#never fought (outside of very minor disagreements)

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

It is just me and my complicated relationship with c!Phil against the world.

[giannan04]

Hiii, can you please write a Yandere San X reader fanfic? Maybe where he’s her therapist and he gets her to break up with her bf because he’s been obsessed with her? 🙏🏽make it dark pleaseee? Tyy in advance

Thanks for the request!💕🫶🏻I hope you like it, I tried to fit everything in the best I could 🥹🫶🏻I hope it’s dark enough for you 👀

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Pairing: Therapist Yandere! Choi San x afab! Reader, Mention of Jung Wooyoung X afab! Reader

Genre: Yandere; thriller

Warnings: Manipulation, mentions of a toxic relationship, slight smut, character death, very slight gore.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 🔞

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Dr. San Choi's reputation preceded him. He was the therapist everyone seemed to swear by. Patients praised his ability to get results where others failed, and he was known for treating some of the most complex mental health cases in the city. When your relationship with Wooyoung started having problems, your best friend Mingi suggested therapy. You were hesitant at first, but when he specifically recommended Dr. Choi, someone who had worked wonders for him, you decided to give it a try.

“Trust me, San’s the real deal,” Mingi said, leaning in with that serious look he gets when he really means something. “He helped me when I was going through one of the darkest periods in my life. If anyone’s gonna help you figure out what’s going on, it’s him.”

That’s how you found yourself meeting with San in his warmly lit office multiple times a week. From the start, Dr.Choi had a way of making you feel truly heard, like every word you said mattered. He never rushed through sessions and even went as far as canceling other appointments just so you could have more time when you needed it. He never told you that you were wrong, no matter how messy or complicated your relationship issues sounded. Instead, he listened with that same calm, reassuring expression that made you feel understood and validated. Over time, he even gave you his home address, offering to meet there if you ever needed to talk outside of office hours. You didn’t think much of it—you just figured he was incredibly dedicated to his work and to helping you through this tough time.

Over the weeks, San subtly guided you into believing that your relationship was toxic, that Wooyoung was holding you back. He never said it outright; instead, he asked questions that made you second-guess everything. "Do you feel like you're truly happy?" he'd ask, his voice gentle but insistent. "Sometimes, we stay in situations because we're afraid of being alone, not because they're right for us." Little by little, you found yourself reexamining your relationship with Wooyoung.

San’s advice seemed to play on repeat whenever you fought with Wooyoung. The tension between you two had been getting worse for months, with minor disagreements escalating into major arguments. Every time you argued with Wooyoung, you couldn’t shake the feeling that San’s words were right there with you. Even though part of you still hoped things could improve, the truth was hard to ignore: deep down, you knew San was right, there was no saving your relationship. It felt like there was no way to fix what had become broken, despite your hopes that things could somehow get better.

One night, after another argument left you in tears, you found yourself at San's apartment instead of your own. You needed someone to talk to, and San was the first person you could think of. You had caught Wooyoung with another girl, and you didn’t want to be alone. You needed to let everything out. Your heart was broken, and you know the only person you could talk to was San. You hadn't planned on it, but he'd always offered you to come to his place,and before you knew it, there you were, standing outside his front door.

When San opened the door, pleasantly surprised to see you. His brows furrowed as he glanced at his watch. “Y/N? What happened? It’s almost midnight,” he asked, concern replacing the confusion in his eyes as he noticed that you were sobbing. Tears covered your face, and you were so hurt and anxious that you were shaking. San’s heart broke seeing you like that. Without hesitation, his expression softened, and he gently took your trembling hand. “Come in,” he said, his voice soothing as he pulled you into the safety of his home.

You sat on his couch, trying to hold back more tears as you told him everything—how you found Wooyoung with another girl, how you felt like your relationship was falling apart. San listened intently, never taking his eyes off you, nodding with genuine empathy. When you finished, San leaned in closer, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “You deserve so much better than this, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and comforting. “You deserve someone who would never even think of hurting you like that. Someone who truly values you.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his words and the way his hand lingered on your face, the soft caress sending a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. His touch was tender yet firm, making you feel safe; cared for. You haven’t felt that way in a while. You caught your breath as he leaned in just a bit closer, his other hand gently resting on your thigh, as if waiting for your permission. “I can show you what it feels like to be treated right,” he murmured, his gaze darkening with desire. Despite the hesitation you felt at the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny the lust and attraction you felt in that moment. You leaned into his touch, your body responding before your thoughts could catch up.

His lips were dangerously close now, and there was no more space between you. All the tension, all the confusion, all the heartbreak you were feeling—everything faded away as his hands slid further up your skirt, placing his hands on your ass, pulling you into him with a gentle firmness that felt intoxicating. “Let me take care of you, Y/N,” San whispered, his words making your body tingle and heart flutter. And before you could even think to resist, you found yourself nodding, your body betraying you. In your head, you knew this was wrong, but your body felt so right. And you needed, no, deserved to be loved and cared for. It was about damn time.

“I want you, San… I need you. Please, take care of me,” you told him softly, never looking away from his brown almond-shaped eyes. That was all San needed to hear-the very words he had been waiting for since the moment you stepped into his office. San smirked, as he began undressing you with a deliberate slowness, savoring every second. He took in each sight of your beautiful body, pleased that it belonged to him.Before you knew it, he was fucking you right there in his living room, each touch, each kiss, each thrust leaving you wanting more. For the first time in months, Wooyoung and your relationship problems vanished from your mind, replaced by the warm sensation of San's hands on your body, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. The way his dick filled you up, the way he kissed your body was he made love to you.

The only things you were thinking about was how you never wanted San to stop making love to you. And San knew, finally… you belonged to him. San's hands rested possessively on your waist as he thrusted deeper and deeper inside you, your ass slapping against his thighs. You moaned uncontrollably, never wanting him to stop. You wanted to show him he had complete control over you. San’s eyes never left the sight of you, he loved seeing what a slut you could be for him, and how only he could make you feel this way. Smirking, he bent down close to your ear, whispered sweetly to you. "See? You feel it, don't you? How good we are together. You don't need him, Y/N. I'm the one who understands you, who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and more. Only I can make you feel this way. You belong to me, and I’m never letting you go."

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the curtains, but the warmth in the living room felt oddly suffocating. You noticed a heavy blanket was draped over your naked body. You must have fallen asleep after what happened last night, so San must’ve brought a blanket out for you. You glanced over and San was still lying beside you, sleeping peacefully. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist. Yawning, you reached for your phone which was on the floor next to you. You unlocked your phone, and your heart nearly skipped a beat when you saw a text from Wooyoung: I know I fucked up. But I love you. And I want us to work on things. I don’t want to lose you. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.

Your heart fluttered with a sense of hope, but before you could respond to the text, you felt San's eyes boring into you. You looked up at him, not realizing how closely he was watching your every move. You didn’t even hear him wake up. His expression remained calm, but the slight clenching of his jaw told you everything. He was furious. He must’ve seen you open the message on your phone when he woke up.

"Oh. Wooyoung texted me. He wants to fix things," you said, a little too eagerly, not noticing the anger settling into San's expression.

San's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

"That's... nice," he murmured, though his voice didn’t reflect that. He actually sounded pissed, but you could tell he wasn’t trying to show it. San stood up, wrapping the blanket around him as he walked towards his bedroom. “I have to get dressed. You can stay here as long as you need, Y/N. I actually have to head out for another appointment, but make yourself at home, alright?"

You nodded. “Okay, thank you,” you said sweetly, ignoring the tension.

San drove in silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He replayed your excitement over Wooyoung's text in his mind, a bitter taste settling on his tongue. How could you be so blind? After everything he had done to get you away from Wooyoung, after showing you what real love felt like, you still had the nerve to be excited about that cheating scumbag reaching out! Pissed off didn’t even begin to describe how San felt. He was so angry his eyes twitched and his hands shook as he drove. He had to do something, he was about to have you all to himself until that mother fucker sent you that text.

His thoughts darkened further as he arrived at the home you shared with Wooyoung. His plan formed in his mind, making him feel only a little better. He knocked on the door, his face wearing the mask of a friendly, concerned therapist. Really, he was the furious therapist who wanted to fuck somebody up.

Wooyoung opened the door, blinking in surprise. "San? Aren't you YIN's therapist?"

San let out a cheerful laugh. "Yeah, I am! My office is getting renovated, so I thought I'd stop by and see how things are going. I know Y/ N's been having a tough time, and I wanted to touch base."

Wooyoung relaxed slightly, shrugging. "She's not here right now, but come in. We can talk about how she's been doing. Ive been wanting to talk to you, anyway. Maybe you can give me some insight."

San stepped inside, carefully observing every detail of the house, the place where you once tried to build a future with someone who never deserved you. They moved throughout the home and as Wooyoung started talking, San could feel his blood boiling but he knew he had to remain calm. Wooyoung would get what he deserved shortly.

Wooyoung led San into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “Want some?” he asked, holding the bottle up. “No, thank you. I’m just here under professional circumstances” San smiled, watching as Wooyoung shrugged and opened the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he said, taking a sip. San and Wooyoung sat at the table, ready to discuss sessions. Which was what San wanted Wooyoung to think, anyway.

"Ever since she started therapy, it's like she's blowing everything out of proportion.

She's been acting like our problems are way bigger than they actually are, like she's ooking for an excuse to leave. I don't know, man... it feels like she's being pushed into seeing the worst in me." Wooyoung stared long and hard at San.

San's eyes darkened, his smile slipping for just a moment as he watched Wooyoung ramble on. How dare he accuse him of manipulating you? Wooyoung was the one who had been lying to you, hurting you, cheating on you, and who knows what else. Hell, this dick was the whole reason you needed therapy in the first place! And yet here he was, acting like the victim.

"You really think so?" San's voice was low, dangerous. He took a step closer to Wooyoung, who didn't seem to notice the shift in San's tone.

"Yeah, it's like she's-" Wooyoung was cut off by the sudden pressure of San's hand around his neck. Panic flashed in Wooyoung's eyes as he struggled against San’s grip.

“San, what…what the hell are you doing?" Wooyoung croaked, trying to break himself free. He managed to break out of the hold, shoving San back with surprising strength, but San's fury was beyond reason now. The therapist quickly regained control, his movements turning brutal as he rained down punches, each one fueled by the sickening memories of everything Wooyoung had done to hurt you.

"This is for Y/N," San hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes wild as he struck Wooyoung with relentless force. San began to stop on Wooyoung, not caring that his blood was getting thrown into the air.

"For every tear she shed because of you."

Wooyoung's resistance weakened as blood dripped from his split lips and broken nose. San's breaths were ragged as he lifted Wooyoung's head by his hair, glaring into his fading eyes. “Pl-please, man…don’t do this. I love Y/n. I never hurt her that much. Believe me”, Wooyoung tears mixed with the blood covering his face satisfied San beyond reason. “Sorry, but with you gone, Y/n will be happier. If you really loved her, you wouldn’t mind dying.” With a final surge of strength, San twisted his hand, the sickening crack of Wooyoung's neck snapping echoing in the room as he tore his head clean off.

The lifeless expression on Wooyoung's face was frozen in terror as San calmly wiped his hands on a towel he found in the kitchen. The sight of Wooyoung's head dangling by his fingers didn't faze him-in fact, he was feeling a sense of satisfaction

San returned to his apartment, already mentally preparing to tell you to ignore Wooyoung’s text, that he didn’t deserve you. But when he entered his home, he found you pacing the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

"San, I've been thinking... maybe I should give Wooyoung another chance," you blurted out. You didn't notice how San's entire demeanor shifted, his smile growing unnervingly cold.

"Why would you even consider that, Y/N?" San's voice was sharper than you expected, laced with barely-contained fury. You thought your therapist would’ve been happy for you, that you were ready to work things out. “After everything he's put you through, why would you care? Especially after what we did last night."

His words cut through you like ice. You hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction from him. Your face turned bright red and you avoided his gaze. "I... I don't know. I guess I was just confused. I just wanted to feel loved but I’m in love with Wooyoung, and it’s hard to let go of someone you cared about for so long."

San's eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "You shouldn't have even cared when he texted you. Do you think that was fair to me? Letting me be the one to comfort you, only to get excited over him? And then you let me fuck you-" His words dripped with venom as his eyes blazed with barely-restrained anger. “You’re a worthless whore. Disgusting… I don’t know how I’m even looking at you right now. I shouldn’t have felt bad for you all of those times you came to my office, crying about him. You deserve to be treated like shit!”, his words dripped with venom, his face turning red as he screamed in your face. Your ears throbbed and you broke down in tears. San was scaring you, and the things he was saying to you hurt.

You took a step back, sobs shaking your body. San... I didn't mean for things to get so complicated… please stop yelling at me, you’re scaring me!,” you put your hands in front of your face, just in case he was going to starting hitting you.

San's expression hardened, and without another word, he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the living room. "I think it's time I show you something, Y/n.

You nodded, unsure of what he had to show you. For some reason, there was a feeling in your stomach, a gut feeling. Something was off. The unease grew as he led you to a trash bag that was sitting in front of the front door. “What’s that?,” you asked, confused. Why on earth was he showing you a trash bag? Did he want you to take the garbage out?

San laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. With a single swift motion, San tore the trash bag open, revealing the gruesome sight inside.

Wooyoung's severed head stared back at you, lifeless eyes wide open in horror. His olive skin had turn a sickly gray color, and a stench burned your nose. Your breath caught in your throat as you stumbled back, terror freezing you in place. You screamed, your hands covering your eyes as you dropped to the floor. “Why… why would you do this?”, you covered your face, as you choked on snot and tears. Your body shook and between the crying, the smell of rotting flesh, and the sight of the love of your life’s body-less head was all too much. You stared up at San. Someone you trusted with your problems, someone you felt safe with, was a monster. San looked at you, a twisted grin on his face.

"Now, Y/N, tell me... are you still confused about who really cares about you?"

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I’m still taking requests everyone, I’ll write anything🫶🏻❤️

[dmsden]

Communication - Why is it so important?

Hullo, Gentle Readers! This week's Question from a Denizen comes to us from another shy, Anonymous reader. They say, "I enjoyed the write up on fizzle, it really captures your experience with my favourite trick: talking to each other. Do you have more stories about a time when you and others have different POV on the same session?"

I have to be honest...I can't think of many times where I felt the need to check in or apologize after a session and then found that my players and I were in disagreement. I think this recent fizzle was a situation of me being tired and not feeling great about the game. I reached out to apologize and got reassured that other folks had enjoyed themselves.

I thought instead I would talk a little bit about one of my favorite pieces of advice, why I think it's important, and when I think you should follow it. Everyone who reads this blog for more than a couple of articles will have seen my mantra of "Talk to your players." I say it all the time, because I really feel it resolves 99% of problems in a game. So with that said, why do I think it's so important?

So here's the thing...yes, D&D and other TTRPGs are games, but, at their core, they're relationships. Joining a game is essentially a social contract: I will meet with you, abide by the rules of the game, respect the GM, and we'll tell amazing stories together. This is a relationship, and one that hopefully connects socially in other ways as well. I'm friends with all my players, and, even when I invite new players into a game whom I haven't met before, I often become good friends with them over time. TTRPGs are an intensely social activity. And in any kind of social activity or relationship, communication is absolutely essential.

Now I'm not just talking about the communication around the table, although that's obviously important, too. It's not like the game would work if people wouldn't talk or couldn't understand each other. I'm talking about clear and honest communication where people talk outside the game, discuss how things are going, offer feedback, and the like.

Now, I'm not advocating for having a sit down discussion with your players for every session (although for a starting DM, that could be quite useful). I'm just talking about an occasional casual check-in. Ask your players how they're enjoying the game. Do they like where the story is going? Are there any NPCs they'd like to see more of? Is there anything from their backstory they're wanting to play up more or less? Are there any plot threads they want to make sure don't disappear or that they would like to go away?

A key time to talk to your players, of course, is during a Session Zero, but all the things you discuss at a Session Zero can come up down the road. Maybe someone would like to introduce new safety tools at the table that they were unaware of when the campaign started. Maybe there's some plot element that they hadn't considered for their character that they'd like to add, which requires a tweak to their backstory. Maybe they've realized they've never fought a beholder in D&D, and they want to ask you to add one to your campaign.

Another use of communication is to give feedback to a player on behavior you want to encourage or discourage. You might give someone Inspiration after a session, because after thinking about it, you realized just how great something they did was. Alternately, you might want to ask a player to change behavior in some way, such as not challenging your decisions during game play, not bullying another player, or looking up information they shouldn't have access to during the session.

You may also want to discuss plot with a player. Maybe you have an upcoming plot that they would tie into very naturally, but it would require a minor tweak to their backstory. Maybe you want to make sure they get a cool magic-item soon, and you'd like to know what the player might want. Maybe you want to do a story involving the PC's family, but you don't have a lot of details, so you might need to pick their brains.

If you notice a player seems uncomfortable with something, but they don't comment or invoke a safety tool, you could approach them outside the game and just check in and make sure they're okay. It could be that they're just roleplaying, or that they didn't feel comfortable interrupting the game to voice a concern. If you don't want to call them out specifically, you can send an email to everyone inviting them to reach out to you privately if they have anything they want to talk about.

I hope every DM makes it a habit to talk to their players. Until we chat again, keep those dice a-rolling.

[nalu4emily]

The Unexpected Reward - Chapter 12

Summary: Natsu and Lucy go on a job together, but what they bring home is something neither anticipated. Forced to make a life changing decision, they have to adapt quickly, but that's never easy, especially given the circumstances. As they work together on their toughest adventure yet, they find themselves drawn to one another, in ways they never realised. Nalu/cute/fluff/multi-chapter.

Contains mature content. Adult readers only! 

Natsu sighed, his breath visible in the brisk night air. Unable to sleep, he sat alone outside his house. His mind was distracted, it had been since the quarrel he'd had with his small flying companion.

He never fought with Happy, well, rarely enough for him not to remember anyway and because of it, the Exceed was refusing to speak to him. Sure, they had minor disagreements, tiffs were common place between friends and loved ones, but it never meant anything. This however, was something entirely different, something he knew the cat wouldn't forgive so easily.

"Still thinking about Happy?" A soft voice tore through his thoughts.

He peered over his shoulder at the sleepy blonde standing there, clad in next to nothing, shivering uncontrollably from the crisp autumn breeze.

"I thought you were sleeping?" Natsu replied, ignoring her question completely.

Seeking out a warmth that only the dragon slayer could provide, Lucy plonked herself down next to him and grazed her chilly hands against his bare arm.

"You're freezing! Why didn't you put more clothes on before coming out?" He removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"That's what I got you for! Duh!" She said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Playfully rolling his eyes at her statement, he cradled her hands in his, blowing hot air onto them. Once satisfied she wasn't going to freeze to death, he laid his head on top of hers, contented to have her next to him whilst he felt so down.

It had been a week since the altercation between Natsu and Happy, happening just as they were set to leave on a mission with the whole team. Originally, Natsu had been ecstatic about finally doing a job again with everyone, it'd been so long since they'd all worked together. It was going to be his first mission since Haru was just four weeks old and considering the little one was seven months now, he'd been dying to set something on fire.

But then, everything fell apart.

Distraught, Happy had ditched the job altogether and refused to listen to anyone who tried to persuade him otherwise. Natsu hated the idea of leaving without him in such circumstances, but did not have the luxury of bailing out himself. He and Lucy had another mouth to feed and no matter the situation, Haru came first.

It'd been a long mission, having only just returned home from it. Natsu had hoped after a week apart, the Exceed would've been ready to talk to him, but he'd been very wrong. Happy kept his distance and it was starting to really frustrate the fire mage. He valued all of his friends dearly, but the blue feline held a special place in his heart. The inseparable duo not on speaking terms was almost unfathomable, yet here they were and the poor boy was at a loss on how to make things better.

"So, are you gonna answer my question?" Lucy asked, startling the slayer once again, he'd forgotten she'd even said anything. Trying to remember her question, his mind was too muddled right now to think straight. "I asked if you were still thinking about Happy?"

"How can I not? It's too weird not having him here." Natsu looked down to his lap, feeling an emptiness without his friend at home. "I said I was sorry, what else can I do? I can't change what I did."

"I know, but try to see it from Happy's point of view. I imagine he was just as shocked as everyone else when you reprimanded him like that. You've never done that before." Lucy said, thinking back to the incident.

"I don't know what came over me, I shouldn't have called him irresponsible…"

"Or reckless, or careless, or immature… Sounds like someone else I know, hey Natsu?" She giggled at his cute pout.

"Hey, it's not funny!" He huffed childishly. "In my defence, I thought he had been—at the time! Haru could've gotten seriously hurt if I hadn't been there, but I still regret saying them now." He really did regret it. In the heat of the moment, words were exchanged that he wished he could take back.

They were all at the guild, helping to set up the hall for a local event and Happy had been charged with occupying the baby. The Exceed had sat Haru up on the bar top, having only just mastered the skill of sitting unaided, the infant was still a bit wobbly. Thinking the baby had gotten his balance, the cat let go for just a few seconds. In which time the little guy had fallen forward and toppled head first off of the side and nearly collided with the hard floor.

Luckily, Natsu had seen it happen and just managed to catch Haru in time before his head smacked the ground. The baby, of course, had been none the wiser, giggling and clapping his hands when he'd landed in his fathers firm hold, thinking it all a very fun game.

Although relieved to see that his son was unharmed, the slayer did not hold the same reprieve when he glanced up at his little friend. Happy had apologised profusely to the fire mage, however, pumped with adrenaline from watching Haru fall like that, the slayer hadn't taken a blind bit of notice. Further adding to Happy's mortification, Natsu scolded him like a child in front of the entire guild for how irresponsible he'd been, causing the cat to fly off in a huff.

"You were just being a protective father, no one blames you for that, Natsu. But, Happy didn't do it on purpose, you know that! You just didn't give him chance to explain." Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. Those two were such idiots sometimes! "You've got some grovelling to do when he does finally come home."

"Grovel?! But I already apologised!" He exclaimed, but one look from Lucy made him recoil, the guilt returning. "Fine, fine… Happy's pretty stubborn, if I don't do it, he definitely won't." Natsu sighed.

In the end, the cat hadn't really done anything wrong. It'd been an accident and now the fire mage would have to find some way to make it up to him.

"Why don't you take him fishing, just the two of you? You haven't done that in a while." Lucy asked. She could almost see the light go on in Natsu's brain at the suggestion. "It'll be good for you both to spend more time together, he's your best friend Natsu, you don't want him to feel left out."

"You think he feels left out?" Natsu looked down to his lap again, he didn't want Happy to feel pushed out, especially now that this had happened between them. The blue feline was a valued part of their family and now more than ever, he needed to be reminded of that. "I guess I have been busy with Haru, that I've not really noticed because he's always around."

"Babies do take up a lot of time, but a break to go fishing with Happy every now and then wouldn't hurt. Plus, Haru will be old enough to go with you before long." Over whelmed by how quickly the last seven months had gone, she smiled at all the memories they'd made. "It really has flown by, hasn't it? He was a tiny baby not moments ago and now look at him! Maybe he'll even say his first word soon?"

Natsu turned to look at her, feeling a warmth flood his body at the pretty smile on her face as she thought fondly of their son. "Wouldn't that be awesome?"

He couldn't believe it either, their little baby, the one they found so helpless that day had become such a happy boy, with so much love held within those chubby cheeks when he smiled. He'd grown into a very cute, chunky baby, that they couldn't be prouder of.

Leaving the conversation there, they fell into silence once again, looking out onto the horizon. Well, Lucy was—Natsu had his eyes set on something much more enthralling. Shining brilliantly with the sun, she made his heart flutter excitedly in his chest. The morning light had cast a warm glow to her angelic form, bringing out all of her natural beauty. To put it simply, she was stunning.

"Like what you see, Natsu?" She teased, feeling his eyes burning into her skull. She moved her head to look at him directly, an amused smile dawning her cheeks.

"I always like what I see when I look at you." Lucy felt herself shudder, he was so blunt sometimes but that's what she liked about him, there was no dancing around the bush with Natsu.

Even after being caught gawking, he kept his gaze on her, only this time she was staring right back. The gentleness of his expression made her yearn for his touch, her eyes flickering down to his lips, feeling a tug from an unknown but familiar force to kiss them.

He cupped her soft cheek, quirking his lips up at the delicate pink tinting her skin. Feeling that same yearning, he brought his mouth to hers. Soft, gentle and smooth, with enough pressure to send little vaults of electricity down into her stomach, eliciting a small contented sigh into his mouth. Their lips, having gained plenty of practice in the previous months, meshed together snugly, tongues interloping, losing themselves to the moment of beautiful uninterrupted bliss.

Breaking apart, Lucy stood herself up, a shiver taking over her body suddenly from feeling the bitterness of the wind again. She turned and offered her hand to Natsu and pulled him back inside. Cuddling up together in bed, Lucy hoped Natsu might get some needed rest now.

Lucy had made it her mission to try and take Natsu's mind off of the missing Exceed. He was always so ready to make her happy that for once an opportunity arose where she could repay the favour. She hadn't seen that face splitting grin in too long and was determined to make him smile as much as she could until he started to feel like himself again.

They'd decided to stay home, after a week long mission away from Haru, they wanted to spend some time with him and just relax. The first to wake, Lucy was already downstairs preparing breakfast by the time Natsu got himself up. Haru had been seated in his chair at the table, whilst Lucy busied herself in the kitchen.

"Morning Luce, whatcha making?" He mumbled whilst stretching, looking over to his partner who was busy washing up the pans she'd used for cooking.

"Morning Natsu!" She chirped, smiling sweetly over to him. "I've made your favourite and lots of it, so I hope you're hungry?" She said, plating it up and placing it on the table.

"Awesome! Thanks Lucy, I'm starving!"

He gave her a tired, half smile whilst walking over to the table and sitting down next to Haru, ruffling his hair. "Morning, little guy! What's Mama made you then?" He asked, noticing the baby had covered himself in whatever sticky substance he'd been given to eat. Natsu sniggered at the state the child was in and grabbed a wet cloth to clean him up. "Did you eat any, or just go straight to painting yourself in it?"

