’d missed this, too. She’d forgotten how intoxicating it was, how much the power within her came alive whenever he was beside her.

He left a kiss on her forehead before he pulled himself up to his full height again. Ms. Mead smiled at them from where she’d stood watching their reunion, her unshed tears shining in the yellow glow of the room.

Michael’s hands wrapped around Ms. Mead’s forearms, holding her while he spoke. “I need help with the monumental task of remaking this world,” he explained. He glanced between her and Ms. Mead, looking at both of them earnestly, a brightness in his eyes and a grin on his lips. “And who better than the only people I never stopped trusting or loving?”

She smiled. It was one thing to know it in her heart—and she’d always known—but it was something else entirely to hear Michael say it.

Ms. Mead narrowed her gaze and touched Michael’s coat, gasping a little when her fingers came away red with Ms. Venable’s blood. “Your jacket is stained.”

Michael swiped his fingers over hers, feeling the slick, fresh blood between his thumb and forefinger. “So it is,” he answered. “There’s another one in the dresser.” He held out his hand to her and she took it, rising off the edge of the bed. “And you’ll find something more suitable in the armoire.”

There was a gown for her among his own wardrobe—a modern, dark red lace dress that paired beautifully with her Victorian leather boots. It had sheer dark red sleeves that ended just at her elbows; the fabric draped elegantly over her curves and stopped above her ankles. She let down her hair from its pins, delicate curls tumbling over one shoulder. She saw Michael’s reflection in the full length mirror when he stepped behind her, now dressed in a tailored dark red jacket. The plush velvet fabric was soft against her skin, and she shivered while he fastened the back of her dress, the warmth radiating from him lighting a fire up the length of her spine.

Michael circled around her until they faced each other and offered his hand, his palm turned upward.

“Hold out your hand,” he murmured. She settled her hand into his, her palm resting flush on his own. Michael slipped one of his rings onto her thumb, the scarlet gem set inside the intricate silver band glittering in the light of the candles.

She looked up at him through strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “What’s this?”

He brought her hand to his lips and left a kiss across her knuckles. “A promise,” he told her, holding her gaze with those pale blue eyes. Her stomach gave a little leap. She grinned, hooking her arm around Michael’s when he presented it to her. “What do you think?” he asked Ms. Mead.

She knew that garnering Ms. Mead’s approval had always been especially important to him, and right now she was looking at the pair of them like a delighted mother would, her smile, her own happiness reaching her eyes. It was still a wonder to her that they were all here again, alive and reunited amid the ruins of the old world. The only true family she’d ever had in her entire life.

“Hail Satan.”

“Not quite.” Michael smirked. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” His voice took on a lighter, amused tone. “Ms. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing.”

“For the first time I feel I know my place in the world,” Ms. Mead affirmed. “By your side.”

Something changed. She sensed it immediately—a power so different from their own unfurling itself in the core of the outpost. At first, she didn’t recognize its source, didn’t understand the strange energy that crackled like lightning across her skin. The hair on her arms stood on end, her heart beginning to race once she felt Michael tense beside her. He turned his head toward the door.

“What is it?” Ms. Mead’s smile faded.

“A powerful presence.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Mead asked. Her eyes darted between them both, frantic, trying to understand something that was beyond her own perception. “Everyone is dead.”

Michael’s voice grew cold, the darkness rising from within. “Not anymore.”

She realized then that the power surging inside the walls came from the light.

Magic.

She kept both of her arms laced around one of his, her fingertips digging into the sleeve of Michael’s jacket as they exited the room. The circular corridor outside was eerily quiet, neither of them exchanging a word. She glanced up at Michael, trying to read his face, but he gave away nothing, not even to her. His pace was leisurely; she matched his steps and took a breath to rid herself of the worry that seized her chest. She tried to imitate the deceptively calm expression he wore, but it didn’t quite work.

“Trust me,” Michael whispered. He looked at her, finally, and tilted his chin up with that dark hint of amusement playing on his lips. “They won’t survive us, not this time.”

Feminine voices drifted from below and echoed through the cavernous interior, flittering about like apparitions. She and Michael descended the grand staircase with Ms. Mead following behind, and paused at the top of the last set of stairs. It was then that she saw where the light had emanated from—who had breathed magic into these long forgotten halls.

Cordelia Goode.

There were other witches surrounding her, some she didn’t know, and others she realized had somehow been hiding in plain sight this whole time. Just as she had once been. Mallory. Dinah. Coco, which shocked her most of all.

“Who cares?” another younger, blonde witch was saying, her back to them. “As if you could defeat anyone with that backwards voodoo shit.”

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” Michael taunted.

Cordelia started toward the staircase, the rest of her witches trailing out of instinct. “You haven’t won.” Cordelia’s determined stare settled on her, recognition passing over her face. She didn’t say anything about her presence at Michael’s side, but the silent understanding was more than enough. They had both chosen their own allegiances a long time ago.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world,” Michael reminded.

“Almost as bad as your dinner jacket, but at least the world can be saved,” a redheaded witch observed wryly.

She rolled her eyes, but it was Michael who continued to mock them. “By you?”

“By all of us,” Cordelia insisted.

“Hey—get the wax out of your ears,” Dinah snapped. “I’m here to watch.”

“But I’m not,” Coco declared. She gathered up her skirts and charged forward. Cordelia held out a hand to stop her. “Just don’t let me die, okay? That reallysucked the first time.”

“When we’re done, you’ll all wish you were still dead,” Michael promised.

“I always thought the world would end with fire and ice,” the redheaded witch mused, “not witches and warlocks.”

***

Louisiana was sweltering—a balmy, intolerable kind of heat that held no comparison to California. Sweat trickled down her back despite their rental car’s air conditioning, and her cotton dress stuck uncomfortably to her legs. She sighed, resting her forehead against the window as her father consulted the GPS to navigate them through unfamiliar streets. It was a gorgeous place, she had to admit: old, replete with historical architecture and Spanish moss and something ethereal that she sensed the moment they arrived in New Orleans.

They weren’t the type of family that took trips, ever, so when her parents announced that they were shelling out their hard-earned money to fly to New Orleans, she didn’t know what to think. She’d figured it was some business trip of theirs, which meant she’d be stuck at her aunt’s house avoiding that mess of a woman while she drank herself into a stupor with her parents’ bribe money.

And then her mother had sat her down for a talk—something else they definitely did not have a habit of doing—and told her about Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. She’d balked at first, believing it to be some horrid reform school they wanted to ship her off to. It sounded expensive. Unattainable, according to her parents’ current finances. There was no damn way they’d pay for it, even if it meant getting her out of sight and out of mind for the foreseeable future.

But the school wasn’t anything like that all, she’d found out. A woman named Cordelia Goode had come forward a few years ago, making the existence of magic and witches public knowledge. Her school was a haven, a place where magic could be learned, where abilities could be controlled.

It was a place where she could finally belong. And maybe understand exactly what she was.

She could get used to Louisiana if that’s what it meant.

