#like he clearly does not have a steady source of food at home!!!!!!! as i live and breathe!!!!

[girlishwhimsies]

oh food insecure johnny cade….

[wild-aloof-rebel]

Some Favorite Fics from 2020

Like last year, I want to end 2020 by highlighting some fics that have become favorites over the last twelve months. Before I dive into it though, I just want to take a minute to send some love to all of the authors writing in this fandom.

As of the end of 2019, there were about 8.8 million words of fic on AO3 for this fandom. This year, more than 450 authors have added another 15 million more. That’s so incredibly impressive, especially in a year this difficult. Thank you, thank you, thank you to every single person who contributed to that, whether you wrote one fic or a hundred, a drabble or a novel. Thank you for giving this fandom the gift of your creativity and voice. Your work is so, so appreciated, and you’ve helped to create joy in a year where it was often in short supply. 💗💗💗

*

Okay, on to the fics. I’ve limited myself to no more than one work for any individual author to spread the love around as much as possible, and I’ve bumped up the number to 25 this time around because there was just too much fic this year for me to cut it down any further. 

So here we go. These are 25 fics I loved this year, and what I love about them...

Your heart is keeping time with me by yourbuttervoicedbeau • rated E • 33k+ confession before i start: i’ve never actually seen 50 first dates. but i thought this AU based on it was delightful. patrick’s love for david is so big, right from the start, and i love seeing david lean into trusting himself (and patrick) over and over again

will this ever get old? by startswithhope • rated T • <1k i just like seeing them domestic and soft and happy, okay? and while most of dee’s fics are like that, this particular one is a fave because of them thinking about their future and how they’ll change over the years but love each other right on through

Just to Hold the Hands I Love by DesignatedGrape • rated T • 20k+ it’s like a warm christmas hug, full of musical trolling, gentle pining, domestic nights in, and careful attention to fashion details, which are all absolutely the kinds of things i appreciate

A Case of You by DoubleL27 • rated T • 6k+ patrick is an absolute menace in exactly the way you would expect every valentine’s day. it’s funny and sweet and ends with them in exactly the kind of future we all want for them

Dulce by another_Hero • rated T • 1k+ original characters can be hard to do right. they have to be compelling enough to fit in with these characters we already know so well, and dulce is the kind of character who grabs you from the start. the whole series is lovely, but this first interaction with ronnie is my favorite of them

Tea-Kettle Love by ArabellaStrange • rated G • 5k+ even though this coda to “the pitch” isn’t technically canon compliant now, it still feels a lot like it is. it’s about the sacrifices we are and aren’t willing to make for the people we love, taking the new york discussion into more depth than we get in the show and still arriving in largely the same place

Vanquished by Codswallop • rated G • 3k+ if you’re looking for soft, fluffy sickfic, this is not it, lol. patrick is sick here but won’t let anyone take care of him. he’s stubborn and basically minor chaos ensues. it’s funny and sweet but not schmaltzy. the characterization is 👌, and it feels like the kind of thing that fits perfectly into the world of the show

To Come Out the Other Side by unfolded73 • rated T • 4k+ • warning for major character death i don’t want to read sad things about david and patrick very often, but sometimes the mood strikes. this one is definitely sad right from the start, but there’s hope and resilience through grief, and i think this year especially, there’s something to be said for stories that can make you feel like there is still good to be found after the bad

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by moodlighting • rated T • 21k+ i never would have thought that a fic would make me WANT to be trapped in an airport, but it’s 2020 and anything is possible, lol. this is what meet cute dreams are made of

Your mother keeps a spreadsheet by upbeat • rated G • 3k+ obviously i love a good spreadsheet, so this one was up my alley from the start, lol. but really it’s moira and patrick bonding through the cataloguing of her wigs (and all the stories that go with them) that makes this one an easy favorite

keep me in the pulses, keep me in the sound by dinnfameron • rated G • 2k+ this sweet little slice of a summer vacation made me ache to be with friends. plus, sometimes you just need some overwhelmingly happy david rose. he deserves it, and so do we

eggs and the flour, no higher power by withkissesfour • rated T • 1k+ i’m pretty sure this fic is the definition of sweet, in more ways than one. it’s a short piece, but the writing is lush and indulgent in all the right places, just like the cakes being described

sustineo by rockinhamburger • rated E • 10k+ before i was even done reading this fic, i wanted another 50k words set in this universe. the conversation between david and patrick is sharp in all the right ways, and because this david has such a hard shell to crack after being hurt in such a horrible and heartbreaking way, it’s that much more satisfying watching patrick break through it

All-Natural Care, Locally Sourced by Siria • rated T • 2k+ siria’s fics are always funny, with banter that’s so perfectly on point, and that’s certainly true here. but there are also care packages and photos and just so much love. it’s a perfect balance, just like the show

hold on to me as you go by helvetica_upstart • rated T • 3k+ i love a good look at just how long patrick has been head over heels in love with david and how much he was in this for life all along. this fic does just that through the framework of times that they saw their new house before they bought it, and it’s everything that you would want that concept to be and more

Exposed Brick by swat117 • rated M • 9k+ this is such a lovely look at david and patrick a few years into their marriage, steady in all the right ways, even when old fears try to rise up between them. it gives david a chance to be the solid and supportive one in the relationship, something i never get tired of reading

We Could Turn the World to Gold by middyblue • rated T • 27k+ as someone who also did c25k at one point, i def empathize with david’s plight in this fic, lol. as much fun as that part of the story is, it’s really the house and everything related to that part of the story that makes this a favorite in my book. this was posted very early in s6, so it’s not the house from canon, but it’s beautiful either way to see them so excited about building their future together there

Waiting on the Day by High-Seas-Swan • rated E • 22k+ this is another fic that makes me absolutely ache for things i couldn’t have this year, namely my favorite local brewery and all the nights spent there with friends. beyond that, it’s just a very sweet AU, and the scene with their first kiss and the rest of that night live in my head rent free

Pot o’ Gold by ahurston • rated E • 22k+ where is the leprechaun/love of my life who’s gonna take me out to eat all of the best foods that my city has to offer? this one is a slow burn but their relationship is so much fun to read right from the start that you definitely don’t mind taking your time getting there. also, the palm reading scene. good grief.

there is no design by the_hodag • rated T • 12k+ this fic gives us a look at some of david’s art, and all the loneliness and love that inspires it. it’s poignant and painful and hopeful and sweet in turn, and i think it does a marvelous job of capturing so many of the facets of david’s past that have made him who he is

A Little Broken, A Little New by nameless_bliss • rated G • 3k+ i’ve read this fic several times now, and david and johnny having a conversation about their own relationship through the guise of talking about patrick and his parents never fails to make me cry

Une très bonne table dans sa catégorie by cromarty • rated T • 23k+ just the concept of this one alone would have sold me on it—like, hello? michelin reviewer and chef? sign me the fuck up—but it’s written with the kind of attention to detail i always expect from claire’s writing, and the fact that it practically starts with a first kiss but then pulls back makes for a delicious dynamic as they build a friendship over that foundational attraction, both tempering and intensifying the wait for them to find their way back into each others’ arms

happy golden days of yore by blueink3 • rated E • 17k+ i literally stopped in the middle of this fic, sat down on my kitchen floor, and had a good cry. i hate thinking about them ending up divorced in the first place, but even as exes, they’re so careful and gentle with one another and so, so clearly still in a forever kind of love. that makes it bearable to see them apart because even if it weren’t tagged for a happy ending, there’s such a feeling of inevitability to it, you know exactly how it’s going to end and just get to enjoy the devastating ride it takes to get there

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman • rated M • 30k+ this is one of those fics where everything comes together just right and achieves a perfect balance of introspection and action, courage and fear, despair and hope, forthright honesty and cautious reservation... MoreHuman makes it all look easy, which says so much about all the care that had to have gone into the planning and writing. this fic does everything well, and it’s an absolute pleasure to read from start to end

840 Havenwood Road E by Distractivate • rated E • 10k+ we barely see david and patrick’s new house in the show, so it shouldn’t be possible for me to be as emotional about it as this fic makes me, every single time i read it. but it’s the home they chose, the place they decided to build a life together, and getting to see flashes of that life through the years and how much love they clearly had for each other within those four walls just makes me cry again and again

[crystalas]

Blazing Blue part 1

Red Son runs away from home after overhearing his father call him a worthless excuse of a demon, agreeing to a truce with MK he ends up with the Monkie crew unaware that someone wants to steal a power that was sealed away long ago.

Chapter one: Truce buddies

Demon Bull King stood amongst the ruins of his old hidden stronghold, his robot clones busy digging out the remains and salvaging anything of use. He took a weary sigh and he surveyed all of what he had built since his revival and growled at how quickly it was destroyed…annoyingly at his own hand! Only then to be enslaved by Spider Queen while trying to raise enough funds to rebuild it. Needless to say, it had a been a few rough months for the Demon Bull Family.

“Man, I had heard your family had fallen on hard times but this is embarrassing!” a voice chuckled and Demon Bull King felt himself bristle with anger, he spun around to smash whoever thought it wise to mock a ten-foot-tall bull demon only to find the black monkey warrior Macaque lounging leisurely on top of a pile of rubble.

“Begone, you annoying simian shadow, I have no time for you” Demon Bull King snarled.

“Aw and I came all the way down here to chat, how rude. I mean I’ll excuse you not getting out the fine China for me on account of well…” he gestures to the crumbling ruin as a chunk of wall collapsed behind him. “Your recent string of humiliating defeats and the fact you had to team up with Monkey King…just wow…how low can you go?”

Macaque quickly sprung to his feet and nimbly dodged a lump of molten metal that flew right past him and buried itself into the ceiling behind him.

“If you have come here just to mock me then I will make you pay for every word you speak tenfold!” he roared.

“You’re right I’m sorry, I actually wanted to see if you were interested in an alliance of sorts?” Macaque exclaimed as he hopped lightly down the rubble pile without so much as disturbing a brick and looked up at Demon Bull King with a smile.

“You come to my home…Mock me and my family and rub salt in my wounds and you ASK FOR AN ALLIENCE!!??”

“What if I told you, it’s a plan to destroy the Monkey King? And his little fan club?” Macaque offered, Demon Bull King glared at him said not a word and then with speed not many would associate with a creature of his size and bulk snatched Macaque with his hand and brought him up to his face to look him in the eye.

“Know this Six Ears Macaque just because I have been buried under a mountain for the last few centuries does not mean I am ignorant of current events! You tried to best Monkey King with his protégé’s own power and you still lost!” Demon Bull King snarled as Macaque squirmed in his tight grip before erupting into shadowy mist and escaping. Demon Bull King glanced around trying to find the real one only for what he hoped was the real one to appear perched nearby on what remained of his furnace.

“See that’s why I’m here, Monkey King knows I like to… “borrow” power from other people, and he probably think I’ll go for powers of say his fanboy or someone just as good but what if I blindsided him with powers of say… The Demon Bull King? Or Lady Iron Fan? Or maybe say the power of demon fire?”

“No. Begone.”

“Com’on I’m not even asking you to do anything just let me borrow some power and I’ll do the butt kicking!”

“Begone.” Demon Bull King replied even harsher than last time.

“Fine, I get it.” Macaque grumbled “Best shot you have of getting your revenge and you’re going to turn it down!”

“I am not as foolish as to become a mere power source to another being, that is not an alliance that is servitude at best!” Demon Bull King declared standing to his full height with his fist clench ready for battle. “And do not think me as foolish to let you even try!”

“Fine. Fine I’ll just try Red Son, he’s more open minded about these things. Plus, I’ve heard the rumours of his… hidden inheritance” Macaque smirked as he spun on his heels and walked away casually only for a fist to slammed into the wall blocking his path.

“You will stay away from my family!” Demon Bull King hissed.

“So, it is true? I mean I’ve heard stories about it but given what I’ve seen of him in action I’d begun to doubt any of them!”

Demon Bull King thought quickly but to be fair his wife was more the brains of the operation, if Macaque was beginning to doubt the stories better to confirmed it than deny them.

“Red Son is a pathetic whelp, who is an embarrassment to us and unworthy of being called my son, he only brings shame and defeat to whatever he does. Whatever rumours you had heard are merely that; rumours. If he did have any power worthy of the Demon Bull King family name, don’t you think I would have used it by now?” Demon Bull King declared coldly, “You have clearly wasted your time and mine. You have your answer. Now go!”

“I guess they must be wrong if even you say Red Son is a worthless excuse of a demon. My mistake, you know how stories get hyped up over the years…I’ll be on my way” Macaque said sadly as he hopped down and walked away arms crossed behind his back. As he did, he glanced over at one of the corridors that snaked through Demon Bull King’s hide out to see a quiet and pale faced Red Son…

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Red Son had managed to find his room amongst the rubble and save some clothes, books and tools. Sadly, an iron girder had broken through the roof of his room and destroyed his computer set up and mechanics bench, in a way he was ok with that. Rebuilding his computer would give him something to do while the reconstruction was underway. Now he was heading to the main chamber as he was getting peckish and fancied going up top to grab some food, might as well see if Father didn’t want anything before, he headed out.

As he walked down the corridor, he heard his father shouting and the muffled voices of him talking to another. Who could that be? Red Son wondered as he started to walk faster, Mother shouldn’t be back just yet. She had left the city to find spell ingredients for her magics, [it is kind of hard to locate stuff like dragon scales and tree spirit sap in a dense city metropolis.]

As he came to the opening to the main chambre he heard something that made his heart stop.

“Red Son is a pathetic whelp, who is an embarrassment us and unworthy of being called my son…” his father said, as he tried to listen everything else but it just to swim in and out of his focus as his head spun. “…Only brings shame and defeat…Worthless excuse of a demon…waste of…my time…”

Why? Why would his father say that? Red Son thought they had made progress in their relationship, okay fine he had only called him son that one time but…but that was still a better than nothing? He saved him when the Spider Queen caught him in her webs, they fought her together.

Was he really back to square one? No. it was apparently worse than that he wasn’t back at square one he was off the game board entirely as far as his father was concerned. Heavens knows how his mother must see him give she has called him useless to his face! He had tried no end of times to prove himself only to come home with nothing to show for it.

He didn’t even register Macaque walk by as he spun on his heels and went back to what remains of his room; stuffing what he had salvaged into a backpack and swallowing back a painful lump in his throat as he quickly wrote a note leaving it on the metal girder for whoever to find. He took a deep breath trying to steady his emotions before disappearing in a swirl of flames.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Monkey Kid or MK was feeling down of late; his Master the Monkey King had given him the task of catching a red leaf with a gold dot on it. That didn’t sound too hard right? Not when Monkey King is making it rain hundreds of other leaves all of different colours and hues as well and expects him to find it in minutes!

MK sighed, he knew what the lesson was about he was supposed to focus on that one leaf and avoid all other distractions. If he pulled it off and mastered it, he knew he’s probably be able to find a grain of rice on a beach or something as pointless but somehow totally cool sounding. Problem was he couldn’t pull it off, he kept getting distracted or just overwhelmed by the leaves getting dumped on him from above.

So now he sat on a ledge of Flower Fruit Mountain overlooking the sunset on the city, he liked to come here when he wanted to clear his head. On one hand it was freaking awesome he was the protégé of The Monkey King a warrior of renowned legendary might and skill…on the other hand sometimes it would dawn on him on just how daunting it was to live up to the expectations of an immortal warrior who seems to have seen everything the world has to offer and then some.

He sighed as he stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants before grabbing his staff. He began to walk he saw that he wasn’t the only one taking in the view with a sense of melancholy. As he got closer, he squawked in alarm as he saw the familiar flaming red hair and ragged jacket.

“RED SON??!!” this outburst caused Red Son to leap out of his skin and jump to his feet. “What are you doing here?!”

“Oh, push off Noodle Boy, last time I checked you don’t own this mountain!” Red Son snapped grabbing his stuff and storming off “But if you’re here that means Monkey King isn’t far behind and I rather not have to deal with him on top of everything else!”

“Huh? Hey wait!” MK shouted as he noticed the backpack. “What’s in there?!”

“None of your concern!” Red Son barked back.

“It is my concern when you show up on Monkey King’s Mountain with a suspicious bag! What’s in it?”

“It’s not a bomb or anything!”

“You got a BOMB??!!”

“Oh, for the love of…NO! I have not got a bomb or anything of the sort! I mean for pity’s sake I can literally throw fire balls why would I need to carry an explosive weapon??!!”

MK dashed forward and tried to grab the backpack and Red Son tried to pulled it away from him leading to a very childish game of tug of war.

“Lemme see what’s in it!”

“NO!”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide then you have nothing to worry about!”

“ITS MY STUFF SO LET GO!”

Sadly, a backpack that had endured many scorches from its owner and grounded by rubble could only bear so much and with one last pull from both sides the backpack’s fabric tore open and Red Son’s stuff poured onto the floor. Red Son dived down to grab what he could as MK took in the sights of clothes, food, and other mundane stuff.

“Dude…are you camping or something?” MK asked as he saw one of the items that had skidded out of Red Son’s reach, he knelt down to pick it up and saw it was a hand sized family portrait of Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King…before he could get a good look it was snatched from his hands.

“Just leave me alone!” Red Son growled “You can clearly see that I am not a threat!”

“Red …are you ok?”

Red Son was trying to figure out how to keep his stuff in a backpack with a massive hole in it, but he was also trying desperately to ignore the look of concern that was coming from his enemy.

“Are you running away from home?”

Red Son didn’t respond to that and he had stopped fiddling with his backpack as he was now staring sadly at the photo.

“Why?” MK asked softly.

“Why do you care?”

“I mean…I dunno…you and your dad seem to be getting on when I last saw you, seems strange that you’re running away!”

“I AM NOT RUNNING AWAY!” Red Son roared his hair flaring up in flames, gripping the photo tightly as he did. The flames died quickly as did Red Son’s anger as he then whispered “I’m…I’m…just making things easier for my parents…”

MK tilted his head in confusion, he looked at Red Son for a moment. This was a guy who was always so confident, loud and proud of his name and heritage he literally introduces himself in full name whenever he’s about to do something dastardly or anything for that matter. Now he was sitting there with a backpack full of his possessions, on a mountain far from home, staring at a family picture like he’s never going to see them again.

MK sat down next to Red Son, putting the staff away to show he meant no harm.

“Want to talk about it?”

Red Son looked away angrily.

“Ok how about I go first? You know how cool it is to have someone like the freaking Monkey King show up and say that’ll they teach you? It is don’t get me wrong but then you begin to see how big of a shadow you’re stuck under? We’re talking about a guy who literally stole from the heavens and got away with it and has beaten up who knows how many monsters and demons? I sometimes wonder if I’m ever gonna be good enough for this, it’s just feels like the whole universe is just waiting for me to screw up, just to prove that I can’t do it… y’know what I mean?” there a few moments of silence and MK was about to try again when he heard a small voice.

“At least he believes in you, it must be nice to have a someone like that.”

“Your parents don’t?”

“… …no…” Red Son muttered, “I overheard my father today telling someone that he considers me an embarrassment to the family name, along with a few other choice words…”

“So, you…left?”

“I don’t know I wasn’t thinking at the time!” Red Son cried out angrily tugging at his head in frustration, “I want prove to my father that I am worthy of being his son but how? How do I show him that I’m not a …a…pathetic whelp?”

There was a heavy tense silence between them as they both looked at each other and then at the city, the sun nearing finished setting and the in the twilight the city lights began to shine.

“You know what?” MK declared as he got up. “We both need a break!”

“What?”

“A break from all this living up to people’s expectations and ideals! A chance to recharge the batteries and get some of that well-being self-care stuff!”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Red Son inquired nervously.

“We can just hang out; you know play games and chill? Also, you can stay at mine till you get this all sorted out!”

Red Son looked at MK like he had just announced that the moon was made of cream cheese and was inhabited by flying guinea pigs.