"It was little mashed up pieces of fruit. I was gonna feed it to him but he got there before me…" Lucy's sheepish grin made Natsu quirk his lips up and shake his head in amusement.

"Daddy does that as well. Only, I'm not cute like you so Mama likes to yell at me for it!" Natsu jokingly told the baby, turning to the sound of Lucy giggling. He retrieved what was left of the fruit in the bowl and began to spoon it into the little one's hungry mouth. "That's better, now you're actually getting some!"

Once they'd all finished, they sat around and played with Haru for the rest of the morning. Lucy sat back and watched Natsu chuck the baby into the air and catch him again, pretending he could fly. Whilst distracted, he seemed like his normal self, smiling and laughing, but there was still something that felt off, like he was missing that fire in his belly that he was so well known for.

Just as Natsu was about to chuck the infant back into the air, Haru let out a big yawn and began to rub at his eyes. "Did all that super cool flying make you sleepy?" Natsu said, bringing the baby into his chest so that he could snuggle in. Haru had closed his eyes the second his head touched Natsu's shoulder, sleeping soundly in the comforting warmth that surrounded him.

"So cute! Here, I'll take him upstairs to his room." Lucy whispered, gently taking the baby from Natsu and making her way to the stairwell.

Once returning to the living room, Natsu was nowhere to be seen. Lucy knew where he'd gone though, back outside no doubt to keep himself from getting bored. Seeing a bright light coming from the partially open front door, she walked over and peered out of it, watching as he made short work of burning all of the brown leaves with his fire breath, that'd fallen onto the grass around the house, then perched up against the offending tree, looking forlorn once again.

"What's it gonna take to cheer you up?" Lucy muttered under her breath, making her presence known and walking over to him.

"Huh? What do you mean? I'm fine!" Barely believing himself.

"Sure, that's why you're sat out here by yourself, setting leaves on fire?" Raising an eyebrow at him, she sat herself down on the now charred grass, courtesy of Natsu. "What did those leaves ever do to you?"

"They keep falling on my head, that's what!" Feigning annoyance, Natsu caught another leaf mid air and burnt it, making Lucy chuckle. No matter how blue he was, the sound of her laughter always made him feel brighter.

Silence yet again befell them, it was a comfortable silence but Lucy knew better than to assume it was because Natsu didn't have anything to say. She needed to distract him somehow, make him concentrate on something else for a while. Haru was always a good diversion and had been all morning, but he was now fast asleep so she needed to find something else. Then it hit her, she could totally use herself! Ideas flooded her mind at all the ways she could occupy her brooding partner.

Starting off gently, Lucy leaned forward, catching his attention as she ever so slowly brought herself within inches of his face. Natsu watched, a bemused expression taking over as she pressed her lips to his cheek then moved away again, smiling brightly, hoping he'd reciprocate. But to her dismay, he didn't say or do anything other than look at her like she was being weird. She huffed in frustration, this was going to be harder than she thought.

"Alright, cutesy not working for ya? Fine, I can do rough…"

Eyes widening, Natsu had no idea what she meant by that, but was soon to find out when the blonde eagerly plopped herself in his lap and grabbed his head, pulling him forward and taking his lips by force. Lucy mashed their mouths together in such a fierce and scorching kiss, it was enough to make his head spin. It was blisteringly hot, and full of dark promises, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth and nearly choking the poor guy.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, not knowing what else to do with his hands and tightened his grip, causing a light whimper to escape her mouth. Enjoying the roughness far more than expected, Lucy reluctantly pulled away, gasping for air. She stared into his eyes, his dazed and completely bewildered eyes.

"Are you trying to kill me, Lucy!" He panted heavily between each word, struggling to catch his breath, he felt both confused and aroused by her attack.

"Not even that worked?!" Dumbfounded, she couldn't believe a fiery kiss like that hadn't had the desired affect. "Right, well, you asked for it! If this is the only way, so be it!" She got up from his lap onto her feet and turned away, gathering herself for her next assault.

"Asked for what? I didn't ask for – WHOA!" He exclaimed, shocked by her sudden boot clad foot coming straight for his face. Luckily, he'd seen it just in time to push himself up out of the way before she made contact with the side of his head. "What the hell was that for?! I didn't do anything that time, I swear!"

"Fight me!" Were the only words she said.

Using the other foot that was currently holding her weight, she jumped up and round house kicked him straight in the chest, knocking the boy flying back and landing him flat on his ass.

"Aargh! Dammit Lucy, that really hurt!" Gritting his teeth, he rubbed at the sore area where her foot had made contact. He peered up at the cocky looking blonde standing there in a fighting stance. He was so confused, if he hadn't done anything wrong, then why was she trying to fight him? And then he realised… "Wait… fight you?"

"You brawl with everyone else, so why not with me?" She challenged him, knowing that she'd get a reaction from the fire boy eventually, she just had to say the right words. "Or are you scared I might win?"

"You're being serious right now?" Standing back up, Natsu raised his eyebrow at the smirking blonde, he just didn't understand what had come over her. This wasn't like Lucy, she hated fighting. She never got into any guild brawls and rarely chose violence over talking first. "You're not everyone else though? I don't wanna brawl with you, Lucy."

"Why not? I'm perfectly capable! I might even give you a run for your money… Or do you really think I'm that weak?"

Lucy knew that was a low blow and almost back pedalled when she saw the guilt appear in his expression, but she held strong. The blonde wasn't planning on taking it too far, but a little brawl might cheer him up just enough to put a smile back on his face and blow off some steam that he so clearly had built up inside him.

"What?! I never said- Aargh!" Distracted, he was thrown back once again, by yet another lethal kick, to the face this time.

She smirked, starting to feel a little smug at all the hits she was getting in while he was still holding back. Holding his sore cheek, Natsu realised then that he really didn't have a choice in the matter, it was either spar with his weirdo of a girlfriend or become her personal punching bag and that sounded quite painful. With his competitive streak finally seeping through, he stood himself up and wiped the blood from his mouth, dawning a smirk of his own.

"Alright, Luce, you're on! But don't think I'm gonna take it easy on you, you've had your hits, now it's my turn."

In a flash, he was right behind her, about to grab her arms and pin her down on the floor. Having anticipated that he'd go straight for the kill, to try and end this quickly, she threw her head back, crashing straight into Natsu's nose, making him yell out in pain. Lucy swivelled and ducked down whilst he was distracted, taking out his feet and watched him flail, landing him flat on his ass for the third time.

"Ow! That's not fair! You're fighting dirty!" He accused her, holding his nose until the throbbing stopped.

"Oh, poor little dragon doesn't like it when he gets beaten… Looks like I might win after all." Her voice was sickeningly sweet and filled with tease. She laughed mockingly, anticipating his next move while she taunted him.

Back on his feet in an instant, he readied himself for another attack. It was apparent that head on blows weren't going to work against Lucy. Although physically weaker than him, she was too smart and cunning for him to get to her like that. Natsu needed to figure out a way to subdue the girl, the quicker he did that, the sooner this, whatever this was, would be over.

He eyed her dangerously, she was obviously trying to provoke him and he hated to admit, it was working. Lucy's fighting prowess had really come a long way since they'd first met. Natsu felt pride swell in his chest at how well she held her own, even against a force like him. Many powerful mages in the past had struggled to lay even a single finger on him, yet here she was playing with fire and then goading him like it was nothing.

Even though he'd never gone up against her before, the fire mage had learnt through the years that she wasn't one to take lightly. That was becoming apparently obvious, having landed three separate strikes to him already.

"Don't get too cocky, ya just got lucky! It won't happen again!" He warned.

If Lucy wanted to fight dirty, then he would too. Having already made the detrimental mistake of challenging the fire dragon slayer, she naively followed by not setting any ground rules, which he was going to exploit to his full advantage.

He stood by for a moment, gauging her every move until he'd figured out a way to bring her down without going overboard, because this was Natsu after all and he had a slumbering baby to think about.

Taking him by surprise once again, there was no time to react before she rushed at him, dodging the fist he'd aimed right at her in a vain attempt to knock her down. Bringing out her whip, she slid along the floor, catching it around his ankles and yanking hard, toppling him over and watched him face plant the dirt.

"So much for it won't happen again! I was being serious about sparring and you're just making a mockery of me. It'd be different if I was Erza or Gray right now." Surely that would get him into gear? Lucy knew he was probably still unsure of her true intentions and that was the reason for him not going all out, but she wanted him to let loose and be the Natsu she'd always known. "I know I'm not as strong as they are, but now you're just rubbing it in!"

"You really think I'd do that?" His voice stern and his gaze held a seriousness that wasn't there before. Keeping true to her intentions, she did nothing but stare at him accusingly, waiting for him to react in the only way Natsu would.

Taken aback, he bore deep into her eyes, hoping to find a slither of falsity, anything that would tell him she was lying, but he found nothing. A sudden rush of adrenaline pumped through his body, a fire ignited within his belly, determined to prove her wrong.

Grabbing hold of the whip that was still wrapped around his ankle, he yanked it hard towards him. Lucy, of course, tried to pull back, not willing to let go of her precious celestial whip. But Natsu was simply too strong, bringing her closer until she fell straight into his arms. Quickly flipping them over, he pinned her to the floor and straddled her hips.

However, the blonde wasn't about to give up that easily, not until she got what she wanted. Grimacing up at him, Lucy thrust her hips right into his groin, yet another low blow, but necessary. With his eyes leaping out of his skull and a yelp of discomfort, she speedily switched their positions, with her now on top and him being pinned to the floor.

"Nice try, dragon boy, but you're still not trying hard enough!"

Her grip tightened on his wrists, knowing that if he truly wanted to, he could get out of her grasp, no problem. So she promptly used her magic to dawn Taurus' star dress, using the pervy cows strength to hold the slayer down.

"Jeez, Luce, when did you get this strong?!" Natsu asked surprised, pushing against his restraints and being met with equal amounts of force. He was testing Lucy for sure, finding it rather enjoyable. "Have you been training with that goat man again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you ever bothered to show an interest! You never even ask!" She was trying to push the boy further, he was still holding back and it was starting to frustrate her. "Go on then, Natsu! I know you're not really struggling! Stop treating me like some delicate flower and-"

Before she even knew what'd happened, Natsu had pushed against her and flipped them once again with her arms held down above her head. He was staring right at her, almost intimidatingly so as her Taurus form faded back to her own clothes. She glanced up into his piercing glare, curious to know what he was thinking after having obviously triggered him.

"Lucy… You're no delicate flower… trust me on that." His expression remained stern, like he was working through something in his mind. "You're right, I don't ask but only because I don't need to, you're the strongest person I know. But if that's still not enough for you to believe me then train with me? Show me what you're made of!"

Although not the purpose of this little exercise, she was pleased to hear him say that. It made her feel good that someone as powerful as Natsu recognised her capabilities as well. "I'd love to, Natsu." She smiled.

"Good." He smiled back at her. "And I gotta admit, you've surprised me, Luce. I don't let just anyone knock me down that many times and get away with it, so a word of advice for ya."

Leaning down to her face, his green eyes locked on to her pink lips and smirked as he claimed them eagerly with his own, rough and heavy just like their earlier kiss, proving he could be just as torrid. Detaching from her needy mouth, he studded small kisses across her jaw and up to her ear, where he whispered to her, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You should never let your guard down, Lucy." Hearing him chuckle made her realise her fatal mistake.

"Oh no…" She uttered, gazing upon the piercing glare of a very smug dragon slayer. She gulped thickly, knowing what was about to come. If she didn't get out of his hold soon, he would use her ultimate weakness against her.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He murmured sarcastically, enjoying the look of horror on her face. "Did you forget who you were up against?"

Her eyes were wide as he switched to hold both of her arms with one hand and without a moments hesitation, dug his fingers into all the places he knew would make her squirm with the other. He tickled her mercilessly, tears welling in her eyes from giggling so much and Natsu couldn't help but grin along with her, finding pure joy in making her laugh so hard that it made her cry.

"N-Natsu! St-Stop! Please!" Lucy begged, barely able to breathe from his hand ravaging her entire body. She couldn't control her movements, jerking and writhing beneath him as he continued his onslaught, only stopping to let her inhale some much needed oxygen.

"Do you give up?" Technically if she conceded now, he'd win, regardless of what underhanded tactics he'd used. Chest heaving, she stayed quiet, contemplating whether she should give up now or not. He grinned wickedly, preparing himself for his next attack, giving her exactly what she'd been after this whole time. "Surrender or I'll use both hands this time. It's up to you, Luce!"

The girl smiled up at him, happy to see his contagious grin back on that handsome face once again. She pulled her hands free from his loosened grip and sat herself up a little, so that she could reach his face. Placing her hand on his cheek and caressing it softly.

"That's all I wanted, was to see that sexy smile of yours. I give up, Natsu, you win." She said, kissing his lips tenderly then placing her head back on the ground.

"That's all you wanted? Pretty weird way of getting what you want, Luce. But I gotta say, it was fun!" This girl was such a weirdo sometimes, but then again, it had worked, she had cheered him up and had definitely got his blood pumping. Now he had the problem of wanting to let off steam in a different way, a more… intimate way. "You know, watching you fight has always been a huge turn on. Now I know fighting against you just makes that worse."

"So, you like being beat, do you? I didn't know you were a masochist! I'm sure Virgo has plenty of things I can punish you with." She sniggered, as his eyes widened in fear, not entirely sure how serious she was being. "Or would you prefer it if I was the one tied down, to do with as you pleased?" She smirked, feeling his member twitch in excitement, she rubbed it ever so gently with her thigh, turning him on even further.

"Hmm… I think I'd prefer that. I never knew you were into such kinky shit, Lucy." He growled, latching on to her neck and nipping at her sensitive skin. The mere thought of Lucy being tied up, begging him to please her, almost made him want to try it right where they lay, but a singular thought was enough to rip that away. "Wait, I'm not sure how I feel about Virgo knowing, she's creepy enough as it is…"

Lucy giggled, her own arousal faltering as images of them getting freaky were ruined by Virgo popping up in the middle of it, asking for punishment—well, if anything was a mood killer… "Shh! I don't wanna hear about Virgo when I'm trying to have my way with you."

"I like the sound of that even more!" He murmured, closing in on her, and kissing her passionately, the scent of her arousal taking over his senses, making him forget about everything but the beauty under him.

Lucy freed her legs from underneath him and wrapped them around his waist, using him as leverage to pull her hips up and rub her core against his erection. He growled against her mouth, approving of her ministrations. Not wanting to wait any longer, he reached down and pulled himself free of his pants and moved her underwear to the side, gently pushing himself into her and earning a guttural groan from her plump lips.

Heightened by their sparring, he thrust into her hard, making her eyes roll into the back of her head and cry out into the open air. In that moment, Natsu didn't care that they were outside and Lucy's loud moaning would give away to anyone within earshot what they were up to. He had so much pent up energy and as much as he loved fighting, fucking Lucy senseless was the best way to get rid of it. This didn't require any underhanded tactics, he simply allowed Lucy's reactions to guide him and the best part was, everyone was a winner.

"Yes, Natsu… Harder!" She gasped as he doubled in speed. In her haze, she felt the slight ache of her back being ground into the floor, but it was over taken by the intenseness of his relentless pounding. The roughness of it all was going to make her cum, that sweet knot inside her was just about ready to snap.

"Cum, Lucy!" He growled through gritted teeth, feeling her tightening around him.

She was so close, her eyes were shut tight, her breathing had become heavy and laboured and she was gripping onto Natsu's head like it was her lifeline. With one more forceful snap of his hips he came, unloading himself deep within her, a strangled moan escaping his lips.

Feeling him tense between her legs made Lucy shudder, gripping tightly around his shaft and greedily milking him for every last drop. Digging her fingers into his scalp, she pulled hard on his pink locks, her cries of ecstasy flying out with the wind.

Natsu took great enjoyment in watching her unravel and waited patiently for her to come down from her high, soaking in every last harsh breath and weary whimper. It was a new type of accomplishment, knowing that he and only he, could make Lucy feel like that.

Leaning down and grinning like a mad man, he kissed her with every last ounce of lust he had in him, thoroughly spent after their afternoon of wild activities. She kissed him back with just as much fire, burning deeply into their bellies.

"AAHHHH! NOT AGAIN!" They heard a small voice shriek from the distance.

Breaking apart, both mages heads twisted to where the noise had come from, their hearts beating rapidly and faces turning beet red, to see who had caught them in such a compromising position.

"Happy?" Natsu said, all arousal leaving his body as he gazed upon the little Exceed, shocked to see him floating there. "You're back?"

The blue cat was hovering there a few metres away, masking the embarrassment in his cheeks by averting his gaze away from the mages who'd obviously been up to naughty things, wanting no part in it. "Um… C-Carla told me I had to come and speak to you, but I can see that you're, uh, busy…" He went to turn around and leave, when Natsu shouted out to him, catching his attention again.

"No! Happy, wait! Uh—just give me a second…" The slayer yelled awkwardly, grateful the Exceed hadn't flown off yet.

He looked down to Lucy for approval, not wanting to just ditch her like this, but she simply smiled at him and kissed his cheek. This was what she'd been waiting for, knowing that once the pair made amends, everything would return to normal, she would have her family back together again.

"Go on, Natsu, don't worry about me. I'll make sure dinners ready for when you both come home, okay?"

Pulling her up into a sitting position, he slipped out of her and quickly adjusted himself before the Exceed looked over. Natsu jumped up onto his feet and drew Lucy up with him, feeling the strain of their actions on her back as she straightened herself up. Her underwear and skirt were now back to normal and all evidence of their intimacy now gone, both looking as innocent as ever.

"Thanks, Lucy! You're the best!" He grinned, kissing her mouth one last time before letting go of her hand and turning to run towards Happy, who'd been waiting patiently.

The young girl sighed and smiled as she watched them walk off towards the river. Once out of sight, she turned to make her way back inside the house, the sound of the baby stirring, catching her attention.

At first they remained quiet, sitting by the river with nothing but the sound of water rushing passed made it feel awkward between them. Natsu really didn't know what to say, he'd been running it through his head all day how he was going to apologise to his little friend, but now all words seemed to have vanished from his vocabulary.

"So…" Happy started, looking out onto the river. "I didn't know you guys were exhibitionists now."

"Happy!" Natsu exclaimed. Using his scarf to cover his cheeks as they flushed with embarrassment.

"What? I'm just saying! Being caught in the house wasn't enough for ya, so you ventured outside this time?" Happy said, a devilish smirk appearing on his face.

"Shh! Lucy will gut you if she hears you say that!" Natsu darted his head around quickly to make sure the blonde hadn't followed.

This hadn't been the first time the cat had caught them in the act, or the second… or third for that matter. He had a habit of popping up at the most inconvenient of times, although Happy would argue that they were always at it, so it was never truly safe. It was a wonder it hadn't traumatised the poor cat for life. But Happy simply giggled cheekily, shocking Natsu for a moment until he too found the humour in it all.

"It's nice to smile again. I haven't since-" All mirth had gone from the cats face as he looked down to the grass in front of him, feeling saddened as he remembered the incident. "I really didn't mean to cause any trouble, I was just trying to entertain him. I didn't think he'd fall off of the bar that suddenly, I only let go for two seconds."

Happy felt tears well in his eyes as he turned to his best friend. He'd had a lot of time over the past week to think about what'd happened and what could've happened if Natsu hadn't been there to save little Haru.

"Happy, it's o-"

"No, Natsu, it's not okay!" He interrupted the dragon slayer, who instantly shut his mouth, allowing Happy to continue. "You were right, I was careless and irresponsible. I could've seriously hurt him and then what would you have done? You don't want someone like me around, I don't deserve your friendship!"

Feeling like utter shit, Natsu couldn't believe Happy had come to that conclusion. The fact of the matter was, nothing bad had actually happened and speaking in hypotheticals was a waste of energy. All the slayer wanted was his friend back, by hook or by crook, Happy was going to come home with him, because that's where he belonged.

He was going to make this right, Lucy was counting on him to make it right and he'd be damned if Happy thought he was going to be walking away from here without him as his friend. That would never happen! Natsu leaned over and pulled the now crying Exceed into his lap, holding him close until his bawling calmed into whimpers.

"Happy, I will always be your friend, that I know for sure." The slayer sighed, he wasn't good with emotion or talking about said emotions but he was trying, for Happy's sake. "Look at everything we've been through together, you think I'd let you leave alone? I never meant any of what I said to you, Happy, but I couldn't stop it from coming out. Looks like we've both got a lot to learn, huh?"

Happy, having stopped crying, looked up to Natsu's solemn face and watched as he went through the motions. This argument had been their biggest to date and it'd affected them both greatly. It seems even the care-free, rambunctious hot head, wasn't immune to the stresses of life, especially those that came with being a father.

Natsu never saw caring for Haru as stressful, he enjoyed everything there was about being his dad, but having a child was still an extra responsibility and that came with added worry, something the slayer was very unfamiliar with. It was the only reason why he'd reacted like that towards Happy, why he'd been unable to control himself when Haru took that fall.

"I know I don't spend as much time with you now, but that doesn't mean I don't want you around. In fact, having you there makes everything feel normal. You're the one thing that's always remained the same through all of our adventures and I never want that to change. You'll always be my best friend, Happy." Natsu finished, hoping he'd managed to convey just how important the flying cat was to their little family dynamic.

"You're my best friend too, Natsu." The little Exceed felt hope build within his small frame. "Does that mean you're not angry with me any more?"

"Of course not, Happy. I never really was. I just want you to come home."

"Fine… I'll come home then on one condition…" Happy smirked, his stomach rumbling. Natsu tilted his head in curiosity, what did the blue cat want? "I can have fish for dinner, I'm starving!" The cat began to drool, thinking of all the little fishes.

Natsu began to snigger which quickly turned into a full blown laugh, all these emotions were sending him doolally apparently. He'd had a feeling the request would be fish related and he was right. Patting the little guy on the head who also started to snicker. The fire mage nodded, relieved that everything had fallen back into place.

"Kissed and made up yet?" A female voice broke through Natsu and Happy's laughter, snapping their heads to the beautiful blonde standing there. Clad in appropriate clothing this time with a basket in one hand and a baby in the other, smiling happily at the two on the ground.

"Lucy? I didn't hear you coming, I thought you were gonna stay home?" Natsu asked, surprised but happy to see her.

"I didn't know how long you'd be, so I thought I'd bring dinner to you guys instead." She said, placing the basket down on the floor and plopping the little one into Natsu's lap. But before she had chance to sit down herself, Happy flew at her, barrelling into her chest and wailed like a child.

"Lucy! I missed you!" He yelled excitedly, snuggling into her chest. "Did you bring me fish?!"

"Of course! Raw and smelly, just how you like it." She chuckled at the grin on the Exceed's face, plonking herself down by the basket.

They sat along the river bank until the early evening, enjoying their dinner and telling Happy all about the mission they'd been on. Everything seemed normal again, like the fall out had never happened. Everyone was smiling and talking, even Haru was trying to join in on the conversation with his babbling.

"Let's get a look at ya then." Happy said, walking over to the little one. Haru, who was still sat in Natsu's lap, grinned widely as he laid eyes on the cat. Haru tried to lean forward to grab hold of the cats whiskers, but missed and fell forwards again, but this time Happy was right there to catch him, lifting him up into the air. "Wow! You're getting heavy! Just like your Mommy…"

He smirked evilly and looked over to Lucy, who's expression turned sinister. With a sense of foreboding hanging in the air, Natsu took the baby back from the cat and slowly moved away from the now steaming blonde, mouthing to Happy to run for it before she skinned him alive.

"That's it!" She yelled, like a battle cry. Storming over to the Exceed, her Cancer form appearing with two large blades pointing directly at the felines throat, scarily resembling a certain red head. "Say that again, I dare you!"

"WAH! Natsu, help! She's gonna kill me!" Happy screamed, flying into the air rapidly and shooting off into the distance, with the stellar mage hot on his tail.

Natsu watched them both run off into the trees, furrowing his brows he looked to the baby in his arms, who was busy playing with the white scarf. "And they say I'm the impulsive one?" Shaking his head, he casually made his way into the woods, hoping Lucy hadn't killed Happy before he got there to rescue him.

[irene-sadler]

Six Months

someone wondered when the Baroness (a side character from the Tournament aka Sir Reynard and the Red Knight which I wrote earlier this year) was coming back and uh, “back” implies that she ever left in the first place, tbh. spoilers: she didn’t.

anyway so here’s a little something something

its a quick family story plus a story about civilians in wartime packed into a little over 4000 words. rated PG. ft teen romance drama, sheep, grown up romance non drama, and not a single canon witcher character. think Roseanne (original show not the weird remake that died on arrival for Reasons) but in the setting of The Witcher. or don’t if u have no idea what i’m even talking about b/c u dont watch 90s cable sitcoms constantly like i do lol.

Six Months:

The Nilfgaardian soldiers came at night, but they found an empty manor house. The occupants had had plenty of warning they were on their way; the family’s oldest son had ridden nonstop from Rivia Castle to warn them that there had been a coup, that the Queen had vanished and her young son was in charge, and that it was only a matter of time before their old enemy Caldwell came looking for them. Hilde thought they were, in many ways, fortunate - not lucky, because no luck had been involved - fortunate that their son was riding his fastest horse, fortunate that the rest of the household managed to collect what they could and hide the rest without dramatics or incident, fortunate to have somewhere else to go. An old herbalist’s hut in the woods wasn’t much, but it was, she’d said, a roof over their heads. They’d always had a plan, in case everything in their lives went very badly wrong. Everything had, and the hut was part of it.

    Then her son rode off with most of her other sons and the rest of her husband’s knights, on the chance that the Queen was out there somewhere, and left the place somewhat emptier-feeling in his absence.

    “Wish I was going with them,” the Baron said, looking down the woodland road after them.

    “We talked about this, Eldred; you’re sixty-seven years old, your eyesight’s going bad, and your knees don’t bend anymore. A warband’s got no use for you.”