The pictures of the academy didn’t do it justice. She lifted her head from the glass when they pulled alongside the curb out front, a gust of humid air ushered into the car once she rolled the window down. She gawked at the towering, sophisticated mansion, her mouth dropping open. Impressive didn’t even cover it. Beautiful wrap-around porches, wrought iron balconies, pillars and endless wide windows. A bright white beacon framed by manicured hedges and an old, imposing gate. This place held history and power and she couldfeel it.

Living in this stunning mansion out of her parents’ reach seemed like a dream. She really could learn to tolerate Louisiana.

She was out of the car and at the gate before her father had pulled the key from the ignition. Curiosity and longing led her past the aged lamp posts that flanked it. She paused in the middle of the walkway, her head tilted upwards, squinting against the afternoon sun. Inhaling slowly, she allowed the magic of this place to wash over her. It prickled along her skin like an electric current, strong and dizzying and new.

It wasn’t something she’d felt before. She couldn’t really decide if that happened to be good or bad. If this was magic, then what was the affliction inside of her?

Part of her wanted to run, to abandon the foolish idea that she could belong anywhere. But then her parents swept past her, and she followed them silently up the front steps. A pretty blonde woman in a simple black dress appeared at the door, offering a smile as she let them inside.

“Sorry we’re late,” her mother apologized. “Traffic was absolutely hellish.”

“That’s all right,” she answered. She held out her hand once the door was shut and they huddled in the foyer. “And you must be our prospective new student. I’m Cordelia Goode, headmistress of the academy. It’s my hope that you’ll feel welcome here at Miss Robichaux’s.”

“Thank you.” She shook Ms. Goode’s hand and noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her parents wouldn’t have detected it, since the welcoming smile never left her face. But her eyes faltered, giving her away. It was a look she knew all too well.

Fear.

Disappointment formed a knot in the pit of her stomach. Ms. Goode’s knowing gaze stayed on her for just a few moments too long, and finally the brightness of her smile waned.

Nevertheless, she kept up the composed, inviting façade and led her and her parents through the airy and open halls of the mansion to an impeccable dining room. There was an almost dreamy quality to the interior, with its pristine white walls and floors and furnishings. She found herself completely awed by its beauty and elegance, but never had she felt more out of place in her whole life.

“Tell me,” Ms. Goode said once they were seated across from her at the table, “what it is that’s brought you to the academy. I assume that her power has manifested in some way.”

“Her father and I, we’ve never known what it was,” her mother explained. “She’s had this…whatever it is…since she was a child—we’re talking like, three or four years old here. I mean, can you imagine? A toddler snapping the necks of birds with a wave of her hand? It was a fucking nightmare—sorry, pardon my language, Ms. Goode. But it was…terrifying.”

She scowled when Ms. Goode seemed to flinch. “I don’t do that anymore,” she argued.

“Not that we know of,” her father countered.

Yeah, well, you’re never around.

“But her…powers,” her mother continued, choking on the word as if it had left a sour taste in her mouth, “are getting stronger. We’ve noticed that much. And we’re hoping that she can find some guidance here at your academy.”

She stood up from the table. “I can show you.”

Ms. Goode lifted her palm. “No, that won’t be necessary.” She cast her eyes down at the tabletop where she clasped her hands, then glanced at her parents. She spoke gently, but with an authoritative tone. “I’m so sorry that you’ve come all this way, expecting so much. I know the confusion and desperation that you must feel—it breaks my heart that I can’t help your daughter. But I cannot allow her into the academy.”

“What?” her parents replied at once, in varying degrees of shock and outrage. She stood there in stunned silence, somehow knowing that Ms. Goode had already made her decision the second she’d looked her in the eye.

“It would be irresponsible of me to put my girls’ safety at risk.”

“You can’t—you’re our last resort,” her mother pleaded. “We don’t have any other options. We don’t know what else to do with her.”

“I can make a donation,” her father offered. She rolled her eyes. “We don’t have much, but—”

“No,” Ms. Goode said firmly. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, it’s just that it won’t do anything to change my mind.”

“Please,” she spoke up at last. “I’m begging you, Ms. Goode, I need your help. You have to let me stay here…I can’t go home. I can’t stand another minute in that house.”

Her voice wavered and a few tears slid down her face, but she managed to stifle the sob that she felt at the back of her throat. “I don’t know what’s happening to me—I’m scared of it. They look at me like I’m cursed. Please…I don’t want to feel that anymore. I don’t want this.” She sniffled, blinking away the tears that disrupted her vision. “I can sense how powerful you are. You have to help me. You’re the only one.”

“As witches, we draw our power from the light,” Ms. Goode answered. “What you have inside of you is something…much different. Something darker. I wish that I could help you, but the simple, painful truth is that I don’t know how. I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

Chairs scraped across the floor. Her parents began to walk out of the room without saying another word to Ms. Goode, who’d risen slowly from the table. Her expression was stoic yet tempered with defeat around the edges, almost ashamed. She wanted so badly to hate Ms. Goode—she closed her eyes and imagined every window in this room exploding, the jagged pieces slicing that poor woman’s skin until crimson stained the white floors. But she couldn’t conjure up enough rage. The disappointment of Ms. Goode’s rejection had left her numb and utterly lost.

The breezy room, which had been full of sunlight when she sat down, suddenly grew cold. Her parents’ moods had taken an immediate sharp turn for the worst; she didn’t need any sort of power to pick up on that. She dreaded the inevitable quiet, angry ride to the airport. They wouldn’t be making a detour to enjoy the French Quarter, not after this. She’d go straight home to her own prison, suffering with this affliction alone.

“Let’s go,” her mother snapped from the foyer.

She buried her face in her hands, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms until she had regained some semblance of composure.

Ms. Goode settled a hand on her shoulder to stop her on the way out. “There’s still light in you,” she said. “I feel it. Know that if I ever find a way to help you, I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you.”

***

“You clean up nice, Devil boy.”

She wondered if he’d felt her presence before she’d even perched on the edge of his bed.

Michael turned around from where he had just draped a black blazer over the back of the desk chair, the same boyish grin on his face that she’d recognize no matter what. He had changed, though—those once unruly golden curls had been tamed, no longer falling into his eyes. Gone were the ripped jeans and tattered shirts, replaced with the pressed, stylish uniform of the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men.

It was after curfew, so Michael had rolled up the sleeves of the starched white button down shirt underneath his black sweater vest up to his elbows. He continued to gape at her while he wrenched off the black satin ribbon tie around his neck, tossing it haphazardly onto the desk behind him. She stood when Michael crossed the small distance that separated them, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her into a warm embrace.

“How did you even get in here?”

Michael’s chin settled in the juncture between her neck and shoulder; he bent down a little to accommodate their height difference. His hair brushed the side of her face, his temple pressed to hers, the rich, earthy scent of him all around her. She leaned into Michael’s chest and his arms tightened around her like he didn’t want to let go. She didn’t mind in the least. She felt his deep exhale and tightened her hold, too, dragging her fingers through the curls that spilled over his collar.

She breathed in. Home.

“I’ve been figuring things out on my own, since I don’t have some fancy school to teach me parlor tricks.”