“So…a truce?” he ventured nervously

“Yeah! My friends and I don’t fight you, and you don’t fight us!”

Red Son looked down at his destroyed backpack, then glanced at the mountain side he was on and realised that maybe coming up here to hide was a dumb idea.

“It not like I’ve got anything better to do!” he grumbled.

“AWESOME!” MK beamed “Let’s go! We’re gonna be Truce Buddies!”

[ginkgomoon]

Victor’s Aura- A Character Aura Study

This post is my take on Victor’s aura, taken from my knowledge and intuition to depict what kind of aura he has! I did one on Gavin, as well as Gavin’s astrological birth chart so if you haven’t seen them, you can read them after this post!

What is an Aura? “Aura” by the dictionary is “the distinctive atmosphere or quality that seems to surround and be generated by a person, thing, or place”. 

It’s essentially the electromagnetic energy field that surrounds all living things. It’s the magnetic field of vibration like how a lighted candle is lit and how a scent or perfume surrounds a flower. In fact, it’s correctly described as an extension of the body. It’s a part of every cell. Your aura can be affected by anything, including traumas, memories and emotions. It can tell us a lot about a person’s mental, physical, emotional state, vitality and path of life. Habitual thoughts, emotions and even illnesses can be clearly revealed. If a person changes their long standing thoughts and emotions, the aura will too reflect that. 

Victor’s Aura There are many layers to the aura but let’s start off with the “ground” colour. This is the main colour that dominates the aura both in size and intensity. It’s arguably the most important colour as it shows what the person should be doing in their life. 

Victor’s main ground colour is dark yellow (keep in mind this is not defined as “murky”- when someone is lost and muddled in their life). People with dark yellow as their ground are confident, well adjusted and analytical. As a result, they take life one step at a time, one goal at a time, ensuring every project is seen through properly to completion to avoid problems and setbacks later. They are patient people, setting their worthwhile goals in no hurry to reach them, as they know without a doubt that they will obtain their deserved reward in the end. They prefer to do things rationally and in a logical manner, especially at work where they are required to make use of their good memory and love for detail. As they are ambitious and persistent, they often take up roles of leadership, responsibility and of importance. From his corrections on MC’s reports to the food he makes at Souvenir (that is insisted to be cooked according to certain temperatures), Victor is no doubt a detail-oriented leader even whether if the goal he wants to achieve is related to work or not. 

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it. Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows. Victor: Such as? The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously. MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed. The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines… it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye! Victor’s eyebrow quirks. Victor: That’s all? MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking… -CN Exhibition Date 

“What happened with SE is just an example. We’re from different businesses and different fields. There’s no need to compare yourself with me. Also, I’m older than you. When you’ve reached my age, you might attain the achievements I have today.” -CN Night Meeting Date

“Slow and steady wins the race” is the moral that they live by, but sometimes adhering to this credo may frustrate others as they can be so analytical and detail oriented at times- usually at great lengths. A cute little add from the Tender Regards Date around the concept of snail mail, time (Victor’s evol!) and the goal of always reaching your destination in the end demonstrate this this motif in Victor’s relationship with MC.

“Looks like you should have received this Future Mail. Apart from supporting your event, I’m only going to do this once. This will not be repeated. The things I want to say to you are all in this videotape. It only belongs to you.” -CN Tender Regards Date 

“When will you finally understand? It’s all right. I’m patient. I’ll wait for you to see the light slowly.” -Rooftop Date

Although they have feelings, they only ever reveal it to people close to them. They enjoy the detail and technicality of conversations and find it hard to talk about their emotions. Victor’s Exhibition and Tender Regards Date are very useful sources of information in relation to these topics, as it displays Victor’s deep emotions of affection to MC and highlights the importance of expressing emotions to those you love. Dark yellow aura peoples’ greatest lesson in life is to be more emotionally open, and when do they do, it usually occurs later in life. 

“The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.” I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words. -CN Exhibition Date 

“Do you still remember the special episode on “Feelings” from before? Actually, this theme was inspired by that episode. Giving gifts is a common way to express how one feels. But it’s not that easy to send a gift to the future. With Future Mail, the sender can convey their feelings and surprises in this gift to the other party across time.” -CN Tender Regards date 

People with dark yellow as their ground enjoy system and order such as routines at work and in their home life. This is applied to Victor’s strict schedules in his day to day life, such as taking on what time he sleeps and when he gets up to go on his morning jogs. They need to consider new ideas before grudgingly accepting them. This is especially applied to when Victor always says “just this once” to MC when he’s being “childish” with her (but we really know that isn’t the case, he knows this all too well, too). 

“Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house. Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?” -CN Exhibition Date 

Next is Victor’s “radiating” colour. This represents his interests and motivations. It adds strength to the ground colour. They can work well in harmony, some can conflict. 

I would take Victor’s radiating as violet. Violet is a very highly spiritual colour, as people with this colour as their radiating will have a very spiritual take on life, as they are deep thinkers who like to analyse everything and think matters though logically. They are also naturally intuitive. Violet radiatings have the ability to come up with unique and unusual solutions to problems. As they enjoy learning, they have the potential to become experts in their field of endeavour- which is no surprise for Victor as he’s basically an “on top of the world tyrant” in the industry of finances. In addition, they feel things deeply, but rather operate things on an emotionally free level- again with the ground aura traits to enhance this! However, Victor too, has a high EQ despite this.

“I’m no different from you. There are many things I cannot do or force to make happen. It’s okay to not be strong, it’s okay to not do well. You don’t have to bottle up your emotions.” … “I won’t tell you to keep holding on no matter what difficulties you face. That isn’t realistic. There will come a time when you will become an even better version of yourself who will have enough courage and experience to deal with all of this.” -CN Colours of Rain Date 

Overall, Victor’s aura of darker yellow and violet depict him as more of a straightforward kind of person, hardworking and articulate, however soon we realise there’s more to what we see of Victor, like how MC thinks that Victor comes off as a “heartless CEO” throughout the main story chapters but he slowly warms up to her whilst determining to prove her wrong. Victor is wise, and doesn’t bother to put in his personal efforts to where it’s not needed, but when it’s up to him- he strives to go all the way for perfection and with the best of his ability. He spends a lot of time in deep contemplation to determine his plans of attack which allows him to execute them well. His values and worth ethics will always in the end allow him to make time for MC, no matter how busy he is :) 

And lastly…

Victor leans against the window, his face still written with distaste, but he does not attempt to remove that childish-looking blanket. He brings the red cup to his lips and gently blows on it. The warm light encases him, softening the aura surrounding him. His outline also appears gentler. He doesn’t look as impossible to get close to. My eyes land on Victor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He puts down the cup in his hands, lowering his eyes, as though deep in thought. This is a Victor I have never seen before… In this moment, he seems to have put down his stubbornness and distant aura - becoming someone within reach. Only now does Victor finally feel my gaze. He raises his head to look at me. -CN Warm Date 

All of a sudden, he lifts his other hand gently. A water droplet pelts onto his palm, as though pulling him into the pattering rain. Seeing this, I find myself subconsciously frozen in place. Because of the enshrouding misty rain, the Victor before me appears warmer and more tender than usual. -CN Tender Regards Date 

It always has and always will be MC to see this side of him- the tenderness and the willingness of how he opens up to her- his aura willingly to embrace hers too. Fun fact- auras can deflect off one another if you’re with someone you dislike. But when it’s with two people in love, their auras connect, combine and produce an even brighter and bigger accommodating aura for the both of them. He’s certainly living working towards to achieve his greatest life goals- both in his businesses and being with MC, striving together to make great changes and milestones in their respective industries. Without a doubt, she has helped Victor’s aura grow, expand and shine the many rays through his doubts, allowing a light from within to burn brighter and evolve him into more of the brilliant, hardworking and tender man we know today.

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 6

Word Count: 2271 || Read on AO3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt

No violence. Only ✨emotions✨

Obi-Wan woke in a room not his own with the smell of blaster-fire and charred flesh in his nose, tasting it on his tongue so clearly that it nearly made him sick. He exhaled one long, slow breath that did nothing to purge the lingering traces of his nightmares, and opened his eyes to thick, black darkness. His brows furrowed, frowning as he struggled to clear the sleep-haze from his mind, a task that had grown considerably harder over the years. He spared a brief, token effort on remembering what he might have done, or where he’d gone, the day before to find himself in a stranger’s home, but only shrugged it off when nothing came to mind.

Perhaps, he mused with only a touch of sardonic humor, the suns’ heat had finally gotten to him and he’d broken into some poor farmer’s home. Whose, he hadn’t the faintest idea considering he only really visited one and this was, most certainly, not the Lars’ farmstead. He would know, he’d been inside once after all — a week spent in a guest room as he’d delivered little Luke to his aunt and uncle. Any subsequent visits had been … difficult.

Luke looked so much like his father sometimes.

He sighed, shoving the thought forcefully away, and focused once more on the room, straining see a little better. The walls, he noticed first, were bare except for a few occupied shelves whose contents he couldn’t even begin to guess at. A single window peered out into the world, tinted black by a light-blocking feature he remembered using … Before. The floor was much the same: spartan, with only a low table in one corner with a cushion to sit on and the bland bed roll he’d woken on. A bitter tang of nostalgia crawled up his throat, lodging there like a bottle’s stopper, and he struggled to swallow around it.

Shoving that away too, he clambered inelegantly to his feet — noticed he still wore the rattier robe and tunics he hadn’t been able to bring himself to eschew along with everything else — and made his way to the room’s singular exit. The door opened with barely a brush of his palm over the panel next to it. He made to move out into the home proper with a steadying hand laid on the frame’s cool metal. And froze.

“Anakin?”

His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, almost too soft to carry across the larger living space to the spitting image of the little boy he’d raised, failed, and left behind, burning on a bank of churning magma on Mustafar. He couldn’t breathe, lungs seizing and stuttering as they refused to work. He gripped the door’s frame harder, knuckles white and fingers little more than pricks of insignificant pain where they dug into the sharper edges. Anakin’s screaming roared in his ears, violent hatred and pain alike with faint echoes of the single plea he’d let slip from his lips somewhere in between before Obi-Wan had turned his back and waled away.

Anakin — oh Force it was Anakin — twisted around on his cushion, one hand braced on the long, low table in front oh him while the other lay flat on the floor, when he heard his name called. Obi-Wan’s gaze caught on his Padawan-braid, so short still that it barely brushed the boy’s — a boy. He was just a boy now, younger than twelve and a picture-perfect replica of the child who lived only in Obi-Wan’s memories and Luke’s shadow — shoulder.

“Master!” Anakin flashed him a bright grin, his blue eyes practically glittering with the strength of his joy. “You’re awake! Finally,” he said, excitement turning to a familiar teasing tone that tore Obi-Wan’s heart to shreds. “I almost thought you’d sleep for forever, and then who’d help with my lessons?”

The boy’s nose scrunched, his distaste for his lessons made clear in the way the word dropped from his mouth like a particularly foul piece of rotted food. Obi-Wan swayed where he stood, mouth suddenly drier than Tatooine’s desert as he stared. Then, faintly and feeling all too much like the very words he spoke had stolen free from him without permission, he said:

“Master Windu would, he’s told me so many times himself. He does so enjoy your company.”

It was a joke, one of several he’d indulged in often after having noticed Anakin’s distrust of the Council. A reassurance as much as something to make the boy laugh. Mace Windu had never told him he’d help with any of Anakin’s lessons, but Obi-Wan had never once seen the Master turn a youngling down when they asked him for help. Oh, he thought with a painful pang in his chest, Mace had loved the younglings, from the tiniest initiates in the Crèches all the way to the padawans, no matter what his severe countenance might have portrayed. He’d tried so hard to show that to Anakin, to teach him that Jedi — even and especially the Council — were, at their core, kind and compassionate. Had his Padawan ever truly known that, or was it another failure to be laid at Obi-Wan’s feet?

Anakin scoffed and rolled his eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, and I’m a heard of Bantha,” he said with a snicker. Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched despite how he wanted to be sick.

“You certainly smell like one,” Obi-Wan replied by rote, more of a murmur than the steady sarcasm he’d once thrown at his Padawan. Anakin squawked regardless, all faux-offense as he puffed himself up for a comeback, but deflated suddenly to squint at him instead.

“Are you feeling alright? You look…” Anakin floudered for a moment and settled on a bland, hesitant, “not good.”

“I,” Obi-Wan started. Stopped. Swallowed. “No,” He admitted, slow. Reluctant. “No, Padawan, I don’t think I am.”

The trembling in his hands hadn’t stopped and his chest still hurt and his stomach had managed to twist itself into nauseating knots as he stood there, still in the open doorway to the room, he realized, that had once been his at the Temple. Anakin’s eyes widened and he shot to his feet, anxiety flowing off him in sharp, erratic waves that only further soured the bitter, ashen taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“Do you need a healer? Are you hurt? Kriff, uh, should I— I mean— I’ll go grab someone, Master, I’ll be right back, okay? Real quick, I—”

“No!” Obi-Wan winced. He hadn’t meant to shout. Hadn’t meant to put that hurt, wide-eyed look on his Padawan’s face. He’d just —

Obi-Wan watched Anakin’s familiar, blue lightsaber cut through another Jedi, horror curdling in his stomach. It was all he could do not to be sick, but he forced himself to continue looking at the security feed Master Yoda had found. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t be blind to this any more than he could turn back time and undo it. So he watched, ill, as his former Padawan, his friend, his brother, cut down Jedi after Padawan after Initiate until none at all remained in the place they had both called home.

“No,” he croaked, softer, blinking back the stinging heat in his eyes. He lifted the hand not helping keep him upright, clammy and shaking much more obviously than before, and made as if to reach out but stopped short. “No,” he said again, so low he barely heard himself, pulling his hand back to clutch at the fabric over his chest and wondered if he’d suffocate on his feet.

“Master?”

Anakin sounded so scared even as he took a tentative step forward, his hands fisted into the hem of his tunic. Obi-Wan wanted to rush to his side, to comfort him as he’d once done so many years ago. He wanted to run, to flee from the face of this apparition — the ghost of a boy who’d chosen to become a monster because he’d failed as a Master. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep: for this boy, for himself, for the scores of Jedi massacred to mark the end of an unjust war. For the galaxy being crushed under a Sith’s oppressive thumb. For the children of his former student, who would be called upon one day. Who would lose friends and family alike as they worked to dismantle the bloody legacy left to them.

He almost didn’t notice when his legs gave out, choking on his own ragged, wet breaths as Anakin cried out, alarmed, and ran to his side. Obi-Wan flinched away from those small, calloused hands when they reached for him, curling into himself as he struggled to breathe, but his Padawan was nothing if not determined.

He gasped when Anakin’s fingers brushed his arm, searing his skin through three layers of worn fabric. Whined when they traveled up to his shoulder, and hissed, a pained and wounded sound torn from him when Anakin pressed the palm of his hand to the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. Slowly, with a care he’d rarely seen in his Padawan, Anakin maneuvered himself in front of him, hunched and twisting as the hand on Obi-Wan’s neck pulled until he’d knocked their foreheads together.

How long had it been since he’d sat so near another sentient being he trusted? Since he’d been touched so familiarly? Kindly? Luke, perhaps. Little more than a toddler, freely affectionate with the man who’d carried him across the stars and sands to the home he’d remain in.

Obi-Wan didn’t settle. Didn’t calm. His breathing hitched and every inch of him shook so hard he thought his bones might rattle right out of his skin. The stinging bite of fresh tears lingered in his eyes and every limb was weighed down with the same deep exhaustion that had dogged him since he’d left Luke with the Lars’ and lost the only source of immediate responsibility he might have distracted himself with. He did, however, reach forward. Brushed his fingers over the front of Anakin’s tunic and felt the rough material, caustic and abrasive against the suddenly sensitive digits.

“Are you—” Obi-Wan swallowed painfully, his own saliva turning to grains of coarse sand. “Is this real?” he asked, whisper soft and broken. “Are you real, Anakin?” His padawan pressed harder against him in response, puffing out an incredulous breath.

Obi-Wan wondered if he’d melt from the heat of his brother-friend-Padawan’s touch, as skin-crawling as it was a burning, aching comfort for all it seemed to set him further on edge.

“I’m real,” Anakin said, voice strangled. Obi-Wan could taste his fear. Felt it soak into his skin and curl around his heart. “I’m real, Master, I promise. I’m here. I’m real.”

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice cracked on the name as a sudden desperation washed over him, urging him to reach out further. To pull and clutch and hold his Padawan as close as he could, breathing raggedly against his short, brown hair as Anakin hid his own face against his neck, letting a few tears soak into the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic. He rocked them both, letting Anakin hold on to him as to him as fiercely as he did his Padawan.

An eternity might have passed there between them as Anakin cried and Obi-Wan babbled — apologies and reassurance and a half dozen other words he’d meant to tell his Padawan over the years tumbling clumsily from his tongue — until the intensity eased, leaving them tired and tangled up together against the room’s cool wall. Obi-Wan let his eyes slip closed, just for a moment. Let himself soak in his brother’s presence, young and bright and much too old to be held like this, half asleep and slumped over him. But he didn’t let go.

He brushed his fingers over Anakin’s hair, short and bristly except for the bundle tied back into a short nerftail, and breathed in the citrus scent of the hair products his Padawan had favored those first few years in the Temple. Leaning his head back against the wall, he let himself drift into his thoughts. Into the Force. Out past the confines of the room, through the halls, and across the Temple, jaw clenching as he felt the bright, living presence of hundreds of Jedi. Thousands. So many his head spun.

His breathing hitched, and he wrapped his arms a fraction tighter around his Padawan. Strained to squeeze his eyes closed harder until he saw blurry, red shapes dance across the darkness behind his lids.

It felt so real.

This. His Padawan. The sights, smells, sounds, even the taste of the Temple’s chill air. Anakin had said he was real. Obi-Wan had squeezed him, had him currently in his arms safe and close and whole. He shuddered, exhaling a wavering, wet breath.

Perhaps, he let himself hope as he drew back to himself, it had been a vision. A warning from the Force — a life lived in the span of a few hours’ sleep. He let the thought comfort him, burying his nose in his Padawan’s hair as sleep slowly claimed him.

Obi-Wan woke in a room he recognized, the sweet, tangy scent of citrus thick in his nose, so vivid he could practically taste it. He exhaled one long, slow breath, letting himself savor it for a moment longer, and opened his eyes to bright light, sandy-colored walls, and the sweltering, suffocating heat of Tatooine’s long, dry days. His fingers curled into the rough, thin, ragged bedroll he’d all but tossed himself into the night before. Alone. Utterly and completely alone.

For the first time since his family were slaughtered at the hands of his student,

Obi-Wan wept.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 57: Safeguard

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Safeguard

Note: I had to play DMC2 for this. Again. Mourn my untimely death. Thank you.

(-~-)

On either side of the walls that surrounded the courtyard stood a menagerie of dilapidated structures, some clearly the remnants of statues, other what remained of pillars that could have been structural at one point or another. Nothing remained overhead, so it was difficult to tell. What was clear was that this place was ancient, a relic of a bygone era long before the time that anyone he personally knew existed. And there was a strange kind of intrigue that came with that.

Looking over at the young guardian as they traversed what remained of the path laid out before them, the Darkslayer couldn’t help but notice the aura of this place. In truth, it had been a lifetime since he’d felt anything like it. The Qliphoth had reeked of blood and death, the catacombs underneath the city where Dante’s office had been when they were teenagers had reeked of decay, mold, and rot, and the walls and halls of Temen Ni Gru had held the stench that only stagnant air and malevolence could produce. This was entirely different. It was strangely familiar. He dared say that it resonated with him. But he knew with every fiber of his being that he had never set foot in this place or the sprawling grounds around it before, so how could that be even remotely possible?