    “I know that,” he said. “Don’t mean I don’t wish I was going.”

    A little flock of sheep crossed the path, with some of her nephews trailing after them, waving sticks and shouting.

    “I’ll be worried about them, too,” she said, as one of the sheep suddenly bolted. Eldred took her hand, squeezed it, and limped off after it.

    The next time their paths crossed he was in a slightly better mood. She hooked her arm through his elbow and looked up at the full moon through the trees.

    “Can’t hear myself think in there, so I came out here for some fresh air,” he said. There wasn’t enough room inside for even half the people who had followed them along. Most of the household had settled around the hut in tents and bedrolls. The inside of the hut was still jammed with the smaller children. They were also fortunate that it was spring, and nobody would freeze to death sleeping outside. No luck involved, again. No army fought in the winter, although she wouldn’t put it past the Empire to try.

    “We’ll have to build pens for the sheep and pigs, tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe some more shelters, too. The farmhands can do it. And I’ll organize some of the women t’ forage in the woods. We’re fortunate it’s spring. We might be living off pottage of oats and chickweed, but we won’t starve t’ death.”

    “You know,” Eldred said, “I was thinking I might get a shot at some of these invaders after all. They might turn up here.”

    “They might.”

    “Wouldn’t want any spies or wanderers t’ spot us and take word back to th’ army that we’re out here.”

    “No.”

    “Anyhow, with all these boys out here, I thought I might train ‘em up a little, just in case.”

    “That’s not a bad idea.”

    “Might take some of these girls, too,” he added.

    “Even better,” she said. He smiled down at her.

    “We’ll be safe here.”

    “Of course we will, with you around,” she said.

    ———

    Wars were just a part of life. She was born and raised in Rivia; she’d grown up watching her brothers and father ride off to war with Lyria, over and over again. Her father was killed by a Lyrian archer when she was twenty-three. She’d watched her mother’s face while they buried him. She never wanted to know what it took to make someone wear that hard, dead expression. Over a decade later the King married a Lyrian princess and those wars stopped, but more took their place. There had been the rebellion, after the King died, led by her own disgruntled brothers, who refused to serve a Lyrian; her husband’s promotion from petty knight to Baron was a direct result of the glory he’d won putting it down. That war had almost destroyed her marriage, but they’d pulled through, in the end. Then there had been bandits, minor invasions, civil unrest; it seemed like there was always something to fight over, but never anything new. Whether Lyrians were killing Rivians or Nilfgaardians were killing Rivians, they always had the same damn excuses for it. The older she got, the less patience she had for any of them.

    ———        

    Smoke from cooking fires floated through the newly cleared area around the camp. The forest echoed with the sounds of axes hitting wood and more trees falling. The pigs slept in the shade out of the heat, watched over by a pack of skinny boys from the village. The herbalist’s hut sat surrounded by a dozen almost identical buildings - buildings, children, chickens, dogs, a donkey that someone had brought in, loaded down with rushes -

    The Nilfgaardians hadn’t found them, but a whole lot of other people somehow had. Some of them brought livestock or food, but a hell of a lot of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Hilde refused to turn them away, even if a few of the hands muttered darkly about spies and famine. More was better; more people meant more hands to work and more eyes to keep watch. Eldred’s little force of skinny teenagers with homemade bows and farmhands armed with handaxes had grown in size, if not, in her opinion, in quality. He seemed pleased with them, at least. Some of them were standing watch at the edges of the clearing. She was pretty sure none of them were asleep.

    It turned out they weren’t; a minor racket interrupted the idyllic peace of the summer afternoon - some kind of argument, she thought. She abandoned the shirt she was mending and headed to the north side of the buildings, where she found a pair of youths shouting at each other. One, she noticed, was her own youngest son, waving a bow and turning an impressive shade of red. The other was a dark-haired girl. The latter spotted her before the former; Hilde watched with detached interest as the girl’s eyes widened and her stance shifted from aggressive to frozen fear.

    “Herron,” she said. “It’s -”

    “What’s this about?” Hilde asked.

    “- your mother.”

    Herron deflated, visibly.

    “We were just - we were talking,” he said, staring at his own feet.

    “I heard.”

    “Just a - a disagreement over the watch schedule,” said the girl. She raised an eyebrow, considered telling them to cut the shit, and then decided not to. Whatever it was, it was probably harmless, and it wouldn’t be improved by her involvement.

    “If you have an issue, take it up with the Baron,” she said. “Meanwhile, quit disturbing the peace.”

    The girl bowed and escaped at not quite a jog. Herron stared after her, still beet red.

    “Who’s that?” she asked.

    “Nobody.”

    “No?”

    “She’s just - she wasn’t at the right guardpost.”

    “Whatever you say,” she said. Herron was shifting uncomfortably, showing the usual signs of a teenager who desperately wanted to escape.

    “Go on,” she said. “Get back t’ work.”    

———

    Herron had begged to go to war with his brothers. He was only fourteen, and although he looked like a skinny, lanky, teenage copy of his father, he had none of Eldred’s athletic ability. The best that could be said for him was he was a decent shot. Maybe he would have survived the battlefield, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Besides, he was her baby boy; she felt like he had been ten years old only the week before. She couldn’t let him go, and Eldred had taken one look at her face and hadn’t argued with her. The resulting angst had taken weeks to wear off.

    Whatever Herron was up to, she was just glad he was finally speaking to her again.

    ———        

    The rainy season hit exactly on time; a genuine stroke of luck, because the rain would keep their ever-increasing hideout a secret for a little longer. The pigs were happy, but the sheep and humans less so. Hilde and her selected lieutenants kept the place running anyway, despite the endless mud, the nonstop damp, and the weather that ranged from a drizzly mist in the mornings to downpours in the afternoons and evenings that were so heavy Eldred stopped making his militia patrol the forest for fear they’d get lost or drown in a flash flood.

    During one of the downpours one of the militia members came splashing through the mud and into the hut. Eldred stopped scrubbing rust off his sword.

    “Something going on?”

    Hilde thought he sounded a little too hopeful.

    “Nothin’,” the man said. “Not really. Just, we had this kid come up t’ th’ east guardpost just now.”

    “Ask around; has t’ belong to someone around here,” Hilde said.

    “Don’t think so, milady, on account of it ain’t a human child.”

    “Oh. I’ll take a look,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be there.”

    Eldred shook his head slightly at her as she stood and pulled a cloak around herself.

    “What?”

    “Nothin’.”

      She could barely see where she was going, but she managed to slop her way through the muck between the huts and made her way the guardpost. A little pack of militia stood around the spot, watching a single, very small shape that huddled under a blanket. The shape didn’t look up when the guards all spotted her and stood.

    “Honestly,” she said. “How many people does it take to keep an eye on one five-year-old? Don’t you all have work to do?”

    “We were thinkin’ maybe there could be Squirrels about,” someone explained, awkwardly. She rolled her eyes; the expression might have lost some effect in the pouring rain and dark, so she added a little of it to her tone.

    “Yes, well. If so, I’ll protect you, Jenny. Get going, all of you. Find something else to do.”

    Most of them trailed off, muttering among themselves. One man stuck around; she raised an eyebrow at him, which he seemed to take as a sign. He stumped off a few yards away and stood squinting out at the dark woods. She rolled her eyes again and crouched down.

    “Hello. Who are you?”

    “I’m six,” the huddled shape said.

    “What’s that?”

    “You said I was five.”

    “Oh. Sorry. It’s hard to tell for sure, under that blanket.”

    “I don’t want t’ get wet.”

    “What’s your name?”

    “Ailfe.”

    “My name’s Hilde,” she said. “If you come with me, you can get something to eat and sit in front of a fire. What do you say?”

    “Alright.”

      Ailfe sat next to the fire, inhaling a steaming bowl of barley and dandelion leaves. Hilde offered seconds after the first bowl was done, bided her time, and, finally, asked, “So - Ailfe. Where are your parents?”

    The girl shrugged, took just enough time away from eating to say, “Dead,” and went back to it. Eldred shook his head again, slightly, when she glanced at him; he had looked less than surprised when she came in out of the rain lugging a bundle. He was trying to look like he was wearily embracing the inevitable, but she could see a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. She smiled back.

    “Where are you from?”

    “Dravograd,” Ailfe said.

    “Ah.”

    She’d heard rumors, in passing, through the militia, who’d heard them from the merchants on the roads. Hilde knew enough to believe them.

    “Well,” she said, “You can stay here, if you like; it’s not like we don’t have the room, and you can help my nephews with the sheep. How’s that sound?”

    “Fine.”

      Not twenty minutes later, the girl was dead asleep. Hilde pulled a dry blanket around her and stretched out on the pallet in the corner next to Eldred.

    “Couldn’t let her starve,” she said to him.

    “We’ve had stranger things than elves in our family, I suppose,” he replied. “Remember my uncle Egbert? Th’ one who turned into an enthusiast and became a priest of Pareplut?”

    “I always wanted a daughter.”

    “I know,” he said, kissed the side of her head, and added, “I love you.”

    “And I love you, Eldred,” she said.          

    -——

    When she’d decided she was going to marry him, her parents hadn’t been too sure about the idea. She was twenty and he was slightly more than a decade older, but she’d seen him in the tournaments, and she’d heard about him outside them. He was very often the best knight on the field - perfect form, an undeniable talent - and he was a close cousin to the King, and her aunt’s husband had it on good authority that he was as capable an administrator as he was a fighter. It was true that he wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t foolish enough to care about his missing front tooth, or the scar on his chin, or his crooked nose. The day he’d won yet another tournament and gallantly offered her the prize with a gap-toothed smile, she knew nobody in the world was going to change her mind about Sir Eldred Greenwood. Her parents would just have to get used to it.

    ——

    The rain stopped for good and the sun cooked all the water out of the air. She started sending the kids and donkeys off to the stream, a mile away, every morning and evening to fill kegs with water. Ailfe trooped along with the others, wearing a shapeless cap that covered her ears, looking as filthy and half-wild as any of them. She had forgotten about the incident with Herron completely.

    She was sitting on the top rail of a fence in the twilight, watching bats flutter through the smoke and lights of the camp and chatting about nothing in particular with Eldred. Anything resembling privacy was hard to come by, but most people seemed to be off doing something, somewhere, and nobody was near the sheep pens. At least, they didn’t think so, but they were wrong. Right around the time she lost interest in the bats and they ran out of things to talk about, something interrupted the forgotten background hum of insects and humanity.

    “Wynn?” a voice said, from the nearby guardpost, out of sight past a shed. Eldred jumped about three inches and, to her mild disappointment, stopped kissing her.

    “What the hell-”

    She covered his mouth with her hand, quickly.  

    “Shush.”

    It was only Herron. She recognized his voice. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice that responded.

    “Hi Herron. You on watch?”

    “Yep.”

    “When do you get off?”

    “Uh, in around an hour. Why?”

    She figured it out, after some thought; it was the girl he’d been arguing with, weeks earlier. Eldred raised an inquiring eyebrow up at her. She shook her head at him.

    “Do you want t’ get dinner afterward? My folks are cooking a chicken that quit laying.”

    “Oh,” Herron said. “I already ate.”

     After a brief pause, the girl said, “Um, well, have a good shift, then. I’ll see you later.”

    “Later,” Herron replied.

    Hilde waited a minute, then sighed wearily. Eldred looked pained.

    “That was the single worst thing I’ve ever overheard,” he commented.

    “I’m thinking you ought to have a talk with our son,” she replied, quietly.

    “First thing in the morning, and not a minute later,” he agreed. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

    “We weren’t.”

    ————

    They’d had five sons. The oldest, Hal, had a wife and children of his own. He was at court, most of the time; Eldred had sworn off the place as soon as Hal was old enough to go without him, and only went up for holidays and emergencies. Edgar and Robin, the twins, were five years younger and as unalike as they could make themselves. Edgar was a wanderer, had barely been home for most of the last decade. She wasn’t sure if it was fortunate or not that he had been home during the spring. Robin had just gotten married during the winter, and had a position at court. Jack, the fourth, had died of consumption when he was four. Her youngest son was a surprise; she’d been over forty when he was born, and nobody had expected both of them to survive the event, but they’d been wrong. Herron was weedy, but he was as strong as an ox. He looked like his father, crooked nose and all, but he acted just like her long-dead oldest brother - kind, loyal, brilliant, and unbelievably easy to manipulate. It worried her, sometimes, but she knew better than to wonder if her youngest son would come to a similar end. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past, and even less by trying to predict the future.

    ———

    The dry spell continued. One evening the donkeys and children went off as usual. An hour later as she was helping finish butcher one of the pigs, one of the boys scrambled out of the woods. Hilde balanced the knife in her hand and glanced at the trees behind him. Nothing seemed to be following him - at least, not very closely.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “They’re comin’,” he said, wide-eyed and shaking.

    “Who?”

    “Black Ones. We was on our way back, and - and -”

    She swore under her breath and turned quickly; she would have told one of the others to get Eldred, find the militia, but it was too late; someone had already gone.

    “- they took all the donkeys,” he continued, “Even Donny.”

    “What about all your friends? The other kids?”

    “I don’t know; everyone was running around, and there were soldiers, and nobody was payin’ attention to me and I just ran away.”

    Herron raced up, sweating heavily.

    “Ma, someone said th’ enemy’s here, and dad says t’ get everyone inside th’ stockade-”

    “Yes, I know what t’ do,” she said. “There’s a bunch of kids out in these woods, somewhere.”

    Her daughter was out there, somewhere. She had to go find them.

    “I’ll go look for them,” Herron said. “I’ll find them.”

    He looked terrified. She couldn’t send him - but she couldn’t not send him; she knew she couldn’t really go herself. What would she do out in the woods? Get lost. Get killed. Herron was, if nothing else, a good shot, and a halfway decent hunter.

    “I can do it,” he said. He looked even younger than he actually was, but he sounded confident. She breathed out and nodded.

    “Please be careful.”

    “I’ll try.”

      The stockade was barely a wall; it was a fence with a gate, but it was better than nothing. They’d built it to head height with the sharp ends of logs pointed out toward the trees, and it wouldn’t stop an arrow, but it would stop a horse. Hilde stood by the gate, looking through the holes in the fence at the path her husband and a bunch of teenagers and farmers had taken into the woods. He had trooped out with a sword in his hand, smiled at her under his helmet, and hadn’t looked back. She told herself he would be fine, and Herron would be fine, and the collection of women armed with axes and pitchforks and old spears left over to defend the entirety of the camp would be fine.

    Hours passed, and nothing happened. The feeling of stretched nerves in the air turned to one of faint boredom as the afternoon wore on. She took to pacing the perimeter of the fence, watching the trees for movement, listening for a sound other than the endless rattle of cicadas and crickets and the noise of livestock and people. The shadows got long, and nothing happened. She sternly told herself not to worry, or, at least, not to imagine horrible things that could be happening very far away.

    “Horses,” someone suddenly said. “I hear horses comin’.”

    She stared out at the woods, clutching the makeshift spear she’d armed herself with. There were horses out there; she heard a rumble that could only be a line of heavy cavalry, dozens of armored horses and men. She’d heard them a thousand times in a thousand melees, and she could imagine exactly what they would do to her mass of barely-armed, unarmored peasants if they broke through the fence.

    “Get ready with the spears,” she said. “Just like we practiced.”

    Spears was an overstatement; more than a few of the people who lined up behind the fence with the points of their weapons facing toward the trees were holding pitchforks, but Eldred had thought they’d do just as well. She had her own doubts, but they didn’t have anything better. Any side conversations ended as the sound of the oncoming cavalry rumbled louder; they stood and sweated and waited until the first horse appeared on the narrow road between the trees. She squinted at it; it was hard to see in the dusk, and she wasn’t very familiar with Nilfgaardian armor, but she didn’t think the rider was wearing black. In fact, the knight riding up at the head of the column had a distinctly familiar seat. She breathed, finally, and leaned the spear on the fence.

    “Those are Lyrian banners,” someone said.

    “It’s a trick,” someone else replied, shakily.

    “No,” she said. “No it isn’t. Open the gate.”

    She trooped up the road, met the column, found Herron limping along beside them with a bandage on his leg, a pack of children surrounding him, and Ailfe in his arms.

    “What happened?”

    “I did it,” Ailfe announced. “I saved the day.”

    “Oh?”

    “Well, sort of,” her son replied. “She did keep the Blackclads from catching her and the other kids -”

    “-we climbed a tree,” a boy announced, smugly.

    “-and then I found them and they caught me -”

    “Herron fought like a good one,” said Ailfe. “He got wounded, look.”

    “- then Dad and the lads turned up and attacked the Nilfs -”

     Ailfe finished the story in an excited shout.

    “- and then, durin’ the fight, th’ army came!”

    The knight from the head of the column pulled up and stopped.

    “Not that we needed help,” he said.

    “No, of course not,” Hilde replied, rolling her eyes at him.

    “- anyway, it all ended more or less well,” said Herron. “And they’re saying the Queen’s back.”

    She looked up at Eldred, caught a gap-toothed grin on his face.

    “Oh?”

    Eldred nodded at her.

    “We can go home soon,” Herron said.

    “Home?” Ailfe asked.

    “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “Come on, let’s get down to the camp. Ma, are you coming?”

    “In a minute,” Hilde said.

      “Well,” she said, in the comparative quiet after they left, “Did you see any of our sons?”

    “Not in this unit - these people are just scouts, really,” Eldred said.

    “They’re all alive, at least?”

    “Far as I know. We’ll see them soon enough, if all goes well.”

    “That’s a relief.”

    “Can I give you a lift back?”

    “A ride from a noble knight? I can’t say no to that,” she said.

    The camp was swarming with Lyrian soldiers, Rivian civilians, donkeys, barking dogs, and runaway goats and sheep. Eldred reined in the horse at the gate and overlooked the chaos. She thought she caught a glimpse of Herron and Wynn, ducking out of sight behind a hut, and quickly pointed out the leader of the soldiers.

    “Ah,” Eldred said. “Well, I suppose we could wade into this mess and talk to him -”

    “You’re the Baron,” she interrupted. “You can’t just sneak off by yourself with all this going on. Also, it’s getting dark.”

    “I wasn’t going to go by myself.”

    “Oh,” she said.

    “What I’m thinking is we go off somewhere and come back after this has a chance t’ calm itself down -”

    “I suppose I can always pretend you kidnapped me,” she said. “Someone has to maintain an appearance of responsibility around here.”

    “I promise to have you back before dark,” he said. “What d’ you say?”

    “It’s a deal.”            

    “Someone told me our Hal’s a Colonel, now,” he said, turning the horse around. She wrapped her arms around his waist and propped her chin up on his shoulder to see the road ahead.

    “Is he?”

    “Not that it’s a surprise; he’s just like you.”

    “A social climber?”

    “A pragmatist.”

    “You always were a romantic, Eldred.”

    “I’m a lucky man. We wouldn’t have made it all these months without you.”

    Luck had nothing to do with it; they’d planned and fought and were, again, fortunate that it had all worked out in the end. She buried her face in his neck and let him think it had, anyway.

    “I can’t wait to go home,” she said.

[gottlem]

1 and 36 with our clown babies aka crygi bc i love ur writing and crave angst with a happy ending

here it is!! hope u like it <3 ive never really written angst before so i hope i did ur cravings justice!

1. “The bed is cold without you”

36.  “This is embarrassing but I had a bad dream and back home when this happens I normally just crawl into bed with my mom or sister but since they’re not here anymore can I sleep with you?”

Crystal and Gigi had been living together for a week before things started to fall apart. The first two days were amazing - they had hours and hours of free time with absolutely no risk of being walked in on by a family member. - it was heaven. The spell was broken when responsibilities came into play.

For five days, each girl had been culminating a long list of pet peeves about the other, manifesting all that anger inside of them through passive aggression. It was starting to get childish, really. They had never really fought before. They had been friends before they got together years ago, which built a solid basis of the relationship, meaning they knew how to avoid and solve disagreements quickly and without much fuss.

That seemed to go out the window when they moved in together. Gigi would do minor things just to get on Crystal’s nerves. She would close the windows in the bathroom so when she showered, it would get all foggy. She would replace the toilet paper facing inwards instead of out. She would leave dishes in the sink and forget to put her clothes away. It would drive Crystal mad, but they were just small enough for Gigi to be able to say that her girlfriend was being dramatic if she brought it up. They both knew exactly how to drive each other up the walls, and for some reason had started a small war with one another, not even knowing how it started. 

Crystal hated arguing. She hated it so much she would do anything to avoid it, which is why she had kept quiet with Gigi for the past few days. The idea of a shouting match between them was terrifying to her, but she was so fucking annoyed. Which is exactly how she found herself screaming at her girlfriend for something dumb that she didn’t even care about that much, really. She was just mad. And she hated it. She hated it because her throat hurt and her eyes filled with tears in front of this girl, this beautiful girl, that she loved so much. And the beautiful girl was screaming right back at her, just as loud. Only she stood tall, without a tear in her eye. She seemed almost emotionless. It was all very Gigi. Which aggravated Crystal even more,

It ended with Gigi storming out at 10pm with only a coat and her phone which Crystal knew was basically out of battery. It was dark outside, and it didn’t take long for Crystal’s anger to be replaced with concern. Gigi was out alone, in the dark, without a working phone, and Crystal was scared. She had started to grow tired, both physically and emotionally, after an hour but refused to go to sleep.

It was just after midnight when Crystal finally gave up and fell asleep, which proved to be way more difficult without Gigi there. She slept through the door opening at 1am, which revealed an emotionally exhausted Gigi, who had gotten lost in the dark with nobody to help her. She didn’t even walk to the bedroom, terrified that Crystal would still be up, waiting for her to return so she could resume the argument. She fell asleep on the couch. 

Gigi abruptly woke up an hour later, with tears in her eyes and a busy mind. She felt like crying. She needed Crystal, so she put her pride aside and walked into their bedroom to find her girlfriend peacefully sleeping. She knocked on the open door, just loud enough to wake her up without startling her (she was a light sleeper) and watched her wake up with a confused look on her face.

“This is embarrassing but I had a bad dream and back home when this happens I normally just crawl into bed with my mom or sister but since they’re not here anymore can I sleep with you?”  Gigi rushed it all out in one breath, and Crystal just looked up at her. She felt bad for waking the girl up, but she just couldn’t be alone right now, not after that nightmare. Crystal looked tired, Gigi thought she was beautiful. She patted on the bed beside her, Gigi let out a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “The bed is cold without you, anyways” Crystal sighed.

When she got under the covers, she looked Crystal in the eyes and felt herself tear up. She opened her mouth to apologise for earlier, but Crystal spoke up instead.

“What was the dream?” Her voice was soft, antithetical to what it had been when Gigi stormed out. 

“you broke up with me”

Crystal’s face fell at the confession. She shook her head and pecked Gigi’s lips, after telling her she’d never, ever break up with her. That night, the girls found themselves very much awake as they kissed and made up.

[beyondflashpoint]

Prologue 3: World’s Finest:

It was a quiet night, for Gotham. Quiet for Gotham still meant a surplus of muggers, purse snatchers, and various other petty criminals, who more often than not fled at the sight of any one of the city’s resident costumed vigilantes. That was fine by Damian. In the four years since he had assumed the mantle of Robin, donning the colorful tights to aid in his father’s nightly crusade, he’d experienced a fair number of not so quiet nights in Gotham.

In the early days he’d longed for the next complex caper, the next shadowy plot, the next Arkham breakout. But as time wore on he came more and more to appreciate the quiet nights. The mission wore on endlessly, and for Damian, and all those who fought by he and his father’s side, the quiet nights were the closest thing to rest.

Father was on one of his interstellar escapades with the Justice League. Damian had seen their work, and thought it mostly ineffectual grandstanding, so he understood the necessity of Batman’s presence among them. They needed someone who could get the job done. What he couldn’t understand was the necessity for him to have a chaperone.

Grayson had accompanied him on patrols every night since father’s departure, as if without constant supervision Damian might decide to go on a killing spree, or blow up a bank. Not that he minded Grayson’s company. He was an effective combatant, and contrary to Damian’s first impression he was actually competent with strategy and detective work. Unfortunately he also talked. A lot. Beyond the pithy one liners and snarky banter he fired off in combat, which could have been excused as psychological warfare, Grayson wanted to talk about everything. Was he reading anything good lately, had he made any new friends, what music was he listening to, did he have a life outside of the mission, when was the last time he’d washed the uniform? It was incessant. Countless tedious questions fired off in rapid succession, as if Grayson had a pathological fear of silence.

At least he’d finally stopped trying to set Damian up on play dates with the other teenaged vigilantes. That had been beyond frustrating. For a time Grayson had pitched a different cooperative mission, which he’d pestilently referred to as “team-ups”, every week. The last and least unbearable had been with the Kent boy, though he had ended up roped into irregular interactions with the child, outside of uniform, and preforming menial tasks unrelated to the crusade.

Blessedly, Jonathan was currently grounded, due to poor performance in mathematics. Perhaps he should have mercy and tutor the boy. He would consider broaching the offer after he slept.

“Mushroom swiss, extra onions, and large mocha, triple espresso. You know you really should cut back of the caffeine, Lil’ D. It’ll stunt your growth.”

Damian snatched the bag and beverage. “And you should cut back on the pizza. It’s starting to look like Pennyworth needs to let out your uniform again.”

“Very funny, brat.” Grayson ruffled his hair, before plopping down on the ledge beside him and settling into what looked like an overstuffed breakfast burrito, though he did pull at the fabric clinging to his abs when he thought Damian wasn’t looking.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Grayson asked as he chased an exceptionally large bite with his own coffee.

“B-and-E on 18th, but GCPD was close enough to respond, so I let them handle it.”

“Why Damian, I didn’t know you were capable of sharing. How generous of you.” Grayson punctuated his feigned surprise with a dainty hand against his face. Damian narrowed his eyes, and returned his attention to his own meal.

“Tt”

“Jason and his ‘Outlaws’ got back to Blüdhaven this morning. I think they were doing something about the Lexcorp drilling operation in Smallville. The facilities definitely exploded, and explosions usually involve Jason. Surprisingly there were no casualties.”