“How’d you find me?” Michael released her from his embrace, but still held onto her, his long fingers around her upper arms. She was taken back by how much older he sounded, how he’d seemed to mature in their time apart.

“A feeling,” she told him. “I could sense where you were, somehow. Took a few tries to get it exactly right—I almost got caught by some students in the other corridor; this place is a damn maze—but the danger is always half the fun, isn’t it?” She laughed. Traveling via otherworldly power was trickier than she’d anticipated, especially over long distances. “You know, it’s kind of nice down here…if you like dungeons.”

“It’s not that bad,” Michael replied. “Is Ms. Mead all right? Are you okay?” Worry flickered in the blue of his eyes, his grip on her arms strengthening for a moment.

“We’re fine. She doesn’t know I’m here,” she assured. “I just…missed you.”

She’d had the company of Ms. Mead in the wake of his abrupt departure, of course, but the loneliness that had eaten away at her before she’d met Michael had started to rear its ugly head again. Her parents had drifted further away, which she’d been grateful for because it meant they’d given up the act of caring about what she did. Now, she stayed for days at time in Miriam’s house without consequence.

She had still felt lost, longing for his presence at her side. Just…him. Michael, the boy who’d befriended her like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, when no one else would. The weeks that they’d been apart were unbearably long and difficult. But it had also awakened more of her powers, even if it had been out of distraction.

“I mean, last time I saw you, the cops were putting you in handcuffs and shoving you into the back of their car.” She frowned and wrestled her arms from his hold. “That was over a month ago, Michael.”

She declined to admit that she’d spent that night curled up in his bed alone, weeping until she’d given herself a headache, her mind concocting all the ways they would punish him for killing that butcher. She’d spent half the night believing they’d never see each other again and the other half devising escape plans.  

“And you thought, what? That I’d rot in a jail cell somewhere?”

He gave her an amused smirk, his eyes alight with mischief. But there was something else, too; a note of disbelief, maybe. A millisecond of that boy who’d faced nothing but betrayal and abandonment, astonished that she’d sought him out.

She smacked him across the chest. “I was worried.”

“Everything worked out fine.” He lifted his arms from his sides, gesturing to the sleek, monochromatic room that was now his.  

“Clearly,” she deadpanned. “Look, I know you’re busy, so I’ll—”

When she started to turn away, Michael grabbed her wrist gently, tugging her back toward him until he gathered her to his chest again. “Come here,” he said softly, and she relented into the warmth of his arms. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, which she’d tucked underneath his chin. “I’m sorry.” She wondered if she’d imagined the kiss he pressed into her hair. “I didn’t like leaving you that way, either. I’d never abandon you willingly—you have to know that.”

“I do.”

“This is where I’m supposed to be for now,” Michael said. “I know it feels like we’re stronger together, but I also know you’re entirely capable of handling yourself on your own. And I need for you to trust me. The path is only going to get easier from here.”

She nodded, and picked her head up from his chest to look at him. There was a trace of a grin on her lips. “I can’t get over how different you are.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “I’m the same guy who almost made a roof collapse on the two of us,” he reasoned. “I haven’t changed that much. My instructors nearly died of hypothermia the other day because lost control again.”

“You’re more confident, though.” She slid her arms around his middle. “Older, somehow.”

“My mission is clearer,” Michael acknowledged. “The warlocks have this prophecy. They think I’ll become their Alpha—that my power will make me Supreme so their coven will rise and they’ll no longer be second to the witches.”  

She scoffed. “Men.”

“They’ve called a meeting of their council,” he continued. “They want the current Supreme to administer the test of the Seven Wonders. These people…they’re the only threat to my father’s plans, but if I pass this test, they won’t be a problem.”

“Do you think she’ll allow it?”

Michael shook his head, and again she noticed that the tentative boy who’d peered over her aunt’s front gate was still in there, somewhere. “It’s going to take some convincing.”

“I’m impressed, honestly,” she said. “The warlocks are so caught up in some petty inter-coven drama that they don’t see who’s right in front of them. They’ve created their own mess for you to manipulate to your advantage. When I interviewed for the witch coven, I could barely get in the door.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He sighed.

“She couldn’t figure out what I was.”  

“And we don’t have the answer to that question, either,” Michael said, his brow furrowed. He rubbed absentminded circles across her back. “I wish I did. You deserve to know who you are.”

“Maybe I’ll ask your father someday.”

Michael tried for a crooked smirk, but she could see that like her, he was troubled by the answers they couldn’t find. “But she still sensed the darkness in you.”

“Well, you make a better warlock than my pathetic attempt at being a witch,” she assured him. “She might sense something different, but she won’t know who you are. And even if she did…there’s no way she’d survive you.”

She rose up on the tips of her toes and left a kiss on his cheek. “Good luck. Not that you’ll need it.”

And then she was gone.

@lastregasolitaria  @mylippo  @zeciex  @lvngdvns  @langdonsdemon  @yourkingcodyfern  @sojournmichael  @gabnelson98  @rainbowrosesjas  @antichristlangdxn  @keavysmithxoxo  @artistlunadrayne  @codysfallenangels  @batgirlbride  @mileeyyowens  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998  @gentianea  @cryptid-coalition  @langdonsrapture  @kinlovecody  @yuriohoe04  @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean   @langdonscurls  @jcshadowkiss-blog  @frozenhuntress67  @sebastianshoe  @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon  @queenie435  @holylangdon  @weareallevilmotherfuckers  @langdonfern  @angsty-otters-blog  @denaexr  @mr-langdonn  @micheallangdons  @lostin-fern  @crazedcatcuddler  @satansapostle  @monsucre @softlangdvn  @ritualmichael 

[fidgemimic]

Anyway Beau fucking hates the new wizards for like the first month or two. Also this gets rambly and fic-layout-y as hell. i am very tired and have a headache so bls forgive me

Beau hates both of these new Zemnian assholes to be entirely honest, but she’s willing to give them an iota of a chance after everything finally goes down and the immediate ramifications of turning the Empire’s greatest war mages/archmages into traitors are done with.

She’s absolutely not the only one that doesn’t trust them - fuck not even Caleb trusts them completely and he’s the reason they even bothered to defect in the first place. But the gang at this point is willing to put enough trust into them that they won’t just straight up slaughter them all in a heartbeat.

It doesn’t help that they’re both disgustingly proper.

Backs still ramrod straight, hands folded neatly in their lap or attentively behind their backs. They make eye contact with anyone who dares to speak no matter who it’s too. They’re attentive and quiet - and the nein can see them calculating scenarios and escape routes and weaknesses in their heads any time someone dares to move.

Eodwulf, to everyone’s benefit, seems to easily swap between the cold persona into one that’s a little too competent socially to not be forced and practiced to perfection over the years. He can easily hold a conversation with Fjord and Clay, even drawing laughter from Jester at his quips and playing along with her strange stories; Though not the ones about the Traveller. 