“Who constructed this edifice, and what was its intended purpose?” He spoke bluntly but without malllace. After all, he had not been wronged in any way. But he had to admit that there was something imposing about this place despite the fact that it was clearly not evil. In a way, it was almost as if the imposing building that stood before them was actively trying to drive them away, making it known that they were not welcome on these hallowed grounds. They did not belong here. That much was a fact.

Stopping for a moment to survey the grounds, Lucia looked over at him. They had not been standing terribly close to one another, but they were within comfortable speaking distance. Her hand slowly slid down towards the blade at her waist, something clearly making her warry of this place. Perhaps the very energy of this place unsettled her in the same way that it unsettled him?

“This ruin is what remains of a temple where the devils that ruled this island were worshiped. They demanded much of my people, and much was lost. Your father ventured here when we needed him most, and with him by our side, we managed to defeat the foul devil Argosax and lord Sparda sealed him away, never to return.” Her eyes slowly traveled towards the remnants of the stone hallway that encompassed the edges of the grounds, something seemingly catching her eye. “We were entrusted with the artifacts used in that ritual. This is the main temple. After Argosax’s death at Dante’s hands, we consolidated the remaining Arcana and reset the traps. It seems that your father set a few of his own. And for that we are grateful.”

Her words caught him slightly off guard. He was somewhat sure that Dante had mentioned that her people had worked with their father before, but the fact that he might have had something to do with putting a spell of some sort on the grounds of this temple that would still be in place? For what purpose? “What would be the purpose of these traps? Have they just activated now after all this time?”

“One can only assume that it is a defense mechanism against whatever happened that allowed the Arcana that you returned to me to be taken from its home, but this is not the source of that artifact. We kept it in a clock tower. This was the home of another artifact until recently. The holy chalice.” her eyes remained focused on whatever was over there, just out of her line of sight.  Something has happened here during my absence. My mother contacted me to say as much. And that is why I had to return so suddenly. Forgive me if I-”

Vergil raised his hand slightly, unwilling to allow her to continue to apologize for something that wasn’t even remotely her fault. None of this was her doing. She had not been here to guard this place with the rest of her clan because she had been assisting him and the rest of his family. He would no sooner blame her for having to return to her duties than he would anyone else. “Your responsibilities lie elsewhere. I know that.”

She seemed to understand, nodding to herself as she broke away to assess what she perceived to be a possible threat. Vergil allowed his hand to rest on Yamato’s hilt, ready and willing to back her up if necessary. After all, it was below his dignity to stand by and allow her to do battle alone, even if the foes she was doing battle against were not much of a threat to her life. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“You see something.” His breath was barely a whisper, but she understood what he said regardless. It wasn’t a question and she knew that. A quick now was all it took for him to fall in line behind her, making sure that nothing was going to get the better of them from behind. He refused to allow his opponents an easy way of gaining the upper hand.

Without warning, a ball of fire jetted forward from behind the rocks and several heads popped up from throughout the ruin. The figures wore different colored robes ranging from back to red as they brandished their staffs, clearly ready to attack. This had been an ambush from the moment that they had stepped foot on the grounds. Much to his irritation, he had just been too distracted by the temple itself to see that.

(-~-)

“Genuinely, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone try to eat a burger while holding it like that.” Sirrus continued to stare at V as allowed his head to rest on his right hand, his elbow having gone numb from the pressure of being embedded into the table for this long. But they had nowhere better to be until after he was done eating, and he didn’t want to suggest that they take it to go. It would probably get wet in the rain anyway. Best to just finish it while they were there. “How very… particular.”

V allowed his eyes to direct back towards Sirrus, a slight bit of humor creeping back into them. He succeeded in biting the burger and then chewed it, admittedly pleased by the taste. He only had a few more bites left at this point, but he knew exactly what his companion was talking about. It wasn’t the first time that he had been called out for eating things in an odd way.

“As a general rule, I don’t like the sensation of having wet hands. It just feels wrong to me somehow.”

Sirrus seemed intrigued, sitting up somewhat instead of continuing to look at V in a sort of dreamy, hyper-attentive gauze. He’d been listening to V talk, sure, but he was much more concerned with the state that he had found his friend in. V had seemed so utterly broken to him in that instant, and he wanted to make sure that everything that had happened that day had not weakened his resolve. He cared much for his friend. V meant the world to him, and all he truly wanted was for him to be safe and happy. He had been neither of those things at the moment in time.

“Does that mean that you never wash your hands, then?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually wanted an answer to that question or if he just wanted to keep V talking in the hopes that something he said would eventually make him laugh. He knew he needed it. But he was actually surprised when the young summoner answered his somewhat rhetorical question. After all, it wasn’t as though he needed to. He could’ve just laughed it off as a silly joke and continued to eat.

“Indeed, I do. It’s more about the texture of the substance on my hands than it is the actual fact that they are wet, I think.” He took another bite out of the burger, delighted by the fact that there was a pickle in this part. He was actually quite fond of tart snacks like this. The next time he went to the grocery store, he would have to pick up a jar of some sort of pickled vegetable. “For example, water is just fine, but I despise the sensation of oil and grease. Sauce is an especially egregious offender in this regard. Something about it is just disgusting to me. It’s just too thick.”

Repressing the urge to full one laugh at that revelation, Sirrus held his hand up to his face and laughed into the back of it, shaking his head slightly. He’d never heard something this strangely specific and ridiculous before in his life, and he honestly didn’t know what to say about it. But if that was indeed how V felt about it, then that was the reality of the situation. Nothing that he could say or do would make it any different.

“No, I actually kind of love it. It’s exceptionally quirky!” Sirrus laughed slightly, but his tone was no less sincere. He genuinely did care about what was going on with V, even if his unrelenting sense of humor wouldn’t allow him to convey that with any degree of seriousness. “Although it does seem like it would be a bit miserable. I wish you luck coping with it.”

V nodded in appreciation and picked up a thick napkin to wipe his hand on. “We should head back. It’s getting late, and I must admit that I do feel worse than I did earlier today. I should not have strayed away from the range of the hex for this long.” He stood up, steadying himself. Perhaps it was simply the nature of eating food that heavy, but he had to admit that he was somewhat sleepy. Not in the sort of way that would lead to him actually going to bed early that night, but in the kind of way that meant that it was time to curl up under a blanket and relax. “Thank you for dinner. It was quite good. And for everything else. I think I needed this more than I realized.”

“I believe that during times as severe and unrelentingly bleak as these, normality and simplicity are the only things that truly bring us out of that darkness.” Sirrus stood up and joined him, ready to catch him should he need it but more than willing to assume that he could handle catching his balance by himself. V had made it this long without his aid. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Well, most of the time. “There is no need to thank me for doing the bare minimum that I can to help you. We're not far away from your home. It should not take us very long to get back there. Would you prefer that we hail a cab? I don’t mind sharing my umbrella with you if you don’t.”

V looked out of the window for a moment before nodding ever so slightly to himself. He then turned back to Sirrus and gave something akin to a small smile and tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Then perhaps we should simply walk back.”

Happy to oblige him, Sirrus placed what seemed to be a large sum of money on the table before heading over to the door and opening his umbrella. V had one of his own, but it was probably better that he keep it closed and focus on keeping his balance in the rain. After all, he wasn’t wearing a jacket, so holding up his arms to keep the umbrella over his head would only sacrifice much-needed warmth. He didn’t mind sharing the umbrella with him in the slightest.

For a few minutes, they walked along in silence, simply enjoying the company of one another and the sound of the rain as it came down in a furious downpour. It was more ice than rain at this point, the chilly autumn air now closer to that of winter than anything else. October was a beautiful month, but this rain had no courtesy whatsoever.

“Somehow I completely forgot to mention before that I have something for you. It may prove useful, all things considered.”

V slowed to a stop alongside his companion. Another gift, then? Perhaps he should look into giving him one as well. Now he was starting to feel a bit ungrateful. “I get the impression that you enjoy giving me gifts?”

Chuckling to himself, he nodded and then shrugged. He shifted the umbrella to his right hand, digging through his pockets as he searched for whatever it was that he was looking for. He would be lying if he said that V was wrong about that. He did indeed enjoy giving him gifts. Seeing the mixture of surprise and happiness that crossed his face as he tried to process what was going on would never become less satisfying to him. Of that much he was certain.”

“Guilty as charged. Although this one has a more practical use than the others I gave you.” Ah, there it was. Just what he had been looking for. He felt his hand brush against it as he gripped it and pulled it out of his pocket. To say he would have been irritated if he’d lost this or managed to leave it at home would be an understatement.

“More practical than an entire house full of furniture? Somehow I find that incredibly difficult to believe… ” He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw what he was being held out in from of him. In Sirrus’s hand was a simple onyx bracelet with a chain clasp. Between every three or so stones was a metal loop that matched the chains on the lower section of the bracelet that led to the clasp. All in all, a high-quality but not at all flashy piece of jewelry that was entirely unremarkable aside from the slightly larger green gemstone of some sort that hung from the center off of a metal loop of some sort. And in truth, it was strangely to his liking. He had worn a bracelet on a few occasions in his lifetime, but this would easily be the nicest.

“Do you mind holding this for a moment?” Sirrus said pleasantly as he held it towards him. V obliged breathlessly, entirely unsure as to how to process this particular gift. He wasn’t so much confused as he was deeply unsure as to the implication of this specific trinket. It wasn’t that it seemed expensive so much as it was the fact that he was being gifted something of this nature at all.

V opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, genuinely unsure as to what to say. He’d never received this kind of gift before. He was admittedly flattered by his newfound friend’s continued generosity. But there was something that he did want to make clear to him at that moment. Something that he felt needed to be said considering what had just transpired between them. He just hoped that it didn’t come out half as needlessly unkind as it did in his head.

Believe me, I know that. But I appreciate why you would feel the need to clarify. I have been rather fiscally negligent lately. I sincerely apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was not my intention.” A gentle look of understanding passed across his face. He was more than slightly aware that it was the nature of extravagant gifts to make people uncomfortable, and the last thing that he wanted to do was make V uncomfortable. He got the impression that he wasn’t accustomed to receiving gifts. “This bracelet has a protective ward built into it that should help mitigate Belial’s influence, if only slightly. It has other effects as well that should be beneficial to you. Namely the effect it has on hostile demons. I went to fetch it after everything that happened earlier. I thought you might like something that made you feel more secure. Less alone. I get that impression from you at times, and I understand how awful it feels to be in a room filled with people but still alone. “

He seemed to recoil slightly as he said that, the mention of that seemingly causing him no small amount of distress. V noted that quietly as he held the bracelet up towards the moonlight, admittedly quietly excited about the gift. He hoped that he wasn’t being unkind. He knew that Sirrus meant him no harm, but it occurred to him at that moment that this gift might have more significance for his companion than it did for him. Had Morgan actually been onto something with her joke…?

“Thank you I… I’m not sure what else I can say… This is…” He paused, genuinely at a loss for where to even try to find the proper words. He was utterly blown away by how wonderful this gift was, especially considering that it was apparently magical in nature. Perhaps it was just best that he be happy about the gift and not go into a self-imposed existential downward spiral. “You said it has other effects?” 

“Oh, yes it has several. I’m sure you will see soon enough. I sense that we might have company, hence my timing. I was going to wait until we arrived at your house but...” He gestured towards the empty wooded lot across the street from them and, without warning, a shadowed being dropped down off of the top of the small warehouse next door. V shook his head and readied his cane. It seemed that Sirrus’s intuition was on the money. He too had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right around the area they were in when they had left the diner, but now he was sure of it.

“Perhaps we should dispose of it before we head back? If you’re feeling up to it. Otherwise, I can just strike it dead where it now stands and be done with it.” Sirrus withdrew his blade from the inside of the coat he was wearing with casual disinterested dismissal. V got the impression that this particular demon wasn’t very high on his newfound friend’s threat index.

No, I think that we should take care of it. If nothing else it should be a good opportunity to practice while I still have the chance.” V allowed Shadow to join him, the deep abyssal fur of the devil being much less likely to draw the attention of anyone who might happen upon them. He would summon Griffon if he felt the need to.

With a smirk the two-headed across the street, ready to see what they were up against. And as soon as they both came close enough to see it, they stopped dead in their tracks. It seemed they might have bitten off more than they initially bargained for… 

“Oh. Oh.”

(-~-)

The rules clearly state that before the big battle I get to write two smaller battles as a reward for having to play DMC2 for research purposes. Sorry, that’s just what the rules say. I don’t make them XD anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! I’ll see you again on Wednesday! And thank you for the awesome comments you’ve left this last week. They really made my day!

[imaginepirates]

Modern! Will

A modern au with Will, who you find while sailing through the Orkney Islands. (Forgive me, I was just in Scotland.) Anyway, the two of you get to know each other during your time together, and you have a peaceful time sailing through the islands. 

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official @shitis-getting-real​