“Jason has never broken father’s code, despite every opportunity to do so. His methods might be a bit extreme, but they are effective, and non-lethal.”

Grayson paused. “But I’m still your favorite brother, right?”

Damian smirked. “I’m no longer wishing you dead.”

Grayson laughed, then the two ate in silence. While Damian was washing down the last vestiges of his meal, Grayson stood and stretched. “So, I’m thinking we move towards the bay area. Seems like theirs always something to do there.”

“If you’re eager to stay busy, we could consult Oracle.”

Grayson shuffled awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary. Between the police scanner and Al manning the bat-computer, we’ll know where we’re needed, when we’re needed.”

Damian got to his feet and stretched himself. It seemed there was some awkwardness between Grayson and the Gordon girl, probably stemming from a failed romance. Grayson didn’t talk about it, and neither did Oracle. He could probably ask Jason, but he didn’t care that much. So long as it didn’t effect the mission.

It was a short trip by rooftop to the bay area docks, and the two were in no real rush. This was a simple patrol, mostly for the sake of reminding Gotham that it’s guardians were constantly vigilant. Across the bay, the shining beacon of metropolis lit the sky as if to starkly contrast the shadowy gloom of Gotham. Damian had often wondered if property was cheaper on the Gotham-facing side of Metropolis. He knew from father that the reverse was true of Metropolis facing property in Gotham. On the other side of the Bay Bridge, the Hights loomed like towering castles, housing those of Gotham’s elite who preferred high rises to mansions. One of those buildings held a penthouse suite belonging to Father and housing a substitute Batcave far better outfitted than the many bunkers father had across the city. Damian had toured each of these facilities in his first week as Robin, and given them each a monthly inspection since. In recent months he’d taken to sleeping in the penthouse when he and father had one of their frequent disagreements. Before that he’d mostly gone to Jason’s Blüdhaven bunker, but a particularly awkward incident had put a stop to that.

Grayson was right about the frequency of criminal activity in the area, and the two had barely began their loop around the docks when they came upon a group of thugs brazenly unloading pallets of cocaine. The two separated wordlessly, each seeking a vantage point from which to survey the scene before acting.

Grayson went high, perching on top of a crane, Damian went low silently positioning himself on a shipping container right above the scum.

“I count six men, two in the truck, two in the container, and two patrolling. The guards have automatic weapons, but I’d be willing to bet all six are packing. How do you want to proceed?” Grayson spoke in a determined whisper, and Damian replied in the same hushed tones.

“I see five. One of the guards is heading your way. Advise pattern Gamma-12. Move at your command.” Damian never enjoyed handing over control, but Grayson had the best view of the battlefield, and would make the right call.

“Acknowledged. Guard two is on your 8:15. You may proceed with pattern G-12.”

Damian dropped onto the unsuspecting guard, who was exactly where Grayson had said he’d be. Before the man could make a sound, Damian clapped a hand over his mouth and struck key pressure points in rapid succession, rendering the man unconscious. With silent precision he moved towards the container and his next targets.

The truck was shaking as he stepped from the corridor into the loading area, and he knew Grayson was doing his part. When his targets moved into the container to start on another pallet he stepped in behind them and slowly shut the door. The thump of metal and frightened, agonized screams were the only indication of what was happening inside, and they faded into silence quickly enough.

When Damian emerged, Grayson was standing with his hands on his hips, no doubt preparing some quip or other. Before he could say anything though, a brilliant radiance lit the sky like daybreak come several hours to soon. And with a deafening crash, the meteor smashed into the bay, sending a wave far enough inland that puddles formed around their feet. The two locked eyes, wordlessly agreeing that it was within their responsibilities to respond, and made their way toward the crash site.

The scene was tranquil, if one could ignore the floating debris and wreckage of personal water craft that had congregated to the bay’s center, ringing the impact zone like the epicenter of a child’s temper tantrum. Damian and Grayson stood in silent awe, until Damian pulled the Geiger-counter out of his belt and set the device ticking.

“Al, how fast could you get us a boat to Gotham Bay, pier 19?”

“I’m picking up radiation, if minor. Our space rock is so lukewarm it’s practically cold.” Damian returned the device to his belt.

“I’ve dispatched the bat-boat you your location, Nightwing. Happy sailing sir.”

The two glanced at each other as the din of distant sirens and alarms died down. The cities on both sides of the bay were wide awake now, and they wouldn’t have long to investigate before the authorities moved in. The boat took just long enough for Grayson to become antsy, tapping his foot and drumming his fingers over his crossed arms. When the visor slid back to open the vessels empty cockpit, Grayson boarded without a moment’s hesitation.

Damian moved to join him.

“Hope Al packed some trunks. We might be getting wet Lil’D.” Grayson opined as Damian fastened himself in.

In leu of a response, Damian rolled his eyes, and the duo started across the bay to the epicenter of the crash. They had just reached their goal when the boat heaved and rolled over, flipped like a child’s plaything. Moments later a heavy thump resounded from the skyward facing underside of the vessel. Damian and Grayson situated their respirators, exchanging an understanding glance and Grayson opened the visor and the boat’s interior flooded with the oily bay water. At the last minute, Damian released the clasp on his cape, cutting the resistance he’d face cutting through the water.

The duo surfaced to a strange sight. Standing on wobbly legs on the slowly submerging underside of the bat-boat, was a young woman, soaked from head to toe, and wearing what looked like a silver and white wet-suit. Grayson, who had surfaced and disengaged his respirator first, cautiously joined her on the slowly sinking makeshift island.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” She jerked her head towards him, panicked, fearful. Damian was all to familiar with such mannerisms. He propped his arms on the boat.In response, the young woman muttered something Damian couldn’t quite make out.

“Miss, it’s okay. We’re here to help.” Grayson took a cautious step towards the young woman, who responded with a frightened shout and a shove at Grayson, who hadn’t even finished shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Soaked to the bone, and standing on precarious, slippery footing, a slip or stumble would have been expected, even from one with the lithe grace of Grayson. Instead, he jettisoned a pained grunt and flew from the vessel, skipping twice across the water’s surface like a stone. Damian watched in shocked awe, and turning his eyes on the aggressor, saw the same look in her own eyes. They were blue. She met his gaze and shouted something else in that gibberish that was starting to sound vaguely familiar to Damian. Then she jumped as if to dive into the Gotham facing side of the bay. But instead launched at least fifty feet into the air, sailing in a clear arch to the docks he and Grayson had left moments ago.

“Grayson-“

“Still breathing Lil’D. Get after her. I’ll catch up.” Grayson sounded winded, and was barely suppressing what Damian was guessing to be intense pain, but he kicked off the boat and swam towards the docks nonetheless. Even at the brisk pace he set, it still took way too long to reach the shore. Luckily the young woman left a trail. Wet footprints and cracked pavement made the pursuit easy as following a hare though fresh snow. She was moving eastward, and inland.

Damian’s pursuit showed all the telltale signs of a frightened, if powerful, meta-human, just coming into her abilities. She needed to be stopped before she hurt anyone, before she hurt herself. Anyone else, Damian mentally corrected. He’d passed a few would be thugs or helping hands with significant (though fortunately non-lethal) injuries in an alley a few blocks back. Beams of crimson light shot skyward from the next street over. Damian hip-fired his line launcher and took the rooftop in time to catch a glimpse of the chaos on the street below, and the young woman illuminated by police flashlights as she floated gracelessly skyward. With very little time for mental calculations, Damian took a running start and dove across the gap between buildings.

He collided with the girl in mid air, directly above the middle of the crowded street, with thirty stories of open air between him and unforgiving concrete. His gamble paid off. Whatever method granted the girl flight had slowed their decent, and coupled with Damian’s momentum they came down in a slow arch, landing on the rooftop on the other side of the street. For his part Damian had to roll to disperse the excess momentum. The girl immediately rose from her knees to her feet with stony determination. She shouted at him in what he realized was an alien language.

“Tired of running, I take it. Come then.” Damian pulled the sword from his belt. It was blunted, had been for almost three years now, a concession made to ease father’s mind. But even without an edge it could break bones, bruise bodies, and dissuade antagonists. Before he had taken a ready stance, the girl launched forward at speeds that would even give Allen pause. The blade bounced and rattled on the rooftop, useless. Clearing thirty feet in less than a second, the girl had pinned Damian to the wall by his wrists. The impact had knocked the breath from him, and might have broken both of his wrists, had they not been cushioned by the meta’s fingers. As it was, her vice like grip was already bruising bone deep. A horrific crimson light radiated menacingly from her previously arctic blue eyes. Damian narrowed his own eyes, scowling. Mentally he was running through every possible counter, every potential method of escape. Then, she spoke again, and the nagging familiarity clicked.

“Where the hell am I? What the hell is going on?”

Damian mentally thanked Jon for the Kryptonian lessons, and formulated his plan. It would have to be fast.

“Welcome to earth.” He spat, smirking. The glow faded from her eyes, replaced by shock. Her grip on his wrists loosened, and Damian moved to the second step of his plan. He pushed forward as hard and fast as he could, planting his lips on hers. The Selina Kyle method. As expected, confusion, shock, and perhaps a touch of embarrassment caused the Kryptonian to fully release her grip and stagger backwards, giving Damian enough time to pull the aerosolized kryptonite/ knockout gas concoction from the led-lined pouch on his belt and spritz the girl with a healthy dose.

Once she had collapsed into a heap and Damian was sure that she was fully unconscious, he called Grayson.

It was just before sunrise when father returned, and on Damian’s insistence, brought the elder Kryptonian with him. Unlikely as it was, Kara Zor-El was his cousin, sent to earth from Kandor, the capital city of Krypton moments before the planet’s destruction. She was uncertain what had set her off course by nearly four decades, but she had finally arrived.

Within six months, she was fluent in English. In ten she was versed enough in her powers to earn Superman’s approval to shadow him in metropolis. After some convincing Bruce set her up in an unused apartment he kept in National City with an established civilian identity and all the paperwork that required. Before the end of her first year, Kara had blended almost seamlessly into earthling society, though under constant supervision from the Justice League. By that time even Batman’s considerable scrutiny waned. But Damian remained cautious.

Eventually, Supergirl’s fame and reverence grew to match that of her well established cousin, and the world mostly came to accept the new heroically inclined visitor from a strange world.

But the clock was ticking, and had been long before the alien child set foot of the strange new world. Events were already in motion that would call to question the meaning of the word hero, and the line that separates good and evil.

Tick

Tock

Tick

[brooklynislandgirl]

The Cousins: Wendigo Tribe

Considering themselves to be the purest of the Garou, the Wendigo seek to destroy the influence of the Wyrm while preserving their ancient traditions

Tribal Culture: The Wendigo are among the best of Garou warriors, skilled at tracking and silent ambush. They direct as much of their power as they can against the Wyrm and for many Wendigo, that includes European Garou, whose influence ultimately resulted in the destruction of the Croatan. Virtually all Wendigo, save for those in Siberia, are descended from Native American peoples and wild wolves, and their Kinfolk are the same. Most of their internal customs like the powwow or the potlatch, are derived from Kinfolk practices.

Political Culture:

Some hard-line Wendigo believe they can drive the Wyrmbringers from the Pure Lands or wash the Wyrm-taint from the land with the Wyrmbringers’ blood. This extremist view has been gaining popularity as frustrations mount in the Tribe, and some talk of an alliance with like-minded Red Talons. Most take the view that defeating the Wyrm in all its forms should take precedence over choosing a particular breed of homid to dominate the continent. The Wendigo limit their ties to the other Tribes as much as possible. Although they are still somewhat close to the Uktena, they also have many allies amonth the Silent Striders, the Red Talons, and a healthy respect for the Black Furies. While some Wendigo will ally themselves temporarily with European Garou, it will usually be short-term and with much distrust. They have a particular hatred directed at the Fianna, Get of Fenris, and Shadow Lords. Justice among the Wendigo is usually a swift issue. If there are personal disagreements, it is often solved through a duel. In other cases, a council of tribal Elders congregates to find a fitting punishment or solution, often either banishment from the Tribe, or death.

Religious Culture:

The Wendigo were, and still are, a deeply traditional and spiritual Tribe that holds fast to many rituals of their native blood and Garou heritage. They practice ritual purity before hunts, battles, or other major undertakings, and seek aid from the spirits for many matters. They continue to seek some news about their lost brethren, the Croatan and the Croatan’s totem, Turtle.

Purity is held in the highest regard in the Tribe. Practitioners will go to elaborate means to make Rites and rituals as pure as possible; and members will purify themselves before major and minor events ranging from war to hunting. Many Wendigo will also turn to spiritual matters, such as journeys to the Ghost World {the Umbra} to seek answers to their burning questions or quests.  The Wendigo Tribe takes their name from their totem, the winter cannibal spirit of North America. Great Wendigo teaches its children the power of the cold, cutting wind, and skills like stealth, which they use to ambush the forces of the Wyrm {and occasionally trespassing outsiders}. Some even practice ritual cannibalism in emulation of their Totem. These Wendigo do their best to keep their activities secret from the rest of the Tribe.

History

In the ancient days before the Wyrmbringers and their Garou allies, the Wyrmcomers, the Wendigo tribe was one of three that tended to the humans and wolves of the Pure Lands. The Uktena tribe was known as Older Brother, the shaman of the People, and the Croatan was Middle Brother, the leaders and diplomats. Wendigo was Younger Brother, the warriors who came to settle in northern North America.

~Early History~ When the Tribe came into existence, Wendigo did not choose them. The Tribe was chosen by Sasquatch. At some point, Sasquatch ceased to be the Tribe’s totem and Wendigo adopted them. The reason behind this are forever the fuel of many brawls with the Wendigo. The truth behind the disappearance is, Sasquatch IS Wendigo, forever changed by the journey to the Pure Lands. The Wendigo, with the assistance of this new, ferocious spirit, took it upon themselves to guard the bridges over the collapsed Bering Strait so that no Wyrm beast would follow the Brothers. Both the Impergium and the War of Rage was less severe in the Pure Lands. The Croatan convinced the Wendigo that Gaia would control the numbers of the humans. Like everything else, if the humans remembered their place, they never felt the claws of Wendigo. As for the other changing breeds, if they didn’t stink of Wyrm or aid the enemies of Wendigo, then they were allowed to live. The southern tribes under the protection of the Wendigo became part of the League of Five Nations in 1450. It was an attempt to maintain and mend the relationships between the Three Tribes. At the same time, rivalries between various indigenous Nations split the internal cohesion of the Wendigo, so that they could not, at first, coordinate their efforts to deal with the Wyrmcomers.

~Colonial Age~ The Wendigo were the first of the Pure Tribes to come into contact with the settlers. The reaction of the Tribe was harsh dismissal, although their Kinfolk tribes did not always follow suit and sometimes had pity with the foreigners and tried to aid them. The death of the Croatan shocked the Wendigo. Moon bridges that could have ensured that messengers of Middle Brother could reach the others faster had been closed off, resentment and anger still simmered, and the Croatan did not have time to wait for their brothers tribes. Knowing that the Eater-of-Souls was close to entering this world and begin the Apocalypse, they instead chose to sacrifice themselves to contain it. Arguments between the Uktena and Wendigo as to who was responsible for letting the Croatan die escalated and drove a wedge between the two remaining tribes that lasts to this day. After the destruction of the Croatan, the Wendigo remained warriors, and they refused to yield in the face of the Wyrmbringers’ invasion of the Pure Lands. They fought, fell back, and fought again over the course of the centuries. In the end, the Wendigo were forced to retreat to their most remote caerns and wage war from there. Bitter arguments on how to proceed were made, if Kinfolk who had accepted European customs should be taken along and how to care for their old, sacred places, and if the Wendigo should turn to the Uktena for help. It ended up with a tribe divided, with the most radical withdrawing to the polar circle, while others remained at least near their caerns until messages had reached the Uktena and monitored the activities of the Wyrmcomers. The West, as the Wyrmbringers called it, was the First People’s land for centuries. The Wyrmbringers call this the “Indian Wars.” Humans, wolves, Wyrmbringers, Wyrmcomers all fought until the lands were stained with blood and the rank of Wyrm. The Wyrmcomers took caerns by force, not paying any attention to the rites performed at those sacred places for centuries. Because of this it is believed Storm Eater was released. The Wendigo were forced to work with their enemies to bring down this horrible creature. This of course did not last long. Wounded Knee proved that their thirst for the land made no alliance possible. The First People lost hope after that battle and scattered. The lose of the old ways broke their pride and broke the Wendigo’s hearts.

~Modern Nights~ These are the centuries that the Weaver took hold of most lands and never looked back. Even the First People got swept up into this madness. A great Wyrm road was build for easy access to Alaska. Snowmobiles and great vehicles made access to the North easier. Stupid Wyrmbringers risked their lives to find the North Pole, even placing a stupid sign there for others to see. Mostly throughout the history of the Wyrmbringer and Wyrmcomer invasion, they left the Wendigo’s lands to the North alone. Only the Get of Fenris could handle the Northern conditions. They were too busy following blood in the south. Now with all these new Weaver tools, the lands had been breached. 

In 1999, the Territory of Nunavut was created under Aboriginal rule. Finally Wendigo kin have a land they can call their own. It gives the Wendigo hope that other Wyrmbringer nations will follow suit. Many claim the land to be useless or unwanted but others say an untainted piece of the Pure Lands in never useless.

Organisation:

Outsider tribes know little of the Wendigo’s internal organisation. The Wendigo are loath to mix members of their Tribe with other Garou, seeing it as a danger to their purity. More rebellious members of a younger generation question the wisdom of this decision, as it limits the influence the Wendigo have in the Garou Nation, which ultimately isolates them even further. Camps: The Wendigo are few in number and closely knit; they could not survive the splintering that some tribes seem built upon. But just as their human Kin have many societies in their tribes ~warriors, police, educational and many more~ so do the Wendigo gather in some camps. While these groups create many differences of opinion, they are united in their lineage. WARPATH: When other Garou think of Wendigo, this is what they see. These are the stereotypical Wendigo. They are angry, butter, and willing to take the fight to the whites and to the Wyrmcomer Garou. They enjoyed their greatest size and power in the 1800s as some of their more notable kin such as Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, fought the White Power. While they have shrunk in size in recent years, there is a number of youngsters who tire of the elder’s hollow words of peace and cooperatively and willingly join the camp’s ranks. In recent events, the rise in native owned casinos is a blow to many a Wendigo’s pride, and such nonsense is at the heart of many Warpath’s  warrior’s rage. They see the very concept as a disgrace and a sign of full submission to the Wyrmcomers’ ways. The Warpath has not yet taken their battle to their own people, but some say it is only a matter of time.

THE SACRED HOOP: Preaching reverence of all spirits, White or Red, this camp came to power and has fought for prominence in the Wendigo tribe in a manner that has left neither the Sacred Hoop or the Warpath as the clear winners since the 1960s.  They are the ones who have invited non-natives into drum circles, written books on powwows, and other aspects of Native American culture. They work to exploit the New Age interest in native cultures and shamanism, to bring about a better understanding of their kin and the ways they still hold true to the Earth Mother. As more and more members of the tribe have become dissatisfied and impatient with their elders, however, this camp’s membership has grown old and somewhat thin. The Secret of the Hoop play a delicate game based primarily on the reality of what would happen should the Whites be eradicated from the face of the Pure Lands. It is not something that might happen, but something that several members of the Warpath and the Ghost Dance have been planning and articulating for over five hundred years. Should any of their more radical plans come to fruition, the Wendigo would find themselves, along with the Uktena and perhaps the Red Talons and some of the more militant Black Furies, against the might of the entire Garou Nation. This battle would surely be the Wyrm’s greatest work yet, and would only serve to drive the poison further into Gaia’s dying veins. So as long as the Warpath and the Ghost Dancers have existed, so have the Secret Hoop pulling strings that are attached to individual Wendigo here and there as needed.  They play primarily on the fact that the Warpath and the Ghost Dancers have always argued, and are ignorant to the initial reasons why, and ignorant to how similar their goals truly are. It would be a great blow to the tribe and the Secret Hoop should the others ever figure out just how closely they have been played against each other all these years. GHOST DANCERS: The group has members in the Uktena tribe as well and serves to make the land whole and clean as it once was. However, their Uktena counterparts do tend to be more squeamish when it comes to actual direct conflict. This camp is based upon the dreams of Wovoka, a Paiute holy man who taught that by living by the ways of the Earth Mother and dancing the Ghost Dance, a new world could be brought about. Wovoka’s Dance did not bring about a new world but his dream lives on.  Now, however, they dance quite differently and work to rid the Pure Lands of the Wyrmbringers through litigation and the White’s own law systems.  Recently they beam with pride at their success in establishing the nation of Nunavut, given to the Native People by the Canadian Government, as well as Nunavut’s place in Canada’s parliamentary government.

[junionigiri]

Ruby Red and Caramel Ch 7: Bacon and Eggs

Chapter Summary: The one where Katsuki finally tells Momo his pro-hero name.

Relationship(s): Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo; really minor Shinsou Hitoshi/Monoma Neito

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: I’m sorry I’m late!!! This was such a struggle to write haha. I hope you like it!!! Also, will add an omake to this chapter soon. If i could hehehe

The memories are hazy because it’s been so long, but Momo remembers odd bits and pieces of that late afternoon: her lying down on her stomach over the plush carpet of her room, notebooks and reference sprawled around her, the perfect image of diligence. However, her eyes are focused on the television set and nothing else. It explains the sour look on Mother’s face as she and a maid comes in with tea and crumpets.

“Momo, dear,” her mother says in a tone that’s as gentle and sharp as a scalpel through anaesthesised skin, “What is this shameless vulgar display they’re broadcasting so early in the afternoon?”

She sits up straight and arranges herself in a more ladylike posture. “They’re highlights from UA’s Annual Sports Festival, already edited and screened by CNN Japan. It is not meant to be vulgar, Mother.”

The reporter describes an unexpected student’s explosive debut, figuratively and literally. She clearly remembers Mother’s scowl, how she can almost taste the disgust in her own mouth. “You are right, Momo. Vulgar isn’t the term. Barbaric is more apt. Watching this, I simply cannot understand your obsession with heroics. I am relieved I talked you out of enrolling for the heroes course, and UA.”

Trying hard not to be too ashamed, Momo argues, weakly: “I… do not think it is barbaric, Mother. I think it’s… fascinating.” Another beat of silence, to regain her courage. “And I think I could have done as well as the other students. Do you know that this year, not one, not two, but three general studies students were able to--”

Mother’s mouth twists bitterly. “Oh, really? So if your father and I had the poor judgment to allow you to accept UA’s Hero Course Scholarship, do you think you would have stood in the same stage as either of those… those ruffians on the screen?”

She looks up. On the screen, a boy with an explosion quirk faces Endeavor’s son at the final one-on-one battle. “I don’t know mother, but I’m sure I would have done well enough to be in the one-on-one tournament...”

She laughs bitterly, making Momo wince. “Really.” A look of disbelief. “I suppose the Todoroki boy is all right. If you want, Father and I can arrange for you two to meet under more… civilised circumstances.”

She shakes her head immediately at that. She hasn’t enjoyed any of the arrangements that her parents have made for her so far. Somehow she feels that if things were different, she and this Todoroki-san could be friends. But definitely not in that context.

Mother takes note of her disagreement and says nothing more about Todoroki. But as to the other UA student: “But can you imagine you and that vulgar blonde boy getting along? Would you be able to trust a person like that with your life? Hero or not?”

Momo shifts her gaze to the television--the boy screams bloody murder at Endeavor’s son to use his fire, using the worst words in the Japanese vocabulary that she knows, and then some.

She keeps silent.

Mother takes this as her cue to reach for the remote and switch the TV off. The room is thrust into heavy silence, one Momo uses to stare down at her hands until her mother lifts her face in her hands.

“Listen, darling,” she says with a cloying smile. “I understand you, I really do. This desire of yours to help others and to dedicate your life to a life of service is surely a reflection of a noble heart…”

She feels a smile growing on her lips.

“... and a naiveté that comes with these… temporary teenage whims.” Mother slaps her cheeks lightly and lets her go, as if to sober her up. She spends a few moments in stunned silence, simmering in her disbelief.

“Mother, it’s not just a phase. I truly want to help people,” Momo reasons, knowing full well that her arguments are null and invalid, because she isn’t in UA’s uniform, she’s in Shiketsu’s, with a General Studies ID around her neck.

“You’ll understand when you get older,” is all Mother says, as she always has. “Leave heroism and altruism for people who can afford to throw their lives away. Momo… you are much too important for that. Much too intelligent, beautiful, valuable-- ”

The girl says nothing, allows her mother to ramble on about their perceived value, how Momo will go on to change the world and how it’s other people who should serve, not the other way around. She reaches out for her tea and wills the words to go in one ear and out the other.

“... and truly, your father and I have big expectations for you,” Mother finishes, looking right into her eyes. “If you were to inherit our corporation, Momo, and our ideals for a beautiful, industrial world, then in a way, you’d be helping more people than you can imagine.”

She smiles politely and nods, because there’s no other acceptable answer in this case.

Mother smiles at her good, obedient girl and nods. She places her science textbook on her daughter’s lap and looks at her meaningfully and leaves. Things are as they should be.

Years later, All Might isn’t getting any better, and villainy is at an all-time high. More and more people get hurt. Less and less highschoolers enroll for hero courses. And her parents get richer and richer and more and more unaffected. There’s actual burning fervor in her chest, so strong it hurts.

You can’t help what your heart wants.

She’ll never be a pro-hero, but she’ll still be someone who helps people. That’s what she tells herself as she opens Shiketsu University’s Website, looks through the accelerated Medicine courses, and fills out the application forms, behind Mother’s back…

*

As life-changing as they are, Momo never expects to see those clips again for whatever reason, and especially not in these odd circumstances: exhausted and mildly confused on Shinsou Hitoshi’s apartment floor. With Awase Yosetsu sprawled next to her, Midoriya Izuku calming himself down out on the balcony, and Monoma Neito eyeing everything with fox-like eyes, loaded with equal portions of interest and caution.