(The first time she mentions him, things suddenly go horribly, terribly wrong. He doesn’t hurt her, of course, but they can feel the air change. He snaps into another personality entirely - disgusted and enraged at the concept that he’s sitting with a heretic of all people. It’s like something cruel has taken over him, drawing curses and cruelty from his lips that bring Jester to tears before anyone even fully realizes the situation. It’s not the first time it happens, but it startles everyone - Eodwulf included. Jester doesn’t receive an apology until much later, once Caleb pulls him away from the group and speaks to him quietly. No one cares to ask what was said - not until Jester grows curious a few days later and asks Wulf. Beauregard only barely overhears it - glaring daggers at the half elf all the same. 

“He said that it was.... it was hard to relearn what should be - what is - acceptable. Hard to relearn what it is normal people see as being non-issues. It’s no excuse for my horrid behavior, but it is... difficult... to know after so long.”

Beauregard.... hates him a little less for that. He’s dangerous, and she keeps an eye on him, but it’s easier to remember that he’s not the first or only person who’s had these issues before. If she speaks to Caleb later about what to expect, it’s for the safety of the group - obviously. She needs to know what she needs to look out for so that she can swoop in and roundhouse kick a bitch in the throat if push comes to shove. But if she manages to catch the hints - the sudden stillness, the tightening of his jaw, the impulsive twitch of fingers as if readying a spell - she jumps in and distracts him with a flourish and desperate ease that would’ve made Molly proud. Eodwulf is easy to decipher once you know what the signs are.

Astrid, however, is not.

She radiates an air of authority that would make Beau sick if it wasn’t from a woman that was just so fucking hot. Where Eodwulf finds a place to integrate himself socially, Astrid sits back and watches from just far enough away that it’s obvious she’s not really part of the team.

It’s intentional - and she’s said as much to the rest when they ask her about it.

“I have little reason to trust that the lot of you won’t kill me tonight. I am fine here. Thank you.”

Beau can tell that Caleb is torn with this information. He’s been torn since the two of them arrived - all three of them have been desperately trying to figure out where they stand with each other in a way that The Nein would find hilarious if it wasn’t a rom-com script stitched together with trauma and guilt and all of the disgusting waste the empire had tried to shove down their throats.

Caleb and Eodwulf are the only two willing to approach her for conversation with positive results. Fjord had tried and given up after two weeks of clipped answers and obvious disinterest. Clay wanders over from time to time with his teapot and empty stories to try and ensure she doesn’t feel left out. She never drinks his tea - not even pretending to in the way that Clay often pretends to drink liquor - but he hardly seems to mind.

No one knows what it is that causes the outburst. One moment, they’re surrounding the fire, chatting aimlessly while Clay’s slow drawl acts as white noise in the background. Then the loud crash of ceramic shattering against the ground bring everyone to silence. Their eyes are drawn to the duo behind them, where Clay sits as calm as ever - his eyes only marginally wider to indicate the barest hint of shock. His teapot lay in pieces on the ground between them.

Astrid raises from her spot, cup still cradled in her hands before she deliberately allows that to slip and shatter on the ground as well.

“Oh, how unfortunate. Clumsy me.” 

When she wanders off, it’s Eodwulf that followers behind her, with Caleb nervously trailing close behind.

Beauregard approaches Clay as he works from his place on the ground, carefully picking up shards of what used to be beautifully painted ceramic.

“It’s no issue, Ms Beauregard. Simply an oversight on my part - I must have upset her and not noticed. It can be fixed easily, no harm done.”

The three wizards return not 10 minutes later. Astrid is silent, as are Eodwulf and Caleb. There is no apology, no attempt to speak to her, only the same carefully blank expression that’s been on her face since the day they found her. Something about the simple lack of remorse or empathy makes Beau’s skin crawl.

Beauregard hates Astrid.

And she makes damn sure that she shows it. 

Beauregard grants this woman none of the ‘pleasantries’ she gives her friends - drudging up every ounce of malice that she has and directing it solely towards this woman. Astrid is everything she hates wrapped into a package in just the right manner that she doesn’t want to tear her limb from limb immediately. She’s the embodiment of the empire, of everything wrong with it and what it does to people. She’s cruel and calculating and Beau can’t help but imagine how quickly and easily this woman could end all of their lives. Poison their food stores while she keeps a small sachel of her own rations close.How easy it would be for her to slip close enough to Caleb to slit his throat with a hiss of ‘traitor’ on her lips even after all he’s done to get them to safety.

She feels predictable and not all at once. It throws Beau for a loop when Astrid finally - finally - responds to her constsant prodding. Not with anger, but with a smile.

The woman is quick-witted and cold. Her words are like daggers being driven into every weak spot Beauregard has and it’s a show of power that drives her fucking insane with how easily the quips come to her. The only thing keeping The Mighty Nein from tearing them apart is the reactions that the fight seems to garner from Eodwulf and Caleb of all people. 

The two of them are huddled together, muttering and chuckling in Zemnian. They commentate with small gasps and giggles and muttered ‘oh, sheisse’s that - through the anger and annoyance - remind Beau of the catty assholes she used to go to school with as a young girl. It doesn’t help that Astrid seems to feed off of their strange new relationship, and in the midst of it all Beauregard realizes something:

This, the woman that’s tearing into her with abandon and thriving off of the attention of her two best friends, the woman who’s catty and self-assured - not because she knows she has power and statusadn training - but because she knows she’s clever enough to out-shittalk someone, is the closest they’ve gotten to seeing who she is.

She’s not sure why she decided to keep it going after that. She found what she was looking for - a small note that Astrid wasn’t just some hollowed out war machine. Something that showed her that there was still a person in there. Hell, she found the tattered remains of Something in all three of them that she hardly expected. 

But Astrid was quick to leave them again - back ramrod straight and shoulder squared. Face carefully neutral. Beau, in all of her horrible terrible no good very bad wisdom, continued the fight for as long as she could, as often as she could.

It was slow going, and every so often Astrid would fall completely silent and unresponsive to Beauregard’s jabs in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, but over time it didn’t even take Beau’s stupid attempts at fighting for Astrid to make quips and clever comments to other members of the team.

It felt like a miracle at that point.

As much as Beau wanted to continue hating Astrid after that point - as much as she wanted to still hold that bone-deep distrust that made sure she had a hand around her staff any time either of those fuckers get closer to one of her friends, she found that she couldn’t. Not really. They were doing better, and if she ever admitted to the fact that she was a little bit proud and a little bit protective of them at this point, she would have to throw herself off a cliff or something.

They were the ghosts of people, slowly but surely remembering who they could have been if everything hadn’t gone so fucking horribly. If she noticed the way that Caleb’s nervous half-smiles turned into stupid childish grins any time Eodwulf or Astrid said anything in Zemnian, or if she noticed how they slowly started to lay their bedrolls out next to each other with less and less space between them each night - that’s not her fuckin problem. That’s not her bullshit garbage ‘friends-to-lovers’ ‘hurt/comfort’ drama novel plot, and she could frankly care less so long as it was a decision that they got to make themselves.

[chainsawbettyloo]

Title: Together With You, We’ll Relearn the World 

Pairing: sidlink

Rating: Everyone 

Tags: fluff, sweet, a little bit of sad but not a lot 

A/N: Thank you for the request! This was so super cute and I had SO much fun writing it! Hope you like it! 