~3150 words

~~~~~~~

          The last thing you’d expected to find while out sailing was a body. You feared, at first, that it was dead. He, to be specific. You’d let your boat drift close to the body before hauling up onto the deck. It quickly became clear that the man was still alive, and you debated what to do with him. You didn’t have any cell service out where you were, and you had no idea how a man came to be floating in the waters around you in the first place.

          You were sailing through the uninhabited section of the Orkney Islands, enjoying the peaceful wildlife and a quiet respite from the pressures of day to day life. You liked living on your boat, sailing where you pleased and exploring the coasts of each island. Many were small, and a good chunk of them hadn’t seen the tread of a human foot on them in years.

          Thus, you were put in an unfortunate situation with the finding of the body. You hadn’t seen any other boats around to point towards evidence of human life. You did notice, however, that the man seemed somewhat familiar. He was dressed in loose clothing, hardly warm enough for the weather where you were. His hair, plastered to his face from the water, was dark brown, and he wore it long, close to the shoulder.

          Something about his face seemed unfathomably familiar. It took you a while to realize that he looked exactly like a character from your favorite movie. That was ridiculous, of course, but rather strange.

          It was that moment that the man chose to wake up. He gave you a bit of a start, gasping for breath and rolling over to his side to cough water from his lungs.

          “Are you okay?” You asked. You righted him, pulling him into a sitting position.

          “I think so.”

          “What happened?”

          “I-I don’t know. I was with Jack, and then I wasn’t.”

          With Jack? He couldn’t possibly mean… “Do you have an name?”

          “William. William Turner.”

          There’s no way. I’m going crazy. I’ve been out here on my own too long, and now I’m hallucinating. “Well then, William, let’s dry you off.”

          You led him into your cabin and handed him a few towels. He got to work drying out his dripping hair and pulling off his soaked-through clothing. You turned around for modesty’s sake, leaving him to dry off on his own.

          It was then that you realized you had nothing for him to wear. You blushed a little, realizing he’d have to wear a few towels until his clothes dried. You set them out in the sun to make sure they dried more quickly, but poor Will would be stuck in those towels for a while. And they don’t cover much.

          The implications of Will’s presence began to hit you. How could he have gotten to your world? How did you get him back? How much of the storyline had he experienced? Was he still in love with Elizabeth? He clearly hadn’t gotten to the end yet, the part where he died. No, he looked younger than that, and he was still wearing stockings, which meant he couldn’t be too far into the adventure.

          You returned to the cabin to find him sitting in a chair, observing the little room, barely covered except for the towel around his hips and one hanging around his neck. He blushed as you entered, and you found yourself blushing in return.

          “Hungry?” You asked. It helped dispel some of the awkwardness.

          “A little.”

          You produced a jar of peanut butter and some jelly from an icebox. You then spread them over bread, and handed Will the sandwich.

          His eyebrows shot up after the first bite. “What is this?”

          “Peanut butter,” you said, amused. Though it was a fairly normal thing where you came from, you were sure Will hadn’t tasted a lick of it in his life. It hadn’t been invented yet in his time, after all.

          He took another bite, chewing slowly. “I’ve never heard of it. It’s good.”

          You smiled. Then thought about what you were going to do with him. You could hardly sail back to the Scottish mainland and report him to the police. What would you say? Excuse me officer, but I think I’ve found a man from a movie. It seems he needs to get back to his world. Somehow, you didn’t think that would convince anyone.

          It would be best, you thought, to keep him with you. It would be a little cramped with the two of you, but it would be okay. He could help you at the helm, and he might even prove useful in the area of cooking.

          Will had wandered out on deck, and you followed him, watching as he looked about. He ran a hand over the gunwale, then stared confused at the middle of the deck.

          “There aren’t any sails,” he said, brows wrinkling in puzzlement.

          “There’s no need for any.”

          “I haven’t been on a ship that doesn’t need sails before. How does it work?”

          “It has an engine and propeller.” You quickly realized Will didn’t know what an engine was. “An engine is a sort of power-source. The propeller does exactly what you think it does; it propels the boat forward.”

          Will stared, baffled. “Where am I, exactly? I’ve never heard of an ‘engine’ before.”

          You debated how to answer him. “Well, you’re far from home, obviously. On the other side of the world, actually, in northern Scotland.”

          “Scotland? But I was just in the Caribbean!”

          “Yes, well,” you weren’t sure how to put this part, “you’re also about three hundred years in the future, too.”

          Will just stared. “How will I get back home? How will I get back to Elizabeth? She needs my help! What if something awful happens to her?”

          Ah. He does love Elizabeth. “We’ll find a way for you to get back home.” You hadn’t the first clue how, though. “As for Elizabeth, I think she’ll be okay. She seems to do just fine on her own, actually.” You hoped that she would, given that she would end up passed out on the edge of a pile of gold surrounded by pirates.

          “I hope that Norrington gets to her if I can’t.” Will looked a little sick at the thought, but you could tell he meant it in earnest. “They’re engaged, after all. It would be only fitting.”

          You put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t think of that now. There’s nothing you can do. Besides, she’s probably made up her mind about the two of you already.”

          Will nodded, if a little miserably.

          He continued to stare out at the sea for a long while, watching the waves roll past. Islands dotted the horizon, and gulls flew around the ship. He rested his head in his hands, looking out over the dark waters, likely wishing himself home. How lonely it must feel, to be in a time and place other than your own.

          By the time evening rolled around, his clothes were dry enough to wear. He returned to your cabin, slipped them on, and came back out. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, and you knew it was time to start thinking about bed.

          Speaking of beds, you only had one. When you mentioned as much to Will, he looked a little flustered.

          “I’ll sleep out here, if you like. Or in a chair.”

          “Will…”

          “I don’t mind. I’ve slept in worse conditions, believe me.”

          “The bed can be shared,” you assured him. “As long as we stay on our sides.”

          Will continued to protest, but you insisted that you share. It wasn’t fair to leave him in a chair, not to mention, you didn’t know how long he’d be with you. You couldn’t have him sleeping in a chair for days.

          Undressing for bed was a bit awkward. You turned your backs to each other, and you quickly put on a baggy shirt and shorts. Will had taken off his vest, letting his loose shirt hang open at the neck. He’d also stripped off his tight-fitting breaches in favor of the looser garment underneath. You exchanged an uncomfortable glance before getting into bed, each of you careful to keep to one side. The bed was small, and you were forced close together. You could practically feel the heat coming off his back.

          You tried your best not to think about it, but you couldn’t shake the knowledge that Will was right there next to you. The thought made your face flush, and you were glad that Will couldn’t see it. No doubt he was feeling the same discomfort. He lay stiff as a board, not daring to move lest he touch you, and you could tell.

          Sleep was hard, but by the time morning came, you were comfortably asleep and in no mood to get up. You awoke, sluggish, to the light of the morning. You closed your eyes again, only to wake with a start. At some point during the night, you and Will had rolled close to each other, and he was pressed up against your back, an arm resting over your side.

          You couldn’t tell if he was awake, and you didn’t want to wake him up by moving. You tried to relax, but it was hard to do so with Will’s arm around you. You wondered, anxiously, what his reaction would be when he awoke.

          You soon decided that the weight of his arm felt nice, and you began to relax. Will’s breath tickled the back of your neck, and you could tell by the steady rhythm that he was asleep. You began to doze off again, knowing that there was no rush to wake up. It’s lovely, really.

          When you woke up again, Will was awake, too. He gently lifted his arm away, turning over. Clearly, he was trying to hide the fact that he’d been pressed up against you.

          “Will?” You whispered.

          “Yes?” He sounded nervous.

          “Do you want breakfast?” You decided it was best not to mention that you’d felt him curled up against you.

          “Oh, yes, thank you. Can I help?” He had rolled over onto his side again, and you turned to face him.

          “You don’t have to.”

          “I’m sure I can be of some help. I had to know how to make food when I worked as a blacksmith. Lord knows the owner of said smithy couldn’t cook for us.”

          You hadn’t thought about that. “Sure.” It might be nice to have some help, anyway.

          You rolled out of bed, moving to the small kitchen space provided on your boat. There was a small stove, a microwave, a small fridge, and some counter space. You pulled a packet of bacon from the fridge and a pan from a cupboard. You ended up making both eggs and bacon, while Will made toast. You had to teach him how to do it, of course, but he caught on quickly. Soon, you had a meal prepared.

          You brushed up against each other often while in the kitchen due to the small amount of space. You were glad to see that Will was blushing just as hard as you. It made the situation a little less awkward. Still, it was nice to do domestic things with another person. Then you thought of Elizabeth, and your heart sank.

          Will stared out the windows during breakfast, watching the island cliffs you were drifting by. A large spire of rock stuck up out of the waves, towering over you. You’d seen them before. The Orkney Islands had sea stacks, or tall columns of rock that jutted up from the ocean. They were once a part of the islands, but erosion had separated them into their own peaks. Gulls circled the one you were floating passed. They often made their nests in the rocks.

          “I’ve never seen something like that before,” Will said. He stared out the window with a little smile. “I suppose I haven’t seen much at all.”

          “What do you mean?”

          “I mean that I’ve worked as a blacksmith until only recently, and I haven’t seen much in my adventures with Jack yet.” His face fell. “I wonder what’s happening back home.”

          “We’ll get you back, I promise.”

          He only nodded, looking sadly out the window.

          “Tell me about this Jack person you keep referring to.” You knew full well who he was, of course, but it would be a good way to take Will’s mind off the sadness. You went over to the sink to do the dishes; there wasn’t room onboard for a dishwasher.

          “He’s…” Will made a vague gesture with his hands, wiggling his fingers. “He’s eccentric, I think. And…” He trailed off again. When you looked back at him, you noticed him staring guiltily at you.

          “And?”

          “He’s a pirate.”

          “Sounds exciting.”

          Will’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s something Elizabeth would say. It’s not as exciting as you think it is. Jack can be a little disappointing.”

          You snorted. More than a little, you thought. You couldn’t say as much to Will, of course, no matter how much you wanted to.

          You turned back to washing the dishes, and sucked in a sharp breath, sticking your finger in your mouth. You’d cut yourself on something. It was the downside of washing dishes in the sink; sometimes, you couldn’t see what you were doing.

          Will stood and came over to you, gently pulling your hand away from your mouth. He wiped a bubble of blood off your finger. “Here,” he took a small strand of cloth from around his wrist and began to wrap it around your fingers.

          “Oh,” you said, “you don’t have to do that. I have bandaids in a drawer.” He gave you a confused look, but you led him over to the bandaids and pulled one out to show him.

          Will removed the cloth from your hand, letting you wrap a bandaid around the cut. “That’s convenient,” he said. “I wish we had those where I come from.”

          You smiled. The two of you walked out on deck, getting hit in the face with salty air. The deck was cold after the warmth of your cabin. You pulled a coat on and offered Will a blanket to wrap around his arms.

          “I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold,” he commented. “It’s always warm in the Caribbean. Though I guess the tropical storms can get a bit brisk.”

          “Have you been through any storms at sea?”

          “No. Have you?” His eyebrows shot up. Clearly, he didn’t like the thought of being caught in a storm on your little boat.

          “No. I don’t sail out far enough to get caught in them.”

          He nodded.

          You spent the morning looking out over the horizon. You spotted countless types of birds to your port side, where an island poked out of the water. It was small, and nobody lived on it, but the wildlife in these areas were abundant.

          A jet of air shot up into the sky a few miles off your starboard. A whale spout, no doubt. The islands had their fair share of whales, too, along with all the other types of wildlife. You could just make out the rolling hump of the whale’s back.

          “I’ve only seen a whale once.” Will had come up next to you, his arm resting against yours. “They’re beautiful.”

          “They really are. I bet you’ve seen lots of beautiful creatures. Surely you’ve seen all those tropical fish.”

          “Aye, I have. I would go swimming and see them from the surface. Turtles, too.”

          “We don’t have those out here. The ocean must be prettier where you live.”

          “The ocean is pretty, no matter where you are. It’s all one great big sea.”

          You supposed he was right. You stepped up to the helm, cruising the ship around the nearest island. Off to your port side, you pointed to the standing rocks near the cliffs, showing Will a circle of them. They’d been put there hundreds-if not thousands-of years before your time by the people who had first lived on these islands. They were hard to see from the boat, but you made due.

          Will constantly helped you throughout the day, whether you were doing laundry or cooking. Despite the fact that you’d taken this trip to get away from people, you found Will’s company to be pleasant. You taught him how to steer the boat, keeping a hand on his to show him how little he needed to move the wheel to get the boat to turn.

          Evening fell, and you huddled together to watch the sunset. It dipped over the horizon, sliding down into the waves, leaving behind a pink and orange sky. As the last glimmers of sunlight slipped away, a flash of green lit up the horizon. You wondered if Will knew what it meant yet, whether he knew about his father, or if he had any inkling of his fate.

          He had an arm around you, and your head rested lightly on his shoulder. It was comfortable, now, having him so close. You’d spent all day like this on the cramped ship. You were constantly brushing up against each other and bumping into one another.

          Will interrupted your train of thought. “It really isn’t so bad here. I want to go home, of course, but if I can’t…” He shuffled around a little. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

          You blushed. You felt him move next to you, and you turned, right at the same time as he did, so you were face to face and rather close. You were sure he could feel your blush, but you could tell he was nervous too. Does he plan on kissing me? Surely he couldn’t. He was still in love with Elizabeth, right?

          “I don’t mean to be untoward, but…” He drifted off, staring at you. You couldn’t pull away, finding yourself both embarrassed and a little hopeful that he would kiss you.

          And he did.

          The kiss was soft, and a bit unsure, but it was sweet. When you pulled away, you were both smiling like idiots. He kissed you again, and followed it up with a kiss to the forehead. Despite the evening chill, you found yourself to be quite warm.

          “Will?” you said. “I like having you here, too.”

          He smiled.

          “Oh, and you can put an arm around me while we’re sleeping without feeling uncomfortable.”

          He blushed, and the two of you shared a quiet laugh, heading back inside the cabin. You knew the days ahead of you were bound to be strange, but you found yourself looking forwards to your time with Will. It couldn’t be all that bad, after all, if he was going to keep kissing you.

[evan-macmillan-trapper]

The sun set among the trees naturally clustered along the narrow path formed in the forest by the animals that passed by daily, in search of food, or even towards their own burrows. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and although the raindrops that danced incessantly over the canopy of pines made the trail muddy, there was nothing more relaxing than feeling them plummet from the sky and hit your face, soft and steady. You stop for a moment, admiring the quiet calm around you, when it's suddenly interrupted by a sob. Opening your eyes, you look from side to side, trying to figure out where the source of that noise would have come from when... SOB! There was the noise again. Was anyone nearby crying? Just in case, you decide to wrap your cleaver in your hand and carefully approach the source of the sound.

ㅤ슪 ⨾ The interaction was too long and ended up not fitting the question... If possible, check your inbox, there will be a message from me (@sheisdreamy) with the rest of the text.

(The Whole ask) The sun set among the trees naturally clustered along the narrow path formed in the forest by the animals that passed by daily, in search of food, or even towards their own burrows. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and although the raindrops that danced incessantly over the canopy of pines made the trail muddy, there was nothing more relaxing than feeling them plummet from the sky and hit your face, soft and steady. You stop for a moment, admiring the quiet calm around you, when it's suddenly interrupted by a sob. Opening your eyes, you look from side to side, trying to figure out where the source of that noise would have come from when... SOB! There was the noise again. Was anyone nearby crying? Just in case, you decide to wrap your cleaver in your hand and carefully approach the source of the sound. If you pay attention, you might even find clues to what's waiting in front of you. Footprints that came and went, broken branches, and a scrap of fabric hanging between the branches of a thorny bush, suggesting that someone had passed this way repeatedly, in a hurry enough not to worry about leaving easily traceable tracks behind. "What the hell?" you think, before you hear "SOB, SOB" again, this time to your right. Keeping your breathing quiet, you decide to slowly approach, intending to spy on whoever was there, pushing a few branches out of your way in the process, just to see... A teenage girl. Yes, a teenager, who at first seemed to be wearing frilly outfits much like those beautiful damsels in distress characteristic of Western movies. At first, that thought reminds you of Kate, the sweet singer who would have appeared a few months ago at the campfire, with her guitar and spurs. This girl in question hardly resembled her in appearance, to tell the truth. Was she wearing a white blouse with puffy sleeves, made of what appeared to be a soft, fine fabric, perhaps linen? She wears a brown plaid skirt long enough to cover her bare ankles, with no socks or shoes, which by the way would be carelessly tossed beside her. They were a pair of small-heeled brown boots, a little worn and with the leather peeled off, but still in very good condition. Below her neck, a black ribbon is tied in a delicate bow. Over her dark brown hair, tied in a low ponytail, rests a brown beret, slightly askew and leaning over her pretty face, with a few strands of hair that would have fallen out of her hairstyle. Hearing footsteps coming toward her, the girl lifts her head, giving the killer a glimpse of her face; she had full, slightly reddened cheeks, chapped but full lips, a smooth milky skin, like fresh milk milked from the breast of a Dutch cow, but still stained with freckles and moles that covered her cheeks and nose, the one that stood out being a large brown spot on the right side of the chin. She had big bright eyes whose irises were as blue as the sky on a sunny summer day, and long dark lashes curled slightly upward; moist so that they looked like tears, which she quickly wiped away, using the backs of her gloves, which had once looked white, and were now only stained with the dark, porous earth and dull red of what appeared to be dried blood of no more than three days ago. She holds a stick with what appears to be considerable strength above her lap, although you could clearly see how much her hands were shaking as she did so, this being a possible result of her soaked clothes due to the refreshing raindrops that they crept persistently through the leaves and branches of the tree under which she was sitting. She lifts her chin and her eyes find the plastic mask worn by the killer. She gives a small smile, apparently tired, before looking away to her own feet, full of calluses and bruises, gently curling her toes, intending to stretch them. "Nice mask" she says after a minute of silence, lifting her head again to meet the bigger one's face. "I can't remember anyone I know wearing this before... I guess that means I'm not home anymore, isn't it?"

A stubborn tear insists on forming at the corner of her eyes and, before she has a chance to wipe it away, it travels down in a curved, fuzzy line to her chin, lingering there for a moment, before falling from her face to her lap, in her skirt, where her hands would now be resting, beside her gloves and stick. "Where am I anyway?" she asks, before the other has any chance to answer the previous question. "...Everything looks so different." She lifts her hands, using her fingers to cover her own face as she starts to sob. "I'm lost, aren't I?"

(End of the ask) (Evan's response)

"Lost?" Evan thought to himself. As anyone in a place like this would know where they were. Evan was even certain he was alive anymore and this was just his own personal Hell.

Evan felt nothing for finding another supposed survivor in the fog again. Sometimes these survivors have a past dealing with Killer and sometimes they just got a big case of bad luck. After decades of being used as a tool for some dark being that Lodged these hooks and metal pieces into his body, Evan feels nothing hearing the sobs of this crying one. As far as he would know, they could just be an illusion that the Entity wishes to test Evan on. See if Evan still has a soft spot still left that the Entity needs to drive another hook in. Regardless, if this was a trick or genuine, Evan has no answers for the girl's questions. He does have a way to solve such an issue of where she can go.. It doesn't matter what he uses.. it doesn't matter if its slow or quick.. it doesn't matter who it is.. If she's a survivor, then doing what he was taken to do should send her where she can meet others like her.

Evan doesn't think of this as something he enjoys. He sees it as like putting down a hurt deer. Something that's better for them both. One clean swing and she would be in a better place..

With the rising of his hand, does he wield his cleaver into the air. The green of the plants to meet with the sudden red was not unnatural in such a place. The deed was to be done as Evan hoped at the bottom of his rusted and metal driven heart that she would find other who can help her. She had many questions but Evan had no answers to give but one. To show her what to fear.. and what to stay away from.. He hoped she would learn this had she been returned to a warm campfire.

Evan knew such an act was to keep his icy heart permafrosted, but perhaps his kindness was shown in his efficient hand to promise her a swift end.

Evan was not a man anymore.. He was a tool. A tool that does what it was made to do. Whether he thinks that he helps or harms.. or both.. is not what he was made for. The wielder was unkind in using him. Evan could only hope what he does can help.. even if its only one person.. just one time..

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

A Change – Derek Hale

(gif source unknown)

Ashley’s 2020 December Prompts

Prompt: Hot Chocolate