Shinsou is obviously the most reluctant one about the whole set-up, and not only because of Monoma’s brief tantrum regarding their need to resolve other people’s issues from more than a decade ago, on their rare date night of all nights. Still, the tired man tries his best for all of them. “You wanted to know how we knew each other. This is it.”

The videos from Youtube are thirteen years old, each viewed more than five million times over that period. He showed them all he could about that sports festival--the first race, which Midoriya won without any use of quirks. The Cavalry battle, where they form the team with the highest valued bandanna--a young Kirishima Eijirou at the front, Midoriya and Shinsou at the back, and Katsuki above them, easily dodging and stealing all they could despite the hero course students going after them with all they’ve got. When they draw lots for the final tournament, how the quirkless Midoriya is forced to back out from the one-on-one battles. How easily it seems for Katsuki to overpower the rest of them, making it to the finals to fight to almost win against a young Todoroki Shouto, who refuses to use his fire for whatever reason, until the last moment…

That year is memorable. Three General Studies students beating the hero course students, getting their valuable spots in the tournaments to show off their skills to the whole world. Strangely none of them being transferred to the hero course, despite the clamor from the hero community. The noise and outrage that followed.

It was a big deal for the other General Studies students not only in UA, but also Shiketsu High. And maybe the other schools too. Momo remembers the twinge of hope in her heart, how close she felt to the brash boy on television who showed everyone that there are people who can be heroes outside of the hero courses. That if a wild one like that has come so close, there might be a chance for someone like her who has nothing to step on but her pedestal.

Would you be able to trust a person like that with your life? Hero or not? Mother’s voice sounds from the back of her head, with the same bitterness.

“So… Bakugou was that GS kid who fought Todoroki,” comments Yosetsu, barely able to hide the awe in his voice. “I remember that, too. A lot of us in our high school seriously thought of shifting into a hero course after that. ‘Course, after we heard that none of you made it in the end, a lot of us gave up on that.”

“Yup. Well, not like UA didn’t try to get that bastard to the hero course after that. There were other reasons probably, but Bakugou himself didn’t want to change courses.” Shinsou sighs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You have no idea how much I wanted to kick his ass back then.”

Monoma makes a sound of interest. “Now that’s odd. So he acted like a rabid animal in the competition not because he wants to be a hero, but just because he wanted to show off.” His thin mouth curls into a sardonic smile. “That’s… not very heroic, you have to admit.”

“You’re wrong.”

They all look up cautiously as Midoriya comes in from outside. The chill of the night air tickles Momo’s skin as the glass door slides open and shut. When he comes closer, she sees pale, tired skin and slightly reddened eyes. His breath is shaky as he falls next to her--she feels the cold, lonesome and real, emerging around his aura.

Still, the weakened green-haired man looks at Monoma with determination in his eyes. “Kacchan didn’t do all he did because he didn’t want to be a hero… even though it’s what he wanted from the start, it’s because he knew he couldn’t be, and--”

“Midoriya,” Shinsou says, voice cutting through his ramble like a warning.

Midoriya inhales, closes his eyes for some semblance of control. “It’s… okay, Shinsou-kun. I won’t.”

They stare at him carefully, as carefully as one stares at a pile of bricks on the verge of collapse. Momo reaches out, touches him on the shoulder, for whatever good it does. She meets green eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” he manages, after a worrisome beat of silence. “I owe you guys a lot of apologies and explanations huh? I’m sorry,” he says bashfully, giving an awkward laugh that’s meant to reassure them, but obviously does the opposite for his cautious audience.

“You sure, dude?” Yosetsu says carefully. “I mean we’re here ‘cause we’re worried about you and we can listen if you want to talk, but you really don’t owe us anything, y’know?”

Yes, because the story between him and Katsuki doesn’t seem like a short one, or a simple one. Even if he doesn’t say a word, Momo has a good guess of the turmoil in the pit of his stomach, based on the anxious glimmer of his eyes--the pain, the fear. The guilt. She doesn’t know why there would be guilt there, but she’s sure it’s there like a rusty bullet wedged in his heart for the past decade.

“Thank you, Awase-kun,” Midoriya says with a sniffle. He shifts his gaze at Momo then, opens his mouth slowly and hesitantly before he speaks. “You and Kacchan… I mean, I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but I just had that feeling earlier…”

The only one who dares to do anything else but to remain in awkward silence is Monoma, who appears both carefully cunning and disinterested when he breaks it after a moment. “Better not go there, Midoriya-kun. One awful sob story at a time.”

That earns him a glare from Yosetsu. Momo isn’t offended, though, because he’s right.

Midoriya makes a sound of understanding, and doesn’t ask any further questions. Instead, he tells her, “I feel like… there’s lots of things you don’t understand about Kacchan. And maybe among all of us here, you’re the one who needs to know about what happened to him the most. And that’s why...”

Another beat of silence. Midoriya inhales again, and it still comes out as a shaky breath.

“... that’s why, I should apologize.” Out of nowhere, he bows his head low, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Why?” Momo asks, after a stunned silence. Her hand reaches out to touch him again in a show of reassurance.

“Because… it hurts too much.” He doesn’t immediately look up, making her wonder if he bowed his head to avoid meeting her eyes any more. When he does, he’s struggling to keep his eyes dry again, so much so that Monoma stands up and leaves, presumably to find tissues. “I thought about it a lot, and… I’m not ready to tell you guys what happened. I thought I would be by this time--it’s stupid, isn’t it, it’s been fourteen years, but I’m scared… scared that you guys will hate me, and--”

“Midoriya,” Shinsou repeats quietly, more gently this time. “It’s okay. Don’t force it.”

“Yeah. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.” Yosetsu says, although it’s obvious that he’s a little down for not being able to learn anything new.

He wipes his eyes against the back of his hand and looks meaningfully at Momo. “I’m… really sorry, Yaoyorozu-san.”

Something at the back of Momo’s mind itches and spasms and bleeds as she wonders what could have happened to those two, for this amount of guilt and pain from memories that should be gathering dust to still hang over their heads and not heal properly for the past fourteen years. Still, she understands as much. It may be a story she needs to hear, but it isn’t Midoriya’s story to tell.

She nods at him quietly and stands up, much to the surprise of everyone else in the room. “It’s all right, Midoriya-san. After all, Awase-san is correct. You don’t owe us anything.”

Yosetsu scrambles to his feet, intending to follow her out of the apartment, but she holds a hand up, stopping him in his tracks.

Everyone else looks at her face in awe, surprised maybe at how different it may have appeared then. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t feel that different. Just… oddly empty, maybe, because despite seeing all those videos of their childhood and listening to Shinsou’s drawl and Midoriya’s apologies, at the end of the day… she still doesn’t know Katsuki.

Not in the way that she needs to, at least. And the answers will never be found here.

She thanks everyone with a deep bow, and leaves Shinsou’s small apartment. The only sound she hears as she leaves is a confused inhale, and the curious mewl of the old tabby cat who has been lounging about the entryway.

Later, she finds herself staring at the ceiling of her condominium unit. But instead of the unbearable jumble of irrational thoughts that plagued her for the days past, she returns to the most rational ones of them, and attempts to form a solid, concrete answer:

What can she do for Bakugou Katsuki?

*

The days go on as they ought to, divided into neat eight-hour segments when he needs to drink his meds. Irritatingly quiet on the outside, a chaotic mess inside.

He still isn’t sleeping well. Those anger issues aren’t going anywhere, and are louder when he’s by himself and more fucked up than usual. If he allowed himself to drink or to fuck himself up further with drugs, he supposes that he’d always be on the verge of shutting down his brain and the rest of his body. Still, he doesn’t have enough of a will to do even that, and instead struggles with himself and his endless cycle of self-blame until it’s 5 AM and it’s time to run again.

Another morning, not that different from any other morning. Nothing but empty streets and diminishing darkness and cold air for company. Until, of course, the sun rises, and they inevitably run into each other again.

It’s not everyday that it happens, but when it does, he finds himself crossing paths with Yaoyorozu Momo. And the past few mornings, she regards him coldly, dark eyes sharp and focused. As she ought to, he supposes. If he were in her shoes, apart from giving in to the urge of kicking his ass, he won’t even give a fuck.

But she does anyway--give a fuck, that is--and it’s baffling. Whether she’s alone, or with someone else, like that skull guy, that chick with big hands. That shitty glasses guy who went to UA too, back in the day. That fucker with the headband, and he swears he could have beaten his head in if he didn’t have to act so fuckin’ apathetic. (Good thing it was just that one fuckin’ time, because that guy seems to be holding himself back too).

She’d say “good morning,” and he’d grumble it back. They’d run for a few quiet meters in awkward silence, and without missing a beat, she’d declare with that uncharacteristic strong voice of hers:

“Let’s race, Bakugou-san.”

He doesn’t know why he lets her goad him into it. Maybe it’s as simple as him feeling bored, or maybe because having something else to focus on other than his self-hate actually might be doing him good. Still, he hates that it’s as simple as insinuating that he’s too afraid to lose, for her (or anyone else, for that matter), to get him to indulge her and her weird-ass whims.

The race tracks are different each time--sometimes it’s around the quiet, sleeping neighborhood, or the almost empty park, or the empty shopping mall parking lots. The conditions are always the same, though: whoever loses has to do whatever the winner wants.

And it’s fucking stupid as shit because by all accounts, Katsuki should win, dammit. He’s stronger and faster and angrier than anyone else no matter how early in the day it is, meaning he deserves the shallow victories, as meaningless as they may be. After his first loss that fateful morning, he figured that there’s no way he’d lose this time because he knows how to use his quirk to fly from point A to point B.

But to his surprise, Momo has learned to play dirty . There could be a sidestreet or some shortcut that Katsuki didn’t know about, so that she’d be at the finish line with a smug smile on her face as he explodes and curses his way to her. There could be officers nearby who’d catch anyone using their quirks. (Momo’s is subtle, and Katsuki’s and the other extras’ is not, and it’s obvious that they’d arrest an exploding man first before they do a girl on a hoverboard.) One time, she made and threw weights-- fuckin’ 10 kg weights!!!-- at him and Glasses, who both catch them with surprised yelps and just barely manage not fuckin’ die from almost being hit on the head.

Needless to say, despite all the protests of her ‘unsportsmanlike-conduct’, as Glasses so often berates her, Yaoyorozu Momo is the undisputed, slightly thinner victor for the past consecutive mornings. And because of that, she’d always have free breakfast care of her bitchass friends if they’re there, and she’d corner him, staring him down with those searing hot sharp raven eyes of hers.

Everytime she asks, she pauses and takes a deep breath and he feels like dying a little.

“Where did you grow up?”

“What did you take for pre-med? Which university?”

“What are your parents’ names? Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“Where did you learn how to cook?”

Katsuki, predictably sore from all the losing he does (because honestly, each time he does she’s the one who looks like she’s about to die from exhaustion, so how the fuck does she keep winning?!), gives her clipped answers through grit teeth: Shizuoka. Biology. UA Medical University. The old hag is Mitsuki, and the old man’s Masaru. I’m a fuckin’ only child, do I look like I could be anythin’ else.

I just learned, it’s not that hard.

She nods each time, with a cold and clinical gaze in those raven eyes like she’s interviewing a patient before she puts them to sleep and cuts them open. Difference being, she gives clipped answers of her own, as if he asks her the same inane questions too: I grew up in Nagoya. I took an accelerated course in medicine in Shiketsu University. My parents are named Ichiro and Sara. I don’t have any siblings either.

And yes, cooking is hard. I can’t cook anything.

Katsuki smirks at that, but keeps his rude comments to himself. They aren’t that rude, but they aren’t close enough that he can poke fun at her anymore. Even though they’re playing this stupid twenty questions shit at the risk of Momo’s life.

Instead, he says, “You can learn a lot just from watching other people fuck around. That’s what I did. My old man may be lame, but he knows his shit when it comes to the kitchen.”

Not exactly the most earth-shattering of discoveries about him, but it makes Momo widen her eyes and step back a little. “Oh. So you learned from Masaru-san,” she says, after a stunned silence.

Ah. He didn’t need to say that, did he? He… didn’t want to just volunteer free info about him, not now that Momo wants to work her ass to the bone for each tidbit and at this point he just wants to see how far she’s willing to go.

He plays it off like it’s nothing, though, and shrugs. “Yeah, what about it?”

A small, pretty smile on her lips, as she says: “You two must be close.”

His mouth goes tch as she continues to look amused. He looks away, controls the twitch of his stupid hands wanting more. So it is possible to miss someone, even though they’re standing next to you.

Stupid as fuck. He pushes those sappy thoughts to the back of his mind. As always, she takes the next moment of silence to take her leave politely, with nothing but a wave of her hand and the swish of her ponytail that he watches until it disappears in the distance.

After every encounter, he gives in to an aggravated sigh, wonders why he bothers, and why the weight feels less… heavy, each time. He then goes home as the sun rises behind him.

*

In the relative, but annoying-as-fuck quiet that comes after each encounter, Katsuki finds himself thinking of Momo even more than before, and under an entirely different light. Never mind that he was already thinking of her more than what he thought was humanly possible, everyday, since the day he caught her gaping at him like a fish outside of his cafe.

Besides her raven eyes and pale skin glowing with the early morning sun, her words and glare and that challenging upturn of her mouth, one that he’s never seen before, pushes into his thoughts without his consent. He’s going insane figuring out what the hell she’s thinking. She really isn’t allowed to smile like that in front of him again, but she does almost every fuckin morning. He can’t say that he’s sick of it, but it can’t be that healthy if his mind keeps attempting to whir itself out of his head every time.

Despite the intrusive thoughts, Katsuki slogs through the days, goes through the same angry motions--goes to the cafe, opens it up. Says his daily expletives to Ears, and then Pikachu when the blonde arrives five minutes late than he should have. Fills out order forms and does accounting shit and makes coffee and pasta and tries not to glare too much at all the dead-inside customers coming and going, gaping at the displays in interest. He is surprised that he’s able to do it at all, given how intrusive his thoughts have been.

“Baku-boss. Something happen?” asks Jirou after the fourth or fifth encounter. Discerning triangle eyes are on him as she makes a cappuccino with practiced hands, barely needing to look at what she’s doing.

He doesn’t answer, just glares at her like her nosy ass deserves.

Jirou gives him a look that’s disinterested enough to reassure him that yes, she understands that it’s none of her business. But the way those ear-jack things are floating in the air tells him otherwise. “Just wondering. You’re a lot less angry today. But kinda fucked-up in a different way. Kinda hard to explain.”

It’s not that fuckin’ hard to explain. He’s always fuckin’ angry and always kinda fucked-up. Just ask his so-called friends, except that shitty fuckin’ ass Deku--no scratch that, that stupid green perm-head isn’t a friend anymore, if Katsuki, even in his years of tolerating him through high school and college and med school and residency, ever considered him as one. (And that’s a big if.)

Being distracted by a certain neurosurgeon’s stupid stunts is entirely different. But Fuckin’ Ears doesn’t need to know that. He goes about arranging the pastries on display as angrily as he can, gives her a glare only threatening enough to stop any other stupid insinuations from forming in her mouth.

That forced, bored look on her face not leaving, she goes back to work. Katsuki doesn’t miss the little knowing smirk ghosting over her mouth though. Like she’s reading his mind and sees nothing but raven hair and that goddamned smirk and the gajillion anger management issues shoved to the sidelines, suddenly and jarringly muted.

If she did, she doesn’t say anything about it. “Meds,” is the only thing she says to him on that shift, dumping a tablet into his palm, matching his glare with one of her own. God, she and everyone else are too much like the fuckin’ old hag when it comes to his medicines. Fuckin’ annoying.

He growls, but obliges more easily than he has the past few days. Jirou is mildly surprised, but takes this development with a small, relieved raise of the eyebrows.

The days go on.

*

It’s a quiet and early Sunday morning when Momo blearily opens her eyes and sees the light shimmering through the trees above her, and feels grass and soil under her fingernails and her bareback. Her head throbs. Her arm is just strong enough to reach out to hold on to it.

“The fuck, Momo. You wanna die, or something?”

The familiar gruff comes from a warm source next to her. She turns her head slowly and looks up to meet burning red eyes, quietly waiting for her to come to.

When she speaks, her voice is wobbly and she knows she’s pushed herself to the limits of a quirk that she doesn’t challenge enough. “What happened?”

“You fuckin’ passed out, is what. After tryin’ to make a fuckin’ mountain bike out of your skinny ass. Jesus, and I thought I was reckless.”

He’s leaning against the tree, one arm resting on a flexed knee, bare skin steaming under the shade. His body radiates warmth and sweetness and musk--a sudden but not unwelcome assault on Momo’s just-awakening senses, one that makes her struggle with her memories of a few moments ago.

“Did I win?”

He snorts. “‘Course not. If you think you can, with that piece of shit you made over there, I’d like to see you try.”

He gestures to the monstrosity, which is only half a mountain bike. The handlebars and the front wheel came out fine, but the rest of it is soft and rapidly dissipating, made of raw fat dripping on the pavement. Momo winces.

“All right,” she concedes, rolling over to her side to try to face him. She can’t lift her head, though, and when she speaks it’s facing the soft grass. “You win this time.”

“This fuckin’ chick almost dies and talks as if she just let me win. The hell.” He scowls, but a wheezy chuckle escapes from him. “You really are somethin’ else, Momo.”

“Mm.” The sunlight hits her eyes. She shifts her head into the shade, closer to his side, tries to form a coherent or rational thought. She blankly thinks of why she did this, why she thought it was a good idea to challenge him over and over, just for the crumbs of his true identity to be given to her out of his own accord. How she came to the conclusion that all Katsuki will respond to is a good fight. The lengths she has to go through, to prove that she’s strong and he’s strong and that she wants to know him beyond his wounds and weaknesses and how she wants him to know her beyond the pathetic side she’s shown so far.

She can’t, though. Not when again, she’s shown her pathetic side to him. Still, she’s too weak to feel ashamed. All she wants now is to sleep next to his warmth. She’s dizzy. It’s been so long since she had a warm morning like this...

She hears him sigh above her head. One of those searing hot hands make its way to her cheek, slapping it awake. “You need to get up and go home and eat something. Or else you’ll actually die.”

He’s right, because the weakness and dizziness in her body might be from the beginnings of hypoglycemia and dehydration from overusing her quirk, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes don’t want to stay open, and all she manages is a whine.

“Fuckin’ hell. Ain’t a request, doc. It’s an order. Since you lost.” She feels his absence from her side when she stands up, and then the ground’s absence as she feels herself lifted to her feet.

Strong, solid arms go above her and round her shoulder as he dresses her in his discarded hoodie. The shift in position and the sudden proximity wakes her up enough to stand with some support. She looks at his side, and he looks back, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a scowl, quietly asking her if she’s ready.

She nods, and together they shuffle out of the kind shade of the tree, out of the park, and back into the empty city streets.

The walk to her condominium unit usually takes ten minutes, but Momo feels the moments stretch and shrink and dwindle, so that she isn’t sure if they’re too long or too short. It’s been so long since she feels his touch on her, so close, too close, and she isn’t sure if it’s the right that she feels it now, when she feels that she hasn’t done enough, known enough.

Still, her cheeks redden and her chest trembles and her heart beats in anticipation. She curses her body for responding to his proximity so shamelessly.

Eventually, they make it to her unit. Katsuki brings her across the threshold of her own home without hesitation, carefully lets her collapse onto the couch. He gives her a bottle of juice, which she quietly accepts. She’s grateful for the comfort and softness, but immediately wanting of warmth as he leaves her to disappear in the kitchen.

She wonders if it’s improper to remain so quiet to not say a word since their departure from the park. The whole situation took a turn that she hasn’t prepared for. So she shyly listens to the sounds he makes--the whoosh of the flame of her unused stove, cracking eggshells, the crackle and pop of oil on the pan.

He works fast. In minutes, he comes back with a meal that’s simpler than the ones he’d made for her before, but no less appetizing--bacon, eggs, and leftover rice fried in garlic, presented neatly in a Hermes bowl with a pair of chopsticks.

“Eat,” he says, in that demanding tone she hasn’t heard for a long while, making something in her chest flutter. She shakily and carefully takes the bowl and mumbles her thanks.

“What about you?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Your kitchen’s fuckin’ empty, Momo. Even if I wanted to eat, ain’t much I can do with a half-eaten croissant and instant noodles. Fuckin’ nasty stuff. I thought you of all people would be above eatin’ that shit.”

She bought those noodles from Don Quixote one evening when she felt especially suffocated. It was more of an experiment than anything. She doesn’t have the strength to explain those trivial things to him, though, and focuses on eating her food instead.

As expected, breakfast is lovely. The bacon is crispy, but not burnt. The eggs are fried perfectly. She didn’t expect that leftover rice in garlic would taste so appetizing, with unexpected crystals of rock salt in the furikake making her want to eat more and more. The words form at the tip of her tongue as she chews.

But as much as she wants to gush about his food, like she does with confidence before, the overwhelming shyness prevails. “This is very good, Katsuki. Thank you,” she says, as she is halfway done.

“‘Course it is,” he grumbles, as it always does. But today the usual pride in his voice is markedly absent.

“Of course,” she repeats, with a quiet smile.

She continues picking at the rice grain by grain, listening to the sound of birds and traffic outside. Sunshine leaks through the windows, casting everything in its too-bright warmth. Dust dances and settles in between the loaded silence, as he watches her in an oddly loaded silence.

And then, as she places a mangled strip of eggwhite in her mouth: “King Explosion Murder.”

She freezes mid-chew and stares at him with more bafflement than anything else. He has his arms crossed in front of him, shoulders leaning forward, red eyes on her and nothing else, pressuring her to understand.

She gives him a look that tells him plainly that she doesn’t, and it’s odd of him to say gibberish out of nowhere when he’s usually so blunt and direct to the point. This amuses him greatly, but he continues: “You asked before. That would have been my hero name, if I had gone pro. I thought of it when I was in middle school.”

She blinks and swallows her food hastily. Before she can go oh, he keeps on talking.

“I was going to be the first one from our middle school to get into UA Heroics. I had the quirk, the money, the paperworks, the glowing recommendations, everything.” He exhales, as if he just held his breath pulling a splinter from his side. “I… wanted to be better than All Might. Do you remember him?”

“Everyone does,” Momo answers softly. It would be hard to forget a hero, no… a man like him. All the sacrifices he made, up until that day when…

Katsuki nods, and this time the look in his eyes is different. His eyebrows crease, his hands shake, his breaths become a little unsteady.

The silence that follows stretches for far too long, and Momo feels the need to place the bowl down and to come closer to him. She embraces him, because he lets her. And she suspect he lets her so that she won’t be able to see his face, as he struggles to continue.

“It was me,” he says, when his strong shoulders shake precariously, and she starts stroking his back. “On that day, when that fucking monster attacked, I died, and then he…”

She closes her eyes and remembers that story: All Might, the then-symbol of peace, saves a child from a villain with a quirk that makes his flesh turn to parasitic sludge, by using his limited strength reserves and then letting himself be the villain’s host, defeating it from the inside out. The unnamed child, who gave in from the prolonged asphyxiation that came with the delayed rescue, had to be given CPR by his friend before he was revived.

Along with All Might, they were sent to a nearby hospital and treated aggressively. But modern medicine and limited manpower can only do so much. The child recovered, although had permanent damage. The same cannot be said for the Symbol of Peace, who has regressed to a weakened skeleton, only having the strength to call out to his successor before he succumbed to a coma that lasted for years…

The harrowing incident shook the country. Many pro-heroes realized that the danger they’re facing is bigger than they’ve ever imagined, and many resigned. So did a lot of kids in the hero courses. Years after, the number of hopeful children in hero courses dwindled, and only revived recently with the rise of Endeavor.

Is this the burden that he’s been carrying all along? Momo had hoped that everything would make sense for her one day, but she never imagined that the truth would be so heavy and painful to hear. She immediately understands why he’s been so afraid, all this time: just hearing this made Momo’s entire soul heavy. She’s sure that he doesn’t want that burden on anyone else.

But somehow… here he is, deciding that maybe… maybe, she can handle the truth. Not because he wants her pity. Not because he pities her. But because things are what they are, and maybe it’s the right time and place to admit these uncomfortable truths to themselves.

So Momo accepts his words. Accepts him--the angry boy on TV, the complicated man in her arms. She thinks she always had, in a way.

“It’s all right. I’m here,” she whispers when Katsuki is unable to say another word.

*

On another morning, no different from any other morning, Momo crosses paths with Katsuki again.

She’s alone. As is he, but it’s pointless to say so because he always runs alone. It’s been a week since they last saw each other. It may have been entirely an accident that they’ve waited that long to see each other’s faces again. She finds it a relief, then, that his carries the same mild irritation that it always has.

She regards him quietly with a nod and a polite smile, and continues her jog. He falls in next to her quite naturally, the thudding of his feet going along with her rhythm, the heavy sound of it echoing lightly along the dim streets.

Three minutes of this comfortable silence pass before she hears his gruff voice beside her: “Race me.”

She turns to him curiously. In between rapid breaths, she asks, “The same as usual?”

“No.” He turns to the direction of a main boulevard, three kilometers up an incline in a straight line. Security cameras and other early morning joggers pollute the side, as do the sparse early morning traffic. “No quirks, no tricks. Just you and me and the street.”

She isn’t going to win this because there’s no way to outsmart him under such conditions. Still, she might as well try.

They start the race, and as expected Katsuki becomes a blonde-and-black blur, zooming forward like a stray bullet. Momo runs as fast as she can, fast enough that her chest and her heart feels like exploding and all her muscles are cursing her for this exercise in futility.

When she sees the end of the road, she sees him slow down to a half-jog, turning around to finally face her with a victorious grin on her face.

She feels like fainting herself, but she manages to run to him and return his smile, in between gasps for air. “Congratulations, Katsuki. You finally won.”