Also posted on my AO3 if you’d prefer to read it there! Prompt requests are still open so send ‘em my way if you got ‘em! Comments, reblogs and kudos are much appreciated, thanks! 

- 

Not smiling was proving to be harder than he had originally thought.

Climbing up the steep, grassy incline, the ground slippery underneath his feet, heading towards the small camp they had set up at the base of the hill, Sidon tried to focus on anything other than the small Hylian on his back. This was proving to be a challenge as the slightest glance to his right allowed him a full view of his little Hylian's face, which just strengthened the urge to beam idiotically.

With his chin resting on his shoulder, arms loosely draped around his neck and legs held carefully in the loops of his own arms, Link was currently getting, from him, what he understood to be a ‘piggyback ride’. He wasn’t entirely sure why this positioning was called such a name but it seemed to being in it seemed to be a source of either agitation or embarrassment to Link, who was currently gazing forward with the most adorable look of sullenness that Sidon had ever seen on his already immensely cute face.

The reasoning behind Sidon carefully carrying him back to camp was that, as usual, Link had tried to perform some kind of stunt which involved a wooden shield and a hill, had promptly lost his balance, tried to correct it and twisted his ankle. Said ankle was now swollen to the size of an apple, as well as colored a disconcerting dark purple. His little Hylian had insisted he was alright, tried to walk and fell flat onto his face the moment he had tried to put pressure on the injured foot, resulting in a bruised, swollen cheek.

Amid much protests and complaints, all of which he ignored, Sidon had picked him up, positioning in the ‘piggyback’ position and started towards camp. He honestly didn’t find the situation itself funny, rather he was alarmed at how badly Link had managed to hurt himself and distantly worried if this was a normal thing for him (which lead directly to the thought that he would need to watch his little Hylian more carefully from now on) but the look on Link’s face - it was so utterly adorable that he couldn’t help but to want to grin. He wanted to lean over and kiss his nose, his lips, his forehead and, possibly, tease him a little for doing such a ridiculous thing.

However, he knew that would be ill received. Link wasn’t a child, after all and was obviously not in the same light mood that Sidon was in, so he figured that he should probably wait a little while before he started to gently poke fun at his little Hylian. Maybe after he had gotten that foot taken care of and put some good food in Link’s belly - having a good meal always seemed to cheer him up from a sour mood. And he knew just to dish to make to get his mind off his little incident.

Lost in his thoughts, he was slightly alarmed when Link suddenly gasped, his body jerking back, away from Sidon. They had just reached the top of the hill. Above them was a vast expanse of brilliant blue sky, dotted with deep grey rain clouds, below was an endless sea of green, interspersed with the brown of trees and the glimmering silver of rivers, streams and lakes. A storm had just recently blown through, raining down on the rich, green earth, leaving behind sparkles of fresh water and a delicate smell of pleasant dampness.

Turning his head to look back at Link, he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but abruptly froze. Link was looking at something to his left, his mouth hanging open, his beautiful blue eyes wide open with dazzling wonder. Sidon turned to look in the direction that Link was and, to his delight, found that a perfect rainbow had formed. Standing proudly in the vibrant sky, the colors contrasting against the grey of the clouds, it was the definition of a picturesque moment. Happiness swelled in his chest. Though the situation wasn’t exactly as he would have imagined, he was still so happy to be able to share such a romantic moment with his Link.

“What is it?” Link suddenly asked, his voice breathless with excitement, “Sidon, what is that?”

“Huh?” Sidon replied in surprise. He looked back at Link once more, “You don’t know?”

Link shook his head, a big smile, stretching from ear to ear, on his face, “No, I can’t remember. I feel like I should be able to but I can’t find it in my head. What is it? It’s beautiful!”

The happiness in his chest dimmed a little. That’s right - so much of Link’s memory had been lost after he had awoken from his one hundred year slumber. He hadn’t realized that it had been to this extent; so many details, so many memories and experiences were gone, nonexistent. The agony of losing so much, he couldn’t even imagine. But, he quickly released, the sadness growing in his heart freezing in it’s steps, at least, there were chances for Link to reclaim what he had lost, chances for him to remember and for him to experience everything, afresh and new. And he was allowed to be here with him, experiencing his wonder, his revelations, his epiphanies. He was allowed to stand by him as his eyes grew wide with excitement, delight and enthusiasm as a new thing appeared before him, and could drink it all in, encourage him to keep learning and help him whenever, wherever he could.

In that moment, he knew that there was no greater honor than that and there was nowhere else he would rather be.

“A rainbow.” He replied, finally allowing a smile to spread across his face.

“Rainbow.” Link repeated slowly, as though he were tasting the word on his tongue, his own smile somehow going larger, light filling his adorable face. “How does it work?!”

“I believe it’s light reflecting off water droplets but I’m not certain. Zelda will probably have a better idea of what’s going on than I do. We’ll ask her next time we see her.”

“That’s amazing!” Link joyfully cried, practically jumping up and down in Sidon’s arms, his hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders so he didn’t fall, “Can we get closer?”

“It’s a reflection in the sky,” He informed him gently, “you could keep running towards it and never reach it.”

The information didn’t seem to dampen Link’s spirits in the slightest. Instead, that only seemed to excite him more. Slipping his arms around Sidon’s shoulders, he leaned forward, pushed himself up until he was hanging over one of his shoulders, smiled vibrantly up at him, his blue eyes dancing with glee and asked, “Will it stay there forever?”

“No, it’ll eventually fade as the water evaporates and the light shifts.”

“When will it be back?”

Sidon shook his head, “I don’t know, maybe with the next rainstorm, maybe not. They’re not easily predictable.”

Link fell quiet, his gaze still fixed on the rainbow. Sidon gazed down at him for a few moments, drinking in the innocent, childish expression of joy and wonderment on his face before gently shifting him off his shoulder. Cradling him lovingly in his arms, a little disappointed that he could no longer see his face, he slipped one around his back, the other underneath his knees and said, “Come on. You’ll still be able to see it from camp. We need to get that foot fixed up.”

Link, whose eyes were still on the rainbow, nodded. After squirming around a little to get a better view, he relaxed into Sidon’s arms, his cheek pressing against Sidon’s chest and said, “This makes hurting my foot completely worth it.”

Snorting with laughter, Sidon smiled, leaned down to press a soft kiss on the top of his head before straightening up. He wasn’t so sure he agreed, as they would have been able to see the rainbow even if he hadn’t injured himself but he supposed as long as Link was happy, so was he.

But he really was going to have to keep an eye on his little Hylian. Link was entirely too daring for his own good. If he wanted to keep having discoveries like this, he was going to need to rein it back a little or, at least, Sidon was going to hold his reins just a little more tightly. He, after all, wanted to be able to experience many more moments like this so maybe a little more strictness was in order.

Starting forward again, he began to carefully make his way down the hill. It was a little bit difficult as, at the same time, he was trying not to block Link’s view. He didn’t know how long the rainbow was going to last so he wanted his little Hylian to have as much time being able to see it as possible.

“Sidon.” Link suddenly spoke up, his voice soft.