Warnings/Labels: Fluff. It’s the very beginning of a friends-to-lovers tale.

Appox. Word Count: 1,000

A/N: Hey all! If you follow me on my other tumblr you know I’m doing a December prompts list of one prompt per day. But guess what!? Since this is (and always will be) my Teen Wolf blog, you get my Teen Wolf prompt stories ahead of time! (They’ll be reblogged to the other blog the day of their “release” so to say.) Hope you guys enjoy!

He could smell it before you knocked. It smelled sweet and chocolatey and warm and he could only hope it was headed his way. Sure enough, he heard you knock on his apartment door not a few moments later. Your knock was short and abrupt and more of a bang which as a little confusing, but when he opens the door to see you standing there wearing oven mitts and holding a sauce pan in each hand, the sound made more sense having clearly come from you kicking the door, not knocking.

He cocks an eyebrow at you as you stand there in the hallway. You widen your eyes and point with your chin.

“Gonna let me in?” He barely blinks or changes his expression, but he does step back to make room for you and still hold the door open.

“Most people bring mugs of hot chocolate, not pots of it.” You’re already walking to his kitchen, not even bothered to throw a pointed look over your shoulder at him. He follows behind and goes to a drawer to pull out a couple of flat pot holders. After he’s set them on the counter, you put one pot on each.

“Most people aren’t me,” you finally respond, shaking off your mittens and tossing them on the counter. “I tried two new flavors this time. I need my favorite werewolf taste tester.” You catch the way his lips tease up into a whisper of a smile. You know that despite the fact that he never said anything, he enjoys how often you come by with food. It’s the base of your entire friendship.

“Caramel and…” He leans over the second pot, taking a deep inhale of it and trying to decipher the smells. “Chili?” He squints at you, confused by your proud smile.

“It’s Aztec Hot Chocolate; spicy and different.” You spin on your heels and help yourself into his cabinet with the cups.

“What’s wrong with your regular hot chocolate?” he asks, taking a mug from you. It’s actually your mug that’s just managed to find its home in his cabinet.

“Nothing,” you say. “What’s wrong with trying something new?” you counter, cocking your eyebrow at him in imitation of the way he always does to you. He silently scolds you as he retrieves a ladle and hands it your way.

“I know what I like.” He shrugs, watching you scoop out one mug of each hot chocolate.

“Well, you need to branch out.” You hand him the Aztec filled mug while keeping the caramel for yourself. He takes it without argument and even holds it out to clink together with yours. “Cheers.”

Derek’s eyes widen and nearly bulge out of his head at the first sip. After swallowing the small taste, he sets the mug down as he stumbles into a coughing fit complete with watering eyes. He pats his chest a few times and grips the edge of the counter with his other hand.

“Too strong?” you ask, trying desperately to keep the laughter off your face. He glares at you.

“Just a little,” he growls. You roll your eyes.

“Oh I think you’re just being a big baby.” It doesn’t smell nearly as strong as he’s playing it up to be. No way it tastes that bad.

“By all means!” he nudges the mug along the counter towards you. You gladly snatch it and take a full drink. About halfway through the swallow, you realize that Derek was, in fact, correct. You open your mouth that is currently burning and cough heavily, fanning yourself with your hand.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, running to the sink and gulping water straight from the faucet. Derek points harshly at you.

“You deserve that,” he tells you. “Don’t make that again and don’t serve it to anyone ever.” He’s completely unfazed when you flip him your middle finger.

“My measurements have to be wrong,” you defend, trying to remember what you put in it. It clearly went wrong somewhere.

“This is why I don’t like change,” he tells you with another pointed finger. You brush him off and wipe away the water dribbling down your chin.

“You know there was a time you didn’t know me, I didn’t live next door, and I didn’t bring you food all the time. I was a change in your life. Change is good sometimes!” He rolls his eyes, but you catch the little tip of his lips again. “Now you get delicious foods brought to you weekly.” He raises his eyebrow at you again. “Okay, mostly delicious foods,” you correct. He finally lets the smile out. You’ve yet to find something as contagious as Derek Hale’s smile. Seeing him happy just makes everything better.

“You are good,” he admits. You come to stand beside him, both of you resting your backs against the counter. You feel a bit warm and fluttery, something you blame on the strong drink. “The food is decent. That hot chocolate is terrible.” You bump your shoulder into his as you both laugh and that fluttery feeling increases when he leans back against you and stays pressed against you.

There’s this moment where he turns to look down at you and smiles and out of nowhere you feel flushed and awkward. His smile makes you catch your breath and you never want that pressure on your shoulder to go away. You know those feelings all too well. They’re telltale signs of a crush. But this is Derek. You don’t have a crush on Derek. So what in the hell was your body doing acting all a flutter over him?

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks softly. You have a hard time keeping your eyes off his lips as he speaks.

“Sure,” you reply dumbly, trying to shake yourself out of whatever it is that’s come over you. “I’ll even let you pick since I tried to burn your mouth.” He smiles again and pushes off the counter, leading the way to his living room.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself before following.

[divinaes-bookofsecrets]

can i get a spirit guide reading too? ): ive been dying to find my own..♎

Hi 👋 hello there pleased to meet you ♎

×JaxDessa×IS YOUR SPIRIT GUIDE CURRENTLY🐠🌏🐚

She is female inter-terrestrial Female-Sea Creature who visits middle Earth and thats about as close as she gets to you personal space other than being able to e a essence that communicates or manipulates your current or future circumstances.

As an etheric being, Mermaid is “out of time” even as magic. She can teach you to walk through different worlds safely. There are spaces and places where all time swirls together, opening infinite possibilities.

If Mermaid Spirit had a mantra, it would be “go with the flow.” Give yourself to the ebb and flow of Mermaid’s ties. This provides you with adaptability akin to how water takes on the shape of its container.

Lightworkers, such as myself, 🌐🐚🐠 believe that Mermaids may have come originally from Atlantis as shapeshifters. Afterward, they moved into the Etheric realm; this is the place wherein we can connect with them and learn their wisdom. Mermaid Medicine supports environmental health and the kingdom of the sea. If you are doing workings for the Earth, they are excellent helpmates.

Like the creature of myths, Mermaid Totems are drawn to water. The ocean, in particular, has healing and energizing qualities to it. The Mermaid Mage often works exclusively with the Water Element; and Jaxdessa is no different she happens to be an elite member of the aquatic Water Mystics in her colony in the ethereal realm of existence....

This Mer-Woman has been with you since your birth and will likely be with you until the END of time; but first let's dive fins deep into her bio and see what she's in your life for?

🦋🌏🦋Being female, the symbolism and meaning of the Mermaid ties to the Sacred Feminine, specifically Goddesses like Venus who rules love, and the Sea Goddesses like Calypso. This is not a woman who can be tamed. The fierce individuality among Mermaids is well known – so much so that they may resist settling down in any one spot. Here Mermaid Spirit appears linked heavily to uniqueness and non-conformity.

Are you looking for a way to express yourself? Trying to find clarity in love matters? Mermaid as a Spirit, Totem, and Power Animal can help! Mermaid teaches to find balance between the heart and mind! Delve deeply in Mermaid symbolism and meaning to find out how this animal spirit guide can aid, inspire, and balance you!

Mermaid Symbolism & Meaning

The myths of Mermaids (and mermen) are enchanting. The rich voice of the Mermaid calls out to us with symbolism and meaning that clarifies the role this Fantasy Spirit Guide plays in our lives. Many stories of the Mermaid tell of enticing beauty, raw sensuality, and humans who succumb to their haunting songs; in this, we see where Mermaid becomes an emblem of balancing our heart and head. We need to think clearly even in matters of love and lust. Additionally, there are times in our lives where its ok to dance to a different, magical tune. Individuality and non-conformity are definitely traits of the Mermaid.

Mermaid Omens: Mermaids seem to be fairly lucky in that, if in a generous mind, they might grant a wish. Having said that, sailors consider them a foreboding sign that the proverbial ship may never reach land again.

Etymology: Mermaid comes from the 14th century term mermayde, meaning Maid of the Sea. The Old English word was similar – merwif, or Water Witch.

Being female, the symbolism and meaning of the Mermaid ties to the Sacred Feminine, specifically Goddesses like Venus who rules love, and the Sea Goddesses like Calypso. This is not a woman who can be tamed. The fierce individuality among Mermaids is well known – so much so that they may resist settling down in any one spot. Here Mermaid Spirit appears linked heavily to uniqueness and non-conformity.

Reach out to Mermaid as a Power Animal any time you work with the element of water in ritual, meditations or magic. There are other goals for which Mermaid can help. When you need inspiration, particularly in song, she can release your self-consciousness, so you really sing from your heart. Regarding sexuality, she removes inhibitions that hold you back from true pleasure.

Mermaid represents transition and transmutation. When you face unique changes in your life, she can help steady the waters around you.

Finally, call to Mermaid when you struggle with your emotions or when your intuition seems to have dried up. Mermaid medicine heals broken hearts and discouragement, then goes on supporting your intuitive self so you can avoid the chaos.

Mermaid as a Celtic Animal Symbol

Celtic Tradition has a long-standing relationship with magical water creatures. Sprites and nymphs often lived nearby sacred falls and wells. The Mermaid, however, lives in the sea. In this culture, the symbolism and meaning of Mermaid is that of the feminine element of the Universe. It is powerful and mysterious. The image of the double-tailed Mermaid adorns many churches represents the ultimate Celtic goddess, Sheela-Na-Gig.

Native American Mermaid Symbolic Meanings

One story from the Mi’kmaq tribe tells of a bird who discovers a pond with five lovely women therein. He noted that they didn’t really look totally human, having silvery scaled skin and hair of seaweed. They adorned themselves with gifts of the sea, and the bottom half of their body was that of a fish.

The Passamaquoddy tales recount the story of how two girls became Mermaids (HeNwas). They went swimming in an area prohibited by their parents. They came to a spot where they were surrounded in slime. Their legs became snakes, their hair black and wearing silver bands on their arms and neck.

Sekani legend talks of the marriage between a human and a Mermaid. By the first winter, the Mermaid yearned for her ocean home. She begged for freedom. It wasn’t until the second winter, however, that the man complied so she could hunt for him. Each day she returned dutifully with food. They became happy and had seven children. After the last child, winter returned, and the man sadly broke a hole in the ice so she could return. When she began swimming, she realized her children could not follow her. She tried to work a spell, placing water on their lips and telling them to follow her. Sadly they drown and were never seen again.

Mermaid Dreams

Mermaids in dreams almost always represent femininity with all its lovely attributes. These dreams often reveal clues to your feminine side. This can be a happy omen unless you fear the emotions and insights Mermaid brings.

A Mermaid swimming in water may represent a girth of emotions that threaten to overwhelm. You feel as if you are going under and giving in to the pressures around. Find your life vest and get some help and support.

Far Eastern Mermaid Symbolic Meanings

There are numerous stories of Mermaids in China. Literature depicts her as similar to western Mermaids with the ability to cry pearls, shapeshift, foretell the future and craft magical items.

One story tells of a Mermaid who asked to stay with a human family for many days so she could weave and sell her cloth. In thanks for the human’s hospitality, she cried a container full of pearls and gave it to the family.

Mermaid Symbolic Meanings Key

Adaptability

Awareness

Discretion

Divination

Emotions

Innocence

Non-conformity

Psychic Aptitude

Shapeshifting

Uniqueness

Artists frequently depict Mermaids with a fish bone comb; this illustration came about due to sailors’ beliefs. If you had fish bones on board a ship, one could know what type of weather was coming through divination and take control of a storm to calm the winds. Another tool of the Mermaid is a mirror. This object has long been used for magic as a “looking glass” much like a crystal ball. Mirrors represent the moon and the intuitive self. Wrap these tools into a medicine bag, and you have future-telling abilities, far sight, sensitivity, and psychic aptitude.

WHAT DO MERMAIDS LOOK LIKE ?🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️

Traditional Mermaids have the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a fish. Images of Mermaids appear as early as ancient Babylon. Sailors considered images of Mermaids as a good luck charm, which is why figureheads were carved with Her image.

Being tied to the Water Element, Mermaid may take on the meaning of a source of life, cleansing, and renewal. Water can also be a fierce foe, with crashing waves that threaten to take us under into the unknown. The ancients found themselves inexplicably attracted to the Mermaid, while also being frightened of their powers.

These “Angels of the Sea” appear most frequently at dawn and dusk. These are “in between” times when the veil between worlds grows thin. Some say they only show themselves to people who have pure hearts, giving he Mermaid the symbolism of discretion and awareness.

WHAT DOES JAXDESSA LOOK LIKE?

Here....She is .. 🧜‍♀️ 7:47 PM(look up the numerology or 747 and 757 , 759)

Those are your times you'll be likely to sense her close to you...

When Jaxdessa swims with you, she brings you into the realm of Water, which also speaks of our emotions. You will be challenged to dig deep inside yourself to understand your fears and scars fully. Only by so doing can you truly heal. Throughout this journey, Jaxdessa offers love and support.The Mermaid animal spirit may also bear a message about reconnecting with your inner child and nature. The innocence and joy of the child dances with the beauty of the world. There is a richness in this relationship building process, and Mermaid is your guide...

When working with your Mermaid guide, it is essential that you remain true to yourself: She will not condone facades. Keep it real and be ready to swim.

Those born with Mermaid imprinted on their soul feel at one with nature. They see the wonders of the world with an appreciative eye, but also know that there is much more going on behind the proverbial curtain. The Mermaid constantly interacts and exchanges various feelings with others including joy, peace, and liveliness. The Mermaid’s language of love is an affirmation.

Greed doesn’t really measure in the mind of the Mermaid. They do not seek to possess others, but rather walk with them in mutual goals and dreams. The Mermaid’s inner child is strong and very active.

More...SpiritGuide bio

The Mermaid person has intense psychic abilities. You see spirits, fairies, Devas, Angels, and other Fantasy creatures easily. Some of the gifts you may have include clairvoyance and hypnotic allure

The Mermaid is an amazing empath, but this can also be her undoing. She feels everything. A crowded room can become totally overwhelming. Thankfully with time and practice, she can learn to detach from others feelings and consider them much as one might watch a movie. This protects the Mermaid from psychic overload and burnout. ((YOU MORE THAN LIKELY CSN RELATE TO THIS AND MOST OF THE MERMAID QUALITIES BECAUSE YOU ARE HER SHE IS YOU;; DO YOU SEE THESE SIMILARITIES YET?))

💘 💜 💛 💚 🧡 💘

Regarding relationships JaxDessa people may not settle down, but they certainly enjoy a good lover. There is raw, unbridled sexuality here that begs for attention. Because they are very private people, however, some of these desires go unfulfilled.

Spirit Guides 3 Messages for me today (current date Jan 11th 2021)

First message: #1

ANGEL NUMBER 833

Number 833 is a blend of the vibrations and energies of number 8 and number 3, with number 3 appearing twice, amplifying its influences of 3, and relating the the Master Number 33. Number 8 relates to self-confidence and personal authority, discernment, higher wisdom, achievement and successes, practicality, consideration, giving and receiving, and serving humanity. Number 8 is also the number of karma; the Universal Spiritual Law of Cause and Effect. Number 3 is the number of affability, enthusiasm, assistance and encouragement, communication and self-expression, growth, expansion and the principles of increase, manifesting, broad-minded thinking, talents and skills, and the energies of the Ascended Masters. Master Number 33 (the Master Teacher) relates to the attributes of the ‘healer’, compassion, blessings, the teacher of teachers, inspiration, honesty, discipline, bravery and courage.

Angel Number 833 is a powerful message and sign that you are being fully supported, surrounded and supported by your Spirit Guides ...It indicates that you are successfully manifesting prosperity and abundance in your life by the positive choices you have made and are currently making. Put your personal attributes and talents to good use and be open to receiving your well-earned rewards and blessings. Trust that all is going to Divine plan.  

Angel Number 833 brings a powerful message of love and support, encouragement and guidance, and your SpiritGuide(s) ask that you maintain a positive attitude and outlook to continue manifesting positive abundance into your life. Remember that what you put out to the Universe comes back to you, so ensure that you use your personal power and talents in a positive manner, always.

Angel Number 833 tells you to take ownership of your own life and discover your dreams. Use your personal creativity in constructive and productive ways, and put your skills and talents to work to achieve your heart’s desires. You get what you expect so make sure you radiate positive energies and expect the highest and best in return. Trust that you will find success in your chosen endeavours.

  

Number 833 relates to number 5 (8+3+3=14, 1+4=5) and Angel Number 5.

Now look up # 5 see what it is ? Thats your next mission .🧜‍♀️.

Second Message : WHAT I NEED TO HEAR RIGHT THIS MOMENT ...

If you were to bite into a piece of cake and think it's awful because of certain flavors or a lack of some ingredient, it would not be pleasant in the moment. Even so, the experience could be beneficial to you later on. Suppose you wanted to bake a special cake for someone. The experience you had with the unappetizing cake might inspire you to do things differently. Every bad experience has an upside, Dear Jaxdessas darling, even if it doesn't seem so in the moment. Remember that today if something doesn't seem ideal.

Third Message: 🌟 ⭐ 💫 🌠 🌃 ✨ 🌟 ♎ January 11 - January 17

A project that is in the final stage of development could get a really big boost this week, dear Jaxdessas darling. This may come out of left field, and the help you need may come from someone you least expected and perhaps you don't even like, but don't cut off your nose to spite your face. This is essential assistance, and you should be grateful for it. Success is possible with a work- or money-related venture that didn't seem to be going very well all that long ago. This is due to your persistence and your optimistic attitude, so let this be a lesson for future endeavors. Some venture that you have put a lot of time and energy into may wind up hitting a brick wall very soon. You may want to proceed anyway, and you may want to figure out how many ways there are to get over the wall that stands between you and success. But before you invest that time, think about whether this will be worth the effort in the end. There could be something else coming along that could take its place, and that could be easier and more rewarding in the end.

&&&

A creak you hear in the dark could be the settling of an old house, or it could be a burglar creeping on the stairs. Loud voices you hear coming in through the windows could be your neighbors arguing, or it could be those same neighbors sharing good news. The lamp going out on your nightstand could be a sign that electricity has shut down, or it could mean you need a new bulb. There is often more than one way to interpret something, and usually there's nothing to worry about. Remember that today, Taurus, if you are tempted to follow worrisome thoughts. It's more likely there's nothing to worry about.

FINAL THOUGHTS?.. THE WISE ADVICE FROM YOUR MYSTIC MERMAID 🧜‍♀️

Step 1) Define Your Core Values

Know what is most important to you by determining your values for your professional and personal life.

These are the principles that are the foundation for your priorities, choices, actions, and behaviors.

You can start by looking at this list of values.

Step 2: Practice the habits.

Pick one or two from this list of positive character traits above to practice for several weeks.

Write down the actions you want to take or the behaviors you define that reflect this trait, and implement them in your daily life and interactions.

Wear a rubber band on your wrist or create other reminders to help you practice these good qualities.

Step 3: Find people with good character.

Surround yourself with people who reflect the character traits you want to embrace.

They will inspire and motivate you to build these traits in yourself.

Try to avoid people who have a weak character and make bad decisions.

Step 5: Take some risks.

Start taking small actions toward a goal or value that involves some level of risk.

When you face the possibility of failure and challenge yourself toward success, you become mentally and emotionally stronger and more committed to your principles.

Step 6: Stretch yourself.

Create high standards and big goals for yourself.

Expect the best of yourself and constantly work toward that, even though you will have setbacks and occasional failures.

Every stretch builds your confidence and knowledge that your positive character traits are getting stronger.

Step 7: Commit to self-improvement.

Realize that building your character is a life-long endeavor.

It is something that is practiced both in the minutiae and the defining moments of your life.

There will be times you step up to the character traits you embrace and other times you falter.

Thank You for taking the time to meet your Spirit Guide today have a nice day 😊 ✨ 💛 ☺ 💗

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Prologue

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 2178 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo Note: I'm taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won't leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song "Hearts Without Chains."

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law can't help but resent Monkey D. Luffy for offering a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law meandered down the street, the docked Polar Tang and the setting sun at his back and his hands stuffed in his pockets, to meet Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin for dinner. The island they’d docked at to refuel and restock wasn’t a major port by any means, but it had enough of a commercial district that the four teens had been able to find the food and supplies that they needed.

They had split up into pairs to tackle their supply lists, with Law and Bepo tackling food and medical supplies while Shachi and Penguin had stayed in the small port to secure fuel and have a mechanic give the Tang a once-over. Once the necessities had been procured and dropped off at the ship, the four went their separate ways for a few hours of shore leave before planning to meet for dinner.

Law, for his part, had spent most of his time in the local bookstore, browsing for new medical texts to add to his growing collection as he continued his education as ship’s doctor. After making a few purchases, he’d ended up staying on the Tang, reading one of his new books until it was time to meet the other three.