“Fuck yeah I won, Princess. Time to pay up,” he replies. It’s unfair that he doesn’t appear as exhausted as she feels. But she supposes, after all the hard work she put him through for the past week or so, he’s earned this one.

“All right,” she says, willing her heart and breathing to slow down. Even though it’s really hard to do so, given the way he’s stepping into her space, big and heavy and fierce with all his heat emanating off his skin. He doesn’t touch her, but she feels the steam and the burn from where she stands.

He hasn’t been this close in a while. She’d almost forgotten how it feels to have those eyes so close to hers, how she has to fight the urge to relinquish her control and to give in to whatever he desires.

She hates how it’s her body that remembers first, though. Goosebumps rise and shivers go up and down her spine when he reaches out and lets his hand hover over shoulder, down her collar bone, along the side of her neck, before settling on her chin. She has to close her eyes, and barely keeps herself from shuddering when she feels his thumb rub against the suddenly sensitive skin there, making it tingle with nitroglycerin.

“Momo… stop this shit,” he murmurs. His breath is warm against her ear when he leans forward and continues. “I’m sorry for fucking up. For everything. You don’t have to do this anymore. Whatever you want to know, I...”

He’s never sounded so tender before. There’s really no other appropriate response to his apology, but to accept it.

Momo opens her eyes, and smiles. Wordlessly, she takes his hand into hers and puts it in between them, fingers entwining easily and naturally. She nods.

He smiles at her, and nods back.

After that, they walk the familiar streets of Hosu, hand-in-hand, quiet and comfortable and calm. The sun has just begun to rise behind the sleepy buildings of a Sunday morning when they reach Momo’s condominium. So this is where we say goodbye , she wants to say, when she turns from her open door to face him.

But she doesn’t get a chance to get a word out. Her breath stops when she feels his lips on hers and his burning grip on her arms.

He isn’t forceful at all with this kiss, and that surprises her more than the action itself. Momo doesn’t think that he’s capable of gentle movements like this. But his grip on her borders between patience and impatience, of control and pure impulse.

It lasts for a few seconds, but when he pulls back and makes her aware of the growing space between them, she feels that it’s both a moment too long and short.

“Katsuki,” she whispers.

He stares at her as if he’s surprised of what he did, too. But he clearly doesn’t regret it, not by the upturn of his mouth. “Been a while,” is all he says, as he steps back.

She doesn’t let him.

Gripping her hands in the front of his shirt, she pulls him in for another kiss, a hungry and more desperate one, one that tells him clearly just how long ‘a while’ has truly been without him. And as he returns it with the same fervor, he finds himself out of the hallway and past the threshold of her home.

He closes and locks the door behind them.

[beyondalicerp]

Name: Lucien Blakeney Age: 25 Date of Birth: October 18th Gender: Male Sexuality: Bisexual Residence: The Palace Occupation: Royal Knight/Spy Species: Dryad Affiliation: Rebellion Face Claim: Toby Regbo       Suggested: Steven R. McQueen, Tyler Posey, Poppy Drayton, Lindsey Morgan Played by: Bryony

“Think of the tribe.” The Merciful grew up hearing those words repeated over and over again. The tribe was always more important than anything. More important than family, more important than yourself, more important than morals. The Merciful was never able to agree with the sentiment of putting the tribe before anything else, especially when the entirety of Wonderland was suffering, and it was with this disagreement that they ultimately decided to leave the tribe for good. With nowhere else to go, the Merciful found themselves at the Wander Inn, eventually getting to know the Welcomer, and quickly learning that they seemed to stand for very similar things. They wanted to help the growing rebellion, and what better way than to help from the inside? They’ve now been in the Royal Guard for almost two years, their skills in weaponry almost unmatched by any other knight due to their prior training from their tribe. Despite their finesse in combat, they’ve found themselves with the nickname “Merciful”, due to their known lenience towards some criminals who they deem sympathetic. After all, it was their own morals that got them here in the first place.

The Mercenary’s Daughter: There’s a fire within them, the Merciful can see. Power, strength, ambition, all things that could prove valuable to the rebellion. The Mercenary’s Daughter would be perfect to join the rebellion, their father seeming to have already started a trend of rebellion in the family. But they seem to have their heart set on becoming a knight, and it would be much harder to change their mind once they’ve already dedicated their loyalty to the throne. The Merciful tries to get close to them, to gain their trust so they can sway them in a different direction. They haven’t outright told them about the rebellion yet, not with their aunt being so close with the king, but they’ll take any chance they can get to discourage them from joining the guard.

The Welcomer: When the Merciful met the Welcomer, they knew the two fought for the same cause. The Welcomer stood for the very same reason that the Merciful left their tribe and even offered them a place to stay free of charge while they got back on their feet. They stayed with the Welcomer for six months before the idea had come to them to become the rebellion’s spy. Although the Welcomer wasn’t keen on the idea at first, the Merciful wanted to do something to help the rebellion in the way the Welcomer did. The Merciful looks up to the Welcomer after all.

The Wild Willow: Perhaps the only friend they have left from their old tribe. They used to play together as children and now as adults, while they’ve both chosen different life paths, they respect each other’s decisions. The Merciful has often felt like they spend a lot of their time keeping the Wild Willow out of trouble, both with their tribe and with the law. Maybe they’re the one they have to thank for the nickname they’ve been given, due to the many times they’ve been able to get them out of trouble.

The Merciful is currently TAKEN.

There was a time in Lucien’s life, when the Dryads were peaceful, before they started learning how to fight and how to defend themselves. But that time was when he was still a very young child, and the memories seem to slip just out of focus whenever he tries to remember. What he does remember, was the tribe’s adults talking about a panic, and that they were going to need to defend themselves from it. Because of that, he started seeing them with knives and bows, and learning quickly. He doesn’t really remember much of the Panic itself, or how it ended. But suddenly, one day, he is told that they had to hide and that he was never allowed to reveal himself to anyone. He didn’t understand why, but if that was what he was told to do, that was what he would.

As he grew up, he lived the life that was expected of him. Training, stayed hidden, and always putting the tribe before anything else. And as he did it, it felt more wrong with every passing day. He did whatever it took to keep his tribe safe, though never being the first to act in violence. But he never killed. He realised early, that those who even considered attacking them were often just hungry or scared. Instead he would stop them being a threat, and then ask them what it was exactly that they were so scared of. This was how he truly began learning just what was going on outside of the tribe, of the suffering going on throughout the rest of Wonderland.

However whenever he tried to bring up his concerns, he was simply told the same words over and over, that the tribe came first. He tried to push down his concerns and do what was expected of him. He carried on hiding from those who searched for magic users, even finding love and becoming engaged to a Dryard called Dione. Everything as it was meant to be… except for the nagging feeling inside that he should be doing more. That Wonderland needed people to fight for it, and that if they would just stop hiding, they could do more for all of the people of Wonderland.  

Eventually it all came to a head, and he realised that he could no longer stay with his tribe when he knew that the rest of Wonderland was suffering. He didn’t believe that he could be the only person out there who hated the situation, and he wanted to leave to find others who felt the same way. Telling only the Wild Willow of his plans, he slipped away one night, focused only on getting to Fairtown. It wasn’t a hard journey particularly, growing up having to stay hidden meant that he was good at it, and at night he slept in places no one would ever think of looking for someone. Soon enough he made it, but by then anything of value he had sold, and he realised he had no contingency plan. He managed to make it to the Wander Inn, and as it turned out, it would change his life.

It wasn’t long into the conversation that he realised the inn keeper had similar views as he did about the situation terrorising Wonderland. The conversation went on for house, until eventually they offered him a place to stay for a night. A night turned into six months, not intentionally but at the moment there was no where else for him to go, and he was learning so much about the rest of Wonderland here. So he stayed, and learnt, and eventually he came up with the plan to infiltrate the royal guard. He was warned how dangerous it would be, but now he knew about the rebellion he wanted to help, and getting information from the inside seemed to be the best thing that he could do. It took a while to argue that it was the right course of action, but this time he managed to get his point across without running away.

It wasn’t particularly hard to become a member of the Royal Guard. He was skilled with weapons after all. But he soon became aware that his duties here were very different from when he had still been living with his tribe. It no longer felt like defence, but violence for the sake of it some days. However much he could pretend, he could not let go of his morals, and there was just some cases where he could not punish the person for such a minor offence, when there was clearly a good cause behind it. Over time it seemed to be expected of him, and he has never had problem from anyone for doing this. It works for him, as he hopes that if that is all people suspect him of doing, then he will remain safe. And yet he continues to keep up the same ruse, he pretends to be loyal to the King, he pretends that he will do whatever it is that is required of him, all the while he is passing back the secrets of what he has learnt back to the rebellion. He is no longer the same naïve boy that left his tribe all those years ago, who wanted to save all of Wonderland. He has had to grow up and learn just how cruel the world is. But his morals remain the same, and he still has the hope that things will one day get better for everyone, even if he does not live long enough to see that day come.

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (11/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, mild violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Confrontations, one main character striking another, corporate espionage.

THINGS ARE HAPPENING, FRIENDS. So thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting for things to get here, and to all of you who helped me get here. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Like seriously, she’s the best.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Chapter 11

Emma goes to Killian, and he has to deal with the fall-out of her discovering his subterfuge. That's not the only thing that goes pear-shaped in his life as things heat up at Mills & Booth.

Killian

Killian hadn't precisely slept well the night before, but it hadn't been the worst night's sleep. He and Emma had argued, but he was willing to chalk it up to strong personalities and the adjustment period that tended to happen early in relationships.

He'd been restless all day as a result, and trying not to sit beside his phone and wait for a text or call from her. He was convinced, though, that she'd call as soon as he walked away from the infernal thing.

But morning had come and gone, as had the afternoon. It was early in the evening by the time he finally accepted he'd have to do something to feed his growling stomach, and that he and Emma likely wouldn't be making up just yet.

Maybe she just needed a little more time to cool off.

Killian had always run hot and his anger turned to grudges, but it didn't seem like Emma was the type to hold onto grievances. Especially, the petty part of him insisted, when he was right and that she was behaving a little irrationally and blowing things out of proportion. He shushed that small voice, looking in his cupboards for something he could throw together for dinner.

He found the necessary items for his favorite recipe of pasta primavera, knowing the act of preparing a meal would provide some solace and a much-needed distraction. He wanted to pour himself a generous snifter of rum, but he was still holding onto hope that Emma might call and they could put their disagreement behind them. Then there could be pasta, kisses, and maybe even shagging.

He had just pulled the pasta off the range and was grating Parmesan when a knock came at the door. His heart leapt when he saw Emma through the peephole. Killian opened the door, trying to temper the wide smile on his face.

"Swan, I'm so glad to see you. Come on i--"

She cut him off abruptly with a stinging slap to his cheek.

Well, that answered the question of whether she was willing to put their tiff behind them.

"Love, stop," he said, grabbing her wrist and halting another strike. "What happened? I'm sorry we disagreed, but it's hardly a reason to turn violent."

He was flummoxed by this sudden turn from her coldness the night before. The ice had clearly melted off, leaving behind a molten rage that was clear in her eyes and the way she was very nearly shaking.

Emma twisted her wrist from his grasp, and he dropped his hold on her and stepped back. She walked inside and he took the opportunity to close the door, not wanting his neighbors to use their fight as the evening's entertainment.

Standing a good five feet away from him, Emma finally broke her stony silence. "You were spying on me? What the hell, Killian? For August? What the actual fuck?"

The color draining from Killian’s face and his stomach dropped to his feet. No, more like below his feet. If it were possible, his stomach felt as though it had dropped through the earth's many layers and into hell.

He certainly wasn't hungry anymore.

"I--wha--how did you find out?" he asked, realizing there was no reason to continue to lie, that it wouldn't help him at all anymore. Not that it ever would have, he knew.

"That's really what you want to know? How I found out?" She was glowing, nay, vibrating with rage. She was still achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, with her eyes flashing and her expression fierce. He wanted to hold her, to pull her close and bring her comfort, but when he reached out to touch her shoulder, she pushed his hand away. Not with the force with which she'd slapped him earlier, but it certainly wasn't gentle.

He sighed. "I suppose that's not what matters now. I am sorry, though, I want you to know. I quit, I told August before our first date that I wouldn't continue to spy on you."

He watched as she stepped back and crossed her arms. "Just...why? Why would you do that? Betray my trust like that?" Her voice broke, and so did his heart with it.

"I...it was selfish, and wrong. I was trying to get away from a bad situation in London, and August offered me an out in exchange for my work and information on you. I didn't ask why, and he never volunteered a reason."

Her eyes welled with tears, and he fought away some of his own. She didn't speak, so he continued. "I stopped early on. I--I didn't count on you, Emma, when I agreed. You should know that. You swept through my life. You captivated me, mind, soul, and heart. I wouldn't--I can't begin to convey how sorry I am, but I also promise that I'd never hurt you or betray you again."

"Too late," she said, her voice rough, harsh. "I--I can't trust you anymore. You lied to me, and that--that's it for me."

“What are you saying, love?” His voice was more frantic than he was proud of, and he cringed at the sound of it.

“You don't get to call me that anymore. We--we’re done, Killian.”

“Emma, please--” He pleaded with her and moved toward her, stopping just short of reaching for her.

“No. Don't...just stop. We still have to work together, so I'll be professional. But I don't want you to talk to me about anything outside of work,” she said, her shoulders slumped. She sounded resigned, defeated.

And he felt utterly deflated.

Killian didn't reply to her soft “goodbye” as she walked out of his flat, out of his life.

&&&

He sobered himself up enough to attend work that week, but he moved about in a fog for a full five days after Emma broke up with him. Each night, he drowned his sorrows in rum, trying to numb the pain that his cock-ups, and her resulting departure, had caused. He got one brief email from her with a couple notes about an upcoming chapter, but he couldn’t even bring himself to respond.

Finally, on Thursday, Robin called him. He sounded tentative as he asked, “Hey mate, your text sounded a bit off. Want to grab a pint?”

Killian didn’t remember texting Robin, but he quickly scrolled through his recent texts. He winced, seeing the numerous errors and misspellings. “Yeah, I could go for a pint. Rough week, you know.”

“Aye. Cornwall’s?”

“I can swing that.”

“There aren’t usually too many tourists on Thursdays, so we should be fine,” Robin said.

Killian managed a small smile and joked, “You don’t think we count?”

Robin laughed and Killian continued, “I’ll see you there at eight or so, if that gives you time to find a sitter for Roland.”

“It’s not an issue--I’ve a friend who looks after him while I work, and he was already planning on taking him for the night.”

“I’m not messing with plans or anything, am I?” asked Killian.

Robin laughed. “No, I originally had a date, but I cancelled. She made some comment about puppies that seemed rather...off. So, for the record, you’re a rather large project that came up at work.”

Later that evening as they slowly drank their pints of ale, Killian found himself amused in spite of his continued glumness. Robin was animatedly recounting the story of one of his arrests from last week and the hijinks that had ensued as he and his partner had tried to track him down. The evening was almost enough to make him forget the ache in his chest, the hole left by Emma.

Eventually, though, Robin grew serious. “Now, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but...are you all right?”

Killian stared down into the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around. “Well enough, I suppose, for having just been chucked by the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“This is your writer lass? The famous one?” he asked, sitting up and listening intently.

“Aye,” Killian said, nodding. “She’s the first woman since Milah who I really connected with, and I fucked it up.”

“Oh, how so?”

Killian hesitated a moment, realizing his friend was in fact law enforcement. Then he realized how much he needed to get it off his chest, how much he needed to tell someone. Somehow, over the last couple months, Emma had become so much more than a love interest--she’d become his closest friend, the person he chatted with about everything. And now he didn’t have that, couldn’t tell her about the weird ship in a bottle he saw or listen to her laugh about what one of the regulars at Granny’s Diner had done.

So he warned Robin that some of his behavior might not have been strictly legal. When he reassured him that as long as no one was being physically hurt it would stay between them, Killian told him the whole sordid tale, from the first time August contacted him to the alcohol-fueled stupor of the previous few days.

“Shit,” said Robin when Killian had finished. “That’s…”

“A disaster?”

“To put it mildly.”

Killian sighed.

As soon as he ordered them another pint (the final one, Robin insisted), he said, “Well, if you need a listening ear or any such rot, I’m here. D’you think there’s a chance Emma could give you another shot?”

“Doubtful, mate.”

&&&

On Monday morning he strolled into the office miraculously free of a hangover. Since his chat with Robin, he’d worked on cutting back on his drinking. Not eliminating it entirely, but he made a marked improvement over the previous week’s constant queasiness and malaise.

He settled into the chair behind his desk, intent on picking up on the work he'd slacked on last week. God, but he'd been a wreck. Today, he promised himself, he would accomplish things. Maybe even get to Emma's chapter, if he could work up the nerve.

He had opened his email and was looking over some of the other projects that had crossed his desk when he heard a knock at the door. He yelled out, "Come on in!"

Killian was surprised to see Ariel, and a rather frantic-looking Ariel at that. Her eyes were wide as she stumbled into the room, arms flailing. He didn't know the lass terribly well, but she seemed like the calm and cheerful sort. He had yet to see her looking harried, or entering his office. Today appeared to be the exception.

"Uh, Killian? I mean, Mr. Jones?"

"Killian is fine, Ariel," he said, frowning at her obvious discomfort and worry. "What seems to be the problem?"

She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Well, I just got a letter from the, uh, Immigration Services  about your work visa. It says they found that a bunch of things are out of compliance and that, uh, you need to stop working for wages immediately, return what you've earned, and that they'll be launching an investigation. And maybe deporting , you," she finished with a squeak.

Shit fucking damn.

This was...beyond bad. This was catastrophic. He had to admit, he hadn't paid much attention to the particulars of his visa, had let August--

August.

August had to be the one responsible for this. He had initially arranged the visa and Killian's immigration, had sped it along with his contact. And he had been the one disappointed when Killian stopped providing him information about Emma.

Well, it clearly hadn't taken him too long to undo the permissions he'd obtained for Killian. (God, had it even been on the up-and-up to begin with?)

He was reeling, nearly hyperventilating when he sucked in a long breath. Realizing he hadn't actually replied to Ariel, he tried to find the words. Coming up blank, dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

He felt a light pat on his shoulder and glanced up to find Ariel attempting to provide him with the awkward solace she felt capable of. He also caught sight of a glass of water, which he downed in one gulp. "Thank you, Ariel."

"Are...are you going to be okay?"

He shrugged and sighed. "I don't know, do I? But I should leave today, shouldn't I? I don't want to endanger anything or cause problems for anyone."

She twisted her hands together, clearly concerned. "Well, I'd talk to Cleo. She handles a lot of HR stuff and has some contacts of her own, so that might be the best route."

"Erm, I'm not sure she's all that fond of me," he replied.

"I don't think that will matter to her if she feels like you're a worthy cause," Ariel said, nodding and exiting his office.

Well, then.

&&&

Fuck, he was nervous. He wasn't sure what it was about Cleo, but something put him on the defensive and reminded him of the nuns at the Catholic school he'd attended as a wee lad, strict and disapproving of whatever she thought he was up to. (Truthfully, though, he hadn't been all that mischievous as a boy, not unless it involved Liam or one of the other boys insulting someone in his family.)

But here he stood, next to Cleo's open office door, hoping she wouldn't notice him dithering about in the hallway deciding whether or not to go in.

"Mr. Jones? Why are you still standing outside? Come in here and close the door," he heard in Cleo's authoritative, strong voice.

Ah well, no such luck then. He followed her bidding, entering the room quickly and closing the door behind him before sitting in the chair across from her.

How different this was from their first interview--he couldn't summon any of his trademark charm (smarm, an internal voice sounding suspiciously like Emma’s said) to hide behind. He didn't have the promise of so much as a flirtation with Emma to look forward to. Instead, all he had was an official-looking document telling him to stop working and threatening him with deportation. He had to say, the trade-off was not ideal.

"Well?" she said, an eyebrow raised rather imperiously.

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter Ariel had given him. He watched an array of emotions dance across her face as she read it--surprise, shock, dismay, something that looked a little like guilt, and finally, determination.

"Shit, Jones," she said.

He nodded in agreement. "I couldn't sum it up better myself."

"So...why bring this to me?" She tossed the letter onto her desk between them and crossed her arms as she stared at him expectantly.

"Ariel brought me this rather ghastly piece of communication and stopped me before I left. She said you're occasionally good at handling tricky situations like this," he said.

"You're looking for a quick fix, then?"

He shook his head. "As lovely as that would be, I'd be happy with an explanation and maybe a couple of possibilities about what I can do now."

Grudging respect was how he'd later describe the look on her face. She looked at him for nearly a full minute, seeming to weighing and considering him. He didn't look away from her. Finally, her face cleared and she nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever she'd found in their stare-down. "Honestly,” she said, “I'm not entirely sure what has happened to bring this about, but do you mind telling me a little about your perception of the situation?"

Killian gave her his rundown of the previous months, from August contacting him to how quickly he'd gotten leave to come over to Boston. He briefly mentioned that they'd had a falling-out, and that while it was not exactly personal, it wasn't entirely professional either.

Cleo listened impassively. "I know a lawyer who works in immigration, and she could probably help you get a stay on this, if that's what you want. It's not a permanent fix, but that'll probably take a while. We should also talk to Regina, she will want to know what’s happened and there might be something she can do to help. In the meantime, where are you in your projects?"

He offered her a grateful smile, feeling the tension in his shoulders dissipate some. "Well, my largest project is obviously editing Emma's new book. She's made some excellent progress, but we may have also had a row. And a complete end to our...more personal communication, actually."

That furtive, guilty look appeared again on Cleo’s face. "I might have heard something about that. I'll see what we can do, if you all decide you want to continue to work together professionally. We could probably get you a tourist visa and make you a contractor..."

He nodded at her, willing to follow any of her suggestions. She might intimidate the hell out of him, but there was something trustworthy and knowledgeable about her. "Whatever you think will work. And Cleo?"

"Hmm?" She was lost in thought, typing notes out quickly.

He smiled, a tiny shred of hope blooming in his chest. "Thank you."

&&&

He'd gone home at the end of his meeting with Cleo, called Robin, and started looking into his options for an attorney. Robin had been at work, but he'd offered his support, even if he couldn't do much. "Don't worry, mate, I won't arrest you...and fine, I'll see what I can do in terms of helping you out."

It was a couple more days before he received a summons from Regina. She wanted to meet with him along with August and Cleo. Cleo had texted him after he received the calendar request, told him he really had no way of proving August's involvement without making his life much more difficult, so they’d have to find another approach.

And he knew she had a point. So he went in for the meeting, on his guard and having absolutely zero clue about what to expect.

You could have knocked him over with a feather when he entered Regina's office to find her at her desk, with Cleo and August sitting together with Emma. Regina waved him in and Killian joined them on the couch.

"Er, hello," he said with a brief nod.

Regina rolled her eyes. "This isn't Alcoholic's Anonymous, Mr. Jones. Now that we're all here, we can discuss how to proceed with this immigration dilemma you've found yourself in."

A retort was hot on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, especially when he saw the smug look on August's face and the cautionary one on Cleo's. Emma looked blank, uninterested. Her presence both bolstered him up and was like a vise squeezing his heart. She was so close, but she'd never seemed farther away.

He simply nodded again. "Well, shall we begin, then?"

A business-like façade fell over Regina's face again.  "Indeed. So, thanks to Cleo, it looks like we were able to get a stay of proceedings that would lead to your deportation while officials look over your documents and figure out if everything has been done properly," she said, nodding at Cleo.

Killian was extremely gratified to see the smirk fall off August's face. Emma looked up, clearly surprised.

Cleo just gave one single nod. "Yep. There's been a stay of that, and we got you a tourist visa. So, officially you're just here visiting, and we were able to get that to start from the date of issuance, fortunately, instead of it being retroactive. So we have about six months to figure this out."

"...but things do tend to move slowly when in comes to customs and immigration," Regina interjected, "so I'd like to get started today."

"First, I think we should really take a look at why Killian is here, and what he brings to the table," August said. "It might be easier to help you find a job back in the UK and just go with an American editor, or at least someone whose papers are in order."

"No!" Everyone turned, surprised to find Emma was the one to respond so vehemently.

Killian was honestly just surprised Emma had spoken at all, let alone in defense of him.

He tried very hard not to read into it.

Emma clenched her jaw and stared down everyone but him, her gaze lingering on August. "No. Killian isn't replaceable. He's been a great editor, and his help and input have been invaluable. Changing editors at this juncture would have a very negative effect on the quality of my book, which I think we can all agree would be a bad thing."

"Are you sure you're not allowing your personal attachments to cloud your judgment, Miss Swan?" asked Regina.

"I am," she said levelly, "given that we've ended our personal association."

Surprise shone in Regina's eyes, and then respect. "Very well. So we can all agree that Mr. Jones is important for this novel--"

"--but we need to figure out whether his work on other projects is up to par. Otherwise, why bother with anything other than telecommuting?"

Killian could swear he saw every woman in the room roll their eyes.

"Thank you for your interruption, Mr. Booth, and we'll take your input into account. I am rather curious as to why you suddenly seem so keen on shipping Mr. Jones back to London, when you're the one who advocated for bringing him on," said Regina with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow.

August had the decency to looked a little embarrassed, but he recovered quickly. "I'm just trying to do what's best for Mills & Booth, and that includes maintaining a team that can work smoothly together. Is that really happening?"

"Yes," Emma said fiercely, lying through the skin of her teeth.

Killian shot her a grateful look, which she acknowledged with a slight dip of her head. "Now that we've all established that we're professional adults, can we get on with some of the practicalities of the issue?" he asked.

Cleo snorted. "Agreed," she said.

Regina's mouth twisted into a smile. "That does seem to be the most efficient use of our time."

If August was bothered by this turn of events, he didn't show it. In fact, he looked beyond pleased, especially when the door to Regina's office burst open.

Even Regina looked shocked to see Cora Mills striding through the door, Ariel trailing behind her muttering her objections to the intrusion.