“Yes?” Sidon replied, cautiously stepping over what looked to be a weak spot in the ground.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

Sidon stopped, looked down to find that Link had torn his eyes away from the rainbow and his gaze was now directed upwards at him. There was a soft, peaceful look of contentment on his face that sent warmth flowing through his chest. Turning his head slightly, he snuggled into his chest and said, “I’ve lost so much...and it’s terrifying to think about that sometimes so,” he turned his head back and smiled vibrantly up at him, “thank you for being patient with me and teaching me what you can.”

Cute. He was so cute. He couldn’t believe how utterly adorable his little Hylian was. Squeezing him tightly to his chest, he pressed a kiss onto his forehead and said, “Of course! Oh, my Link, I’ll be right here with you always, helping you rediscover and learn everything you could possibly want to know! I’m not the best teacher but I’ll do my best! We’ll drive away that fear. Everything you’ve lost, we’ll reclaim.”

Link’s arms looped around his neck. Pulling himself up so that he was nearly vertical, Sidon quickly encased him in his embrace to keep him steady. Lovingly nuzzling the side of his head, he tightened his hold on him, making sure that his injured foot wasn’t in an awkward position. Pushing his face into the curve of his shoulder, Link snuggled into him, placed a soft kiss against the side of his neck and whispered, “Promise?”

Sidon nodded, “There’s nowhere I would rather be, than right here with you, Link.”

He felt Link smile against his skin. There was a little hint of heat, indicating that his little Hylian was probably blushing. Smiling slightly himself, he kissed the tip of his exposed, red tipped ear, which earned him an adorable little giggle, before setting off once again towards their camp. It was true, he didn’t know much outside of Zora’s Domain but that just gave him the chance to learn alongside Link, to experience things, hand and hand, step by step, with him. Together, they would reclaim what Link had lost and he could only hope that much of what they recovered inspired similar reactions in Link, because he was certain that he could see that jubilant glow on his little Hylian’s face a million times over and never, ever tire of it.

[shbettereveryday]

Day 284 / 285 / 286

Rain…then shine

My disability could be described with that. There are many days when it is raining. Things just seem so depressing. The legs don’t feel good, the bladder isn’t cooperating , and the nerve pains is high. These days, like a rainy day, it just doesn’t feel like you want to get out of bed. I have to remember that sun will shine again. Sunday was literally a rainy day and it had been raining for a few days which meant we had a basement with water in it. It isn’t finished, but something we want to take care of. Michele, on top of everything else in the morning, was down there trying to do her best to control it. It also means something else that I can’t help with. One of the topics on a forum I have been in online is dealing with the feelings of not being able to help and the stress of how much that your spouse, parent, or whoever your caregiver has to do for you. I have felt that and I can see the exhaustion in her face but I still require help with things. One of the biggest is the toilet. I can’t do this on my own. It seems to be a culprit in some of the things that are problematic for me. I can also feel, sometimes, when I really need to go. Sunday getting ready for a planned dinner I had that feeling when I was getting up from a nap. I told her and the reaction was like ‘oh shit’ no pun intended, haha, I am sure. One of the thing that has been better is dealing with involuntary bowel movements. I haven’t had as many, but if we did a commode routine we would most certainly have been an hour late at least which would be basically canceling. I decided to head out with some confidence in not having an accident. Everything went fine and was able to get home and take care of business then. The reason this is so much work: by the time I get to that point my legs have tightened up and the transfers are very difficult which puts more stress on her.

TMI TIME Part of my injury is not being able to control my muscles below my injury and the bowel and bladder sphincter are muscles. I can’t control them, so part of a bowel regimen is doing whatever you have to do to get things to move through your system, which is difficult because the digestion process is also slowed and impared. Lately things have been improving, where once I get on the commode if I lean enough things have moved on their own. Part of my success lately is first finding a combination of meds to keep things moving but also not doing things at work, and out and about, that I know can trigger an accident, when I know that I am also ready. It takes some time to relearn your body and its signals. Anyway, she has manually stimulate that muscle to open and stay open for things to move out. Sometimes she has to manually remove things, but less often lately. I know, gross right? Think how your relationship would be if you had to rely on someone else to do something so personal and basic. At some point I will probably get to have core strength, balance, and the right chair to be able to do that for myself, but currently I simply can’t. That is why it is more then just a few minutes to run to the bathroom. The bowel routine takes at minimum an hour, no matter how it goes. END TMI.

But really from that time on Sunday afternoon and through Monday into Tuesday my legs have felt really tight which affects my comfort in the chair. Work has been really crazy, due to the flooding in the region . My legs were bad as well as continuing problems with the bladder.etc. I was looking forward to Paraquad and especially on Tuesday because of the appointment with Logan for chiropractic evaluation. It went really well and I have high hopes that they will be able to help lessen the leg problems and lower back/hip pain. I according to them have problems with some pelvic bones that they can help relieve. They say some of my main complaints can be caused from what they see. They had me lay on the mat face down with a wedge to give my back a good stretch and it felt really good even without the therapy work they were doing. I have once a week scheduled for 12 weeks to work on this problem. It will include core exercises because the core strength, or lack of it, stresses the pelvic area because it works harder to keep me moving the way I do. I already felt better immediately after and hope that continues. Bettereverday through back-cracking if that is what it takes, works for me. The sun is shining now but I know it will rain again too, such is the cycle of disability.

[shamarchived-blog]

     The shattered lands of Outland could be described as naught less than treacherous. Rolling hills, patches of forest, barren wastelands, and marshes had become its foundation. In lieu of a planet that had once been lay isles torn apart by the mistakes of an elder shaman; the fragment of a world many would sooner forget than recall. Even the flat lands and roads carved into what remained of nature held only small parts of their former selves. Few could remember the place in its glory days, and fewer still could recognized any part of the crumbling landscape. To relearn the lay of the land and connect with its precarious nature was to bond with a new world. Things had changed. Every crack in the earth was a mistake carved out by mortals in some vain attempt to better it. To know of its hazards took time and experience.

     How lucky it was, then, that the land was all the man knew.

     Artan spent his time wandering the edges of the land. The borders that loosely connected every part of the shattered world harbored very little. Many edges were mountainous and rough, leaving very little room to walk carefree. Every step was a cautious one. But it was within those dangerous places that life grew, cared for by the earth even in its hindered state. The flora of Outland varied greatly from place to place, a majority of it consisting of fungi and cone-like fruit. Those that weren’t in those groups tended to be tainted by the fel. Much of it was twisted and held rather undesirable appearances, the likes of which could only effectively be used in alchemy. No one looked to Outland for blossoming flowers or bustling wildlife. Such was simply history; a thing of the past that would never be. But within the unwelcome group of herbs was a flower, one which held healing properties along with a pleasant presentation. With a bright stamen and translucent petals, its very appearance was like a dream. The bloom resembled a burning sun, a gradient of orange and yellow making its petals out to be rays of sunshine. The glow it radiated was warm and inviting. It was for those very reasons that it earned its name: dreaming glory. Dreaming glories were miracles upon a land blemished by corruption and strife. They thrived in harsh climates and grew wild in places that were hard to reach. Very rarely did one find the flowers on flat ground. They preferred the edges of mountains and the places where one climate connected with another. To the residents of Outland, it was one of the loveliest flowers one could lay eyes on. But beyond its glorious traits, it had been Euanthe’s favorite.