Since leaving Swallow Island a year earlier—officially the Heart Pirates, complete with Jolly Roger and everything—Law had been unable to shake the feeling of eyes between his shoulder blades whenever the Tang surfaced or docked. Though Doflamingo had been named a Warlord and had recently taken over the throne of a kingdom in the New World while Law’s crew remained in the North Blue, he knew his old boss had eyes everywhere. When they weren’t submerged, he couldn’t help looking to the sky or over his shoulder for a telltale flash of pink. The other three knew some of the history there—they’d witnessed enough of his nightmares that he’d eventually filled in some of the gaps—but they could never fully understand Law’s anxiousness at surfacing when sailing underwater provided the safest passage.

Law shook his head, his shoulders slumping further as he walked. The source of his nightmares was four years buried in the snow and halfway across the world. His friends were constantly trying to get him to lighten up and drop his paranoia—and Law supposed they had a point, not that he’d admit that to them. Though those three years on Swallow Island had provided a measure of stability Law hadn’t felt since before Lami had collapsed at the festival, he hadn’t been able to shake the restlessness under his skin, the feeling of unfinished business that haunted him, so had jumped at the chance to set sail.

Once he reached the town, Law headed right for the inn they'd decided to meet at, having noted its location earlier when he’d gone to the bookstore. He opened the door and stepped inside, looking around to see if any of the other three had arrived yet. He froze, immediately sensing that something was off. There were diners at about half the tables, but it took Law a moment to realize that none of them were eating or drinking. In fact, none of them were talking or moving at all. A heavy silence weighed the room down.

Swallowing, Law scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo at a table in the center of the room—odd, as they usually opted for corner tables to avoid notice. And they were all sitting on the same side of the table, facing the door.

Facing Law.

Alarm bells rang in Law’s head as he noticed Shachi’s and Penguin’s pale features and wide eyes as they met Law’s gaze. Bepo’s hackles were up. None of them had moved as Law entered. Law opened his mouth, but words died ashy on his tongue as the figure sitting across from them rose to his impossibly tall height and turned, pink feather coat swishing with the movement.

No…

Doflamingo grinned. “Law,” he crooned, throwing his arms out wide. “It’s so good to see you, my boy.”

Law was frozen to the spot, terror warring with rage as his heart pounded in his chest. His throat constricted. He couldn’t be here. He was supposed to be in Dressrosa in the New World, not at a small-town inn on a no-name island in the North Blue.

Law wasn’t ready to face him yet.

“What, no greeting for your boss after all this time?” Doflamingo lifted a finger, and strings wrapped around Law’s arms and chest, pulling him forward into the arms of his nightmare. Law stiffened as Doflamingo’s arms surrounded him.

After an agonizingly long moment, Doflamingo let Law go and stepped back, hands still on Law’s shoulders as he looked the teen up and down, drinking him in. Law fought the urge to fidget.

“It does my heart good to see you alive and healthy, Law.” A large hand cupped his chin and turned his face so Doflamingo could examine him. “No spots. You truly cured yourself of the incurable.”

Law swallowed as the hand dropped from his face. “W-why are you here?” he finally managed, hating the shakiness to his voice.

Doflamingo looked surprised at the question. “For you, of course.” He gestured back towards Law’s friends. “I was just getting acquainted with the rest of your crew. Come, sit.”

Law was given no choice in the matter, as the strings around his upper body pulled him to the free chair adjacent to both Doflamingo and the other three. Law awkwardly sat, and the strings fell away once he’d settled himself. Law blinked in surprise. A show of good faith?

He glanced at Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo and saw the naked fear in their eyes. The man in front of them was a Warlord and far more powerful than any of them. It was one thing to hear Law talk about Doflamingo; it was another entirely to face the man in person. He nodded minutely to them before turning his attention back to Doflamingo.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, pleased that his voice had steadied. He tried not to think about the other people in the room who would overhear the entire conversation since they were being prevented from speaking. He could only concentrate on the danger directly in front of him.

Doflamingo waved a hand toward the bar before leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground for any news of the Ope Ope no Mi since you disappeared, Law. Imagine my surprise when, about a year ago, rumors started spreading about a young pirate in the North Blue using that very Fruit.”

That was exactly what Law had been worried about. He’d just hoped Doflamingo’s new status as Warlord and king would keep him too busy to come back to the North Blue.

The bartender came forward jerkily, clearly controlled by strings, with a decanter of wine. She poured a glass for Doflamingo and set the bottle down on the table before retreating. The clang of the glass on the wooden table echoed through the eerily quiet dining room.

“I confess, it was difficult getting eyes on that intriguing ship of yours,” Doflamingo went on, unconcerned with—or, more likely, enjoying—the room’s mood, “but I have my ways.”

“And you came personally?”

“Of course.” Doflamingo leaned forward, his large frame encroaching on Law’s space without even trying. He picked up the glass and took a long draught of wine before speaking once more. “After four years, don’t you think it’s time to come home, Law? It’s time to take your rightful place back with the Family.”

Law wanted to snarl that he knew how Doflamingo treated his family, that he knew what the man really wanted him for, that he’d never return to the Family after Minion Island—but the presence of his friends stayed his tongue. Doflamingo didn’t know that Law had heard his exchange with Cora-san that night, and something told Law it should stay that way, so he kept his features neutral.

“Why now?”

Doflamingo’s grin turned sharp. “I need the best at my side to rule. It was no idle promise to train you to become my second-in-command. The Heart seat waits for you, Law.”

Law’s breath hitched at the reference to the seat Cora-san had held. The seat that was empty because Doflamingo had killed Cora-san for saving Law. The seat that Cora-san tried to protect Law from taking, though Law hadn’t realized exactly what Cora-san was protecting him from until it was too late. If Law went back to the Family now, Cora-san’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.

Doflamingo was eyeing Law, and Law realized he’d clenched his hands into fists. He dropped them into his lap, and when he opened his hands, they revealed bloody, crescent-shaped wounds on his palms.

“And,” Law asked slowly, “if I were to say no?”

The atmosphere at the table, already tense, curdled at Law’s words. It was as though the temperature had suddenly dropped as Doflamingo replied, “That would be… unwise.” The man’s grip on his wine glass tightened dangerously.

Law clenched his jaw but said nothing, eyes boring a hole into the table in front of him. He could feel his friends practically vibrating in their anxiety next to him.

“Why,” the low voice continued, “would you refuse to return to your Family, Law?”

“Maybe there’s a reason I never came back,” Law ground out.

Law jumped in spite of himself at the sound of shattering glass. He whipped his gaze over to see wine spilled over Doflamingo’s hand and glass shards scattered across the table and floor.

“My brother,” Doflamingo growled, flicking wine from his fingers. “It seems I was right to worry that he poisoned your mind.”

“Cora-san saved me,” Law hissed, long-held rage uncurling in his chest and refusing to be suppressed when faced with its target. “I am alive today because of him.”

“He was a traitor, and he took you from where you belong,” Doflamingo retorted coldly as the bartender returned with rags and a broom and dustpan. She was shaking as she cleaned up the spilled wine around the tense gathering at the center of the captive room. Once the mess was cleaned up, Doflamingo dismissed her with a wave of his hand, never once looking at her.

“It’s time to come home, Law.”

His frigid tone brooked no argument, but Law had never been particularly good at taking orders. He opened his mouth, but Doflamingo cut him off with a lifted finger and three gasps. Law’s gaze flew to his friends, and his eyes widened. Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo each had a single string looped around his neck.

Fuck. Law knew that string could kill his friends before he could form a Room to protect them. Doflamingo would follow through with his threat, too. Law had seen it happen many times in his time with the Family.

“I told you, defying me would be unwise, Law.”

“They have nothing to do with this.”

“You were the one to bring them into this,” Doflamingo countered. “When you made them part of your crew.”

Law’s mind spun, running through one scenario after another but not coming up with one that didn’t end with his friends dead or him reclaimed by the Family—or both. After several tense moments, Law’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“If I return with you, they will be unharmed?”

“Law, n—” Penguin’s objection was cut off by the tightening of the string, drawing blood. He grimaced, and Law shook his head. The danger his friends were in now was entirely Law’s fault. If going back to the Family could save them, then he’d do what he had to.

“If you do as you are told, they will be unharmed,” Doflamingo agreed.

Law took a breath, eyes shutting briefly as the fight went out of him. “Fine.”

“What’s that?” Now the bastard was just gloating.

“I’ll come,” Law gritted out. “Now let them go.”

The strings fell away from Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo’s throats, and they let out relieved breaths. The tightness in Law’s chest loosened the tiniest bit at the sight, though mostly he just felt hollow as what he’d agreed to started to sink in.

“Excellent. We leave for Dressrosa in the morning.” Doflamingo’s lips twitched. “I have an eternal pose for Dressrosa you four can use.”

Law jerked his gaze back to Doflamingo. “What? No. That wasn’t the agreement. I agreed to come back to the Family, so let them go.”

“The agreement,” Doflamingo corrected, “was that as long as you do what you’re told, Law, your friends will be unharmed.”

Law’s stomach sank as he realized the trap he’d walked into in his emotional state. He’d just damned Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo along with himself.

“Consider their lives collateral for your good behavior.” He turned to the other three, who were watching the exchange in shock. “Welcome to the Donquixote Pirates.”

Next Chapter

[coraxaviary]

Halcyon

SHIFTY POWERS   X   READER

Preface:

My first actual x reader work. It was actually very fun to write except for my mini-breakdown when I couldn’t figure out how to force my fingers to type the word “kiss.” 

Summary: There is the forest, and an indescribable feeling of vitality. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the source of life is your proximity to Shifty.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: None.

.

“Hey, Shifty,” you say, leaning heavily into his side, the light of the full moon making the night bright and luminary. Despite the relative dimness and landscape of shadows, you can still make out the shine of stars reflected in the sheen of Shifty’s eyes. He blinks, and then looks at you. You’re pressing close and for a fearful second you’re afraid he’ll pull back. He doesn’t, just answers.

“Yeah?” he says. The hard angular line of his shoulder is jutting into your arm, but you don’t mind it, just take the moment for how it is and try not to think too hard about any of the days before Zell am See, and maybe the days after, where you will be thrown into the boundless, bloodsoaked scatter-spray of islands that jut barely out of the Pacific ocean, on the other side of the globe.

Some of the memories have taken on a golden tint – like Toccoa, a happy medium between civilian mundanity and desperation-tinged fraternity. Toccoa is not that hard to think about. You remember when Shifty was smiling and laughing often, untouched by death and hunger in the good times.

“You ever think about how things woulda turned out if this war never happened?”

Shifty pauses for a second to look down at you, and then looks back out over the still lake, glassy surface only bothered occasionally by the meandering wind. The cicadas here are rising and swelling with the black of night. It must be late now, and both of you should head inside to get some sleep before you start training. Training to go to war – back to war, Speirs had phrased it, as if you’d somehow left.

The heavenly tint of Austria is deceiving, but no one ever forgets why they are here in the grassy knolls of a country that needed liberating, basking in the blue sky and the green lake and the emeraldine forests, where there are deer aplenty, bird in the air, and the deep, deep smell of earthy magic. It is enchanting, but it is not home. It does not possess the same familiarity of a shared language, American pavement, and the feeling of settlement and antique hope.

You wonder whether or not the American hope is a scam sold by the remnants of your fathers’ generation – a cheap marketing scheme to get as many young people as possible to sign up for a few years of shelling, killing, smoking, bleeding, and running. It’s not really important at this moment, though, so you refuse to ask Shifty something as heartbreaking as the dissolution of the American Dream in the face of world conflict.

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “I reckon’ everybody does.” He says it in that Southern, wild twang that settles in your bones as a souvenir of home, even though you’re not even from anywhere remotely near Virginia, or that small speck of town Shifty speaks so nostalgically about.

You move around a little bit, trying to make his shoulder less sharp in your side. It’s never been soft, because Shifty is muscled and unyielding like the other men, despite his rather gentle exterior.

“You think we’d have met?” you ask, and the question is loaded. What you really mean is to dig for any type of affection in Shifty, that old crush coming back with a vengeance now that you haven’t heard German shells in a month. You know he doesn’t really sense the underlying implication, the I wish we’d met in the calm part of the century, at least you don’t think. You tell yourself that the extra pause and the flick of his eyes to your face for a half-second longer is just Shifty being simultaneously thoughtful and languid and earnest like he always is.

“No, I wouldn’t wager. Not much of a chance,” he says briefly before fidgeting in his lap with some loose part of his uniform, as if some part of the answer bothers him. It bothers you, too, because you can’t have peace and friendship at the same time in any situation. And it’s sad, because you might even choose peace over meeting Easy, just for the chance to never have to do any of this… this rending, firing, and staunching ever.

“Hmm,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say. Shifty laughs emptily and you risk laying your head on his collarbone – something you haven’t done since you huddled in a foxhole together.

It sounds kind of weird to think, but you can hear him smiling in the dark: just the small sound of lips parting and saliva against teeth. You think it’s sad that you’ll probably never see that smile resurface when you’re done crawling up the sandy beaches under Japanese fire, but you smile too.

If his hand brushes against your waist, as if he wants to hold you but decides against it, neither of you acknowledge it.

~

He’s more like a fox to you than anything else, you realize, as you watch him with those sharp eyes and cheekbones and the set of his lips, always looking steady but piercing over the sight of his M-1. He waves at you to be still, and you stop walking, dappled glare of the filtering sun shining bright and bothersome in your eyes. Shifty is on the trail of something you can’t identify, and his look of concentration is almost animalistic as he fixates on the branches and bothered foliage. He looks at home here in the trees and leaves – illuminated with a yellow glow that makes his eyes bronze.

He nods and signals for you to mirror his line of approach, and you aim wide, the familiarity of flanking somehow overtaking the foreignness of hunting a deer. Suddenly, the both of you break into a clearing and there is a large doe standing in the center, eyes wide and ears pricked. It hears something – you don’t want to admit it, but maybe it’s your quiet gasp – and it bolts through the trees, leaving no trace.

Shifty’s eyes silently fade back from that wild look – the passion of hunting, you suppose – and he looks back at you. It’s a little disappointing to see him so earthly after getting used to hunter-Shifty for a while, the one that makes you think he might have some blood of Artemis in him or something, but you tell yourself that you are running away with strange metaphors.

“Sorry,” you try, knowing Shifty will try to blame it on himself.

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand, clearly disappointed but trying not to show it. “It’s alright.”

“I probably scared it,” you say.

Shifty doesn’t debate, but he looks down at his gun and back into the wilds, debating pursuit. He shakes his head. “Don’t be feelin’ bad,” he says. “I don’t really know if I’d feel right killin’ it anyway. What with all the food we got now.”

You both pause to process that statement. There is plentiful food in the kitchens, courtesy of the town, the farms, and the unhindered supply lines. It’s true, and you nod.

“We headin’ back?” you ask, and Shifty looks out, almost longingly, back into the greenery. You pause. “We don’t have to. I’m sure no one’s gonna miss us,” you amend, brushing your hair out of the way. You didn’t remember to tie it this time, and it spills out in neglected strands that you are constantly blowing out of your face. Shifty turns his head out of the corner of your eye.

“You think we can stay out for another hour?” he says, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, slinging your rifle back onto your shoulder. “Where d’ya wanna go?”

“Dunno yet,” he says, strangely avoiding your glance. Maybe he wants to ask you something and he doesn’t feel very comfortable about it, but you pretend all is well. Is he uncomfortable with you particularly? The possibility is dismaying, and you think that maybe you were staring for too long. “We can walk around,” he finally says, nodding at some invisible path he’s managed to pick out in the undergrowth.

You follow, watching Shifty meander with grace through the leaves. You are not so deft with plants, and are left ducking and wading and crashing through matter despite the gap Shifty is making, just a foot or so ahead. He pushes a stalk aside and unknowingly lets it go, and it whips back to lash your face.

“Ow,” you yelp, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. You’re not irritated, just surprised.

“What happened?” says Shifty almost immediately, turning around and moving a step closer. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, watching him come closer through your fingers.

Shifty reaches out and takes ahold of your wrists, pulling them away from your face, and he looks intently at the place where you are rubbing. “Oh, was that me?” he says, leaning in, and you realize just how close the two of you are, his fingers around your arms and almost touching your uniform where you hold your hands up to your chest.

Shifty is not really naive, but you are convinced that he is absolutely childlike in certain moments of concentration, like now. You can hear his breathing quite clearly over the shifting of foliage, and his eyes slowly lift to yours, only realizing now how you have started to hold your breath. You feel your cheeks start to heat, and you watch Shifty look a little harder at you with gradual realization.

There is silence between you, and only your eyes watching each other. Your heart is pounding in your throat as you try desperately to divine Shifty’s thoughts through his wide, keen eyes.

“It’s gonna leave a little bit of a mark,” he murmurs quietly, almost whispering, because it doesn’t take much volume for the words to go between you two, with the inches of separation. And very cautiously, like you’ll crack under him, he removes one of his hands from your wrists and reaches over the space, to brush very gently at your nose.

You aren’t holding your breath now, but you feel as if you are breathing very loudly, because it’s all you can hear with the pounding of your heart in your head. His eyes flick downwards slightly, over your face, and you don’t want to dare to hope anything. But in a move that seems daring for Shifty – because he’s never sudden with you, at least not on purpose – he surges forward and presses his lips to yours.

It’s sudden and it’s brief, but you break apart with wide eyes and panting breaths. You extricate your arms from his grasp, and reach up and over his shoulders to slide your hands into his hair, pressing your forehead to his and breathing in the scent of the forest – of life, of leaves, and of sun. His hands go to your waist; he smiles first, and it’s bright and magnetic, somehow even more warm than the filtering sunlight.

You smile without care, just for the moment, and you stay in the moment for as long as you can, just enjoying. You think, for a moment, that in this small slice of time, it is possible to choose both love and peace, even if that peace is fleeting.

And then you lean in for another kiss, surrounded by the living fairytale forest of Austria, and encompassed, all around, with the vitality of nature that is wild and free.

.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 17

They break camp shortly after true dawn.

It’s later than Erich wanted, but they’re not that far behind schedule.

(Not that they really have a schedule anymore.)

(Or anyone expecting them at the other end of their march…)

(No.)

(Focus.)

It feels odd to be abandoning camp the way they are, with all the tents still pitched and crates still scattered around, ruined and discarded equipment left behind, and with nothing but the essentials on their backs and stretchers for the men too injured to keep up. The whole place is booby trapped, rigged with explosives and wires and anything else the men could come up with on such short notice; it certainly isn’t perfect and there’s no guarantee that they’ll catch anyone with it, but at least they tried.

There’s nothing for them to return to and they all know it.

They’ve abandoned the field, abandoned their duty, and now they have to live with the consequences, whatever those may be.

They’re carrying enough food and supplies for a week’s march and that’s it. If they get delayed, if they have to take a longer route, if something — anything — goes wrong—

(No.)

(Focus.)

(They’ll make it.)

Both battalions settle into the steady, driving pace that time and emergencies have ground into their bones, and Alexis keeps pace without sign of strain. She’s probably using her inner power to bolster her strength, given that marching is not exactly a skill their people develop. Not to the extent he and his men have, old hands at marching for survival as they are.

On his other side, Urahara also keeps pace, though it’s obvious that he’s surprised by the speed in which they’re moving. Erich doesn’t know the man’s abilities well enough to decide if Urahara is having to bolster his own strength like Alexis is, but… he suspects that’s the case.

(Give a people a method of fast travel and of course they’ll discard the forced march as soon as possible.)

(If Reapers ever had a reason to march anywhere…)

(The scattered, decentralized ‘divisions’ Urahara spoke of makes him doubt that.)

“You know what your decision will make our Clan think,” Alexis murmurs as soon as they’ve all settled into the pace and are making good time through the forest.

Erich grimaces at her words and resists the urge to glance over at Urahara yet again; he does know what other Quincy will think, seeing him with the start of a power-weave bond connecting him to the man. They’re going to think he’s known Urahara for months, that they’ve made peace with each other and found a tentative balance and that Erich isn’t terrified of the Reaper he’s inviting into their home. It’s… it’s a convenient misconception, even if he hadn’t been thinking of it when he did it, but…

He doesn’t know how well he can uphold that misconception, because it’s a lie, because he is terrified, because the sight of Urahara standing over him is petrifying no matter how prepared he is, but…

But he can’t undo it, can’t take it back, because he needs to carry Benihime and this… this is the only way he can.

“I know,” he settles on, resigned-accepting-tired in a way that’s become all too familiar.

(He doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be resigned-accepting-tired anymore.)

(He’s lost so much, forced himself on for so long, that he… he doesn’t know if he can stop anymore.)

(Urahara is just one more weight to carry, one more responsibility to juggle, but…)

Erich forces his breathing to match his pace. Forces his mind to focus on the physical. Forces himself to let go, because… because…

Because Urahara is more than just a weight, more than just a source of stress. The dual beats of trust-wonder-loyalty from soulbond and power-weave are intoxicating, the lack of pain he’s in is breathtaking, and the memory of stories traded well into the depths of night is… subtler. Kinder. Humanizing when he’d never thought, never expected, to find any sort of common ground with a Reaper of all people.