Cora Mills. She was a legend within the publishing world, having married the heir of a small publishing house and turning it into the juggernaut that was Royal Hearts publishing. It was primarily known for romance novels, but its forays into literary fiction were well-respected. She couldn't seem to step a foot wrong when it came to books, and most authors would kill for a chance to meet her.

She was also Regina's mother.

Killian wasn't entirely sure when the schism between the Mills women had happened, but it was common knowledge within the publishing world that they didn't get along. Regina had started her own competing publishing house, after all.

There was a long, tense silence before Cora finally spoke. "Hello, Regina. Your office is lovely, even if this is quite the collection of...professionals in it. Between the one in trouble with Immigration, the glorified beat cop, and the felon, I'm actually impressed Mills & Booth hasn't imploded already."

Emma moved quickly, but Killian was able to stop her before she took a swing at Cora Mills.

"I'd expect nothing less from an orphan of unknown parentage with a rap sheet," Cora sneered, brushing at her clothes where Emma had come close to grazing her.

At that point, Cleo had to hold back both him and Emma.

Regina stood and made her way over to the center of the room, her face grim and mouth in a line. "Mother, what do you want? Or did you just come here to insult me and mine?"

"No, I came here with a proposition."

"Ah," Regina said, giving nothing away.

"Regina--and August--you both know very well I have plenty of contacts that could help fix Mr. Jones' little tiff with the authorities. And I'd gladly help promote Miss Swan's novel, if that's something you think is a worthy cause," she said.

Regina's mouth tightened. "But what do get out of it? I've never known you to do a damn thing for free."

Cora's eyes gleamed. "I don't want anything but time with you, Regina. I've loathed being so cut off from my only child."

She snorted. "How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn't just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth."

There was an audible gasp that came from either Emma or himself, he wasn't sure.

Cora's face twisted briefly before melting into a look of motherly concern. "That's just because I know how much an investment could help, and I'd get to see so much more of you."

Uncertainty crossed her face, but Regina crossed her arms. "Get out," she said. "And if you would kindly refrain from insulting my colleagues or bullying my assistant while you're on your way out, I'd appreciate it."

Cora schooled her features and nodded imperiously. "Very well. But just know your mother is here for you whenever you need me," she said.

She swept out, and silence reigned.

Finally, Regina cleared her throat. "Well, if that's done, can we just agree that we'll work on figuring out Mr. Jones' visa situation, while hiring him as a contractor to work exclusively on Miss Swan's project for now?"

Cleo, Emma, and Killian all nodded, none of them missing the distrustful glare Regina directed at August.

[milkcndhoney-blog]

"Come back" (Charlotte & Caelum), "Together" (Taylor & Hazel), "Hush" (Sam & Ezra), "Push" (Frankie & Daisy) ♡

"Come back" (Charlotte & Caelum)— Send me a “Come back” and I'll write a drabble about one character asking the other to return (they parted after a fight, the other has been missing for a while, etc)

She was standing by the window, he could only see her silhouette in the dark and yet he knew she was crying. He was sitting a few steps away from her, and the longer that this silence went on between them, the worse it got. One question had been what had cause this situation and he was scared to loose her. So far they had never fought over anything, there had been nothing more than minor disagreements but never anything to this extent. Just when he had thought that everything would be fine and that they both had finally found the happiness they had been looking for. "Charlotte." Her name, which he usually loved to say, suddenly felt heavy in his throat, and he pushed himself up from the sofa and stood up to walk towards her slowly. A hand gesture and a quiet “Don’t.” made him stop abruptly, he looked at her and a crooked grin formed on his lips. He didn’t know what he should do, how he could make it better and besides, he didn’t want to take it back. He had meant what he had said and these thoughts had been haunting him like a shadow for a long time now. It was about their future, their life together and accordingly death also belonged to it.

And while she would exist for eternity, he had only been given a limited amount of time, he would get older and he was afraid of what would become of them. Of course, it was still very early to think about it, but Caelum was sure that Charlotte was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And there was a way to extend said remainder by becoming immortal. Often she had told him how much it had hurt to lose people she loved, that she couldn’t bear to relive this and he wanted to spare her that pain. However, if this was supposed to work, something was needed and Charlotte had always refused it, it wouldn’t be right and still Caelum had addressed it that night. His fingertips trembled, he wanted to turn her around and to pull her into his arms, whisper in her ear how sorry he was and reassure her. But he just stood behind her, because if he apologized, he would take it back and thus they would forget about it again.

"Please, let's talk about it." His voice sounded so incredibly loud to him in this silence and he stepped closer to put his hand on her shoulder. "At some point we’ll have," he didn’t get any further, because she had pulled away from him and stormed out of the room, he heard how the door opened and he immediately ran after her. It was cold outside, he tried to follow her, but after a few streets he realized he wouldn’t make it. After all, he was only human. He stood in the street and quickly ran his arm over his face. "Come back." It left his lips. "Please, come back." He didn’t know if she heard him or where she had gone, but he was so afraid to lose her. For although Caelum was never able to express his feelings very openly, he was aware that Charlotte was the best thing that could have ever happened to him. All of this, his life, wouldn’t make any sense without her. "Come back!" He finally shouted it into the darkness, it was the first time he got loud and it was also the first time that he understood what it really meant to love someone.

"Together" (Taylor & Hazel)— Send me a “Together” and I'll write a drabble about them spending their first night together (platonic, just sleeping)

After several glasses of wine, the discussion of whether a line on a canvas was actual art and gentle, almost inconspicuous gestures of affection, for example as soon as their hands met on the table; they had both decided to call it a night. It was long past midnight and she had offered him to stay at her place since they were both visibly tipsy by now and – if she was honest – she just wanted to spend a little more time with Taylor. Of course, it had been out of the question to let him sleep on the sofa, after all he was her guest and accordingly she had offered him her bed. And once he had stressed that she should take the bed, they had come to a compromise. She had been staring at the ceiling for half an hour now, sleep was hardly anything she could think of when the one who had been the cause of sleepless nights in the past was beside her. She blew a disturbing dark strand of hair away and she wondered if she should get up and continue to work on her drawings, but on the other hand she was afraid she would wake him up.

What a disaster; she glanced over slightly, his chest was rising and falling slowly, his eyes were closed and she couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful he was. He was like those statues at the museum that she could watch for hours and each time she noticed something new. She loved drawing Taylor and suddenly she realized that she was staring straight at him. Carefully she turned to the side, a mere precaution because what you couldn’t see wasn’t there. However, that was a stupid theory since she clearly heard his gentle breath and very slowly she turned around again. She was now lying on her side, her hand moved gently over the bed sheet and she touched the back of his hand tenderly with her fingertips. Mindful, she always made sure that he was still asleep and then she had finally dared to take his hand. It was such a small gesture, but at the same time she wanted nothing more than to be able to hold his hand, walk with him through the museums or attend dance performances. But she wasn’t sure how he felt or whether she ruined their friendship if she confessed, so she slowly let go of his hand. Silently, she looked at his face again, she pushed herself up from the mattress and looked at him more closely and this was the moment when Hazel noticed that he was smiling.

"Wait," she whispered, and his eyes finally opened. "You’re awake?" He didn’t answer her, but his facial expression said so much more than words ever could. "I’ll get something to drink." She got up quickly, almost stumbled out of bed and although she tried to hide it, it was obvious how nervous Hazel was. She left the bedroom, returned after a few seconds and peered past the doorframe at him. "Next time I won’t let go and that’s a promise." She smiled and then she disappeared in the kitchen.

“Hush” (Sam & Ezra)— Send me a “Hush” and I’ll write a drabble about one character comforting the other (from fear or grief)

The door to the small apartment was pushed open and with a wide grin he stormed down the hall, searching for her. "Sam, you won’t believe," he didn’t finish his sentence, instead his bag and boxing gloves fell to the floor as he was standing in the middle of the doorway leading to the living room. It was very quiet in the apartment, only the soft sobbing of her could be heard and he knew neither what had happened nor what he was supposed do. Therefore he slowly approached her, he sat down next to her on the sofa, and before he said anything, he reached for her hand, he held it very tightly and tried to stay calm.

Which was easier said than done when the person, who meant the world to you, was crying. And there had always been this special connection between them, whenever one of them suffered the other was in pain as well. For a long time they sat together on the sofa in silence, they often understood each other without any words and yet he suddenly started to sing. It was one of the songs from their childhood and God knows that Ezra was a terrible singer. It sounded like the growl of an old, broken teddy bear, and he certainly would never make a career out of this. Nevertheless, it seemed to work, because after a few more – very out of tune – lines he could see how Sam started smiling, smirking he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Hey, are you laughing?" He asked teasingly, before pulling her closer to his body and placing a gentle kiss on her blonde hair. Sam was strong, she was the one who always stood behind him and helped him back on the right path whenever he threatened to get lost in the darkness. Yes, she was strong and had been for many years. But even the strongest people had to drop their armor at some point just to be human and vulnerable. "What's wrong?" He finally asked what had been bothering him all along. She shook her head, which made him smile weakly. "You don’t have to tell me, but remember beside you is sitting a grown man who is afraid of thunderstorms." And that was probably the first time he admitted it openly. It was unclear if Sam would trust him, but he still wanted her to know that he was always by her side, no matter what.

"Push" (Frankie & Daisy)— Send me a "Push" and I'll write a drabble about one character pushing the other against a wall and kissing them

Their relationship was a secret, his parents would never approve of it, and although they both knew they couldn’t be together, somehow they couldn’t be without the other either. It had been an agonizingly long evening, a sumptuous multi-course dinner had been arranged, and she had quietly been waiting for him after her performance. How much she wished to sit next to him, to enjoy this evening without any hide-and-seek with him, but she was aware of the consequences it might have. A sigh left Daisy's lips as she peered cautiously around the corner; he was late. She leaned against the wall again, smiled and greeted one of her colleagues, who hastily stormed down the hall. Was it wrong of her to dream of being more than just a secret?

She bit her lower lip firmly and decided to wait for him anyway, Frankie wasn’t like this, he would have told her if he couldn’t make it tonight. After an hour, however, she started to get her first doubts and every time she heard footsteps, she looked hopeful around the corner. Her fingers clawed gently into the fabric of her dress, as if it would give her some sort of support and just as she felt her eyes starting to burn, he appeared. With a mixture of excitement and anger, Daisy looked up at him, though the latter immediately vanished when he smiled, God how much she loved that smile.

He apologized to her and explained that it had taken longer – he was such a damn gentleman and he was obviously way too good for her. And usually she would have told him she didn’t mind, but for once she couldn’t, instead she moved closer to him, her hand lightly pressing against his upper body, and only when she had pushed him against the wall did she release it from him. In a few seconds, however, her hand found its new place on his neck, she pulled him down and kissed him. It was a kiss that would leave no doubt about her feelings for Frankie, she wanted to steal his breath and even more his heart. After all he had already stolen hers years ago and while her fingertips gently pressed into his skin, she released the kiss. She still had her eyes closed and snuggled her face to his neck.

"This was for letting me wait." She said sullen, but the soft laugh that followed gave away how happy she was to see him. "Frankie, you idiot," she whispered it against his neck. "I thought you had forgotten me." Her voice cracked faintly at the end of this sentence, she buried her face deeper onto his neck and she just stayed there with him. And if there had been a possibility to stop time, she would have liked to do so now.

[joonsjeon]

Invisible // Chapter 5

Pairing: Mark x Reader x Jaebum Words: ~2700 Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff Warnings: none Masterlist

(Y/N)

You stood outside, your vision still blurry from the tears in your eyes as you watched him walk down the street. His figure got smaller and mixed in with all the other people walking along that same street, but you still saw him. His shoulders hanging low, but hands still balled into fists, sad and pissed off at the same time. Just like you. Kicking away whatever got into his way until he spotted a taxi on the other side of the road, got inside and vanished. It bothered you a lot that he was so off, he was not the Mark you usually knew… the Mark who was your best friend. However, even more, did it bother you that you didn’t know why this sudden mood change took place and apparently he was not willing to tell you about it either. After a while, when you finally accepted that he did not come back, you went inside again. Luckily people weren’t looking at you because the whole scene hadn’t drawn that much attention after all. Only the guys were sitting at the table desperately waiting for you to come back, yet confused at the sight that their friend was not right next to you. “What happened?” Jackson asked as you fell onto the seat where you had sat before, right next to JB. Any kind of motivation to still sit here with all of them around you had left your body, shrugging your shoulders in disinterest before tersely answering “He didn’t want to talk, so he’s gone now.” Everybody could tell by the way you talked and acted that things did not go well at all, yet did nobody know how to handle it. It resulted in no one saying a word, just sitting there in awkward silence as all that Mark had left behind was a tense and unpleasant atmosphere, lingering over all of you. “Why are you crying?” Jaebum suddenly asked and gently wiped away the single tear still rolling down your cheek, but even that didn’t manage to put a smile on your face at that moment. It wasn’t like he couldn’t figure out the reason for your tears, but maybe he simply did not expect that the situation had escalated that badly. “It’s nothing, I just don’t understand him. I’m confused…” you mumbled, turning your head into his direction to meet his gaze, but he was no longer looking at you.  He just nodded and lifted his hand off your cheek again, turning his attention from you to the rest of the table. You saw that he searched for Jinyoung’s eyes, they exchanged some weird looks and then suddenly got up. The jacket that hung over the back of your chair was placed in his hands now, holding it up so you could slip your arms right in it. “Don’t worry, we will talk to him tomorrow.” He tried comforting you again while softly caressing your arm, but still not looking you in the eyes. Now it wasn’t only Mark who had suddenly changed his happy mood, but he as well. “Just don’t push him to open up when you get home.” There wasn’t really the need for him to point that out, but you just nodded. Besides the fact that you knew how Mark could act when he was as angry as today you weren’t in the mood to see him again anyway. Not tonight nor the day after or even the day after that. Usually, the two of you fought about minor things. Random disagreements or when somebody forgot to do the grocery shopping. Anything as stupid as this, but today had been different. Very different. You knew that he would never hurt you, yet the anger that you had seen in his eyes was terrifying. Only thinking about it let a cold shiver run down your spine and adding up to that you had not once seen him with this kind of anger so obviously targeted at you. When you thought about it logically there was not a single reason for it that night beside you flirting with JB right in front of his eyes. However, when you had confronted him with about exactly this thought he had denied it without looking like he was lying. So here you were – angry, shocked, sad and confused. The night had started out so well and at the end had easily made its way to the top 10 of the worst nights you’ve ever had. While lost in thought you had walked outside the restaurant after paying for the food, covering Mark’s dinner as well as yours and denying JB’s offer to pay for the two of you instead. One by one the boys left, saying goodnight and telling you not to worry about the fight that happened which was clearly easier said than done. You were left with Youngjae and Jaebum, waiting for your taxi to arrive first as they didn’t want to leave you out there so late at night. “(Y/N).” Jaebum quietly said after a couple of minutes had passed in silence, pulling you to the side so that you were just out of range for Youngjae to hear your conversation. “Do you still wanna go out with me? I can understand if after what happened with Mark you no longer feel up to it.” He continued to say, instantly making you wonder if he had regretted agreeing to your date in the first place. “Mark has nothing to do with this, I’d still like to go out. Do you?” you asked him hesitantly, trying to create the eye contact he had been avoiding ever since you came back to the table. Were you making him uncomfortable or was it really Mark? Did he know more than you did? But then he wouldn’t have said yes to you, would he? “Yes I do!” he blurted out and then sighed afterward. “I just thought that… never mind. Don’t worry. I will text you about my schedule.” He explained, shaking off the words he had planned to say at first and then pointed to the taxi that had just stopped next to you on the street. Like a gentleman, he opened the door and mumbled a last “Goodnight, (Y/N).” before closing it right behind you. The last thing you saw after telling the driver your address was him walking to Youngjae, his back turned towards you as he shook his head to answer whatever Youngjae had asked that night.

Arriving back home left you with mixed feelings. You put the key in the hole, yet didn’t dare to turn it around right away. Was he already home? What would he be doing? Even though you had kind of promised yourself to show him your cold shoulder for his absolutely stupid behavior you couldn’t help, but worry about him more and more. Whatever it was that upset him must have been really bad, otherwise, he could have kept his calm in public. With a sigh you stepped inside, calling his name, but receiving no answer. The lights in the whole apartment were turned off, not even shining through from under his door. Either he already went to sleep or he wasn’t home yet you thought and walked towards his room once you had slipped off your shoes. After knocking on the wooden door several times, without hearing him say anything, you pushed the handle down and opened it only so much that you could peak inside, seeing if he was in bed or not. He was not. Instead, you made out a small piece of paper on the otherwise perfectly folded bed sheets, waiting for you to pick it up and read whatever message he had left behind. With an uneasy feeling rumbling in your stomach, you reached out for said paper, trying to make out the words in his rushed handwriting and only with the light of the moon and street lamps outside lighting up the room. The one word… that one small word you had hoped for was not on it. Just letting you know that I’m at Jinyoung’s place for now. Good night. Sorry. That was all you had hoped for. A very simple sorry, no big apologies whatsoever, just a sign that would show you his realization, his regrets. But nothing. Nothing at all. You let the paper fall back down on the bed, feeling how the tears fought their way back into your eyes as you didn’t allow them to show up for another second because right now he didn’t deserve any of them. He had made it very clear tonight that whatever it was that bothered him so much, was nothing you could be trusted with and that even though you thought you could trust each other with anything and everything. At least that had been the light you saw him in until tonight, the person you trusted the most.

The night passed without getting much sleep at all, thinking the scenario through multiple times. Over and over again because even when you told yourself it wasn’t worth it… that Mark didn’t deserve you trying so hard to understand him, you just didn’t manage to do otherwise. At some point, you had grabbed your phone and texted Jinyoung just to make sure Mark was actually with him, which was true. You had asked how he was doing if they talked about anything that happened, but he didn’t spill much. “Mark is fine, he went to sleep shortly after I came. This is between the two of you, I won’t get involved too much, (Y/N).” Even though he had a point and it may be the best idea to let things settle a little more before you tried talking to Mark again, it wasn’t what your heart wanted. He also told you that they had another dance practice tomorrow and so you decided to stop by during the day in the hope of catching Mark with a better mood. It was somewhat around noon when you took off towards the JYPE building, entering obviously wasn’t the problem here. When you stood in front of the practice room door, all you heard was the booming sound of music. Usually, they took a break around this time, but regarding their comeback, they probably had to work longer every now and then. Instead of wasting your time by waiting for them to finish up, you quickly went to the small café that was right next door and picked up coffee and milkshakes for all of them. After their training, they could definitely use the hydration. Your hands packed with the drinks you walked right back to where you came from, this time the music had stopped and instead you heard people talking inside. Since you had no hand free to open the door yourself you used your foot to knock, waiting a few seconds until you could hear footsteps approaching. A sweaty Jackson opened up, smiling when he saw you standing there with the small present. “You are a literal angel.” Were the first words he said, making you laugh as he kindly took some of the drinks out of your hand to help handing it out to the others. Almost all of them had similar reactions, mostly relieved sighs filled the room as they felt the cold beverage in their hands and could take a refreshing sip. However, it was only an almost because you wished the earth would have swallowed you up as soon as Mark’s gaze met yours. His face looked stern compared to his usual soft, smiley features. You didn’t know if he had been like this before you had entered the room, but the way his eyes were glued on you did not make you feel any more comfortable. Everybody around you either really did not notice or purposely ignored it, following Jinyoung’s mindset of not getting involved in whatever was happening between the two of you. He abruptly stood up, harshly grabbing your arm and dragging you along with him into the opposite corner of the room. You felt everyone’s eyes on you, but no one actually dared to get up from the sofa and intervene. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice somewhat calm and low, but it sounded more like he was trying to keep it together. Here goes your thought of meeting a Mark with a better mood… You broke the eye contact, letting your head sink down while nervously fumbling with the plastic cup in your hands. The question wasn’t necessary, he obviously knew the answer to it. “Look I just don’t want to see you right now, okay.” He continued, not waiting for any answer of yours because he apparently wanted this conversation to be over as quickly as possible. “What?” you mumbled, looking back at him because out of all the reactions you suspected, him rejecting you for a second time had not been one you had foreseen. “You heard me. Leave, now.” He sighed, pushing the coffee you had bought for him back into your hand before leaving himself. He turned his back towards you, dropping down onto the couch without another word. You saw that Youngjae started talking to him, but was immediately shut down when Mark pulled out his phone along with a pair of headphones. Now it was Jinyoung who came towards you, taking the cup of coffee that Mark just gave back to you and gently pulling you into a hug. “I’m sorry. If I knew you planned on coming here today I would’ve told you it’s a bad idea.” He apologized as if he was responsible for Mark’s behavior when he clearly was not. You just shrugged with his one arm still placed around you, loosening his grip on you before he stepped back completely. “I will tell you when he calmed down… just give it a few more days, alright?” You nodded as he accompanied you to the door. Weirdly enough you weren’t as hurt this time around, maybe because the shock was still too big. Distantly you heard their voices saying “Goodbye.” again after your very short visit that was absolutely unnecessary and even more ineffective. On your way back out, when the façade of shock slowly started to crumble and revealed the tears gathering in your eyes, you suddenly heard someone calling out your name. As you turned around you saw Jaebum sprinting up the stairs to catch up with you. You didn’t want him to see you crying again for the exact same reason and quickly wiped the tears off your face before he stood in front of you. He exhaled, clearly exhausted from his short sprint right after the few hours of training he had just worked his way through, but still smiled at you once your eyes met. Not in a pitiful way, not like he was sorry for what just happened. He just seemed happy and excited for what he was about to say. “I checked my schedule and if you want to, we can go out at the end of this week. Is Saturday good for you?” he shyly asked, scratching the back of his neck as you saw his ears turning a little red in the process. Seeing him like this while talking to you made your heart jump, the sadness was washed away the moment he appeared in front of you. You were so busy and lost in thought by just looking at him that you completely forgot to answer his question for another couple of seconds. Only when you noticed that he was aware of your swooning while he was still right in front of you and he started chuckling, you managed to snap back into reality. Nevertheless, you could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks, turning them bright red in no time at all. You cleared your throat and finally managed to answer. “Yes, Saturday is perfect.” He nodded, flashing you one last smile and said “Great. I’ll pick you up at 8 pm.” Before rushing back down to the rest of his group, leaving you standing in the hallway smiling like an idiot all by yourself. 

[alickoftrouble]

Ta’rihn Kheo

Appearance -

Gender: Female

Race: Miqo’te, Seeker of the Sun

Height: 5′

Eye Color: Bright Green

Hair Color: Auburn red with white tips

The Facts -

Name Day:  2nd Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon | April 2nd

Occupation: Huntress, Pelt trader, Merc for Hire

Sexual identification: Pansexual

Romantic identification: Polyamorous

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Criminal History: Can’t have a history if she’s yet to be caught or charged.

Relationship Status: Dating and open.

Sweet on: Dorian West and V’tehn Tia

Favorites –

Favorite food: Fish or meats cooked over an open fire. Also chocolate.

Favorite drink: Whiskey, Coffee.

Favorite artist: I’marah Jhin. Because baking is also an art, damn it!

Favorite scent: Leather, Amber, Deep Woods, Fresh Fallen Snow, and Desert Sands.

Favorite person: Her siblings. Ta’kazo Tia and Ta’nhee Kheo.

Randoms –

Ten facts about your muse:

⚫ Rihn is extremely independent and stubborn, to a fault even. She refuses to appear weak and does everything she can to depend solely on herself. It doesn’t always work out well for her, and while she tries to let people in, she still has to feel self-reliant and sustainable.

⚫ Lost her mother and the majority of her tribe – Chimera – when her tribal lands in Coerthas were burnt to cinders by a voidsent attack at the age of 10. She only survived because her mother threw herself on the small kit to shield her from the fires. An Elezen man named Aumeric found her wandering in a daze, starving and soot-covered. For the next 6 years he raised her up, which is where her past of odd jobs, skills, mercenary work, and literacy come from. At the age of 16 Rihn ventured into Ul’dah, where she found the few remaining survivors of her tribe.

⚫ Cannot stand the scent of voidsent, burning flesh, or the sensation of water falling on her or being submerged. All of these factors are the result of traumas she has survived from either the desolation of her tribe, or being held captive and tortured mentally\physically\emotionally for a month. These triggers are some of the few things that can send her into an actual and even potentially violent panic.

⚫ She is fiercely protective and loyal to her tribe. Ever since she believed herself to be the only survivor, she has upheld the beliefs and rituals of her people, no matter how taboo they might seem to outsiders. Her tribe comes before all things, including her relationships. Of all her dreams, mothering the next Nunh of Chimera is one of her most prevalent and would bring her the greatest pride.

⚫ Scars are a sign of beauty to Rihn, as the art of scarification has been passed down through generations of the Chimera. Whether the scars are a result of incidents, begotten in personal ventures, or carved intentionally for artistic value they are all beautiful. She herself has several. One across the bridge of her nose from a childhood scuffle, one at her left shoulder from knife practice gone awry with Nhee as a child, an intricately carved design of vines and leaves that reaches from her right shoulder to her elbow, and a crudely carved V at the back of her neck. Her most prominent scars all tell a story, though her body is also riddled with more faded, minor scars from hunting, sparing, and other activities.

⚫ Once upon a time her personal mission in life was to kill her own sire, Ta’kheo Nunh. For many long years she blamed Kheo for the demise of their tribe, and once she found out that he had survived she was intent on cutting his life short. It took a long, long time for the father and daughter to become even close to resemble loving, though it was Rihn that fought it more than Kheo did by a long shot. Ever prideful, they still have their occasional disagreements, mostly to do with the state of Chimera, but she no longer tries to slip a blade through his throat!

⚫ Rihn is a rather interesting duality of disciplined and completely the opposite. She has a daily routine she rarely slacks on starting at sunrise, which includes running, exercise, and religiously practicing her marksmanship. All of this occurs daily before she even begins her hunting details and resetting traps. It keeps her fit and alert and results in a body she’s rather fastidious about keeping in shape. And yet on the other side of that coin she indulges in plenty of vices. She drinks too much, can’t resist sweets a lot of the times, and indulges in recreational drugs. None of these being conducive to the fit lifestyle she often portrays.