     The broken had been set on gathering as many of the flowers as he possibly could, enough to make a large bouquet. It could fit fully in a vase with little room yet remain bright and healthy without having to be taken apart. He had bundled herbs often as a child, setting them in woven baskets and separating them according to color and properties. Flowers hadn’t been an exception. Artan was far more gentle with the flora than most would come to expect. More often than not he treated others far worse, indulging in rage and making a fight out of every situation. Not many expected him to have wit, nor did they see how resourceful he had been. For many years his family lived on the edge of the water, hunting and gathering away from the draenic cities further inland. He knew of the place long before it was torn apart, and he knew of it now. He knew of dangers. The man could tell when animals stalked them long before they even started to move. The instinct was ingrained within him. Even with his disfigurements and the peculiar way he pulled the flora from the earth, he had kept them all in pristine condition. His hand was steady and his focus steadier. Within time he had crafted the bouquet and found himself back within the confines of his tribe. How long had the warrior been gone finding just the right amount of flowers to fit into his gift? Hours, certainly. But even the dull pain surging through the soles of his feet hadn’t deterred him from it. There was confidence in heart and a boastful understanding of the season. Carefully he shifted the flowers in his hands, enough that it pulled the attention of a couple of broken passerby for a few brief moments. They knew what he was up to. It seemed to bring humorous expressions to their face, albeit there was some joking merit to them. The affectionate gesture was painfully obvious to the masses, but Artan continually played it off as little more than an occupation. The excuse didn’t quite cut it for him the same way it did for Mitun, however. The man was far more helpless than he made himself out to be. Yet he kept his expression direct and smooth, as though he were ready for anything. 

     But that pride quickly bled away from him the moment he drew closer to the shaman. Jubilant and preoccupied, he caught only the sight of her back and the braid that laid against it. Euanthe’s tail flicked in her quiet interest reworking the door to her hut, stretching its material to cover the entrance’s entirety rather than a small portion. The broken froze before he could muster a word to grab her attention, his fingers tightening around wrapping paper and thin twine. He could not even bring himself to be irritated with his lack of speech. It had always been so difficult to be angry around her. Even when he seemed to ignore the world in his bad temperament, he could always hear her gentle, fiery voice through the rage. The draenei jerked him back down to earth far faster than he could ascend from it. He hesitated in his stupor long enough for her to finish the job she had been occupied with. It was then that she noticed he had been watching her, turning around to face him and the large bouquet of dreaming glories in his hands. She very well might’ve startled him, had he not snapped out of his hesitation just as she realized he had been present.

      ❝Oh, Artan! I did not know you were behind me,❞ Euanthe admitted with a sheepish roll of the eyes. ❝I am sorry. My door was beginning to grow weathered. It was imperative that I fix it before another storm comes around. As much as I enjoy the rain and the thunder, my home begs to differ.❞ A slight pause followed a curious tilt of the head, her attention settling on the flowers in his hands. ❝Are you in need of something?❞

     No immediate response formed on his tongue, but Artan quickly thrusted the flowers in her direction without a second thought. The petals shook against the wrapping and their light flashed in the shaman’s direction, enough for her to straightened up and look down at them. Each and every flower was in one piece, a majority of the leaves cut away to make room for the abundance of blossoms. They were shining in her presence, reflecting tints of light in her eyes as she curiously looked upon them. Though she remained surprised and hesitant, it was clear by the way she looked at them that she admired them. Even hearing the flowers described to her made her smile. But to see them in person, regardless of whom they were meant for  — it always made her face light up.

      ❝They’re for you,❞ he assured, giving them another slight shake as if to entice her to take them.  ❝The flowers, I mean. I know how much you like them. So I thought I might... take a bit of a detour to go looking for a few.❞

     A smirk slowly began to make itself apparent on Artan’s face, hiding the inner struggle he faced beneath his pride. There was relief in him the moment she reached to pull the bouquet away from him, the blooms resting just below her chin as she held them at her chest. The sheer amount of dreaming glories he managed to fit within the bundle was enough to block out a majority of her upper figure. It was almost a pillow of flowers, arranged in a way that kept them firm but free. She could smell them without having to lean into the petals. A content joy settled into Euanthe’s smile as she melted into them, pressing them to her for a moment before looking down at them once more. 

      ❝Dreaming glories,❞ she breathed, shifting her glance back up to the broken.  ❝They are my favorite. I did not think anyone remembered such a little thing. How did you know?���

      ❝Lucky guess.❞

     She spoke of the flowers often. Every time the shaman came across one on her walks or adventures across Outland, she plucked it from the ground and put it in her hair. Sometimes she would simply carry them home with her, putting them in a small glass and keeping them as long as they would last. It was very easy to assume that she was fond of them. Artan made himself out to be clever, but it was merely a keen sense of attention. To most, that was a surprise in itself. The draenei turned on the base of her hooves and found her way inside. It took her very little time to find a vase to put the flowers in, revealing the newly placed flora before setting them on a small table and coming outside once more. That grateful expression lingered on her face the entire time, making itself more present as she approached her guard once again. His gift had left quite the impression on her, and he found himself growing more comfortable the longer she wore her smile. But he found that confidence begin to slip from him once again as the shaman’s arms found their way around his neck. The gesture was sudden, leaving very little room for him to question it had he even wished to. His hands hesitated for but a moment before finding a place on her upper back. Without thinking he patted her once or twice, the sound of plate colliding gently against mail. It was almost as if it were assuring him that he had truly been holding her. She was warm, even through multiple layers of armor without physical contact. Not a part of him even thought about the countless things that brought him rage over the years. The only thing that seemed to keep him going anymore, the brute force that made him who he was. It seemed so non-existent in the face of a lamb. For awhile it felt like home before his family disappeared. Before he became so fed up with everything. It left him bruised and exposed and yet, he didn’t seem to mind it. Euanthe was as fierce as she was compassionate. But unlike him, she had learned to accept that which she had lost. He was still withholding it. In that way, she was far stronger than he had ever been. He didn’t understand it, but by the Light he welcomed it.

      ❝Euanthe.❞

     The shaman pulled away from him at the sound of her name, an idle blink the sign of her intrigue. The warrior gazed intently at her, a serious furrow of the brow enough to make her lock eyes with him. His hands slowly found their way down to her waist, stationing themselves there firmly enough to keep her still. It had certainly caught her attention. So acutely so, in fact, that he had her undivided attention. The thought of it brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, worsened by the sight of those doe-eyes looking expectantly at him. But Artan had never been a mild person. He had the timing, the will, and her sincerity. Perhaps it was time for him to talk to her.