(He wonders what that says about himself.)

(Wonders if he even wants to know.)

(Decides he probably doesn’t.)

Alexis gives him a concerned look and Urahara brushes concern-question-worry against his senses, both of them reacting to his twisting emotions, and…

It’s hard not to simply shake his head and deny anything being wrong, but… but they all know better than that.

“It’ll be alright,” he breathes, more for himself than for them, and reaches through his bonds to brush exhaustion-acceptance-hope against both of them as his true answer.

(Only a little longer.)

(Just one more march and then he can rest.)

(He can make it.)

(He will make it.)

(He has to.)

***

They keep moving, pushing on through the morning and into the early afternoon, stopping to rest and reconnoiter every few hours.

They’ve been lucky so far according to the scouts; the enemy hasn’t penetrated this far into the forests yet, still cautious-wary-uncertain after nearly a week of nighttime strikes and units unexpectedly dying. There’s no sign of the enemy advancing and no sign of active mages, which is all Erich can hope for at the moment.

That will change, he knows that will change, but for now…

For now he keeps them moving. Keeps pushing through the daylight for as long as his men can stand. Calls for breaks when he judges them needed. Orders them on when he senses they’ve recovered. Shares his spiritual power with Alexis when her own starts to flag, and almost, almost reaches out to do the same to Urahara, but…

Urahara is determination-focus-loyalty through their bond, the power tying them together unwavering, and Erich… Erich doesn’t know how to ask, how to offer, doesn’t know if it would even be accepted…

(Doesn’t know if he can make himself share…)

(Shame gnaws at his stomach for the doubt.)

(That’s his soulmate…)

(He should… should be able to…)

Erich grits his teeth and turns his attention to the land in front of them.

(He’ll handle it later.)

They make good time, for all that they’re exhausted and are carrying wounded with them.

(He’s given them hope, given them something they want, and they’re willing to push themselves to reach it.)

(They’re all good men, and he’s… he’s glad that Alexis arrived, that she offered Rerugen lands and hospitality when he could not.)

(None of them deserve the horrors their country has subjected them to.)

They march until the sun begins to set, shadows lengthening across the ground, a greedy darkness that quickly starts to obscure the hazards beneath their feet. Too much longer and they’ll be marching in impenetrable darkness, forced to slow their pace to a crawl even if they take the risk of lighting their way.

(Not that any of them want to.)

(Bad enough they’re marching away from an active combat zone.)

(Worse if they attract other attention along the way.)

(For all that man has conquered magic, there are still wild places amongst the world that are better left… undisturbed.)

Urahara stumbles and Erich automatically reaches out, grasping the man’s elbow to steady him, and—

Urahara freezes. Stumbles again, almost dragging them both down—

Erich huffs and drags Urahara up instead. “Fool,” he mutters as he tugs Urahara close, practically shoving power through their soulbond to refill Urahara’s own reserves. Now that he’s paying attention, he can feel how low Urahara strength is, and the shame-guilt-distress of earlier roars back to the fore; if only he had paid attention, if only he had reached out—

“Maa, maa, you really don’t have to! I—”

“You aren’t trained for this,” Erich snaps, then swallows back the other, equally sharp words that want to escape and looks back to catch Schwarz’s attention instead. “Major Schwarz!” he calls out, sensing the way the men around them perk up at his voice and knowing they’ll be pleased by his next words. “Call a halt, we’ve gone far enough for today.”

“Yes sir!” Schwarz replies, too disciplined to sound relieved but clearly feeling it all the same.

Erich considers the darkening forest around them for a moment, then adds, “Keep the fires to a minimum, just enough to heat some food, and then put them out again. Let’s not tempt fate.”

“Of course not, sir! I’ll pass the message along.”

Content with the knowledge that his men will be fine, Erich scans the area, looking for a place to rest for the night; a forest floor isn’t his preferred place to sleep — there’s very little comfort to be found in nature, if he’s being honest — but he’s slept in worse places.

As his men begin to fall out and set up their own small camps, Erich decides on a spot beneath an ancient, towering tree and pulls Urahara along with him, Alexis following in their wake.

“Sit down,” he orders Urahara as he lets go of the man, then turns away before Urahara can respond. He drops his pack with a groan and stretches, trying to work the kinks out of his spine before he starts setting up their minimal ‘camp’. Usually he’d just set up with Schwarz or Degurechaff, but… he’s not sure if he should this time, not sure where exactly the line is when dragging two soulmates around—

“The men are settling in, sir,” Schwarz reports, startling Erich from his thoughts. “Scouts are still reporting no sign of the enemy.”

“Good,” Erich says as he crouches down to get a closer look at the ground. It’s well padded with leaf litter at least, so they won’t have to sleep directly on the ground, and he doesn’t see any evidence of an insect nest nearby either. “Keep the watch close to camp tonight, and make sure everyone knows to keep the light to a minimum once the food’s been heated up.”

Schwarz watches him work for a moment, then glances past him to the gathering darkness beyond their makeshift camp. “Understood, sir, I’ll make sure the men know. I doubt the enemy will want to advance through that, anyway.”

“Not many people do,” Erich says with a faint smile, glancing up at Schwarz as he does. “Is there anything else, Major?”

“No, sir! I’ll return with some food when it’s ready.”

Erich watches Schwarz leave, then resumes setting up their minimal ‘camp’ as best he can; there’s little he can do besides making sure there aren’t any sticks or stones under where he plans to set their bedrolls, but anything is better than nothing. And without a fire or a tent, they’re going to want as much padding between them and the ground as possible.

“Here,” Alexis says as she kicks more leaves towards him. “Think we should do a bit of searching ourselves?” she asks softly as she crouches down next to him. “We could combine it with refilling his reserves.”

He sighs and scrubs the back of his wrist across his forehead, shame-embarrassment-guilt curdling his stomach at the reminder of what he let happen. “That’s… probably wise,” he murmurs as he casts a quick glance over his shoulder at Urahara, then looks away the instant Urahara meets his gaze. “That… I shouldn’t have let that happen…”

Alexis snorts and bumps her shoulder into his, brushing warmth-reassurance-confidence against his senses as she does. “We’re still feeling each other out, remember.”

“But I almost…!”

“And if his strength had given out before night, you would have corrected it,” she says firmly, leaning into his side. “I know you, Erich. No matter how you feel about him, he’s currently a man under your protection, and you would not have left him to suffer.”

Erich grimaces and wipes the debris from his hands, uncertain if he agrees with Alexis’ assessment; he’d entirely tuned Urahara out until the very last moment when he’d reached out and caught the man. If that wasn’t evidence that he would leave the man to suffer, he wasn’t sure what was.

(He could have done more.)

(Should have done more.)

(Just like he’d done for Alexis throughout the day…!)

Alexis gives him a sidelong look, then shrugs and turns away. “Urahara,” she calls, then gestures to the two packs sitting within arm’s reach of the man. “Can you throw us the bedrolls?” she asks, pronouncing her words as clearly and distinctly as she can.

“Bedrolls?” Urahara repeats carefully, a frown creeping in as he gives the packs a long, hard look. But before Erich can try to translate, understanding seems to dawn on Urahara’s face and he begins unlacing the bedrolls tied to each pack and tosses them one by one to Alexis. “Bedrolls,” he repeats again, a tiny, pleased grin on his face.

Alexis grins back at him as she catches the three bundles — one from Alexis’ pack and two from Erich’s — and hands them off to Erich for him to set up. “Good,” she praises, making a touch of color rise in Urahara’s cheeks as the man ducks his head.

It’s the work of moments to set all three of them up atop the padding of leaf litter, and Erich takes a moment to brush a hand over the bottom edge of each, setting up a tiny heating ward to slowly warm the interiors over the next few hours.

(He rarely takes the risk, but… Urahara’s being dealing with the Hollows in the area.)

(It should be safe to do this.)

(Hopefully…)

Erich sighs and pushes himself to his feet, the offers his hand to Alexis to help her up. “Food should be ready soon, then we’ll meditate,” he says as he crosses the small distance to Urahara and starts to sit, only to grimace as Benihime gets in the way. With a thought he adjusts the harness keeping her in place, giving them both a bit more freedom so her hilt isn’t jabbing into his hip. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, trying to dredge up the courage he needs to say— “I’m sorry.”

Leaves crunch as Urahara shifts position, confusion-awkwardness-uncertainty trickling through their paired bonds as he struggles for words. “I don’t understand,” he says eventually. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I helped Alexis and not you,” Erich explains as best he can.

Urahara huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect you to support two people the entire day. I only know a handful of people with reserves that deep, and neither of us qualify.”

Erich purses his lips and gives Urahara a considering look, uncertain if Urahara is just being polite or if the man legitimately doesn’t know that Quincy can draw power from the world around them. “It doesn’t matter how shallow or deep my reserves are,” he settles on at last. “The fact remains that I should have assisted you and I did not. Will you let me make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me…?” Urahara repeats in confusion, then shakes his head and asks, “How?”

“We’ll…” Erich grimaces, scrambling for the Akitsugo word for ‘meditate’ and turning up blank. He wishes Degurachaff was around to translate, but she’s probably off checking the camp and the men, and he has no idea when her rounds will be finished. “Meditate?” he tries in Imperial, only to sigh when Urahara shakes his head in incomprehension. “Sorry. I don’t know the word. But… sharing power? The three of us together. And tomorrow I will help keep your reserves steady.”

Urahara shakes his head again. “I don’t want you stressing yourself. I can manage.”

“Will your reserves be full again in the morning?” Erich asks pointedly, knowing that he hadn’t done much more than keep Urahara from collapsing from exhaustion earlier. Urahara’s awkward glance down is all he needs to know the truth: a single night won’t be enough. “Then trust me. Let me do this. You will see.”

He tries not to squirm under the sharp, assessing look Urahara gives him at that, then breathes out a quiet sigh when the man finally nods.

“We can try it,” Urahara agrees, their connection awash with trust-acceptance-loyalty once again. “But if I sense that you’re beginning to falter, we end it then and there.”

Erich smiles faintly at Urahara’s words. “Trust me,” he repeats, amused by the exasperated look that earns him.

Urahara will learn the truth soon enough.

(Hopefully this doesn’t backfire on him.)

(No.)

(He can’t think that way.)

(It will be fine.)

(Everything will be fine.)

(It has to be…)

(It has to be.)

[dreamweaversofficial]

Year Two, Chapter Four

The outgoing second years are waved off without fanfare, apart from a rather dramatic moment in which Garen pretends he’s going to lock himself into a closet and stay instead of going home. Lyric appreciates the theatrics, but she also knows he’s going to earn himself a scolding from multiple sources.

“If you don’t go now, they might search your stuff,” she points out casually. “And that means no contraband when you get back next year.”

“Neither of us want that,” Garen promises solemnly, climbing out of the closet, and gives her a handshake. “I’ll see you next year, partner.”

“Same to you, cowboy,” Lyric replies. He picks up his suitcase and backpack and, with a last grin, ducks out their dorm room to freedom. She anticipates many a photo of him failing at some form of magical sport or another upon his return.

After spending a moment eyeing the now half empty set of rooms, idly braiding her hair, and humming a pop song that’s been stuck in her head for a solid twenty minutes, Lyric pokes her neck out the door and scans the hallway. All the doors but one have been closed and presumably locked for the summer break.

Lyric contemplates her stash of remaining snacks, plucks one from the steadily shrinking pile, and voyages to the other open door.

“Knock knock,” she offers, leaning against the doorway.

“For the love of magic, Devon, I still don’t have your missing sock,” Reema snarls from her room, emerging into the commons. “Oh. Even worse.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who brought you food,” Lyric counters primly. She tosses the package onto the coffee table, which has been propped up on its side and wedged under the hammock. The cushions have been pulled from the couch and set on the ground, creating a fort.

Lyric looks at the frankenstein fort. “I wouldn’t have expected you two to be the kind of people that enjoyed… stuff like this.”

“We have fun sometimes, what a foreign concept for you goody-two-shoes students.”

“Wow, okay, goodbye,” Lyric says, spinning on her heel and speed-walking back to her room. It’s not that the comment was particularly devastating, or that the urge to retort was the farthest thing from her mind, but if she’s going to be living with this girl and only this girl (apart from the headmaster), they should at least not be openly hostile.

From down the hall, she can hear the loud crinkle of packaging being torn open.

There’s a quiet beeping coming from inside her room, and Lyric walks over hesitantly. The source of the unobtrusive noise, her contacter, is pulsing with a soft light. She scoops it up and holds it in front of her face to receive the message.

“Lyric,” Headmaster greets her warmly. “I know break doesn’t technically start until tomorrow, but I thought I’d give you and Reema some warning.”

“Warning?” Lyric repeats hesitantly.

“I’d like to give the two of you a project this time,” the woman explains. “Considering you’ll be third years soon. Have you given much thought to picking your track? We’ll need the selections from students in a month or two in order to organize classes.”

“I - have,” Lyric admits, biting her lip, “though I’d like more time to consider?”

“Of course. In the meantime, I’d like the two of you to develop new skills - typically, this is an assignment given to older students, but we have complete confidence in your abilities. We’d like for you to create something new with your magic. Something like an inventive spell, or plan of attack, or some form of research.”

“Like… together?”

“Yes, collaboration is key,” Headmaster says, distracted, her gaze drawn off screen. “So sorry, but I simply must go. There’s something requiring my immediate attention.”

There are far off-sounding screams.

“Tell Reema, would you?” With a final wave, the Headmaster hangs up, screen going dark and warm.

Lyric kind of wants to stab a man.

Just because she would like to get along with the person she’s stuck with for the summer doesn’t mean she wants to spend any more time in her presence than necessary. And creating a spell? Sweet magic. My one true weak point.

Okay, she has more than one weak point.

Turning her dread-filled gaze back toward the hallway, Lyric slips out of her room and then out of her dorm all together. At some point, she’s going to have to move into the third year dorms. Maybe she can find one that's flame retardant. Maybe you can stop setting things on fire, the tiny Garen in her head suggests. Maybe you can bring back a fire extinguisher, she mentally retorts, and promptly decides she’s losing her mind. Maybe having someone else around for the summer isn’t the worst thing, if she’s already talking to - herself? Does that count?

With that in mind, Lyric’s feet again guide her to Reema’s dorm. At least this time there’s some form of valid excuse. Does this count as a valid excuse? Is she going to be blown up in the midst of her explanation simply because she mentions the Headmaster? At least it would be an interesting way to go out.

“What’re you doing?”

“I accept death,” Lyric blurts, does an about-face, and shakes her head. “No, I meant -”

Reema leans against her doorway and smirks. “You offered.”

Lyric works her mouth for a few moments, grumbling. Her eyes zero in on Reema’s hands, clutched tight around crumpled packaging. Reema’s own gaze follows.

“You offered,” she repeats, a bit softer, a bit more defensive.

“I did,” Lyric agrees, the set of her mouth relaxing in response.

“... so?” Reema presses, folding her arms. “I assume you have a reason, unless you’re more active about your death wish than the usual thirteen year old.”

“I’m almost fourteen, actually,” Lyric replies absently, “I think.”

The other girl’s face twitches almost imperceptibly at the ‘I think’, and Lyric snaps out of the strangeness at the (least not outright) unhostile words. “We’re supposed to work on making a spell together. Or something.”

“I would’ve thought you’d have exact specifications ready,” Reema snarks, ring finger twining and untwining with her pinky.

Lyric watches the movement. “Do you - need them?”

“No,” Reema retorts quickly, “since I’m not doing it anyway.”

“You want a cookie cutter definition,” Lyric continues, smile tickling the corners of her mouth, sticky smoothness of chapstick wearing away from the movement. “Or a packet with a procedure. How’re you going to cleverly rebel if there are no instructions?”

“Open ended responses,” Reema hisses, throwing up her hands. She stalks back into her dorm, and Lyric doesn’t follow. The semi-admission is enough of an intrusion without being in her space.

“We’re gonna work on this!” Lyric calls after her. Reema uses a pulse of shadow magic to slam the door in her face, and Lyric leaves laughing. She’s faced bigger challenges.

.

.

.

When she returns the next day, bored of scribbling abstract drawings of Mentality, Reema’s door is firmly closed. Lyric knocks. Waits. Knocks again. Hums a little ditty under her breath.

“I know you’re in there,” she announces. “I can see the main room’s light coming from under the door.”

There’s more silence, then muffled grumbling, then smooth sliding-click noise of the door opening. Lyric, put together in her neatly done uniform, beams into the room. She needs the collaboration points, even if she has to wheedle Reema into doing it. Reema, in her torn jeans and paint-covered shirt that she must have packed from home, glares back. Clearly she doesn’t feel the same.

“Hey, partner,” Lyric greets her. Reema makes to slam the door closed again, but Lyric shoves her foot in and heroically avoids emitting a pain-filled whine. “Ready to do magic?”

“I do magic every day of my life,” Reema deadpans, scowling down at the offending foot.

Smile becoming somewhat more manic, Lyric sidesteps this comment and the door. Without crossing the threshold, she shoves it open a bit further.

“You love magic,” she says firmly.

“You love magic,” Reema contradicts, releasing the door and stalking away. “Not all of us are… you.”

“Can we just make an attempt?” Lyric shouts after her. “Think of how impressive it would be - to get in their good graces? Maybe they’d be more willing to compromise if you were!”

Reema stops in her tracks.

“You won’t regret this,” Lyric promises as the other girl spins on her heel and marches out the door, almost nailing her in the face as she goes.

Reema rolls her eyes. “I already do.”

Three explosions, an immense amount of screaming, and two casualties in the form of textbooks later, they’re staring down at a… substance. It’s glowing white, maintaining ridgid form in the shape of a circle. There are wisps of smoke coming off of its smooth shell.

“What in the name of Helena the Wise is that,” Reema demands, prodding it with a pencil.

“I don’t know!” Lyric wails. “I was trying to create a light source!”

She stares. “Why would you do that if we can already control light?”

Leg moving up and now as if exercise will reduce her stress, Lyric looks away. “I wanted to make something for people who can’t do magic. It always feels so… inspiring, seeing something implausible.”

“There is such a thing as electricity,” Reema points out, grudgingly.

“It doesn’t feel the same.” Lyric insists. Wordlessly, Reema reaches out and pulls the ball of magic towards herself, rolling it between her hands. Smoke leaks through her fingers at a steady rate, though the orb itself shows no signs of shrinking or dissipating. She teases at the curling mist with plucking motions as if playing an instrument.

“What does it feel like to you?” Lyric asks.

Reema stares down at her hands. Barely audible, she murmurs, “Like smoothing out clean fabric.”

It’s not the wondrous expression of delight Lyric feels when she does magic, like she’s filling up with breath and her concentration is so pure that she can do anything. It’s like singing a hard song and having to concentrate on nailing all the notes. Something in which she feels ethereal, like the light itself, instead of something so… blatantly ordinary.

Ordinary, something Lyric has spent her life trying to escape. Reema’s apparent longing for it is foreign.

It’s far, far too early to be asking about Reema’s family, but the question hovers on her lips like gossamer. Lyric snaps them closed when she feels them parting. Whatever truce the two of them have, whatever fragile agreement that prevents them from going at each other’s throats, breaking it seems unfathomable.

“Well,” Lyric says, stupidly, “we made something.”

Reema stares down at the orb. “I guess. If you could call this something.”

“I just meant we could turn it in to the Headmaster,” Lyric defends, stung.

“Or -” Reema licks her lips, gaze still stuck on their creation, and her fingers tighten infinitesimally. “Or we could try again. I mean, this is kind of shoddy.”

Lyric swallows in turn. “I suppose we could. To appease your pride.”

Reema looks up from the orb at last, makes eye contact, flicks away again, lands on the book spread in front of them. “We’d better get to work, then. Otherwise, this could take all summer.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Lyric agrees, and ignores the hesitant smiles spreading across their faces.

[things2mustdo]

Last year I gave up my Krav Maga self-defense training when I was in the middle of changing jobs. I never picked it back up.

While I stay quite busy splitting my time between my three main sources of income, last month I began to feel like something was missing. I was getting too comfortable with my daily routine– bored, too.

So I decided to start training in martial arts again, this time signing up for a Muay Thai gym. It’s already reinvigorated my sense of drive across other areas of my life. Here are the top 5 reasons you should start a new hobby today.

1. It breaks up your current routine

As humans we search for a sense of regularity. We often find it in our daily activities.

For example, my days typically consist of working from home in the morning, primarily on my computer, lifting weights, and then training a few clients in the late afternoon and evening. I enjoy this routine, but flying on autopilot has its dangers.

You aren’t as sharp. Everything is too calculated and expected. By training  in Muay Thai every other day I have something new to look forward to. It also has changed my lifting routine, to accommodate for the added exercise and fatigue.

2. It pushes you outside of your comfort zone

When I stepped into the Muay Thai gym for the first time I didn’t know what to expect. It was a lot different than the place I used to train Krav Maga at– more serious, less friendly even.

The seasoned fighters looked at me with a sense of superiority. And they were superior. But rather than backing down, being nervous, and quitting after one day– I took this as a challenge.

I was far from comfortable training that day. I wasn’t able to execute crisp Thai kicks or jump rope like a boss.  But being too comfortable can be a bad thing. You’ll cease to explore new opportunities and your growth with falter across the board.

By throwing yourself at something new, that you’re inexperienced at, you’ll be pushed outside of your comfort zone. This is a good thing. You must stay accustomed to living at the edge of your comfort zone to ensure steady growth and progress.

3. You’ll learn new skills

This point is obvious. By taking Muay Thai, I’ll learn a host of new fighting skills.

4. It gives you a new area to set goals for

The habit of setting and achieving goals is the most important habit a man can build. By entering into a new hobby, you now have a whole new area of your life that where you can practice setting and accomplishing goals.