⚫  Before her month long capture previously in the year, Rihn sported some very lovely dreads. The beginning of those dreads had been unintentional, starting with the matting from a lack of washing while she stumbled around lost and alone after the voidsent attack as a child. Slowly but surely however, they became a symbol and source of pride for her past. While Chimera often worked with braids and beading, Rihn kept her dreads and tended to them lovingly, often weaving in metal or bone beads as she grew them out. They were always clean, and scented with oils of amber and spices that kept them soft and conditioned. They were forcibly cut off by her estranged uncle during her time of capture. She’s had a difficult time reconciling the loss of them, and often times now considers if she should try to form new dreads or let them go with the past.

⚫  Not many are privy to the fact, but Rihn spent a good while both surviving and keeping secret that she’d been blinded temporarily by fire after a wyvern hunt with Daevien. At least she believed it was from the wyvern, in truth it was from the Amalj’aa ambush that occurred on her way back home after the wyvern hunt, from a fire attack of an Amalj’aa thaumaturge. Being as prideful as she was, Rihn tried to keep the fact of her blindness a secret from most she came in contact with, concealing the condition of her eyes behind shades and the like. It took a good measure of Kheo’s efforts to help his daughter regain her eyesight, and even to this day it’s not always 100% and there is always a risk of the damage reverting back.

⚫ Of all the losses Rihn has experienced, there are three that remain the most prominent. The first is the loss of her mother, who she still views with ultimate reverence. The topic of Ta’lahni is an extremely sacred and sometimes sensitive one. If there is anyone Rihn might strive to be like, it’s her mother. Strong, regal, elegant, and fierce. Kheo often remarks how she may display her father’s colors, but it’s the look of her mother that shines through the brightest. The other two losses are that of her siblings, Ta’nhee Kheo and Ta’kazo Tia. Ta’nhee she lost in an ill-fated fight with their estranged uncle, though before that Nhee was her most beloved and eldest sister. Always a fierce protector, she looked over Rihn when the girl was just a kit. Issues at birth stole the dark, rich colors of their tribe from Nhee’s features, and as a child Rihn would often use what she could from nature to make paints or dyes and try to ‘paint’ Nhee’s colors back on. To this day the loss of her sister still stings deeply in her heart, and she wears a white rose in memoriam to her sister. Equally so does losing her brother Kazo, who she affectionately called Chio. A name derived from a private language the two made up as kits. Though Kazo is not dead, after Rihn’s capture and Nhee’s death, the eldest surviving son of Chimera chose to leave his family and tribe behind. Despite any efforts to find him since, their only direction is that he’s stolen away to the depths of snowy Coerthas to live in solitude, if he is even still alive at all. This loss is something Rihn continues to struggle with because Kazo was unquestionably her favorite of the tribe, and the person she felt closest to.

Bonus 5 facts:

⚫ Due to the mixed blood on her sire’s side, Rihn sports the sliver pupils of the Seeker but also the sharpened fangs of the Keepers. She holds no shame in this mixed lineage and is very pleased and proud of her fangs. This same lineage gives her the same distinctive vivid green eyes of her sire as well, which hold a mild glow in dim lights.

⚫ At any given time Rihn has no less than 3 blades hidden on her person. One is a bone hilted dagger that was gifted to her from her sire. Another is a set of throwing knives gifted to her as a Starlight gift one year. And the other is one of the things she rescued from the fires of her tribeland, her mother’s hunting dagger.

⚫ Before she arrived in Ul’dah, Rihn didn’t keep many personal items, but she does have a few precious possessions. Aside from her mother’s hunting dagger and that given to her by Kheo, she also has pressed blue flower that Kazo gifted her after he made her cry as a kit by pushing her over. Her other most prized possession is the bone carved bow that has been passed down through the generations of Chimera, which Kheo handed down to her in a sign of confidence of her strengths and skills as a huntress.

⚫ Rihn is surprisingly good with children. After helping with the raising of two adopted twins in Chimera and her little brother Ta’lohn, she also now helps Dorian with his niece Hannah, who he became the guardian of after his sister passed away. Despite how she used to find a dislike for children and doubted having a maternal nature, she has actually blossomed in that department.

⚫ Aside from her chocobo, Peeps, Rihn has never owned a pet. She once tried to save and keep an injured from when she was a kit, but it didn’t survive.

Five Things -

Things they like: - Teeth, claws, and blood - Sitting alone to watch the sunset or the burning of a campfire - Hunting and sparring - Dancing - Flirting and cuddling, if she’s close with the person

Things they dislike: - Falling water, being submerged in water - Voidsent - Weakness - Lalafell - Being told what to do

Good habits: - Loyal and protective once someone earns her trust. - Not lying. She may twist or manipulate wording, but she will not outright lie. - Takes her jobs and responsibilities seriously. - She isn’t possessive or controlling. - Can be nurturing but won’t coddle.

Bad Habits: - Being far too prone to flirting with trouble and disaster. - Being very prideful to the point of recklessness. - Over indulging in vices, especially drinking and smoking ‘herbal blends’. - Still slightly  xenophobic, especially against lalafell. - Quick to judge, place judgement, and hold grudges.

Personalities they gravitate toward: - Strong, confident personalities that have a bit of snark, sass, or sarcasm. Also good if they can keep up with her in drinking.

Personality types they avoid: - People with weak personalities that whine, act like they can’t take care of themselves, or play the victim. 

Fears: - Losing her loved ones - Losing her tribe again - Becoming weak\lame - Voidsent - Ta’vinyrh Tia

Tagged by: @mischiefandmystics

Tagging: @harlequinsymphony, @limmel-xiv, @zephyrusmontenbelt, @natsumimontenbelt, @thevermiliongaelicatte, @cyreed-phayr, @varyazhuk

Mentions (also tagging to do this) : @imarah-jhin, @takazo-tia, @the-ram-of-the-chimera, @blue-eyed-scavenger, @miscreants-and-misfits, @dorian-west, @madmeanderings, @daevien-xiv

[jessejackreyes]

Hanzo76Week day 3 regrets/doubt

This is a bit rushed, but I want to get these things out and actually participate in the week. Day two will come out soon. I’ve had a lot of trouble with the AU prompt, but I have something now.

Working Title

The sounds of pulse rifle fire greeted him as he neared the shooting range. Jack was already there, which was not a surprise. Hanzo found himself practicing early in the morning frequently, more so than he would like. No matter the ungodly hour that brought him here though, he was rarely alone for long. Sometimes he would be there first. Other times, like this morning, he would walk in second. The silver haired man’s routine presence was comfortable, desirable even.

Jack turned to face him for a few moments, a silent greeting passing between the two of them before the rifle fire continued. This was normal. It was familiar. They would stand a moderate distance apart, quietly firing again and again. The steady drumming of pulse ammunition being fired over and over had become a soundtrack to Hanzo’s own practicing. On the occasions where the former commander was off on a mission, his practice felt empty, quiet.

The familiarity it had fostered sneaked up on Hanzo. The first morning he had done this alone had felt oddly empty, quiet in a way that left the archer surprisingly uncomfortable. Since that morning it was noisier, but normal, familiar, comfortable. Few words were exchanged as they stood at each other’s sides for hours, firing shot after shot, until exhaustion took or it grew too late for them to stay.

They had never spoken about what this was between them, what it meant. They both understood that words would change things, putting a name to it would make it real in a way that neither of them were ready for. Most everyone in this new Overwatch had their own demons that they fought.

They all sought relief and comfort in their own way, this new Overwatch, often with each other. He knows that his brother found serenity with Zenyatta and that the monk has continued to support and comfort the man. The younger one’s spend time together laughing and crying. Many of the old guard stick together and tell stories. People had even offered a sympathetic ear to Hanzo, despite his sins, but he refused. He did not deserve their sympathy and their pity only made things worse.

Jack never offered pity. The man seemed to have none to give. Instead, he would get up when he could not sleep and practice until his body ached and he could no longer hold his bow. When things were particularly bad and no amount of punishment helped or, on rare occasion good and the weight of the world and his guilt were not suffocating him, the two of them would often find themselves in Jack’s room together. Even there few words were spoken, the contact was all that was necessary to help to mean something even if they could not articulate what. They could tire themselves out and if Hanzo was very lucky he would sleep a few hours dreamlessly next to the man.

Jack was much the same as him when it came to the other members from what Hanzo could tell. He went along with what the others wanted often, if reluctantly. But, in the end he always retreated away, to deal with his problems by himself. Hanzo may never have really noticed how much they had in common if they had not both practiced to exhaustion. Without words he knew that they both did so to make it through each night, to forget.

Precisely what brought Hanzo here would change from time to time. Sometimes his dreams would haunt him, not allowing a moment’s rest or escape from what he had done. Other times he would lie in bed for hours, unable to even reach the dreams that are rarely quiet, rarely kind.

On those nights he missed drinking, one of the few things that could sometimes help him rest. He had been made to quit drinking when he joined, it was interfering with his performance. He had argued, been insulted at the idea, but when Genji practically begged him he caved immediately. Sober Hanzo simply found other ways to punish his body and attempt to persevere through the memories.

Tonight he was here for a different reason, the worst of all the types that brought him here. Earlier he had gotten into a fight with Genji. He had not meant to, it was not important enough. It should have simply been a minor disagreement. But Hanzo was a stubborn asshole with a temper and instead of listening he had gotten defensive. He remembered every word he yelled, every insult. He remembered watching Genji storm off while Hanzo’s pride kept him from apologizing.

Instead he went to bed, trying in vain to sleep. When he failed at that he came here, took his spot next to the former strike commander and prepared for another night of bitter practice. Even here the night was not turning out as he planned it. His form was sloppy, his aim off center and no matter what he tried he could not manage to correct it. He managed things for about a half an hour before he tossed the bow away in disgust with an angry shout.

Hanzo froze once he realized that Jack had stopped what he was doing and was staring at him. He rushed out of the range angrily, refusing to meet the man’s eyes. He was opening the door to his quarters when he realized that he had left his Storm Bow behind. Cursing, he refused to go back there and face things right now. He would merely have to retrieve it in the morning.

There was no way he was getting to sleep now, he was wired, angry and upset. So, Hanzo did the only thing he had left to do. He fished his stash of Schochu out of hiding and took a swig from the bottle he had hidden it in. It did not matter at that moment that Genji would be mad at him or that Angela would lecture him on his drinking.

There was a knock at his door just as he swallowed his first mouthful with a satisfying gulp. Hanzo elected to ignore even as the knocking slowly grew more insistent, content to sit on the edge of his bed. He did not wish to deal with anybody. All he wanted to do was drink in peace and no one on this base would let him do that.

He began to idly wonder how long they would keep this up before giving up. An answer never came because shortly after the thought entered his mind, the door opened without his consent. Jack stood on the other side of the doorway, eyeing him seriously and he froze mid drink.

“I can override any lock on this base,” Jack informed him cooly, letting himself into Hanzo’s room. The man walked over and calmly plucked the bottle from his hands. Hanzo rose indignantly only to be faced with a 6 foot tall super soldier staring at him intensely, completely unimpressed by Hanzo’s attempts to be intimidating. “You’re not drinking this,”

“I do not need a lecture about my drinking problems from you,” Hanzo was getting genuinely angry now. He had not expected the man to show up here, let alone snatch his alcohol from his hands. Jack seemed to ignore his outburst.

“Come on,” The soldier called out, gesturing for Hanzo to follow him. Jack sighed when Hanzo made no move to follow him. “You can come with me or I can carry you over my shoulder kicking and screaming. Your call,” Hanzo briefly considered calling the man on his bluff, but the look in the man’s eyes made him think better of it. He followed Jack with a sigh.

Hanzo had guessed their destination and he really was not upto dealing with any of this as Jack dragged him into the man’s room. To his surprise though Jack had not dragged him to the man’s bed, where their nights would usually end, but instead to the much neglected couch at the other end of the room.

“Sit!” He obeyed the order simply, resigned to whatever the old soldier wanted from him.

Jack disappeared quickly into the office attached to his room while Hanzo tried to atleast get comfortable if he was going to be stuck here. The couch was clearly worn from use. He had never seen the man sit in it, had rarely seen him with company outside of Ana. If it was used that must have come from before the explosion at Zurich. His mind was distracted by the possibilities when he heard the man return and take a seat next to him. Jack handed him a glass with a single ice cube in it.

“It’s scotch,” He explained as he poured from a very fancy looking bottle. Hanzo stared at the cup in his hands while Jack poured himself a glass and took a sip himself. “Drink,” He ordered softly. “It’s good,”

“I thought I was not allowed to drink,”

“Not my rule,” Jack replied after another sip. “I just can’t abide you drinking shit like that, miserable and alone,” Hanzo was taken aback by the answer. “Nothing wrong with it if you have something good to drink and some company that’ll keep you from going too far,”

Hanzo followed the older soldier’s lead and took a sip from his own glass and he was both surprised and impressed by it. He focused on enjoying a good strong drink when he heard something very familiar coming from the tv in front of them. At some point Jack had turned on a very old movie.

“Seven Samurai?” Hanzo asked unnecessarily. “You’ve been talking to Genji?” He could not keep the accusatory tone out of his voice as he questioned.

“Nah, but that’s never managed to stop him from having a conversation,” They shared a laugh.

“It’s my favorite movie,”

“He said you know every line by heart,”

“I used to,” Hanzo replied, face flushing.

“Well I’ve never seen it,” Jack may as well have murdered a puppy in front of the man for how offended Hanzo looked at the end.

“That is unacceptable,” Hanzo had to make sure Jack watched the movie. So they watched and they drank. Pretty soon Hanzo was talking about the movie and the director over the movie itself, Jack listening attentively. The excitement died down slowly as the movie also drew to a close. Hanzo was tired and had not even noticed when he had leaned into the man next to him, head resting comfortably on Jack’s shoulder.

This was a significant change from their usual dalliances. Hanzo could not keep himself from asking.

“What are we doing?”

“Keeping your mind elsewhere,” Jack replied simply.

“Why?”

“It’s better than wallowing in misery alone and drunk beyond rational thought,”

“I did not ask for you help!” Hanzo all but shouted. He was not some child that needed to be taken care of.

“Didn’t need to. I wanted to help,” Hanzo fumbles at that point. Anger was his normal response to anything difficult, it’s why he and Genji had fought earlier. He did not know what to do when the source of his problem was doing everything right. “Don’t regret it either. Got to see you smile excitedly about something. More than worth it to me,”

“So what is this then? Hanzo asked. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m not good with words and feelings, but I wanted to help you feel better,”

“Why go through all of this trouble? I’m not worth your damn time,”

“My greatest regret in life, Hanzo, was keeping my feelings silent because I had small doubts. It was too late by the time I said anything. I don’t intend to repeat that mistake,” If Hanzo was not so tired he might have questioned exactly what he had meant, what this made them. But, he was focused on other details.

“So instead of talking about it with me you talked to my brother about it?” Hanzo asked incredulously.

“Well it’s difficult to avoid talking to Genji and I didn’t want to scare you away,”

“So Genji gave away all my embarrassing secrets?” Hanzo asked, mortified at the thought.

“Not at all. He was rather tight lipped. Though, he might’ve mentioned some of your favorite movies while he was interrogating me about my intentions with you,”

“What does he think is going on?”

In lieu of answer Jack pulled their lips together suddenly, passionately kissing the younger man. Hanzo resisted for a few moments, confusion drawing forth old defensive habits, but he returned the kiss with as much passion as he, himself, could manage.

Perhaps words were a problem, they would change things in the wrong way. It is not that they would define things incorrectly, but rather that they could not define what the two of them shared. Much more could be said with a thoughtful gesture, a considerate gift. Hanzo fell asleep that night with smile on his face, only slightly drunk and rested dreamlessly at least for one night.

[andrewromanoyahoo]

Arizona is asking: Where does Jeff Flake stand on healthcare?

Arizona Republican Sen. Jeff Flake takes a question from the audience during a town hall in April in Mesa, Ariz. (Photo: Ross D. Franklin/AP)

As the GOP continues to struggle to pass some sort of Obamacare repeal bill, there is no Republican senator in a tougher bind than Jeff Flake — and there has been no clearer illustration of how tough that bind has become than what’s been happening back in his home state of Arizona during Congress’s July 4th recess.

Ever since the House GOP unveiled its American Health Care Act earlier this year, Flake — one of only two swing-state Republican senators up for reelection in 2018 — has remained noncommittal, repeatedly declining to say whether he would vote for any of the various proposals on the table.

Now Arizonans on both sides of the aisle are demanding an answer.

On Wednesday, roughly 20 progressive activists, many with physical disabilities, flooded into Flake’s Phoenix office as part of a nationwide protest organized by the disability-rights group ADAPT. They installed a cardboard coffin in the lobby, with a headstone reading “Cuts to Medicaid = Death.” They waved signs that said “Don’t Kill 22 million + Americans.” They chanted about “free[ing] our people” and “find[ing] Jeff Flake.” They stayed for 14 straight hours. Five were cited by police for trespassing.

“I just want to know — a simple yes or no would suffice for me — his position,” said Demeris Herrera of Tucson.

Meanwhile, Flake’s far-right, pro-Donald-Trump GOP primary opponent, Kelli Ward, made the same point in an interview with Yahoo News, insisting that after “years of campaigning and raising money on fully repealing Obamacare,” Flake is instead “giving sanctuary to Obamacare because he is unwilling to speak up and take a stand.”

“He’s too weak to lead right now,” Ward charged.

As for Flake himself? According to his spokesman, the senator spent most of the week in Utah mourning his father, who died on June 26. Flake’s only response to the ongoing health care debate was a statement (released to both Yahoo News and the protestors in his office) that consisted mainly of recycled talking points.

Kelli Ward, a former Senator from Arizona, speaks during a campaign stop in Phoenix, Arizona, U.S., on August 11, 2016. (Photo: Patrick T. Fallon/Bloomberg via Getty Images)

“While I have not yet seen a revised version of the bill I can say my decision will be based on how it balances two principles,” it said. (Flake declined to be interviewed for this story.) “The first is that the legislation needs to ensure that those who currently have coverage do not have the rug pulled out from under them. The second is that the Senate must agree on a solution that is fiscally sustainable.”

The fact that Flake is staying silent on the Senate repeal bill — and catching flak from both the left and the right as a result — neatly encapsulates the unique political challenge he’s facing in the run-up to the 2018 midterms.

At first, the GOP’s other vulnerable swing-state senator, Dean Heller of Nevada, tried to avoid the subject as well. But soon after Senate Republicans released their version of the House repeal bill late last month, Heller came out against it, announcing that he “cannot support a piece of legislation that takes insurance away from tens of millions of Americans.”

Heller’s break with GOP brass reflected basic electoral math: given recent trends in Nevada, the greatest threat to his reelection effort is more likely to come from a Democrat than a Republican. To wit: Nevada freshman Rep. Jacky Rosen announced Thursday that she would be running against Heller in 2018, and Rep. Dina Titus, a long-serving Democrat, has also signaled her interest in the race. So far, Heller has yet to draw a GOP primary opponent.

Flake, on the other hand, is being squeezed from both sides. Already Ward is attacking him from the right, while Deedra Abboud, a Phoenix attorney and community activist, is angling for the Democratic nod. They probably won’t have the field all to themselves. Arizona State Treasurer Jeff DeWit, a Republican who is close to President Trump, is said to be eying a bid, as are two top Democrats, Rep. Krysten Sinema and Phoenix Mayor Greg Stanton.

Phoenix Mayor Greg Stanton speaks during a press conference outside the Arizona Capitol on Monday, Feb. 1, 2016, in Phoenix. (Photo: Ryan VanVelzer/AP)

“I don’t predict the future,” Sinema told Yahoo News when asked whether she might challenge Flake. “I’m currently running for reelection [to the House]. That’s my current status.”

Hence Flake’s hemming and hawing: his strategists have likely concluded that there’s little benefit to weighing in on the Senate repeal bill — and angering one side or the other — until it actually comes up for a vote (which may never happen).

And that calculation has, in turn, raised an even bigger question about politics in the Age of Trump.

With the GOP in ideological disarray and polarization at an all-time high, can a conservative Republican who prides himself on his independence — from both the president and party orthodoxy — still cobble together a winning coalition in a swing state like Arizona? Or is he just going to make everybody angrier?

Two years ago, I spent a day with Flake in the back of an aide’s rented Ford Explorer, driving across Arizona from event to event. It seemed then, as it seems now, that Flake’s betwixt-and-betweenness — his reluctance to conform to political expectations — is just the way he is. As a young congressman, Flake tried to tame his own party’s extravagant Bush-era spending, regularly shaming earmark sponsors on the floor of the House. In 2013, now a senator, he joined the bipartisan Gang of Eight to craft a comprehensive immigration reform bill that included a pathway to citizenship for illegal immigrants. In 2015, he was the only Republican who accompanied then-Secretary of State John Kerry to Cuba to preside over the reopening of the U.S. embassy after a 54-year diplomatic freeze. He advised his fellow Republicans to back down on same-sex marriage, regardless of their personal views, and voted to ban discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and to repeal “don’t ask, don’t tell.” During the 2016 campaign, he famously refused to endorse or vote for Trump, and he has continued to criticize the president for the last six months.

“Jeff is as straight a shooter as there exists in this place,” Democratic Sen. Chris Murphy once said of Flake. “I don’t know where Jeff will end up, but I know it will be because he’s made a decision on the merits, not the politics.”

Refusing to follow the partisan script has never made Flake especially popular at home. He barely edged out his Democratic Senate opponent Richard Carmona in 2012, and after revoking his support for a gun background-check bill the following year, Flake briefly held the lowest approval rating of any senator in the country. Even today, Flake ranks as one of America’s six or seven least popular senators (among their constituents).

From left, Jeff Flake, R-Ariz., Patrick Leahy, D-Vt., and Minority Whip Richard Durbin, D-Ill., conduct a news conference in the Capitol’s Senate studio on legislation that would end the U.S. travel ban on Cuba, January 29, 2015. (Photo: Tom Williams/CQ Roll Call)

Back in 2015, Flake insisted that his flagging poll numbers would not affect his politics. “That’s the beauty of being the Senate,” he joked in Tucson. “Six years between elections.”

But pretty soon, those six years will be up — and more than any other issue, health care may determine whether Flake gets to spend another six years in Washington.

The irony is that in Arizona, there isn’t as much partisan disagreement about Obamacare as there is nationally (or even in most other states). There are two reasons for this. The first is that last year most insurers fled Arizona’s Obamacare exchanges, leaving virtually all enrollees with only a single choice of carrier; at the same time, premiums for some plans increased by 116 percent, the highest rate hike in the country. As Tom Snook, a Phoenix-based actuary for consultants Milliman Inc., told the Wall Street Journal in October, “the Arizona market is the poster child for the problems the exchanges are experiencing nationally.”

The second reason is that Obamacare’s Medicaid expansion has helped more than 400,000 high-need Arizonans get health insurance — and it has been Republicans who have implemented and perpetuated that expansion. During the Great Recession, former Gov. Jan Brewer, a staunch conservative and early Trump supporter, cut the state’s Medicaid funding and froze enrollment; between 2011 and 2013, 150,000 adult Arizonans on Medicaid— nearly two-thirds of the childless adults in the program — lost their coverage.

But eventually Brewer had a change of heart, and she fought tooth-and-nail to push Obamacare’s Medicaid expansion through the legislature, telling her fellow Republicans, “You have to look at the reality. You have to do the math. [And] it’s not only a mathematical issue… it’s a moral issue.” Brewer’s Republican successor, Gov. Doug Ducey. has since come out against the Senate repeal bill in part because, by slashing federal funding for the Medicaid expansion, it will prevent Arizona from “pay[ing] for the real-world costs of providing care.”

As a result, Arizona politicians in less precarious positions than Flake actually sound somewhat alike when it comes to Obamacare — regardless of which party they belong to.

“It’s no secret that Arizonans have been frustrated with Obamacare over the last seven years, because the law has real problems,” Rep. Sinema, the Democratic congresswoman from Maricopa County, tells Yahoo News. “But parts of the law — like the Medicaid expansion — are still very, very popular. So the message I’m getting in Arizona is, ‘We didn’t love Obamacare, but the GOP plan is bad.’”

“A lot of us — both Republicans and Democrats in the House and Senate — want to find a bipartisan solution,” Sinema adds. “The problem is that none of us are in the leadership.”

Audience members stand up to shout down Arizona Republican Sen. Jeff Flake during a town hall Thursday, April 13, 2017, in Mesa, Ariz. (Photo: Ross D. Franklin/AP)

At a contentious two-and-a-half-hour Mesa town hall in April — his only such event of the year — Flake could have said something similar. Again and again, his constituents asked about Obamacare.

“Will you commit to vote against any plan that does not cover essential benefits, women’s health, preexisting conditions, hospitalization and medication?” asked a woman suffering from autoimmune kidney failure.

“How are we going to work together across the aisle to insure these children and adults have coverage?” asked the mother of a girl with autism. “We cannot afford to let Obamacare implode, because without Obamacare my daughter would not be able to speak.”

“I do not understand how you can allow 24 million Americans go through life without affordable health care,” said a military veteran.

But again and again, Flake dodged the question.

“Obamacare is not sustainable in its current form,” he said in several different ways. “It needs to be changed. It needs to reformed. That’s what we’re trying to do.”

Someday soon, Flake may have to get more specific. If and when that day comes, perhaps he can explain his long-held concerns about the growth of entitlement programs. Perhaps he can propose a fiscally conservative way to address those concerns without “pulling the rug out from under” the nearly two millions Arizonans who get their health-care coverage through Medicaid. Perhaps he can even push for the sort of bipartisan fixes he has championed on immigration.

Right now, however, the politics of the moment seem hostile to that kind of clarity. The question for Flake is whether he can survive the current storm with his reputation as a straight shooter intact — or whether, by waiting to weigh in, he’ll wind up looking like the very thing he has always insisted he isn’t: another typical politician.

_____

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