     ❝I’m not any good at this sort of thing,❞ already there was pain in his voice as a result of his bruising pride. Shameful. Yet the broken continued, regardless, ❝but it’s something you need to know.❞

     It was difficult to keep his fingers from digging into her armor. A gentle nature came to him much easier around her, but it hadn’t been any less of a struggle. It was infuriating trying to articulate everything rushing to him. His thoughts were a garbled mess of words and turn of phrase he couldn’t make out. It mentally irritated him. A shaky sigh blew itself through his teeth off to the side before he looked at her to continue.

     ❝When I first came here, I wasn’t sure if I would stay. I didn’t need the help. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I spent most of my life relying on no one but myself. Fought my own battles, won my own wars. I didn’t need anyone else. But your family — they wouldn’t let me leave. They kept insisting it wouldn’t be the same without me around. And you... you wouldn’t let me go, either. You told me this is where I belonged.❞

     ❝No one deserves to go through everything alone. It does not matter how strong you are or how strong you become. You have blessed us all with your protection, and me with your company. You have even brightened my day with such lovely flowers. I could never wish for your absence, Artan.❞

     He hadn’t expected her to speak, much less in a way that happily pet his self-image. It brought a warmth to his face he couldn’t cover with his hands, lest they never be allowed to return to the draenei’s waist. Her interest was as innocent as it was oblivious and it did little more than make it harder on himself. 

     ❝The — point, is... you’ve always made me feel welcome. You make me think that, maybe, there’s something good in being soft. Honestly you’re... far stronger than I am. And you don’t need any rage to make it happen. You only have to be yourself. I’ve always looked up to that. I’ve always... loved that. You remind me of the times when I hardly knew what anger was. If my family hadn’t left me on the coast that day, I wonder if this is what I might’ve felt all the time; the way I feel when I’m with you.❞

     Euanthe’s joy ebbed into confusion as she listened to him. It was earnest confusion, the sort one got from misunderstanding. The flattery settled visibly in her face but the point didn’t seem to cross her as immediately as he might’ve hoped. She very well may have questioned him on his direction, but the way Artan looked at her kept her silent. The broken mumbled incoherent Draenei to himself, a small tug of the wrist bringing the shaman closer to him. Now he had truly lost his grasp on his words. He could feel the heat emanating from her face and, had he a nose still, they could’ve very well have been touching. Was there anything left for him to say? The draenei did not fight him, nor did she deny the closeness he had brought her. Her surprise was seemingly pleasant judging by the way she was still looking at him. Even watching him inch closer to her face, the instinct of the moment was beginning to pull on her. It wasn’t something that begged for an explanation. Perhaps she was beginning to understand it all without having to ask. The weight on her shoulders was fading underneath the honesty he had presented to her. Artan was open with her, albeit nervous and sincere beneath a boisterous facade. She felt calm. It was hard to imagine such a thing existed in his presence, but she had somehow made it all possible. Even now she had not even realized how badly he had pined for her in silence. But even though she hadn’t quite understood what he had said under his breath, she was beginning to fall for the silence.

     An intimate, short-lived silence.

    The feeling of the ground quaking and a loud, trumpeting sound jerked the shaman’s face away from Artan’s, just soon enough to rob him of even a graze of his lips against hers. The peace he felt shattered as his eyes reopened themselves, disdain flowing into them as his attention snapped in the direction of the commotion. A few yards away from them stood a large elekk, finally settling in place after trampling head long into the encampment. Its rugged brown hide was adorned in hearts and jewels with a blanket draped down its back. Other members of the tribe gazed up at the animal in awe as an older broken made him way down from the three-seated saddle mounted on its back. Mitun stepped in the direction of his partner and the leader of their tribe, the sight alone enough to make Artan return his hands to his side. Fingers curled tightly into his palm as the elder approached, his brow quirked at the sudden anger presented to him.

     ❝What the hell is that?❞ Artan spat. ❝And what the hell are you doing here? You told me you were going to get your old axe fixed!❞

     ❝Do you not remember what an elekk looks like?❞ There was a grin on Mitun’s face. It wasn’t a very common expression he wore, but it often showed at his partner’s expense. It was apparent that he had stopped something without even realizing it. ❝The talbuk we keep are fine. They get the job done. However, not much compares to the stamina and strength of an elekk. I could not very well ruin the surprise, could I?❞

     Already Euanthe had scampered off to the beast’s side, her eyes scanning the decorations adorning its body as it stood faithfully in its place. The creature was an older one, likely a pack animal before it took its place as an amiable mount. Despite its age, however, it was very clear that the elekk was still capable of causing chaos. Her hands gently caressed the animal’s hide before she allowed herself to face it, her kindly gestures earning her a pleasant sound and a sniff from its trunk. Artan could feel his blood boiling at the sight of the ruined opportunity, having spent the majority of his day slaving over sore hands and feet. The broken would’ve hauled off and hit the other had the shaman not come up to them again.

     ❝Where did you even get an elekk?❞

     ❝Borrowed it. I could not buy him, considering we lack the proper care for anything besides talbuk. But I gave the stable hand enough to lend it to us as well as dress him for the holiday. I must admit, I was not expecting the crystals. I may have to return to him with a little extra for this.❞ Mitun then addressed the eager woman now standing between them. ❝He is ours for the rest of the day. There is room for the three of us, if Artan wishes to join us. I was thinking a ride through the hills of Nagrand. What say you, Miss Euanthe?❞

     Much to the younger broken’s dismay, the draenei shook slightly in her excitement before nodding to assert her answer, ❝That sounds wonderful! I have not been to Nagrand in a very long time. It is such a lovely place, even in its disarray.❞ A short pause broke her eagerness before she reached to grab and pull on her younger guard’s hand. ❝You should come with us, Artan!❞

     ❝No thanks.❞

     ❝Ooh?❞ Euanthe’s voice cracked as her excitement broke. ❝Why not? You have done so much lately. Would you not like to take a break? It would be nice to have your company. You spoke so openly to me before. Perhaps there is — something else you wished to tell me?❞

     ❝If he does not want to come, we should not force him,❞ Mitun shrugged, his single eye resting on him before he stretched an arm out across her opposing shoulder. ❝I would not mind the time to speak with you. There is plenty for us to discuss on such a long trip.❞

     Silence broke the interaction as Euanthe quietly grew disappointed at Artan’s refusal. He didn’t give her much leeway to brood in it, however, before he pushed his way past Mitun hard enough to knock his arm off the shaman’s shoulder. It was a clear jab at his jealousy, one the elder took from time to time as testaments to the younger’s affection. Not that it had necessarily been his intention to interfere this time around, but a part of him deep down was rather relieved that he had done so. The older male couldn’t quite explain the relief, yet he hadn’t a need to. He shrugged the feeling off before it could sow itself in him. He knew she wouldn’t have had a pleasant trip had Artan stayed behind after being invited. Mitun was set on getting him to come along the whole time, even if it meant throwing him onto the elekk himself. Lucky for him, his quick wit handled the situation well enough. The younger warrior was already attempting to shuffle himself up onto the over-extravagant elekk. It brought the light back into Euanthe’s face to see him suddenly change his mind. After he settled in his seat directly in the middle, his eyes peered down at his partner with their usual scorn.

     ❝Get on the damn elekk. We’re going to Nagrand.❞