For my Muay Thai experience I’ll start small. My first goal is to be able to execute a Thai kick with my left and have it feel as natural as with my right. I’ll work my way up to bigger goals as I improve.

This is the beauty of starting at something from scratch. At first you’ll set one small goal after another. This cycle will build momentum, and before you know it, you’ll no longer be a novice. More importantly, this momentum will carry over to other areas of your life and give you the confidence to crush more and bigger goals.

5. You’ll meet new people

Another obvious point. When you try something new, you’re bound to meet new people. Whether these turn out to be man friends or cute girls depends on the hobby you choose, but either way meeting new people is always a positive thing.

Potential Hobbies

I’ll leave you with a short list of potential hobbies for you to try today:

1. Martial arts/self-defense: Muay Thai, Brazilian Ju-Jitsu, Krav Maga 2. Cooking 3. Salsa Dancing 4. Lifting weights (you should already be doing this) 5. Yoga 6. Writing 7. Mountain Biking

Check out my new #1 Amazon Bestseller, The Book of Alpha. It’s full of direct, actionable advice for the man who wants to better himself.

Read Next: 5 Reasons To Learn Krav Maga

Krav Maga is a self-defense system created based upon the street fighting skills of Hungarian-Israeli martial artist Imi Lichtenfeld. He used it to defend the Jewish quarter where he lived against fascist groups in the 1930s. Later, in the 40s he moved to Israel and began to offer combat training lessons to what later became the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces). The IDF has used, and continued to develop the system to this day.

The basic principle of Krav Maga is inflicting maximum damage to the opponent(s) in order to end the fight as quickly as possible. Brutal counter-attacks using your most effective tool (knees, elbows, weapons, etc.) to target your opponent’s weakest area (neck, throat, eyes, knees, ribs, solar plexus, groin, etc.) are the focus. For this reason, it is not a competitive martial arts, like Brazilian Ju-Jitsu or Muay Thai, because people would die.

When I heard that Jason Bourne uses Krav Maga (which I later found out was, in fact, not true) and that it teach gun defenses (i.e. the most alpha technique ever), I immediately signed up. I just finished 6 months of training. It is indeed awesome. Here are the top 5 reasons you should sign up for classes today:

1. You will become a badass.

Nothing boosts confidence and testosterone levels like knowing you are legitimately prepared for whatever. Very few people have any formal self-defense or fight training. As a result, in tense situations where most people lose it, you will keep your cool. If something ever does go down, you’re ready.

2. It is practical and intuitive.

Most martial arts are strongly based in ritual, and as a result often incorporate different forms or strange techniques. Krav is different. Brutal efficiency is the only concern. For this reason, many of the strikes and defenses utilize the same basic motion (e.g. the straight punch and many of the defenses against punches and knives). Moreover, all of the techniques are built upon the body’s natural instincts (e.g. bringing your hands to your neck during a choke defense).

3. It is great exercise.

Between the drills themselves and the conditioning, you are guaranteed a hell of a workout. Three minutes of throwing punches or knee strikes is exhausting. So is three minutes of burpees. Side note: The level 1 Krav test was the single most intense physical event of my life. Seriously. Three hours straight of punches, kicks, choke defenses, and groundwork is no joke. I consider myself to be is great shape and I almost vomited on multiple occasions.

4. It relieves stress.

Sure, so do most workouts, but pounding a kicking shield, or throwing your partner to the floor is a whole different ball game.

5. It is the perfect hobby.

I came to my first class with no idea how to throw a proper punch. After a couple weeks I thought I was Jason Bourne. After a couple months I realized that I wasn’t. After 6 months I look back and I am amazed at the progress I made. Experiencing this progress is extremely satisfying.

Clearly taking up Krav Maga has many benefits. One word of caution – make sure you train somewhere with certified, experienced instructors. I have seen locations that turn it into a strictly cardio exercise experience, with little focus on technique – not good. So go take advantage of that free first class, now.

Check out my new #1 Amazon Bestseller, The Book of Alpha. It’s full of direct, actionable advice for the man who wants to better himself.

Read More: The Only 2 Things A Man Can Depend On

I was born alone and I will die alone. I’ve got to do what’s right for me and not live my life the way anybody else wants it.

– Curtis Jackson

If life were a board game, you’d be the game piece.

In reality, life isn’t much different from a game. There isn’t a defined end goal, however. You get to choose it. It could be power and respect. It could simply be happiness. Or it could be more specific: money or women, for example. Whatever it is, you choose.

In a board game there are strict limitations. In life, we’re encouraged to follow laws and social norms, but for the most part we’re free to do as we choose. There are infinite paths that will take you to any goal imaginable.

Along the way you’ll deal with many people. Some will help you, others won’t. You can grow to depend on the ones that help you, but that always incurs a risk. A family member can die. A close friend can betray you. Your girl can leave you. How will you react when one of these things happens?

Playing with others is a necessary part of the game. But never depend on them. Doing so will ultimately lead to failure and disappointment.

Accept that the only two things you can ever count on are your body and your mind– your game piece. You must tend to these things like a gardener tends to his plants. Focus on improving them and facilitating their health and growth and you’ll always put yourself in the best position to win.

If some tragedy befalls a dependent man, he may sink into depression. He might feel like he’s lost all hope of accomplishing his mission in life. He might give up.

A truly independant man, however, will not. He’s prepared, on some level, for each of these tragedies. He doesn’t have a specific game plan for when his best friend betrays him, per se. But he’s put himself in a good position, both physically and mentally, that he can weather the storm. Not only can he weather the storm, but he can keep his cool and make the fine adjustments needed to get the ship back on course.

Below I’ll offer the basic tasks one must do to protect his game piece, and see it thrive.

1. Your Body

If you take care of your body, it will be strong and healthy. It will also help foster a potent mind. Yes, there’s always the rare risk of contracting some form of cancer or another deadly disease, but if you follow the steps below, you all but rule these things out.

1. Eat good food

I won’t go into specifics, because everyone’s diet will, and should, be different.

But if you focus your diet around meat, fruits, and vegetables your body will flourish. Meat provides the protein and amino acids your body needs to grow. The fruits and vegetables provide the fiber and vitamins you need to function over the long run. A man with a solid diet will respond better to stress, and therefore be more self reliant.

2. Lift weights

In short, lifting weights develops a strong nervous, muscular, and skeletal system. These are the three main systems that run your body. An efficient body is like a strong ship– it will weather the storm better and be far more dependable in your journey.

The most brutally simple and effective lifting program is StrongLifts 5×5. It focuses on building strength across the five most basic movements humans are meant to do (squat, deadlift,  bench press, row, and overhead press).

2. Your Mind

You must also foster a capable mind. One that can stand on it’s own two feet. The strongest body won’t accomplish anything without an equally impressive mind.

1. Read books

Reading a book is like absorbing another man’s lifelong wisdom. The more books you read, the more you’ll know and the wiser you’ll be. Blogs are okay, but the average quality of a blog post is decidedly lower than what you find in a book. People simply put more time, effort, and value into books.

The knowledge you acquire in books also contributes to your self reliance. It offers quality wisdom and advice– that can’t be taken away from you.

2. Meditate

Meditation is the act of being comfortable being alone. When you meditate, you remove all of the outside noise. All of the thoughts, gossip, music, news, women, men, business, sex– everything. You are left with only yourself.

Many men can’t stand meditation because they’ve grown dependant on all of this external stimulation. They aren’t comfortable in their own skin. And thus they’ve lost their edge, their self reliance.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 2/8

Ghosts are met, friends are made, D&D is planned and Patton remains a fashion icon.

Pairings (Chapter specific now because this is how we do): Sibling-y Moceit, Platonic Loceit (eventual romance), platonic intruality (eventual queerplatonic), sibling-y Analogical, brotherly Creativitwins (Remrom don’t interact please)

Read on AO3

Word count: 2869

Warnings: Dissociative episode, minor panic attack, bullying implied, foster system mention, small description of cafeteria food (I think that’s it? tell me if there’s more)

Other notes: Ask me questions about this au! I like those! (I also take writing prompts)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out, the guy in a skirt’s name is Janus, like the Roman god, not Janice, like the stereotypical seventies name. This is something Logan only knows because apparently he said Janus’s name wrong, and the other felt the need to correct him. Does this happen frequently? Or is this just another one of those ‘Logan-Things’? He doesn’t really know the difference with new people, and Halry-Dove secondary is just full of those at the moment.

Well, Janus is in his next class, AP Chemistry, so he may as well get to know him better, so that the ‘new person’ designation can be removed, for better or for worse.

(please please please be better, he doesn’t know if he could go through that again)

The spotify playlist in his ear has gotten to the next ad cycle, and the ad voices are so filtered and saturated, that he has to take his earbud out. Logan’s twin bops his shoulder when he takes off the blue earbud, and shrugs a shoulder.

Are you okay? Virgil’s asking. He thinks he probably is. This much nervousness is normal because he can calm himself and think about other things to calm himself. He is, most probably, fine. Nodding to Virgil, who pulls the corner of his mouth up into a grin, Logan enters the chemistry classroom and his brother keeps walking to the next room- Creative Writing, with that one red person that was in front of him on the bus.

The chemistry classroom is almost exactly what he expected it to be, albeit a little less full than he thought. He’s not early, so he knows that this is the full class strength of about five. He rationalises this as the fact that Haley-Dove Secondary is a small school and will therefore not have many chemistry pupils.

Janus is there, occupying a seat with two extra chairs on either side, clearly meant for other people. However, the other people in this class have all sat down, and Nico Flores is already on one side. Logan stands, having no clue what to do.

“Logan? Logan?” he snaps awake from his ‘Think-Logan’ state and tries to find the source of the voice. It’s Janus, who’s pointing to the unoccupied seat on his left, motioning for him to sit down. Is this a trick?

This could be like before. Don’t.

That part of his mind has a point. But-

This could not be that.

The second part of Logan’s brain is louder. He sits next to Janus.

“Hi Logan!” says Nico, opening faer pencil case and digging around for their hexagonal drawing tool. Right. Organic Chemistry. He’d forgotten that. Logan doesn’t think he packed it, but he may as well check.

Nope, he did not pack the hexagonal drawing tool. For all intents and purposes, he is fucked. He hears the slamming locker from outside.

Suddenly, there’s a tap on his shoulder. He manages to resist the urge to flinch, and looks over at who tapped him. It was Janus, but Nico’s looking at him with a...friendly (?) expression, like the ones Virgil used to show to everyone when they were kids. Janus, however, has something in his hand- a hexagonal drawing tool. An extra, as shown by the fact that he has another, a bit more used than the one being offered to him, but a hexagonal drawing tool nonetheless.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and Nico looks at him as if he just said that he planned to inhale the sun someday. (that would be interesting, but he would die so no) Janus nods, a bit slowly, but it seems genuine. Mom usually thinks that kind of thing is, and she’s almost always right when it comes to this kind of thing. So Logan takes the hexagonal drawing tool, just barely not stuttering through a ‘thanks’.

Throughout the class, everyone seems to refer to their hexagonal drawing tools as ‘hexa’s’ or simply ‘tools’. Since both of these phrases are simpler to say than ‘hexagonal drawing tool’, Logan ends up sticking with tools. Janus keeps complaining, however, of an itch in the back of his neck coming from the seat behind him. Nico says the same, however not as frequently. Logan doesn’t feel it himself, though he refrains bringing up that it might be because both of them are wearing clothings which touches the backs of their necks, like the back of Janus’s cape (?) and Nico’s pink turtleneck. This goes on for most of the lecture, though the complaints taper out by the last ten minutes of the hour.

Most of the class had left the room by the end of the class period, though he and Janus had volunteered to stay behind to clear up the supplies and wipe the board. That’s when it happened.

“Hh...hisss-- HI-HissssSSss”

Janus had whipped his head around the second he heard the noise, cape swishing along with him and making the strange ‘ffwpph’ noise. Logan himself only turned around once Janus’s eyes widened, indicating that the object of his surprise was a little behind Logan, and a bit to his left.

Except, there wasn’t anything there. Not really. Not in a way that there should be something.

Instead, it looked like what the world did near a fire- a bit swirly, as if rippling in the air. Like what would happen if TV static had something resembling a physical form, except maybe without the unsettling ant feeling.

It kept hissing, like the TV static Logan hates so much, and based on what Janus’s facial expression looks like, both of them hate it. And neither of them know what to do, so they bolt. Well, it’s more of Janus snapping out of his stupor, grabbing Logan’s wrist and sprinting out into the hallway, but they manage to exit nonetheless.

It doesn’t really catch up to him, not really, not until Janus is waving with a shaky smile and getting off his stop, gripping a boy in a suspender skirt’s hand tightly enough for that hand to become even paler, and Virgil’s booped his arm for the fifth time in one bus ride asking if he’s okay, do you want water, how’re you feeling? and answering monosyllabically to each inquiry.

It really doesn’t hit him until he’s home and in his pyjamas frantically googling what he saw, because he saw it it wasn’t fake someone else did too and--

there’s a hand, Virgil’s hand, entering is vision and--

Wiping away a tear off of his face. Logan was apparently crying, then. Not a new sensation, but a markedly unpleasant one, either way. Virgil looks scared again, like he did back when--

No. Not today.

Logan takes his twin’s hand, tries to make it a hard touch that Virgil can feel, rather than something intangible. Logan’s head starts to clear with the more gentle touches- Virgil’s hand on his face, later on top of the one gripping his own, Mom running her seamstress hands through his hair and Amma Holding him from behind, keeping him upright, steady.

Why was Janus so nice?

Why would he lend Logan the tool? Does he want something?

What was that?

Was he dreaming?

Has he finally gone mad?

Was it real?

Logan doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and he hates the not-knowing so much because what if he makes a mistake? What if something goes wrong and he messes it up because he didn’t know enough, wasn’t good enough--

“Lo, what happened?” he asks, and Logan wants to tell him, but he’s scared that maybe he’ll be wrong, that Virgil will think it’s false. Virgil moves his hands up from Logan's, to his shoulders.

Wait. This entire town is a hive for supernatural activity.

The hands on shoulders becomes a hug.

Virgil’s best friend is a witch. Why wouldn’t his twin believe him?

You are worthy, Logan. You are worthy. You are worthy.

Logan steels himself. “I saw something, today.” he says, catching Virgil’s interest immediately.

“There was a...something? In the chemistry room? And...it hissed.” His twin furrows his eyebrows- not disbelieving, but contemplating, like he does with that tabletop game he likes so much. He’s thinking about it, properly.

Finally, Virgil looks up and bonks his forehead against Logan’s. “I’ll talk to Hildi and see if she knows anything, okay?”

Logan nods freverently, flopping onto the other side of the bed. Virgil laughs a bit, and pulls the duvet over Logan’s curled form, and Logan grins right back. It’s not at full strength like it’d be if he was happy, per se, but it’s getting there for sure.

Virgil smiles a bit wider at his twin’s face, and huddles right next to him. “Hey, can I tell you about the red guy in creative writing? His name’s Roman.” and he does. Roman seems nice- Logan hopes that that’s how Janus could be, maybe.

Right now Logan doesn’t need to worry about maybe-friends or scary things in chemistry classrooms, because his twin’s right here. What could possibly be there to worry about?

…

Patton thinks that this first week of school is going pretty well, thanks! His classes are all with people he knows at least to a surface level, nobody’s been outright mean so far (or even mildly mean, which is...new) and Janus made a new friend!

(Patton’s always been good at making friends, just not keeping them) (He always needs to leave, eventually. Who could want a fucked-up kid who’ll age out in a few years anyway?)

So all things considered, classes have been good and Remy and Emile have been nice so far! (even though that could change, stop getting COMFORTABLE!) Patton’s new friend, Remus, has also been pretty cool, even if he’s different from any other friends that Patton has had in his life.

Case in point, right now.

“Pat! Pat! Didja know that some frogs can FREEZE in the winter?” Is the conversation opener that Remus thinks is a good idea, dashing over to Patton’s side as soon as he has his food in tray and trying to get seated without his skirt flying up. It’s a pink poodle skirt today, with dark blue constellations on it, and it’s till his mid-shins, so Patton had thought that he wouldn’t need leggings or something.

Well, as Janus seems to be communicating through his eyes, bad luck.

Patton finally manages to get his skirt into the seat-slot and sit down, and puts up his smiley face again to face Remus, who almost seems to be vibrating. It makes the smile on his face a lot less fake-feeling.

“Yeah, Remus, I did. Even if they’re blood doesn’t freeze over, they’re mostly frozen for months!” and Remus visibly lights up again, glad to have engaged in his tangent. Does nobody else ask him this kind of thing?

The other people at the table end up joining in the conversation, though diverting it a bit to stay out of ‘disturbing’ and more into ‘mildly strange’. Logan, one of the other new kids, is talking to Janus about the whole point of the Trolley Problem, which Patton makes a point to look up once he gets back. He wants to know. Virgil and Remus’s brother, Roman, seem to be bickering as usual (whatever this new ‘usual’ is), but without any bite.

Lunch is going fine, whiling away the minutes eating school food which looks like it was made out of clay but tastes fine, at least.

“Okay, so when I came out, I realised that on the off-chance of me ever having a kid, I’d give them the most neutral name possible, so that it wouldn’t be too big of a deal.” started Virgil.

“Yeah, same here- I’ve never had to come out, but I just think that it’s such a terrible idea to subject anyone to hating their name, especially as a kid!” that’s him.

The conversation continues that way for a while, flitting from topic to topic, until Roman makes a joke ragging on the fact that Voltron took the definition of Paladin too far to make sense anymore.

“Hey! Why do paladins wear chainmail?” oh hey, Patton knows this one! It’s from some random D&D jokes page.

“Because it’s hole-y armor!” he replies, and immediately Virgil’s looking at the two of them like he has an idea. Logan’s not necessarily exasperated, per se, but he's clearly seen that look a couple of times before.

“Do you guys play Dungeons and Dragons?” Virgil asks, already fishing through his backpack for a notebook, half-eaten tray forgotten. Roman nods vehemently, like he was just looking for a reason for this conversation to come up, but not before hesitating a bit too long, deer-in-headlights style. It takes Remus elbowing his brother to calm him down and nod.

Virgil and Janus haven’t seemed to notice, but Logan’s looking at Roman strangely. Before Patton can say anything, Virgil’s found a blank page in his book and is jotting things down while talking really quickly, eyes gleaming like Remus’s when he finds something particularly gross to scar the entire Advanced Bio class (including Patton) for life. This one is more excited than scheme-y though.

“Okay so sincewealllike--”

“Slow down, Jack and Sullen, we have no idea what you’re saying.” quips Roman, and Virgil seems to gain a lot more awareness at that, proceeding to slow his roll, the gleam in his eyes never fading.

“Okay, Janus, Remus Patton- do any of you know what D&D is?” Patton nods, making himself grin a little wider, Remus sighs in affirmative, and Janus replies with a simple ‘‘Yes, and?”, while trying to look dignified, even though he’s bouncing his knee like mad. It’s adorable, really. Virgil starts grinning, something that Patton’s never seen and automatically makes his heart soar a bit like Flappy Bird.

“Okay, so we all know D&D and probably can learn how to play it, right? Right. How about we tried playing a campaign together?”

Roman squeals and Remus whoops, chattering on about not having played in ages and looking for a way to get back into it. Logan smiles, pushing his glasses up as Janus slowly unfurls his grin as they all make their affirmations. Virgil is positively bouncing in place now, eyebags no longer the most prominent thing on his face in comparison to that smile, radiant and making everything around patton feel less fake.

Virgil waits till he’s calmed down a bir before glancing at his (frankly incomprehensible, what is that handwriting?) notebook, and starts throwing around ideas with his twin, Janus and Roman, who are perking up more and more by the second, while Patton and Remus lean a bit closer, feeling slightly amused. It’s a dangerous thing to think about, that he and Janus could actually become close to these people.

Nothing lasts forever, anyway.

…

Janus didn’t really want to be back in the chemistry room, especially after everything that had gone down last time, but he was a highschooler and subject to the construct of education and schedule-keeping like everyone else, so it didn’t seem like he had a choice.

Well, at least he had Logan, who had (maybe? probably.) become his friend in the past week of school, for at least however long Jnaus had here. He wasn’t a good kid, so probably not long.

Either way, chemistry class was going as normal. There was still an itch on the back of his neck, and Logan felt it too, sitting where Nico was last time, while faer sat where Logan did. Class went normally, with the two of them trying to keep their cool while class happened and hopefully able to get out before anything else happened (again). It made sense, that with his luck, that would not work out.

Once again, everyone else left as soon as the bell rang, and Logan and Janus were the only people left to clean up. Brilliant. Absolutely peachy. Delightful. Maybe he should stop snarking so much. Nah, it’s fine.

So he and Logan were clearing out supplies, packing their own things and wiping the board, hoping to god that the hissing thing wouldn’t come back, when they heard a voice.

“Hello?” What the fuck.

Logan looks back first, this time and sees the static thing again. Except, it’s not? Well, it is, but it’s like the static took on the form of a person, maybe a teenager from what the two of them can make out. And that teenager? Looks very, very confused. What a mood.

With Logan a little it frozen into place, it’s Janus who eventually walks up to the thing (person? What is his life anymore?), and pauses.

“Hello.” but there’s no reply.

“You heard that, right?” Janus turns back to look at Logan, only to see him holding up his phone, presumably recording the whole ordeal. Logan widens his eyes and starts grinning, the way he did when he showed Janus his tool, spray-painted blue by his mom and Virgil.

“Virgil is about to have such a ball with this.” he relies, a bit awestruck, and sends it to his twin, and someone named Hildi. On that note…

What the fuck is Janus supposed to tell Patton?